Fractured Silence. Emma Curtin

       The Register News-Pictorial (Adelaide, South Australia), 11 September 1929

      This story is personal, not just to Norma’s family, but to me. While she died almost ninety years ago, Norma has been ever-present in my waking hours; sometimes in my dreams. She became my lifeline. Following the death of my husband in 2015, it was Norma who, figuratively speaking, got me out of bed in the morning, stirred up the dogged determination in me and taught me that tragedy comes in all forms … but gone is not forgotten.

      Many people have travelled with me on this journey and I thank them all. My friends and family, who’ve listened to me talk about Norma endlessly, read drafts of the book, and given their own valuable thoughts on different aspects of the story. In particular my brother, Simon Curtin – who helped me with so much research along the way - and sister-in-law Julie, who patiently sat though hours of Skype chats about Norma. Both read and critiqued early drafts of the book and podcast script and gave me ideas for new research directions.

      To the experts involved - Dr Byron Collins, Charlie Bezzina, Dr Karen Scally, Andrea Scarfe and Elizabeth Martin - you’ve been brilliant, sharing your time and talents and giving me new perspectives, not to mention the credibility that comes with your input. You’ve taught me so much.

      And finally to Norma’s relatives, some named, some who prefer anonymity. Thank you for generously allowing me to intrude in your lives, poke around in family closets and share your precious memories. I hope I’ve done you and Norma justice.

      Introduction

      A promise of sensational developments

      On Monday 9 September 1929, Norma Rhys McLeod was getting ready for a relaxing game of golf. But she never made it to the green. By 5pm, the 29 year old was dead. Norma was found at home by her mother, unconscious on her bed with a pair of damp men’s underpants lying across her forehead. She never regained consciousness. A post-mortem examination would reveal she had multiple skull fractures caused by violent trauma to the head.

      Norma lived with her brother and parents in Mandeville Crescent, Toorak, in the State of Victoria, Australia. Home was a single-storey red brick villa situated in a fashionable part of one of Melbourne’s wealthiest suburbs. Labelled a ‘well-known socialite’ by news-hungry journalists (armed with assumptions and no apparent knowledge of the woman), Norma’s death immediately sparked interest, not only in the suburb, but across the state and the nation. A mysterious death in affluent Toorak had much more public appeal than any number of tragedies in Melbourne’s seedier suburbs. And the death of a respectable young woman in her own home sent shivers through ‘polite society’, generating a macabre fascination that still sells papers today.

      Speculation about Norma’s death was widespread and more than thirty letters from the public sent to police (some anonymously) would escalate attention on the case from the simple one-day reporting of a socialite’s death to a much talked about ‘whodunit’ with sinister undertones.

      For over two months the police drip-fed information to reporters, suggesting various theories and teasing the public with promises of “sensational developments”. Readers were tantalised, one noting: “In common with the whole community it has shocked me and is seldom out of my thoughts”. And the Melbourne Herald declared it “one of the most mysterious cases of death by violence in recent years”. The writer of the ‘Golf Associates Gossip’ in Table Talk was more disturbed by the fact that Norma’s death had happened so close to her “going for a round”!

      Despite all this attention, however, and ‘advice’ to police, the inquest into Norma’s death returned an open verdict. “The evidence adduced”, said Coroner David Grant, “does not enable me to say how or by what agency the said injuries were inflicted”.

      The mystery remained unsolved.

      ____________________

      So, have I solved the case? Well, no, not yet. But does that mean we should give up trying? I don’t believe so. Norma deserves some level of justice or, at the very least, some understanding of her life and what may have led to its tragic end.

      The different scenarios of what might have happened to Norma that day and why, as presented in this book and the podcast, reflect the findings of detailed investigations. And the whole case has been examined with the input of a group of modern-day experts – a forensic pathologist, Dr Byron Collins; an ex-homicide detective, Charlie Bezzina; a criminal barrister, Alan Hands (also a relative of Norma); a psycho-physiologist (or document examiner), Elizabeth Martin; a forensic psychologist, Dr Karen Scally; and a graphologist (or handwriting expert), Andrea Scarfe.

      But the scenarios presented are not intended to signify ‘case closed’; quite the contrary. For me they represent conversation starters, designed to open the door to additional research avenues and/or theories. There are still many unanswered questions and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt throughout this journey, it’s that the more you share your story, the more perspectives you see and the more insight you gather.

      My theories may not sit comfortably with all, raising matters intended to be silenced forever, but they are theories with a solid foundation of evidence. Fracturing that silence might release other information.

      Despite the passage of time, it’s not impossible to imagine that new clues may come to light because of this investigation. In the words of author Cyril Connolly: “Those who become obsessed with a puzzle are not the most likely to solve it … the truth can never be ascertained without painful things being said, and because I feel that this account may lead to somebody remembering a fact or a phrase which will suddenly bring it all into focus”.

      Maybe that somebody is you …

      Chapter One

      Setting the scene: a tragic day’s events

      The unusual circumstances of Norma’s death prompted hundreds of newspaper accounts, published over a three-month period, in the local, state and national press. These gave me my first glimpse into interpreted accounts of Norma’s last day.

      I read all of them with increasing interest, most on the appropriately named Trove, the National Library of Australia website; others through the State Library of Victoria microfilm archives. Many of the accounts were repeated through national syndication. Some were brief, others were more elaborate. Accounts ranged from the traditional factual summaries of the conservative Argus, through to the more tabloid-style, salacious Truth.

      There were frequent discrepancies in the press accounts of Norma’s death. Gaps left vacant by a lack of police information needed to be filled with a flourish of creativity and a heightened sense of drama to attract the readership away from competitors. These served to remind me that the press didn’t always get it right – the adage ‘never let the truth get in the way of a good story’ echoed in