by Ron Finch
“When I was small and misbehaved badly, I would be sent to my room. They would lock the door from the outside. When I got older, about 12 or 13, after the bad thing happened to me, they would lock me in the icehouse for an hour. They thought it was funny. They would get a really mean look and say, ‘You need to cool off.’ They knew I hated the icehouse. Around that time, they told me they would like to have a nice daughter, so they had one ordered from England. That’s when Henny came. She wasn’t a bad person, but I hated her because my parents really liked her.”
“A few minutes ago, you said ‘they wouldn’t listen to me’. What did you mean by that?” I asked.
“A very bad thing happened to me. I don’t like to talk about it. My parents wouldn’t let me talk about,” said Nancy.
“Dr. Khryscoff and I will listen to you. Tell us about what happened.”
Nancy told them the story. “My dad had a really good friend, Alan, who used to come from Toronto to visit us. He came by himself. I don’t think he was married. He was very wealthy, so he always brought us gifts. When I was small, he would insist that I sit on his knee. When I got a little older, if I was alone with him, he would touch me where I didn’t think he should. I told my mom, but she just said it was my imagination. I learned to stay away from him. That worked till I was 11 years old.
“It was summertime. My dad sent me to the icehouse to get some ice for our kitchen icebox. Alan must’ve seen me go into the icehouse because he followed me inside and tried to rape me. Maybe he did rape me. I was so scared and confused that I didn’t really understand what was happening. I knew he had done a very bad thing, so I went screaming to my parents. They got mad at me and locked me in my room.”
Nancy looked distraught. I thought she was going to cry. This certainly was not the Nancy we had dealt with more than once. The Nancy that had uncontrollable lengthy rants. This was not a ‘mad’ woman.
Dr. Khryscoff and I sat back and quietly waited while Nancy regained her composure. Without being asked, she continued her story.
“After that happened they started sending me away. They sent me to a private school during the fall, winter, and spring. In the summer they sent me to camps. I hated my parents and I didn’t trust them to protect me, so I was glad to leave. Alan continued to visit with my family on a regular basis, but I never saw him again because I was at school or at camp. It was about two years after my rape that Henny arrived to become the daughter they wanted.”
Dr. Khryscoff said, “Are you able to continue or do you need a break from questioning?” The doctor did not want to stop. They had Nancy present and he didn’t want to lose her.
“I’m okay. I’ll answer your questions.” Nancy said it with a frown, but without shouting.
“Joel, you may continue with the interview,” said Dr. Khryscoff.
“Tell us what happened to your mother and father on October 3rd, 1911,” I said. “We know there was a fire. We know that your parents were never seen again, and we also know that the body of a young woman was found in the fire.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Nancy. She seemed to have recovered some of her ‘not so nice’ persona.
“Do you want me to tell you what you did?” I responded.
“I don’t think you know. You weren’t there. You don’t know anything,” Nancy said, as if to challenge me.
“I’ll give you the short version, Nancy.” I looked at her and said, “You had a difficult September. You were using a lot of cocaine. Johnnie Polizzi and Ernie Stanzio came to your parents’ farm to pick you up to drive you back to Chicago, so you could return to DePaul University. Your parents refused to let you go. They informed you they were sending you to a sanatorium in the Muskoka region instead. That enraged you. You were already a little paranoid from all the cocaine, and, taking into consideration what you told us earlier in this interview, you had every reason to hate them.”
As I talked her pupils grew narrower and narrower. She was becoming very angry. I looked at Dr. Khryscoff. He was busy making notes, but he nodded that I should continue, giving a little downward motion of his hand to say back off a little bit. Before I could continue, Nancy jumped to her feet. She hadn’t started screaming but was clearly having difficulty controlling her rage. She started to talk about October 3rd, 1911.
“They were going to send me away again,” she shouted. “I’d decided weeks before that I would never be sent away again. The last straw was the arrival of Henny Allenby. She’d rolled up the farm lane and parked in front of our house in her new car the previous evening. They were so happy to see her. I didn’t sleep that night. I was far too angry to sleep. Between my anger and the paranoia from the cocaine I was more than irrational. I was murderous.
“My plan was simple: I would poison all three of them and then burn the house to the ground. Then I would take Henny’s identification and car and leave. I’d go back to Chicago. I liked it there.”
