Murder Adrift

by George Bellairs

  He sank back with a groan and huddled down in his gown.

  ‘Are you sure, sir, that it was an attack?’

  The mayor showed the first signs of animation. He leapt from his chair and then, remembering he was an invalid, moaned and sat down again slowly.

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘No, sir. But quite a number of us drank a lot and were unsteady on our feet and a bit fuddled in our heads when your splendid party ended. Are you sure you didn’t have a fall and damage yourself that way?’

  Pollitt looked ready to weep.

  ‘Will nothing I say convince you and the doctor that I suffered a savage attack? I wasn’t drunk. I was walking home as steady as could be. Are you all trying to spoil my good name or are you trying to sweep the matter of an attempt on my life under the carpet because you’ve been slow in capturing the murderer who’s running wild about the place?’

  He stopped and put his hand over his mouth as though it pained him to speak.

  ‘You must excuse my disturbing you in your present condition, but I’m as anxious to get to the bottom of this affair as much as you are, sir. Quite candidly, your injuries are not in keeping with a brutal attack. They are simply superficial abrasions. The doctor agrees with me. I think you must have either had a fall or walked into the wall at the corner there and suffered concussion which has made you uncertain as to what happened. . . .’

  For a moment the mayor looked terribly afraid. More afraid than he had seemed when he talked of attempted murder. Then he pulled himself together.

  ‘Please go now. I’ve had enough of this. You insult me instead of sympathising. As for the doctor . . . I thought he was a friend of mine. Instead of which he calls me a liar. I shall report this to the proper quarter as soon as I’m able . . . Mrs. Roper! Mrs. Roper!!’

  The fat woman arrived, breathing heavily.

  ‘Show these gentlemen out, Mrs. Roper. If I was myself I’d chuck them out personally. . . .’

  They bade him good-bye. He didn’t answer but stared agitatedly in the fire.

  ‘What do you think of that, sir?’ asked Hopkinson as they closed the gate.

  ‘The mayor’s lying. I think the injuries were self-inflicted for some reason. He’s either trying to give himself an alibi of sorts, or else attempting to distract us from the case. Although how Pollitt’s involved in it is a mystery to me. Let’s call in the bank and see if we can get any help there.’

  The Fordinghurst branch of Packers Bank was in the High Street and the manager, Mr. Stonechat, received Littlejohn and partner apprehensively, because he didn’t wish to get mixed up in the murder case which he knew from local gossip they were investigating. Such sordid matters were not good for business and Mr. Stonechat was a young, thrusting man who wished to go a long way in the bank. He was sitting in his room when they arrived, composing a sharp but polite letter to a customer who was influential locally but penniless and overdrawn. He invited the two detectives in his office, which was only just large enough to accommodate the three of them and was shortly to be enlarged under a lavish building programme.

  ‘Glad to meet you both,’ said Mr. Stonechat, whose looks belied his greeting, and waited for the worst.

  He was a burly man who had played rugby for his school and he had difficulty in squeezing himself into his official armchair. He waved Littlejohn and Hopkinson to smaller armless chairs which those two large men completely hid from view. It made them appear to be sitting in thin air.

  ‘Do Todd Brothers and Fish bank with you, Mr. Stonechat?’

  Littlejohn knew they did, for he had seen cheques awaiting signatures on Mr. Kenneth’s desk during his visit to the wine merchants.

  ‘Yes. They’ve been our customers since their foundation.’

  ‘And the rest of the family?’

  ‘Yes. All of them.’

  ‘Including Mr. Hector?’

  Mr. Stonechat blinked.

  ‘Yes, in a way.’

  ‘You seem a little doubtful about that, sir?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Chief Superintendent, but you do appreciate that all our customers’ business is strictly confidential and I. . . . ’

  ‘Anything you tell us will be treated with the utmost discretion. If we can deal informally with it it will save me either obtaining a court order or calling at your head office to ask for their help. I assure you that my questions will not embarrass you.’

  Mr. Stonechat made a quick decision.

  ‘Very well. You may question me and I will answer reasonable queries.’

  ‘Mr. Hector. . . . Was he a difficult customer?’

  ‘He had an account with us. It is dormant and overdrawn for a small sum. There have been no transactions on it for over a year. He had got into the habit of taking considerable overdrafts without our permission. It got very embarrassing and I had to remonstrate with him about it. He took umbrage, which was very awkward, for the Todd connection is very good here and we could not risk losing it. Mr. Hector must have spoken to Mr. Kenneth about it. Mr. Kenneth paid off the overdraft with one of his own cheques and instructed me to honour no more irregular cheques on Mr. Hector’s account, and if any were issued to return them unpaid. No more cheques were drawn and we were left with a small amount owing for charges.’

