by Bruce, Leo
‘Hair-styles I may be, but not looking like someone in a fair. How do we know we shan’t have fleas in the furniture if they once get inside?’
‘All right,’ said Carolus. ‘I’ll take the responsibility. You needn’t speak to them again.’ He went out to the front door. ‘I take it you’re Phil White and Des Grayne? Come in. I was expecting you.’
‘You were?’ said Des as they came into the sitting-room. ‘How come?’
They began to take off their outer protective clothing and dropped pieces of black macintosh into a corner of the room.
‘Just a hunch, perhaps,’ said Carolus. ‘On the other hand you must have heard that I’ve seen Swindleton.’
They nodded rather solemnly.
‘Yeh. We heard,’ said Phil.
‘What d’you want to tell me?’
There was great embarrassment on the faces of both of them, but finally the one called Des managed to get out what he wanted to say.
‘If we was to come clean and tell you what we know, are you going to run to the Law and tell them?’
‘Probably,’ said Carolus. ‘The police will have to be told if you’ve any material information.’
‘What about pot? I mean if it had nothing to do with Dutch? What I mean is, if what we tell you helps to find out about Dutch, do you need to mention anything about Swindleton selling pot?’
‘Look here,’ said Carolus, cutting short these complicated hypotheses. ‘I suggest you leave it to me. I shan’t involve either of you in any enquiries except the identification of Dutch’s murderer, or murderers. I don’t know what you’ve got to tell me but I think you’ll be safe in my hands. That’s about all I can say till I know the rest.’
Des still wasn’t satisfied.
‘I mean you’re not going to think because we grow our hair a bit long and one thing and another we have to be the ones who did Dutch, are you? See, we’ve got something to tell you which looks bad for us. You won’t jump to any conclusions just because some of our sort have got into trouble?’
‘I certainly won’t pre-judge the situation. Perhaps you’d better go ahead?’
They exchanged glances and Carolus saw a nod pass between them.
‘It’s like this,’ began Des. “Bout a week before Dutch disappeared we were asked something by that slimy bastard Swindleton. Nothing very much but … You tell him Phil.’
‘He wanted us to give Dutch a good going over. Said Dutch had let him down in some way. Wanted it done properly to leave marks and that so as he wouldn’t think so much of himself with Jenny Rivers and Lotta. Anyway that’s what he said.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘Give us a chance,’ said Des. ‘You haven’t heard it all yet. He offered us fifty quid each.’
‘Quite a lot of money,’ said Carolus.
‘I’ll say. But it wasn’t so much the money, only we weren’t feeling so good about Dutch either. See, he’d … shall I tell him Phil?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Well we’d been flogging pot for Swindleton and making a bit on the side. I don’t take the stuff myself. Nor does Phil. It makes you spew, or it does me. But we didn’t see any harm in getting rid of a few packets for Swindleton so long as he paid us for it. Then we found he was telling us he hadn’t received supplies and all he was doing was giving it to Dutch to get rid of, and Dutch seemed to have got all the customers. We were right needled about that so we told Swindleton we’d do him up properly and serve the poor bleeder right. Mind you, we wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for the pot.’
‘I thought Dutch was a friend of yours?’
‘Well, so he had been, I suppose in a way. Only fifty nicker each was good money for us, specially after what he’d been doing behind our backs.’
‘At all events you agreed.’
‘Not knowing what would come of it, mind you. Get that straight. We’d no idea anything else was going to happen to Dutch. All we was to do was give him a going over.’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a sort of a cellar under the Spook Club and a way out at the back into Ransome Street. But we didn’t think of that. What Swindleton said was to get hold of Dutch when he came to the Club and take him downstairs. Then we were to give him a going over and when we’d done it to strip him off and tie him up. Then cut all his hair off.’
‘What was the idea of that?’
‘From what Swindleton said, it was to make Dutch look silly. I told you he’d told us Dutch had done him a dirty trick and he wanted to get his own back. He was going to take Jenny and Lotta down to the cellar to have a look at him like he was then. I didn’t think much of that, but I’d heard of it being done before. Anyway we were getting fifty quid each so why should we worry?’
‘Why indeed, if it did not strike you as rather a cowardly thing to do.’
‘Well, I’m not saying it didn’t afterwards, especially when we heard what had come of it. But we weren’t to know. All we had to do was give Dutch a going over and tie him up.’
‘And cut his hair. Some of you seem to attach quite a lot of importance to that. Regular little Samsons, aren’t you? And strip the poor little wretch so that Swindleton could make him feel a fool in front of his girls.
‘Yeh. I know. I’ve thought about it since. It wasn’t what we ought to have done, I’ll say that. But what I’m trying to say is that we didn’t murder Dutch, or anything like it. Why we’ve come to you is that we heard you were investigating the whole thing and we didn’t want to go to the Law. How were we to know what happened afterwards?’
‘What did happen afterwards?’
‘We don’t know,’ put in Phil, rather sulkily. ‘We left him there in the cellar and that was the last we knew.’
‘Was he all right then?’