Nancy had become noticeably calmer. She stopped, looked at both of us, and said, “Do you have any other questions?”
I looked at Dr. Khryscoff. He nodded to go ahead.
“Why did you cut your parents up?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “They died so quickly from the poisoning that it made me even angrier. I suppose I didn’t think they’d suffered enough. So I cut them up. But I don’t really remember. I was out of my mind. I certainly knew that they belonged in the icehouse. That’s where they always tried to store me.”
“Why did you murder Henrietta Allenby?” I asked.
“She stole my place in the family. She was a constant aggravation and a constant reminder of what my life should have been like.”
“Did you murder your husband, Dr. Frank McCann?” I said.
“No, Frank was a good person. He was always nice to me. He helped me get over my addiction.”
“Are you Henny or Nancy?” I asked.
Nancy looked at us. She seemed uncertain. “I was quite confused. I started out pretending to be Henny; but as time went on, and my life became pleasant, I really became Henny. I forgot about me. But when I read about the inheritance it upset me. I wasn’t sure whether I was Henny or Nancy. You’re much better off dealing with Henny than dealing with me.”
“I’ve written down the questions that Joel asked and the answers that you gave,” said Dr. Khryscoff. “I would like you to take a few minutes to read it over. When you have finished, if it is accurate, I want you to sign it and date it. Would you do that?”
“I think so. Let me read it first,” said Nancy.
Twenty minutes later, Nancy put down the pages of questions and answers that Dr. Khryscoff had given her to read.
“What happens if I sign this?” she asked.
“This statement will be used as your testimony at an inquest into the deaths of your parents,” said Dr. Khryscoff. “If you or your power of attorney agrees to the plea bargain that Judge Bernard has proposed, as advised by Chief Petrovic, your lawyer, and I, then there will not be a trial by jury.
“If you enter a plea of guilty to the murder of your parents, then the judge will spare your life. But you will be incarcerated in the secure section of a psychiatric hospital until you are deemed cured. At that time, you will be eligible for parole.”
“I don’t know what to do,” answered Nancy. “If I’m Henny, then I didn’t do anything wrong. But I know that as Nancy I committed those murders. But because my parents didn’t protect me, I have no remorse for their deaths.”
Dr. Khryscoff stood up. He said, “You should talk this over with your lawyer. However, I would like to know who will be talking to the lawyer, you or Henny?”
“I’ll do the talking,” said Nancy. “It’s a matter of life or death.”
With that said, Henny McCann was escorted back to her cell. Dr. Khryscoff and I sat in the empty room for a few moments, staring at one another.
“You did really well, Joel,” Dr. Khryscoff said finally. “Was she telling the
truth? Could you tell?”
“From everything I felt and sensed, Doctor, she told the truth,” I replied.
Monday, May 1st
CHIEF PETROVIC WAS in a great mood.
If this meeting wasn’t in the police station, thought Cst. Smith, the chief would probably break out the champagne.
The body parts mystery had been solved.
Chief Petrovic passed around copies of the statement given by Nancy Featherstone to Dr. Khryscoff and Cst. Franklin.
“I want you to sit at the table and read this through,” said the chief. “It will probably take you about twenty minutes or so.” Before they had a chance to read it, the chief cautioned them: “You cannot discuss this with anyone else. If you do, it could cost you your job.”
When he was sure they’d all read the statement, he collected the copies.
“Life is never as simple as it seems to be,” said the chief. “Nancy Featherstone’s crimes were atrocious. But it is easy to understand why she was motivated to murder.
“I’m pleased to report that Nancy, or Henny—” The chief paused. “I’ll just call her ‘the accused’. The accused met with her lawyer Fred Donaldson last Friday afternoon. At that meeting, she agreed to accept the plea bargain that had been proposed by Judge Bernard. There will be no trial by jury. The public will be fully informed about the case at the time of her arraignment. This is a good decision. I congratulate the judge.”
Chief Petrovic looked around the table.
“I congratulate all of you. You’re all excellent policemen. Without your hard work this case would not have been solved. Thank you very much. The meeting is over.”
