The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog

by Robert Warr

  ‘This case is starting to become very interesting,’ your uncle said. ‘It would be reasonable to suppose that this stone was the murder weapon. I was informed that Mr Littleton’s servant was clubbed to death. Did you find the murder weapon in that case?’

  ‘We did indeed. The killer used a walking stick that had been crudely weighted with lead. Richard Adam’s head was caved in by a single blow. The stick was dropped by the body.’

  ‘I had assumed that Mr Littleton was thrown to his death.’ My master paused to take out his pipe before continuing. ‘I now think that he was killed here and the body was thrown over the cliff. If we search, we will probably find some blood-stains showing where the murder was committed. What I do not understand is why the murderer brought Mr Littleton so far from Wareham. However, I do not believe that we will find the answers here. I would like to see the doctor who examined the body.’

  As my master had suggested we soon found a part of the cliff top where there was a large bloodstain and several smaller splashes. Unfortunately, we could find nothing else. Your uncle surmised that the victim had not been able to avoid the first blow and then had probably been subjected to a frenzied assault. It was, as he said, a very odd case.

  We returned to Wareham where Inspector Harris took us to the house of the local doctor who had examined the bodies of both the murder victims. The doctor was a middle-aged man named Edward Coates, who seemed to have quite an extensive interest in crime as a science.

  Dr Coates confirmed that the servant, Richard Adams, had been killed by one blow with a weighted stick. The blow, struck from behind by a left-handed man, had shattered the victim's skull. Mr Littleton seemed to have also been hit from behind, again by a left-handed man. The blow would have rendered him unconscious even if he had not died instantly. The body must have been rolled on its back and some type of implement used to obliterate all his features. The doctor was quite certain that the victim's hands had been tied after death.

  ‘Was this the weapon that was used to kill Mr Littleton?’ asked your uncle passing the hand axe we had found on the cliffs to the doctor

  ‘If it wasn’t this axe, then it was something very similar,’ the doctor replied. ‘I think that you can be reasonably certain that this was used to kill Mr Littleton.’

  Inspector Harris thanked the doctor and we were just taking our leave when Doctor Coates called us back.

  ‘There was one other strange thing about Mr Littleton’s body,’ he began. ‘I can not be positive but I think the killer deliberately cut most of the skin off the palms and fingers. The crab damage was quite extensive so it is hard to be certain. It looked almost as if the killer had heard of Sir William Herschel’s ideas on fingerprinting and wanted to make his victim unidentifiable. The only way of identifying poor Mr Littleton was through his possessions. I sketched the injuries and I intend to write a monograph, so I would be obliged if you would keep me informed about this case.’

  Our next stop was Wareham police station. We were sitting in Inspector Harris’s office while the men had a cup of tea and discussed the case. I had just discovered that Inspector Harris would always hand over a biscuit whenever I put my paw on his knee and quietly whined, when there was a knock on the door. The door opened and a sergeant entered the office. He was introduced to your uncle as John Taylor.

  ‘Sir, I have found something in Mr Littleton’s papers that you must see,’ Sergeant Taylor announced, handing a journal to his superior.

  ‘Sergeant, would you please read the relevant parts out, so that our guest can also benefit from this news?’ Inspector Harris passed the book back to the sergeant and lent back in his chair.

  ‘The first entry that concerns us is dated two days before the murder,’ the sergeant began. ‘It reads, “I went to the market today and then on to the Bear to have a quiet drink. The landlord told me that the young man, Ian O’Brien, who had been asking for me two months ago, is coming back again. Although he does not know my name, his description of me, and the fact that he is searching for a relatively new and rich resident fill me with fear. Two months ago, none of the locals could be bothered to help him. I am afraid, however, that my old employer’s nephew will soon find my hiding place.”’

  The sergeant paused and turned over several pages.

  ‘The next relevant entry is on the day of the murder,’ Sergeant Taylor continued. ‘There is a short entry that says; “I had a note from O’Brien. He will call this evening. All is lost.”’