‘He’d been done up. We’d done the job pretty thoroughly. But he was all right—shouting at us to untie him and not leave him there. He never lost consciousness or anything like that. I’d say he could have walked out of that cellar and no one would have known anything about it except for his hair being cut and a couple of black eyes. I suppose everyone’s been like that at one time or another. I know I have.’
‘Did Swindleton give you your money?’
‘Yes. He started some kind of talk about next day when he’d been to the bank but we said it had to be then or we should take Dutch away with us.’
‘You didn’t threaten to go to the police?’
‘What you think we are? Bleeding grass-hoppers?’
Carolus stopped him there. His interest in the philology of criminal slang was aroused.
‘What did you say?’
‘Grass-hoppers. Shoppers,’ said Des.
‘So that’s the origin of “grass”. I thought it was “snake in the grass”. Go on.’
‘Soon as we said that, about taking Dutch away, he paid up.’
‘And that’s all you know?’
‘Except that next day we asked Jenny and Lotta whether Swindleton had taken them down to the cellar and they said no.’
‘Why do you think Swindleton wanted you in, then? Why couldn’t he do it himself?’
‘Too yellow. Ten to one Dutch would have given him a hiding if he’d tried.’
‘Are you saying that a man as cowardly as that actually murdered Dutch?’
‘Could have. When he was tied up. But I’m not saying that. I shouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t someone else altogether.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The hundred nicker, for one thing. Swindleton’s never been free with money. My idea, it was someone else’s money he was giving us.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I’ve never known Swindleton want to get back on anyone, certainly not Dutch. Dutch has always been his blue-eyed bleeding boy. It was quite a laugh among the lads.’
‘But who else could have wanted Dutch “done up” as you so expressively put it, except Swindleton?’
‘Lots of people. His old man, for
one. His old man was always on about Dutch living off him and not bringing home any bread. Or his old woman. Dutch told that West Indian she lives with what he thought of him once. The two had got it in for him.’
‘What about Leng the organist? Or his friend Skilly?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Des. ‘Though I can’t actually think of a reason why they might. Dutch could be very saucy when he liked and one of them might have taken offence. But I’ll tell you who it could have been, quite easily. One of the skinheads. Gil Bodmin and those.’
‘I should have thought they would do it themselves if they wanted to do it at all.’
‘Not if they didn’t want it blamed on them. Anyone in this town would know that the first people anyone would think of for beating up Dutch were the skinheads.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about Dutch’s brother Roger,’ Carolus went on. ‘Do you think he might have had some sort of a grudge?’
‘Quite likely. He’s a smarmy sort of creep. But I don’t know of any reason.’
‘You know,’ Carolus said seriously. ‘We seem to be considering only the men. It occurs to me that one of the women who knew Dutch might have got Swindleton to arrange it. Dutch’s stepmother, as she would like to be called, for instance?’
‘That Farnham bitch, you mean? I don’t put it past her but where would the hundred nicker come from in that case? Same with Liz Bodmin’s mother. But it could be some of the girls from the Spook Club. One of them who was in the money from pushing, or something.’
‘It doesn’t sound like a young girl, having a boy of sixteen or seventeen beaten and tied up.’
‘I don’t know. What about his hair? It would take a girl to think of that bit. Girls are always on to us to have short haircuts.’
‘That seems to leave only two probabilities. The first is Swindleton himself. He struck me as a mean and spiteful type. It could well be he felt a vicious sort of vengefulness against Dutch and was willing to pay you for what you did. From what you have admitted most of the money would come back to him, anyway.’
‘Yes, I suppose it could be Swindleton,’ said Phil, ignoring the last sentence. ‘But we’ve told you we don’t think it was. What’s your last probability?’
‘You yourselves,’ said Carolus without hesitation. ‘Even if you didn’t kill Dutch, all this story about Swindleton having paid you to beat him up might be so much balloney. I don’t say it is, but it could be.’
‘Then there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? Ask Swindleton himself. He’s so shit-scared about Dutch’s being found dead that he’ll tell you the truth all right. He thinks he’s going inside for life over Dutch’s death.’
‘What about you, if that’s so?’
‘That’s why we’ve come to you. I don’t say we’re scared but I think you ought to know about it. Somebody might think we’d overdone it. He was alive enough when we left him.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Round about eleven, I should think.’
‘And Dutch was dead an hour or two later, so the doctors say.’
‘Yes, but we didn’t do him, did we?’
‘The distinction seems to lie between “doing” someone, and “doing up someone”. It’s only a very small word.’
‘Christ, man! I thought you believed us. What we’ve told you is the——ing truth. All of it. Ask Swindleton.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am faced with that unpleasant necessity. One interview with Swindleton’s surely enough.’
‘Ask that June Mockett, too. She lives near the Spook Club. If she doesn’t know no one does.’
‘Know who killed Dutch, do you mean?’
‘That too, more than likely. Though she might try to say it was us.’
‘Why?’
‘She doesn’t like us.’
‘Nor do I, much. But that doesn’t mean I should try to hang a murder on you.’
Des considered.
‘I don’t know how to take that,’ he concluded. ‘Sometimes you seem to be all right with us. At other times you might be the Law the way you go on.’
