Devious Murder

by George Bellairs

  ‘He seems to have destroyed or removed everything which might have given the police an inkling of what was on his mind. He’s left none of the glossy magazines behind and there are no books about.’

  Cromwell looked around the room and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It’s like an hotel suite, where one stays the night, gathers everything up, packs it and departs.’

  ‘Yes. But there must have been some place where he left his papers, his spare cash, his passport, if any, his driving licence and perhaps some provision for his father. He was fond of the old man and, as he himself was living on a tightrope, not sure of when the police might catch up with him eventually, he might have hidden his papers away in some safe place. We’ll call on his father again and see if old Blunt can throw any light on it.’

  There were broad windows in the front and gable-end of the flat and Littlejohn went and studied the views from them. The main scene was a wide one across the Common and the flat lands of Kent; the side one overlooked the mansion which Pickup had told them was occupied by the millionaire called Havenith.

  ‘Look here, Bob,’ he said and Cromwell joined him.

  On the window-sill lay a powerful pair of field-glasses in a leather case.

  ‘Blunt had somebody or something under observation from the looks of things.’

  From the window itself there was a good view of The Limes. The name was most inappropriate and had probably not been that of the original place, which had been copied from a pavilion in Aix-en-Provence by an eccentric refugee nobleman. It was small as such places go, but exquisite. It stood four-square in the centre of a large oblong lawn and was surrounded by a high wall and grand old trees. An avenue of lime trees led from the main wrought-iron gates and in front of the house was a lily pool with a fountain spraying in the middle. The house had once fallen into neglect and, in keeping with present practice, had been bought as a novelty and renovated regardless of cost by Havenith, who had married a young wife who had taken a fancy to it.

  The mansion was three-storeyed and the large plain oblong windows were surrounded by delicate mouldings. There were wrought-iron balconies on the first floor frontage and the centre-piece, with an urn on each side, was supported by large caryatides.

  Littlejohn swung the binoculars in a wide arc covering the façade, the building line of which was well behind that of the flats. From where he stood all the rooms of the frontage were plainly visible.

  ‘It looks as if our friend Charles was keeping the house next door under observation. An easy matter from here in view of their relative positions. The two end rooms are lighted by windows on two sides and from where we are now one can see most of what goes on in them. No wonder Charles insisted on the position of the flat he hired. He was lucky to find the Millers’ place vacant if he wanted to study the comings and goings of the occupants of The Limes, which was presumably where he intended pulling off his next job.’

  Through the glasses Littlejohn could see the nearest corner room, its layout and most of the contents. A woman was busy cleaning up the place and pushing a vacuum cleaner about. She paused, took a cigarette from a box on the dressing-table, lit it with a lighter and went on with her work, puffing contentedly.

  ‘We’d better get to know as much as we can about the Haveniths. Pickup can perhaps help us.…’

  They spoke to Pickup on the way out.

  ‘I must confess I’ve never seen Mr. Havenith,’ he said, ‘it’s his wife who lives in The Limes. He’s mainly wrapped up in business in Texas, from what I’m told, and as far as I can reckon has only been over here twice since they bought the place and then only for a day or two. It must have cost a fortune to put it right. It was in the hands of an old lady who’d inherited it and couldn’t afford to keep it up. She let it nearly fall down about her ears. When she died about two years ago it stood empty for a long time and then Mrs. Havenith took a fancy to it. I’ve never been inside, but from what they tell me, it’s marvellous. Her bedroom’s the corner one nearest this place. I’m not a peeping Tom, but what I’ve seen going on there when about my rounds made me blush for shame. And it takes a lot to shake me up that way. She spends a lot of time there wandering around without a stitch of clothing on. She never bothers to draw the curtains when she’s in that state. Now and then, when she holds one of her wild parties, the blinds is drawn and I often wonder what goes on on such occasions.…’

  Pickup was warming enthusiastically to his narrative, when suddenly the kettle on the gas stove started to whistle loudly to indicate that, like Pickup, it was boiling.

  ‘Have a cup of tea, gentlemen?’

