Murder Adrift

by George Bellairs

  ‘ . . . Our family holds a high place in the affairs of this town. Since my father’s death my mother and I have struggled to maintain our position and the respect of our neighbours. For years we have battled against my brother’s excesses, avoiding scandal, paying his debts, buying off his associates. Now, he commits the final outrage of getting himself murdered, sordidly and publicly. Do you think I would commit such a crime and set in motion all the calumny, the sideways glances, the washing of dirty linen . . .?’

  Todd was overcome with self-pity. His face was flushed and Littlejohn wouldn’t have been surprised to see him bury his head in his hands and sob on his blotting-pad. Instead he filled his glass with the wine and tossed it down in one.

  The telephone rang again. Todd looked at it as though surprised at finding it there. Then he picked it up.

  ‘Yes? You’ve fixed it up at Lowestoft? Well, why tell me? I don’t care if you fixed it up at Timbuktu, so long as we get the cargo here in time . . . ’

  He slammed the instrument down petulantly and then caught Littlejohn’s eye.

  ‘I’m sorry. I am a bit overwrought. This crime. The scandal in the family. And the trivialities of business on top of it all. . . . ’

  A case for tact and discretion, the local police had said.

  ‘Where were we . . .?’

  If you had met Todd in the street, impeccably clad, his rolled-up umbrella, his bowler hat and his gloves, you wouldn’t have thought him capable of such outbursts. How much of it was real and how much was acting?

  ‘You were going to tell me about your brother’s affairs and your differences of opinion.’

  Differences of opinion! Littlejohn thought that was discreet enough!

  ‘It all began with the death of my father. I was 15 then and Hector was 10. We were both at school and my mother took over control of the business, assisted by her brother, Gilbert, who was a solicitor. My mother was an excellent business woman and under her the firm prospered. We both remained at school until I left at 18 and entered the firm. At 21 I became a director; my mother still ruled the company with an iron hand. Whether or not it was my being with her most of the time at home and at the office, or just natural feelings, she always seemed to prefer Hector to me. I remember the fuss she used to make of him when he came home at school holidays.’

  Littlejohn could well imagine the whole situation. The big house and its large grounds, the domineering widow with little company except that of her colourless elder son probably talking business most of the time, a younger replica of what he was now. And then the silent house wakening up with the arrival of the younger, gay, perhaps more sophisticated son with his easygoing ways and his plausible manner and speech. The preference of their mother seemed natural.

  Todd had recovered his aplomb now and spoke slowly, trying not to waste words but hardly succeeding and becoming a bore instead.

  ‘Hector came home for good at the age of 18. I had tried to persuade him to go on to the university from school, but the idea didn’t appeal to him. He said he wished to enter the family business and would learn the trade from top to bottom. My mother was delighted, but not for long. He came home to secure a job with the prospects of eventually sharing with me the family business and local prestige. To say nothing of considerable wealth. He spent a month loafing about the premises, familiarising himself with the atmosphere, as he called it, and then went away for several months to the Continent, visiting our agents and suppliers there, travelling round vineyards and developing the taste for alcohol which never left him afterwards. . . . ’

  Littlejohn was beginning to grow embarrassed and to wonder what was behind all this rigmarole. Had Todd been an author dictating a book the story might have been appropriate. But this was about his own brother, victim of a recent tragedy and, if Todd had been the murderer and was trying to justify his crime, it might have been more seemly.

  ‘I am talking too much, however. To put it briefly, Hector returned eventually, claimed his birthright in shares in the firm, was later made a director and soon grew bored with the business and kicked over the traces. Lacking a father’s control and finding my mother, who kept saying he would soon settle down, easygoing with him, he took full advantage of the situation. He forged cheques and my mother hushed up the affair. The fear at the time that he might go to gaol steadied him for a while. He re-appeared at his desk in the office and married. It seemed that my mother’s forecast might be coming true. But he was not long in breaking out again. He got involved in a sordid divorce case and my mother’s money and his wife’s loyalty saved him from complete disgrace and ruin. It also depleted our family fortunes. . . . ’

  Todd slapped his chest.