‘Speaking about the Law, do you know Detective Sergeant Grimsby?’
Carolus had evidently startled them.
‘Him?’ said Des, panicking at the very name.
‘You don’t work with that bastard, do you?’ asked Phil, seemingly horror-struck.
‘I work with anyone who may help me to get at the truth. I see you both know him. How does that come about?’
‘It was nothing really.’
‘Only something to do with the bikes.’
‘Detective Sergeant Grimsby is not a traffic cop,’ Carolus pointed out.
‘No. It wasn’t much…’
‘Pot?’ asked Carolus.
‘No. Nothing like that. Long time ago, it was. Coupla years at least.’
‘Any charge?’
‘There was going to be. Only my dad knew one of the coppers over at Newminster. He managed to get us off. It was only something to do with a girl.’
‘Bit of a gang bang,’ said Phil. ‘Only she was quite willing. It turned out she’d tried it on before with some other fellows. That’s why my dad managed to get Grimsby to drop it.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite the story,’ Carolus said.
‘Well this girl’s mother didn’t want it to come out either. It wasn’t as though we’d done the girl any harm. She’s quite all right, I mean. Lives over at Boxley. I’m only telling you that because of Grimsby.’
‘You mean because you think I should hear from Grimsby?’
‘Something like that. Anyway we’ve told you now about Dutch.’
‘You’ve told me something about him. I want a lot more than that.’
‘You mean from us? We don’t know any more.’
‘Then you don’t have to worry, do you?’ said Carolus knowing from two anxious faces that there was a great deal more worrying to be done, whether or not there was any further information.
Chapter Ten
Carolus’s second interview with Swindleton was very different from his first. He had no blind confidence in what the two boys had told him but he believed enough to feel pretty sure that Swindleton had bribed them to beat up Dutch Carver.
His expert manner of polite but ruthless bullying was excellently suited to Swindleton. And he took care that the discothecaire would not be on his own ground. He invited Swindleton to run out with him to the place where Dutch’s body had been found. This Swindleton at first refused to do.
‘Out there?’ he asked nervously. ‘Why out there? I don’t know the place. I’ve never seen it.’
‘Then it won’t worry you, will it? I have to have another look, and as there are a few questions I want to ask you, I thought we could go together.’
‘I’m not going!’ said Swindleton.
‘You are a nervous type,’ said Carolus good-humouredly. ‘It won’t look at all well if you refuse, will it?’
‘I’m not going, I tell you.’
‘Then I shall have to put that in my report. It seems a pity, if you’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘I haven’t. But it seems so unnecessary. Creepy, too.’
‘Let’s get it over,’ said Carolus. ‘You won’t even have to leave your seat in the car.’
Without any spoken consent Swindleton followed Carolus out to his car and they set off.
‘Did you give those two friends of Dutch fifty quid each?’ asked Carolus when they had pulled up a few miles out of Hartington and Carolus could turn to his passenger.
‘Is that what they told you? Bloody little liars. I haven’t got any fifty quids to chuck about.’
‘Or was it for the pot business?’ asked Carolus in the same steady tone of voice.
‘Was what for the pot business? I never gave them anything.’
‘Then what on earth made them beat up Dutch?’
‘How do I know?’ asked Swindleton. ‘Kids are always scrapping. Might have been anything.�
��
‘It might have been but it wasn’t. It was a distinct and clearly worded bargain. They were to beat up Dutch, strip him off, cut his hair and tie him up, for which you would give them fifty quid apiece. It seems rather a large sum to pay for so simple a job, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No? Then I shall have to remind you. You gave them your reasons for wanting it done. Not very convincing reasons. They were connected with cannabis resin.’
‘Leave that out!’ said Swindleton. ‘I’ve had enough trouble with that.’
‘But don’t you understand, Swindleton, that this isn’t a case of selling kids a few ounces of pot. This is murder. A life sentence; and they’re getting longer and longer.’
‘Leave off, can’t you?’
‘It seems to me that if I were in your place I would admit the lesser things in the hope of not being charged with the greater. I don’t suppose the whole scheme was entirely yours.’
Swindleton seemed to sway to and fro in the seat of the car. He was clearly in an agony of indecision.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then I’ll help you. You’re a wretched creature but I don’t want to see you given Life for something you haven’t actually done. Who put up the money to have Dutch beaten up?’
Swindleton opened his mouth once or twice as though trying to speak. At last he came out with a surprising statement. ‘I don’t know!’ he said.
Carolus repeated it incredulously.
‘You don’t know?’
‘As God’s my witness, I haven’t the least idea.’
‘But someone did?’
‘Yes,’ Swindleton whispered.
‘But you don’t know who it was. A hundred pounds landed in your lap from out of the sky?’
‘No. It came through the post, in used treasury notes of £I.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’
‘No. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Or anyone. No one would believe it. But it’s true.’
‘How did you know what to do with it?’
‘I was telephoned.’
‘I suppose you don’t know who telephoned you?’
‘No. I don’t. It was a woman’s voice. I couldn’t recognize it. Working-class, it sounded like.’