  They said they would, thank you. It was a good excuse for pressing further inquiries.

  ‘Is Mrs. Havenith in residence?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m quite sure about that. We always know without being told when she’s arrived. The place fills up with staff, then the big cars start arriving, and the gay parties begin and there’s music and unholy carryings-on till the small hours. Sometimes it’s dawn when the noise subsides. Even when she spends an evening out and gets back home at first light they slam the car doors and shout at one another. Drunk, of course. Then the lights of the bedrooms go on and her ladyship performs her striptease for anybody who’s up and around at such unholy hours. It doesn’t last long, though. She goes off into the country to another place they’ve got in the Cotswolds.’

  In his excitement he took a large gulp of his hot tea and cried out as it scalded his gullet.

  ‘Mrs. Havenith is only young, I believe?’

  ‘Yes. She’s around 30 at a guess. Well preserved and good looking, if you like them that way. Havenith’s twice that age. He’s ready to give her anything she asks for. He ought to be looking after her instead of his oil. If he knew the things that go on here he’d go mad. She saw The Limes, liked it, so out came his cheque book.’

  ‘Did Mr. Blunt meet her while he was here?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. He kept himself to himself. I never knew a man so solitary. A perfect gentleman but very unsociable. Always polite and considerate. But I can’t imagine him wanting to be mixed up with a lively crowd like The Limes lot. I’ve no doubt that he saw some of the striptease going on through his side window but it didn’t seem to tempt him to join in.’

  ‘He had a pair of binoculars in the room. Did he use them much?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’ve seen him looking across the Common with them. He may even have used them for taking a view of what went on in The Limes. You can see inside most of the rooms on the front of the house.’

  ‘But you never caught him doing it …?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had trouble or sorrow in his life. Woman trouble perhaps. It takes them that way sometimes, doesn’t it? He never had a woman call on him here.’

  Judging from the way Mr. Pickup talked and leered he was probably a voyeur himself and enjoyed watching the Havenith circus when he got a chance.

  ‘Did you know any of the people who came visiting The Limes?’

  ‘I’ve seen stage and television stars arriving there at cocktail parties and such like. They even come to breakfast sometimes. She seemed to like doing things different from anybody else. Who’d want to hold a party at breakfast? Nobody’s at his best then. But they arrived. The world’s gone crazy, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Do you know the servants there?’

  ‘There’s only two of them when she’s not in residence. When she’s here they get a lot more. I guess they come temporary from agencies.’

  ‘Do you know the two regulars?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a man and his wife. Welsh people, name of Morgan. A stand-offish couple. We just pass the time of day and that’s all. They’re not sociable. Not like Cairncross.’

  ‘Who’s Cairncross?’

  ‘He’s a retired policeman. A sort of security man. Mr. Havenith took him on his payroll when they bought The Limes and his wife started coming to England regularly. Now Cairncross is wha
t you might call Mrs. Havenith’s shadow. He goes everywhere with her. To and from America. All over the place.’

  ‘Her bodyguard?’

  ‘Rather more than that. You see Mrs. Havenith’s doting husband has spent a fortune on jewellery for her. Only last year he gave a cool £250,000 for a diamond necklace. Perhaps you saw it in the papers. It was bought at an auction and once belonged to a French queen. And that’s not the lot by any means. Mrs. Havenith’s not content to leave them idle in the bank. She wears them. Goes out decked in a quarter of a million worth of diamonds. It’s Cairncross’s job to see that they don’t get pinched. And quite a job it is too. Instead of a fortune in diamonds they might just be peanuts as far as she is concerned. She leaves them lying around when she takes them off, leaves valuable rings behind in ladies’ powder rooms, even lends jewellery to her friends.…’

  ‘You seem to know quite a lot about the trials and tribulations of Cairncross.…’

  ‘He’s a friend of mine. He’s more or less tied down by his job, but he gets his time off. You see, Mrs. Havenith won’t have him breathing down her neck and won’t have him with her when she goes out with her friends.…’

  ‘But decked out in all her jewels, doesn’t she need some protection?’