  ‘He despised me, his dull, boring, elder brother. I was the stay-at-home, unsophisticated, hard-working, obedient profit earner. He preferred the ways and company of smart, wealthy people who thumbed their noses at family honour and decent social conventions.’

  Littlejohn tried to sum him up as the torrent of words came out. Had repression, or disappointment, or jealousy, driven him half mad, and had the recent tragedy triggered off a confession which he had nursed for many years?

  ‘What of your mother’s attitude to all this?’ he asked.

  ‘She shielded him, if she didn’t support him. I suggested that she deprive him of his shares and all his connection with the firm, put his money in trust for his wife and children and make a remittance-man of him away from this place altogether. All she kept saying was that he was one of the family, to disinherit him would be a disgrace to us all, and that she was partly to blame for spoiling him in his childhood. . . .’

  Todd paused and seemed to realise that perhaps he had gone too far.

  ‘I tell you all this because if I don’t you will get full information elsewhere and it will probably be garbled and full of spite. There are those in this town who would like to see us disgraced. . . . ’

  Todd didn’t like disgrace. One had only to look at him, hard-working, capable, orderly, proud of his position locally, to see that. And Heck had set out to annoy him, to say the least of it.

  Littlejohn decided to change the subject.

  ‘Did your father leave a will?’

  Todd looked ready to make a sharp reply, and then suddenly remembered the intimate conversation they had just been holding.

  ‘Yes. I don’t mind telling you what it contained. It was quite simple. He left my mother a round sum – twenty thousand – and the rest in trust. The residue of cash and the wine business eventually were to come to Hector and me. On my mother’s death we would inherit the lot. The bank is trustee. There was one feature in the trust, that on reaching the age of 21, Hector and I were to inherit one quarter each, less one share, of the shares of the firm, and a seat on the board each. That left my mother in control of the business. The two of us, Hector and I, could not gang up and gain control, because my mother had two shares more than our total. It was grossly unfair, because it enabled Hector to take matters easy and reap the benefit of our efforts. . . . ’

  ‘Hector couldn’t sell his shares?’

  ‘Not until my mother’s death, when the trust and its obligations ceased to exist.’

  ‘So, Mr. Hector, with the exception of dividends, director’s fees and salary, couldn’t gain much from the company. He couldn’t sell his shares unless you and your mother and the trustees agreed to the transfer?’

  ‘That is right. My mother might have been persuaded to agree, but the trustees and I, never.’

  The telephone rang again and Littlejohn found it a suitable opportunity to go. He made his way out across the yard and through the tunnel.

  Hopkinson was waiting for him in the street.

  ‘The head waiter told me you were here. . . . ’

  Littlejohn didn’t seem to hear him.

  ‘Motive, opportunity, both there. But Todd has an alibi, which will probably be confirmed. . . .’

  He suddenly became aware of Hopkinson.

  �
�If hatred could have killed Heck Todd, the murderer wouldn’t have needed a gun.’

  Hopkinson, who had a lot of matters in his notebook to discuss with Littlejohn, looked bewildered.

  Chapter 4

  Family Business

  Littlejohn had not finally arranged a visit to Mrs. Todd with her son. He thought it better to call on her unannounced to avoid any collusion in advance between mother and Kenneth. The town hall clock struck 11 as he and Hopkinson left the wine merchants’ warehouse.

  ‘We’ve nice time before lunch to call and see Mrs. Todd.’

  ‘You wish me to come with you, sir?’

  ‘Of course. You’d better meet all the characters in this tragedy. I don’t know where the house is situated. We’ll inquire. . . . ’

  Hopkinson had already done so. Not only that, but, in Littlejohn’s absence he had followed the directions given and was now able to lead Littlejohn all the way there.