  Inspector Harris led us over to the Bear Inn where he asked the landlord if Ian O’Brien was on the premises. We found that O’Brien had left the hotel on Monday afternoon. Seeing our downcast expressions the innkeeper laughed and said that Mr O’Brien had given instructions that any messages for him were to be forwarded to the King’s Arms Hotel in Christchurch.

  We returned to the police station where Inspector Harris arranged to send a telegram to his opposite number in the Hampshire town.

  My master and I were waiting for Inspector Harris to finish his arrangements when an elderly woman entered the police station. She glanced round and, seeing us, seemed to pull herself up to her full height. She marched over to us with an air of stubborn determination mixed with apprehension.

  ‘Inspector?’ she asked, and seeing my master’s instinctive reaction, she continued, ‘you must help me. It’s my Fred; he’s gone missing. I spoke to the sergeant but he won’t take me seriously.’

  Sergeant Taylor came over and spoke to the woman. ‘Sal, be quiet now. It will be all right. You know Fred has just had a skin full and wandered off. He will return in a few days as if nothing has happened.’

  The woman addressed us all in a very indignant tone. ‘I’m not a simpleton. I know my Fred’s weaknesses and I make allowance for them. He hasn’t been home for three days and I have spoken to all his friends. He hasn’t been seen since Monday afternoon. The last anyone saw of him he was making his way up on to the downs to see someone about some walling work. He was very pleased because he had been offered well above the going rate for a simple job.’

  Inspector Harris reassured the woman, whose name was Mrs Field, that her husband’s disappearance would be treated as a matter of urgency. He then directed Sergeant Taylor to take down a statement from her about her husband’s recent actions.

  We returned to Inspector Harris’s office and the inspectors resumed their earlier conversation. I was starting to get worried because the case did not feel right. There was a possibility that Fred Field’s disappearance was linked to the murder of Mr Littleton. If there was a link and Fred had been killed for witnessing a murder why not just leave the body where it fell. No attempt had been made to hide Richard Adam’s body at Fromebridge Manor.

  The inspectors were discussing this point when Sergeant Taylor knocked and entered the room. A telegram had been received from the Christchurch police. O’Brien had walked into the police station in Christchurch, to ask about the body that had been pulled from the sea. The police had promptly arrested him.

  It was decided that we would go to Christchurch the following morning to interview O’Brien, while Inspector Harris continued with the investigation in Wareham.

  We stayed that evening at the Bear. After a very satisfying supper, we went for a walk around the old Saxon walls. Wareham is an attractive little town that lies surrounded by water meadows. It was an idyllic evening and it was easy to forget all about murder. The river has many little beaches where the cows come down to drink so I was able to enjoy a very satisfying swim.

  In the morning, my master took me for another pleasant walk before returning to the hotel for a filling country breakfast. It has always been my contention that country folk eat better than city dwellers and my meals in Wareham reinforced this point. My master shared his exceptionally fine Dorset bacon with me.

  It was in a highly contented mood that I walked with my master to the station for the short trip to Christchurch. This part of the south coast between Poole and Christchurch
has become very popular and a new spa town is coming into existence. Listening to the other people on the train I gathered that this new town has brought some prosperity to a poor area of Hampshire but would never rival either of its closest neighbours. Personally, I agreed with this analysis, I have noticed how lazy people are and I could not see many people travelling all the way down here when Brighton is so convenient to London.

  On arrival in Christchurch, we were met at the station by an Inspector Lawton, who had apparently worked on a previous case with my master. We accompanied him back to the police station and enjoyed a welcome cup of tea. After a short discussion, Inspector Lawton asked a constable to fetch O’Brien.