  ‘You’d think so. But what she says goes and she won’t have him around at such times. After all, the things are insured, I guess, and if somebody stripped her of all her ornaments, well, I reckon there’s plenty more where those came from. Havenith’s one of the richest men in Texas.’

  ‘And you and Cairncross get together now and then?’

  ‘He comes in here for a drink and a change and a chat. That’s how I know all these things. He’s a pleasant sort of chap. Likes to boast about his job, but who doesn’t?’

  ‘Where can we find him if we want to have a talk with him?’

  ‘You won’t mention that I’ve been telling you all about the set-up and everything next door, will you? He might not like it, him being a security man.’

  ‘No. We’ll start from the beginning if we do question him.’

  ‘He’s got his quarters over the garages behind the house. They used to be the stables of the old place. Converted into very nice dwellings. When Mrs. Havenith’s not living here the house is closed and the Morgans live in what used to be the staff quarters in the main building. But when she’s here with all her troop there’s not room for everybody, so the Morgans have to go to a flat above the garage, too. There’s about four flats there. The chauffeur occupies one as well.’

  ‘Is Cairncross likely to be home now?’

  ‘Very likely.’

  He looked at the clock which tick-tocked on the mantelpiece.

  ‘He’ll either be in his quarters or else in the house. There was a party there last night, I think. They’ll all be up late for breakfast if they can manage to eat any.’

  He saw them to the door and showed them the way to the garages behind The Limes.

  ‘You’ll remember, sir. Not a word to Cairncross about this little talk we’ve had together. I have my reputation to look to. You have to be discreet in a job like this.’

  Chapter 3

  Security Guard

  Frank Cairncross occupied a cosy little flat over the garage of The Limes. He was a retired sargeant of the Gloucester police, had spent most of his time in the Cheltenham district, and spoke in the intonation of that locality. After retirement and a short rest he had taken a job with a security firm in Gloucester; one of the guards on one of their vans. There he had distinguished himself in defeating a well-planned attack on one of their runs and had attracted the attention of Wilbur K. Havenith, who happened at the time to be on one of his brief visits to his manor house in the Cotswolds, another fancy of his young wife, who seemed to collect such establishments. Havenith had engaged Cairncross as security officer for his wife and her property.

  Cairncross had a good humdrum record in the police. His domestic life had been as uneventful as that in the force. His wife, after taking a job in an antique shop to ease her boredom, had run away with her boss, who had left behind him debts and the unsaleable part of his stock. Later Cairncross learned that she had died in a road accident.

  Littlejohn and Cromwell found him cooking chops for his lunch. He was a tall, heavy man with a square head going bald, and a rugged red face and small busy eyes. He obviously knew Littlejohn and Cromwell before they had introduced themselves.

  ‘I’ve seen your pictures in the papers. I never forget a face, sir.’

  Some past reflex action returned to his behaviour and he pulled himself up, as he had done when he was a sergeant and his chief had entered the room. He was smartly and simply dressed and wore a black tie as though still mourning his unfaithful runaway partner. He gave his sizzling chops a look of apology and turned off the gas stove.

  ‘Don’t let us disturb your meal, Cairncross.…’

  ‘That’s all right, sir; it can wait. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’

  He drew up a couple of chairs and invited them to be seated with a gesture of his large hand. Then he eased himself in a cane rocking-chair which cracked and groaned under his weight.

  ‘We understand you are security officer for Mrs. Havenith.…’

  Cairncross nodded his head up and down. He had just taken a half-smoked pipe from his pocket and was about to light it. He halted with his pipe in mid-air. His habitual smile left his face.

  ‘Why, what’s wrong?’

  ‘We thought you might be able to help us in a matter we’re investigating,’ said Littlejohn. ‘It concerns a man called Charles Blunt who rented one of the flats next door.…’

  ‘Orchard Court?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you been there already?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve just left.’

  ‘Did you have a word with Henry Pickup?’

  ‘Yes. He suggested we should call on you. He showed us round Blunt’s flat.’