  The quay and the waterfront were agog with competitors and their followers preparing for a regatta that afternoon. The day was ideal for them, sun shining, blue sky flecked with white clouds and a stiff little breeze blowing to fill the sails. The mayor, whose duty it was to present the trophies at the end of the day and who was busy ingratiating him self with the influential members of the yacht club, called to Littlejohn as he passed.

  ‘Good morning, Chief Superintendent. Hope to see you at the regatta this afternoon. And come and join us at the dinner afterwards. Be my guest. . . .’

  He seemed to have forgotten his tipsy performance of the night before.

  The two detectives passed through the town altogether and found themselves in a new suburban neighbourhood of sand dunes and building developments nearer the open sea. A building estate with a few houses occupied and another lot in course of erection. A large board with the name of the enterprise :

  Sunshine Court Estate, Ltd.

  with a washed-out picture of what it should look like when fully developed. It was like a scene on the Riviera, palm trees and all. An old corporation bus, marked Office. Apply on the site or to Mr. Samuel Pollitt, 2 High Street, Fordinghurst. There was washing hanging out at some of the occupied property and a man busily trying to dig a garden out of the builders’ wreckage round his house. It all looked pretty grim.

  On the opposite side were some larger houses, and a small nucleus consisting of a grocery store, an ice-cream shop and a hairdresser’s Salon de Paris.

  They passed families coming and going, children carrying beach balls and fishing nets and parents thinly dressed, with cameras and lunch bags. They passed the station, too, obviously the terminus of a small branch-line, with a siding of assorted trucks and wagons and a small train standing at the passenger platform. A large family of children and their parents were running like mad for the train, although there didn’t seem to be any railwaymen about to start it.

  On the landward side of the road beyond the station stood the Big House, as it was called locally. The Todd place. It had been in existence long before the intrusion of the developers. Now, it had plenty of neighbours, although its spacious grounds, surrounded by a solid brick wall, kept it at a respectable distance from them, and the Todds had resisted all the blandishments of speculative builders to sell them tempting plots at high prices.

  The house itself, hidden from the road and its unsightly sprawl of property by mature hedges, stood four-square at the end of a long gravel drive, with a mass of outbuildings behind and a spreading lawn punctuated by tall old trees in front. A small flock of sheep was grazing there to keep the grass under control.

  Hopkinson rang the bell and a maidservant appeared at once. She was well past her prime and was of the settled type which retainers seem to become after years of service with the same family. Littlejohn asked for Mrs. Todd and gave the maid his card.

  The woman looked at it and then at Littlejohn with a disapproving glance.

  ‘You’re soon here, aren’t you? You oughtn’t to be worrying Mrs. Todd and Mr. Hector not yet in his grave. It doesn’t seem right. . . . ’

  The maid left them standing in the hall and vanished in the half light beyond.

  Littlejohn looked around him. The architecture was a bit complicated and fussy, as though, at some time or other, someone had lived there who couldn’t leave the place alone and always had to be adding to it or taking away from it. There were cupboards with glass doors let in the walls and filled with bric-a-brac, recesses and nooks here and there where pot-plants were growing, and a sort of minstrels’ gallery hanging on one wall, as though the owner had been a member of a string quartette and preferred playing in mid-air.

  ‘Please come in. . . . ’

  The maid was back looking flushed as if, as some retainers do, she had been arguing with her mistress and been rebuked for her pains.

  She led them to a room on the left, the windows of which overlooked the grounds in front of the house. It was a bright room, thickly carpeted and curtained, with white walls and expensive antique furniture. There were some good watercolours of the Copley Fielding type on the walls and more glass-fronted cupboards filled with oddments of expensive porcelain. There were photographs scattered here and there and Littlejohn recognised that of Kenneth Todd among them. He was much younger then and looked as prim and insipid as ever. There was, on a small sofa table, another portrait of a young man, presumably Heck, for there was a recognisable likeness between him and his brother. Heck looked happier and more lively and might just have had a joke with the photographer.