  Ian O’Brien was an academic-looking man in his early forties. Taking into account that he had spent the night in police custody, he obviously took a pride in his appearance. He seemed to be more curious than worried by his arrest. Indeed if it were not for the circumstantial evidence linking him to the murders, I doubt whether he would ever have been suspected. Further inspection, however, revealed a recent scrape on the right side of his forehead just on the hairline.

  ‘Mr O’Brien,’ Inspector Lawton began, ‘you have been arrested on suspicion of the murders of Thomas Littleton and Richard Adams on Monday night. We know that you have been assiduously searching for Mr Littleton for some time. We also know that he was worried that your search would be successful. The evidence against you is compelling. My colleague and I would like to hear your version of events.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector.’ O’Brien had a very pleasing and educated voice. ‘I freely admit that I was looking for Mr Littleton, though not by that name. I did not harm him, as that was never my purpose. To understand why I wanted to find Mr Littleton I must tell you something of my history.

  ‘My grandfather was fortunate in his business dealings and by the time he retired had built up a respectable trading firm with interests in the Americas and the East. When he retired, he split the business into three sections, giving one section to each of his sons. His intention was to safeguard the family’s prosperity by dividing the risk of one calamitous business deal destroying the entire company.

  ‘My father went out to Hong Kong to take over the family’s interests in the East. I was left in the care of my Uncle Michael, who as the eldest son had been given the London side of the business, while I finished my education.

  ‘My Uncle Michael was a kindly man who had been partially crippled by a childhood illness. He depended to some extent on the honesty and goodwill of his staff. He was a very good employer and his trust was repaid by most of his employees.

  ‘I finished my education and started learning the ropes of the family’s business. I spent several years in junior positions before travelling to Hong Kong to work with my father.

  ‘During those years my uncle promoted one John Shaw to the position of head clerk. Shaw was extremely efficient and gradually took over running the office.

  ‘One morning Shaw did not turn up for work. When he did not come in the following day, my uncle sent one of the clerks to Shaw’s lodgings to see if he was ill. The clerk found that Shaw had left his rooms without leaving a forwarding address.

  ‘The reason for his departure quickly became clear. Shaw had fraudulently sold shares in my uncle’s name in an imaginary trading venture. My uncle also discovered that Shaw had managed to embezzle large sums of the company’s money.

  ‘Faced, as he saw it, with ruin and disgrace my uncle went into his office and shot himself. Due to my grandfather’s foresight, the family business survived, but only just. We had to close down our London operations for several years until we had paid off all our creditors.

  ‘Five years go I was sent back to London to reopen our offices. I found that people still blamed my uncle for the collapse of our London operations. I decided to track down Shaw. All I had was a description of him and a rumour that he was living the life of a moneyed gentleman somewhere near the south coast.

  ‘At first I had no idea what I would do when I discovered him. A conversation with a man from The Times gave me the perfect revenge. I would inform the police and the newspapers; Shaw would be jailed, my uncle would be vindicated and the family’s good name restored.

  ‘My only problem was finding him. The general description was not very helpful. You would be surprised at just how many recently wealthy left-handed men are resident on the south coast. I exhausted all the normal methods of finding someone and decided that I would visit the towns on the south coast and talk to the locals. It seemed to be the only thing to do. I have spent the last three years engaged in this rather fruitless quest. Once I identify a likely candidate a bit of local research soon turns up people who have known him from childhood.

  ‘Two months ago I came to Wareham and thought that I might have found a likely candidate. I therefore called at Fromebridge Manor only to be informed by the manservant that he had worked for Mr Littleton for almost twenty years.’

  ‘I returned to London and thought no more about Wareham. About a week ago, I had lunch with an old school friend of mine who is now a much-respected banker. During the course of a very good meal, which we washed down with a respectable claret, we discussed our recent experiences. I happened to mention that I had gone to Wareham. My friend asked if I had met a Thomas Littleton, because he had recently seen that worthy on a matter of business. I could see from the animation in my friend’s face that he thought that he had closed a very good deal. Mr Littleton had apparently asked my friend to advance him a very considerable amount of money to finance a trade venture in China. The details of the proposed venture seemed to be very attractive but to an old China hand, they did not ring true. When I voiced my concerns, my friend brushed them aside by telling me that they had Mr Littleton’s property as collateral.