  ‘A decent chap. A bit inquisitive, but who isn’t? What, did he tell you?’

  ‘He said that you, with your police experience, might be able to give us some useful information. Charles Blunt was murdered last night.’

  Cairncross had been gently rocking in his chair. It was one of his favourite pastimes. He stopped his rocking.

  ‘A murder case, eh? I’m sorry, sir, but all I know about Mr. Blunt is what Henry Pickup has told me. I never saw him, even if he did live next door, and, as is obvious, overlooked The Limes.’

  ‘I’m not surprised at that, Cairncross. Blunt was one of the smartest operators we know in the burglary game with a flair for remaining invisible.’

  Cairncross gave Littlejohn a scared look.

  ‘You don’t mean he came to live next door to overlook The Limes and case it ready for a break-in!’

  ‘Exactly that, although, as yet, we’ve nothing concrete on which to base our views.’

  ‘Was he murdered in the flat?’

  ‘We don’t know that. His dead body was found near Hampstead Heath.’

  ‘Well, as you say, he must have been a wizard at his job. I never saw him either inside or outside the flat. I must say that I kept an eye open for him after Pickup told me there’d been a change of tenant there. It’s part of my duties to know what’s going on in the vicinity. But I never got even a passing sight of this Blunt chap.’

  ‘In confidence, Cairncross, is The Limes worth burgling?’

  Cairncross flushed and coughed awkwardly. Littlejohn knew what it was all about.

  ‘We can’t expect you to identify us from our pictures in newspapers. We’ll show you our warrant cards and then, if you will answer a few questions, we’ll be obliged to you.’

  The little ceremony was performed and Cairncross seemed satisfied and more relaxed. He even started rocking again.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for being so understanding. Now, if I can be of any help … You were saying, is The Limes worth burgling? I’d say it certainly is, sir. As a matter of
fact, you mentioning an expert cracksman of Blunt’s type being interested in the place made me break out in a cold sweat.’

  ‘You think he might have been successful?’

  ‘Well, you know what these modern scientific thieves are like. As you say, sir, they’re like cats about the place and you never know what they’ll be up to next. Take The Limes. There’s me, in charge of security. The place is fitted with the most up-to-date alarm system which is connected with the local police, as well as kicking up a hullabaloo on bells and lights and waking the whole locality when its operating.…’

  ‘Isn’t it always operating?’

  ‘Between you and me, sir, Mrs. Havenith suffers from migraine. It only happens after she’s held a round of parties and her nerves are on edge. At such times, she pretends … I say pretends, because I’m sure she’s putting on an act … that she’s afraid of the alarms going off. She switches some of them off. That means Morgan and I have to be in the house patrolling the place.’

  ‘I see. And what other protection has she?’

  ‘Morgan and his wife live in the house. Morgan’s also an ex-policeman from somewhere in Wales. He and his wife have living quarters in the top storey. But when there’s a house party in The Limes they move to a flat in this building. But that’s not all, sir.…’

  Cairncross ceased his rocking, looking nervously around to make sure that he wasn’t overheard, and then lowered his voice.

  ‘I don’t wish to complain about Mrs. Havenith, but she’s a bit of a trial to me, although I couldn’t complain about the way she treats me personally. Sometimes her treatment becomes embarrassing.…’

  He coughed behind his hand.

  Cromwell smiled. He could imagine Cairncross encountering one of the striptease exhibitions while patrolling in the course of duty.

  ‘Mrs. Havenith just won’t realise what risks she runs. I mean, she’s not particular enough about the company she keeps and who she invites to her parties and even tolerates as sleeping guests here. She just doesn’t trouble to find out anything about people she brings home. If she likes the looks of them or takes a fancy to them she brings them along. After a night of her hospitality there’s always a few of them in no condition even to walk home. So, she finds a room for them, and they leave after breakfast the following morning. When she retires to bed she takes everything off and just flings it about the place … including her jewellery. Lucky for her Mrs. Morgan is about and gathers the stuff and puts it safely away.’