  Mrs. Todd joined them right away. She was seated in a wheel-chair which she propelled herself. Littlejohn received a shock when she entered. He had imagined, from descriptions, the stern matriach, an English Veuve Clicquot, the directing force and tyrant of the Todd and Fish enterprise. And here she was, a delightful old dame, small and refined, with a delicate pink face and white hair styled in modern fashion. Almost like a successful actress in happy retirement. The thin-lipped mouth, however, and the watchful grey eyes gave a firmness to her face which showed she knew her own mind and was quite capable of looking after herself and her own business.

  She received the detectives without any fuss and they expressed their condolences. In normal circumstances she would probably have been a lively, almost gay, companion. Now tragedy had struck her but she maintained her dignity and avoided any dramatics. She gave Littlejohn a tired smile.

  ‘I have read about you in the newspapers. The authorities evidently regard my son’s death as a serious affair, as they have sent you to investigate it.’

  Littlejohn returned the smile. There seemed to be no good reason for explaining the administrative causes of his appearance in Fordinghurst, the anti-climax of the illegal emigrants, the gelignite and the gastric disturbances of the two top officials.

  ‘We are sorry to call on you so soon in the present circumstances but you will understand that in cases such as this, matters are urgent. We will try to be brief.’

  Hopkinson nodded his head solemnly, as though he quite agreed.

  ‘Please ask me any questions you like. Be seated. . . .’

  Very different from the excited, almost frantic reception of her son.

  ‘Your family all lived here with you, Mrs. Todd?’

  ‘Yes. Kenneth never married and Hector and his family have a flat on the first floor. This is a large house and there seemed little sense in Hector going elsewhere when he married. His two sons are away at school. We have not sent for them. I thought it best to keep them away from this sordid affair.’

  ‘And Mrs. Hector? She is here?’

  ‘Yes. She is lying down. She has taken this tragedy very badly. The doctor is attending her. I hope that until she is feeling better you will not disturb her.’

  ‘Not for the present.’

  ‘As you are no doubt aware, Hector and Lucy, his wife, were not very happy together. I may as well tell you that. Others will tell you, and more besides, if I don’t.’

  Exactly the attitude
of Kenneth! Littlejohn wondered how much more the old lady would divulge as well. Certainly not in bitter and dangerous outpouring like Kenneth’s.

  ‘As a matter of routine, Mrs. Todd, where were you and Mrs. Hector on the night of his death?’

  ‘We were here, indoors. Lucy is an active member of the parish church and the ladies held a meeting about the winter work. I am not a churchgoer, but I know all those present and was happy to entertain them. The last of them, Mrs. Jump, the vicar’s wife, left about eleven. After that, Lucy and I went to bed.’

  ‘Mr. Hector was out all the evening?’

  ‘Yes. And Kenneth was in London. As you perhaps know, Hector had a new motor cruiser. I don’t know his movements that night but he must have decided to take her out. He was always tinkering about with the engine and other things.’

  ‘Do you think he had arranged to meet anyone?’

  ‘He didn’t, as a rule, tell any of us what he was doing or with whom.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who was likely to meet him or go aboard with him that night?’

  ‘No. Most of the men who sail hereabouts were interested in the Mary Jane, I’m sure. Also, Hector had plenty of friends in the port.’

  From the corner of his eye, Littlejohn could see Hopkinson making a memo in his little notebook. Soon, he would be tramping round the port asking about Heck’s companions on the night of his death.

  ‘Mr. Hector and his wife still live together, then?’

  It might have not have been an awkward question, for Mrs. Todd answered pat.

  ‘Yes. She is high church and doesn’t believe in divorce. For the sake of the children they put up a front, although it was difficult sometimes. He had a bedroom here, but frequently slept on his boat. The last time I saw him was at breakfast on the day he died. I quite agreed with the arrangements, however. It was wrong for Hector always to have his own way. In fact, I went to the extent of telling him when I heard of his folly that I would strip him of all his interests in the firm and turn him out without any allowance if he didn’t mend his ways. I know he had given his wife grounds for divorce, but, as far as I can judge, Hector had no wish to be free to marry any particular one of his lady friends. . . .’