  ‘I probably would have forgotten all about it if an acquaintance of mine, who works at another merchant bank, hadn’t approached me at the club. This acquaintance then asked me about the viability of the same proposal. Some questioning determined that a Dorset gentleman, from Wareham, was trying to raise some funds to finance this venture.

  ‘I had no proof that Mr Littleton had approached more than one bank to raise money. The second approach could be by another gentleman who was in on the proposed deal. For some reason though I kept thinking of John Shaw. I determined, therefore, to return to Wareham. I would only need one sight of the man to know if he was my uncle’s old clerk.

  ‘I wired the landlord of the Bear on Friday and arranged a room for the week. I came down last Sunday and on the Monday I hired a pony trap and drove out to the manor. I saw the same manservant again and he informed me that Mr Littleton was staying with friends in the Christchurch area and would not return until the following weekend. I had to be back in London on Saturday so I decided to go to Christchurch on the off chance that I might be able to run my prey to ground.

  ‘I arrived at the King’s Arms on Monday evening and spent the better part of the evening talking to a doctor about the history of the area. I retired at about ten o’clock. I then spent three fruitless days in Christchurch. I was thinking of returning to London when I read about Mr Littleton’s murder. Knowing that my questions about him would have been noted by some of the Wareham residents I went to the police to declare my interest in the case. I was, I admit, somewhat surprised to be arrested.’

  My master waited until O’Brien finished speaking before leaning forward in his chair.

  ‘When did you cut your head and how did it happen?’ your uncle enquired in a pleasant tone.

  For a second O’Brien looked scared, and then a rueful smile appeared on his lips.

  ‘I have read in The Times that you are a just and fair man.’ he said, pausing for a few moments. ‘I honestly do not know how it happened. I woke up about ten o’clock on Tuesday morning with a splitting headache and blood all over my pillow. I was also fully dressed, my jacket covered in mud. I can only assume that I suffered from a bout of somnambulism and
fell heavily having gone unthinkingly for a walk.’

  ‘Thank you,’ my master said, leaning back. I could tell from his thoughtful smile that this latest statement puzzled him somewhat.

  Inspector Lawton thanked O’Brien and told him that he would ask one of the sergeants to take a formal statement. After O’Brien had been escorted from the office, we discussed his story. Inspector Lawton promised to see if he could confirm O’Brien’s statement.

  The three of us adjourned for an early lunch to one of the many pubs of this most hospitable of towns. The conversation soon turned to fishing and I could see that my master wanted to try his hand with the local salmon. All too quickly, though, we were back on the train to Wareham, having picked up a copy of O’Brien’s statement.

  As soon as we arrived, we went straight to the police station where we found Inspector Harris waiting for us. My master passed him the statement and we sat quietly while he read it.

  ‘An interesting story,’ Inspector Harris remarked, placing the document on his desk. ‘Revenge is a common motive for murder, so we may have got our man. However, I am not convinced. I cannot see someone from London taking Mr Littleton out to Ballard Point to kill him. I feel that there is something significant about the location that we have all missed.’

  ‘I noted how carefully O’Brien informed us that he went to bed at ten o’clock on Monday night. If we assume, for the moment, that this is an alibi and O’Brien crept out of the King’s Arms having made a pretence of retiring for the night, could he have made the journey to Wareham in time to perform the murders?’ my master enquired.

  Harris pulled a copy of Bradshaw from his bookcase and looked up the train times from Christchurch.

  ‘He had enough time,’ he confirmed. ‘The last train would have reached Wareham by eleven thirty. The milk train leaves Wareham at four in the morning and he would have had to catch that to ensure that he was back in Christchurch for breakfast.’