The Rest of the Story - Friday, August 18th
IT’S FINALLY OVER. Judge Bernard handed the sentence down two days ago, on Wednesday afternoon. It caused a lot of controversy in the community. Many older people, who remembered the Featherstones, were of the opinion ‘an eye for an eye’. Hardly any of them remembered Nancy Featherstone. She had rarely been seen in the area after the age of 11.
The local newspaper printed the details of the inquest yesterday. Once the abuse that Nancy Featherstone had been subjected to as a child was revealed, many of the local people understood why the judge had decided to sentence her to imprisonment in a secure psychiatric facility.
Johnnie Polizzi and Ernie Stanzio gave testimony at the inquest. It was important testimony as it connected Nancy Featherstone with the disappearance of Henny Allenby. Dr. Khryscoff had also testified. His testimony was vital in demonstrating that the accused was mentally incapable of making good decisions.
Yesterday’s news story has drawn some interest from the big newspapers, especially the Toronto Daily Telegraph and the Chicago Tribune. The reporters are just arriving in town now. They missed the inquest and the judge pronouncing sentence but I’m certain they still have lots of material to work with. I’m sure they have many readers who will be interested to read about a murder involving dismembered body parts and a woman with two distinct personalities.
GEORGIE AND I WERE married on Saturday, June 3rd, to everyone’s delight. It was a beautiful day but a little on the hot side. At 2 o’clock it was 93° outside. In the church hall it was closer to 98°. Sylvia was the maid of honour and Jay was the best man. Baby Brad Jarvis, with a lot of help from his grandma, was the ring bearer. As a master of ceremonies, Jay was in his element. There were many toasts. There were many funny anecdotes. Unfortunately, several of the anecdotes presented me as a bumbling young man. I noticed that Georgie applauded wildly at each of these funny stories.
Georgie and I had found a small house to rent, thanks to Gwen Cummings. It was just down the street from Gwen’s place. One of her neighbours had just inherited the property.
Dr. Khryscoff and I meet once a month. He visits a few special patients at the ‘London Asylum for the Insane’ on the second Wednesday and Thursday of every month. Occasionally, he slips up and calls it by that name, then he reminds himself and me that last year the hospital was renamed. It’s just called ‘Ontario Hospital London’, now. That’s a much better name.
Dr. Khryscoff always has some small test he wants me to take. I feel like a guinea pig and I probably am one. But he’s also talking to me a lot about psychiatric symptoms and identified illnesses, so I’m learning a lot too.
My brother Ralph had a successful tryout with the Cleveland Indians. He received a small signing bonus and is now playing third base in class C ball in the Middle Atlantic League with the Zanesville Grays. My mother wouldn’t let him go until he’d finished his final exams. It’s a seven-hour drive to Zanesville, Ohio, from Chaseford. Three carloads of us went down to see them play on Saturday July 22nd. We all had a great time, including Ralph, who got two base hits and helped Zanesville win its game.
The end ... for now
About the Author
Many years ago, when I was three, my mother took me to the library. She was delighted that I loved to read. My father was not so happy. He knew books would cut into chore time.
He was right.
I read and I read and I read and I read. Even today I’m reading. And recently I decided to write.
Lightning at 200 Durham Street, and Where's the Rest of the Body? are the first two books in the Joel Franklin Mystery series, but there are many more on the way.
Stay tuned.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Books by Ron Finch
Important Quotes
Sunday, December 11th, 1932
Monday, December 12th
Tuesday, December 13th
Tuesday, December 20th
Friday, December 23rd
December 31st, 1932
Monday, January 9th
Wednesday, January 18th
Monday, January 23rd
Chicago, January 1933
Wednesday, January 25th to Saturday, January 28th
Monday, February 6th
Monday, February 13th
Tuesday, February 14th
Wednesday, February 22nd
Monday, February 27th
Friday, March 3rd
Monday, March 6th
Friday, March 10th
Saturday, March 11th
Monday, March 13th to Friday, March 17th
Monday, March 20th
Wednesday, March 22nd to Friday, March 24th
Monday, March 27th
Wednesday, March 29th
Tuesday, April 4th – Springfield, Illinois
Wednesday, April 12th
Thursday, April 13th
Wednesday, April 19th
Thursday, April 20th
Monday, April 24th
Wednesday, April 26th
Thursday, April 27th
Monday, May 1st
The Rest of the Story - Friday, August 18th
About the Author