  ‘I can’t reasonably ask you to show me Mr. Hector’s account, but did any of the cheques he drew when the account was operative strike you as being strange. I mean, were the cheques issued to questionable payees or persons whose names surprised you or put you on your guard?’

  ‘I would even go so far as to show you the account, but it would convey little to you. You do not know the payees of the cheques. . .?’

  ‘But you would, yourself. Suppose you run through the account, say over the last year of its use, and refresh your memory and say if any of the payments call for our attention?’

  ‘I could do that. . . .’

  Mr. Stonechat rang for a clerk and asked for the account sheets. When they arrived he ran his finger down the columns and chattered names to himself as he perused them. He jotted down several items on the pad at his elbow. Then he told Littlejohn the ones which impressed him. There were cheques to expensive London and Portwich shops, some of them jewellers and ladies’ shops. . . .

  ‘Those, I assume, were for presents to his lady friends.’ ‘. . . bookmakers, moneylenders, wine merchants. . . .’

  ‘The payments to purveyors of extravagances such as he thought were due to a man of his tastes. Gambling debts . . . And then cheques to his wife, presumably for her expenses. For ready money, he would cash a cheque at whichever pub or hotel he was frequenting. Of recent years he seemed ashamed to call here and obtain cash over our counter. He probably thought we might refuse it. As for his home expenditure, rates, light, etc., he must have lived on his mother. Such bills were never paid through us. His wife, of course, had her own income and was wise enough to stick to it and leave her husband to settle his own accounts.’

  ‘Was his account active at the time he bought his new cabin cruiser?’

  ‘No. He paid for that in cash.’

  ‘How do you know, Mr. Stonechat?’

  ‘It was second-hand, but almost new, and belonged to a customer of mine who emigrated to Australia and sold his boat. He brought in the cash, £3,000 it was, and paid it to his own account before he squared up and left. He told me Mr. Hector had bought the boat and paid for it in ten and five pound notes. He was in a hurry to dispose of it and let it go at a bargain price, he said. He didn’t quote the price, however, but the cash he paid in here must have been only a part of it. He surely didn’t sell his boat so cheaply.’

  ‘Wherever had Mr. Hector collected all that cash in small bank notes?’

  ‘I can make a guess. I recognised some of them that had been through our hands before. It is customary for cashiers on the counter to mark the top one of a bundle of notes with a figure showing the number of notes in it. It facilitates the balancing of cash at the end of th
e day. There were one or two of the notes marked in that fashion in figures I recognised as those of our chief cashier, Mr. Templer, and he confirmed that.’

  ‘Through whose hands had they been before?’

  ‘That would be merely guesswork and, of course, reliance on Mr. Templer’s memory. You see, the notes may have passed through several hands before reaching my customer who sold the boat. . . .’

  ‘Let us put it this way, Mr. Stonechat. When your customer, who sold his boat, paid in the notes who did you and Mr. Templer think had provided the cash for Hector to purchase it?’

  ‘We guessed that it was Mr. Pollitt, the mayor. Mr. Hector must have borrowed it from him. He’s a builder and regularly draws large sums for wages. He banks here, too. It was, therefore, not unusual for him to handle large sums in five and ten pound notes for his workmen’s pay. Such withdrawals called for no comment.’

  ‘Is Mr. Pollitt a wealthy man?’

  Mr. Stonechat paused. Here was a pointed question which seemed to exceed the bounds of discretion.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I’ve heard, Mr. Stonechat? That Mr. Pollitt might be wealthy if he could sell some of the houses he has built. Tempted by the boom which seemed to prevail when he began to develop Sunshine Court Estate he put a lot of his resources in bricks and mortar but the houses haven’t sold. He’s left with his funds locked up in them. It was suggested that he’s almost bankrupt.’

  ‘I could not deny any of the information you’ve received, Chief Superitendent. He has recently paid off most of his workmen.’

  He made it as brief as that, but it was enough.

  ‘Why did Pollitt lend Hector so large a sum?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. It isn’t as if he owned the boat. It was definitely said to be sold to Hector. By the way, I hear Mr. Pollitt was attacked in the street after the dinner last night.’

  ‘Either that or else he had a bad fall.’

  They thanked Mr. Stonechat for his co-operation and he looked pleased that he had got away with such a discreet interview.

  ‘I think we’ve earned our lunch this morning,’ said Littlejohn as they made their way back to the Trident.

  Chapter 8

  Family Quarrels

  Halfway through lunch, the hotel broadcasting system started to shout again. This time it wasn’t very clear what was wanted. Out in the hall someone had spilled a basin of sugar and one of the maids was sweeping it up with a vacuum cleaner. It upset the transmission and all they could make out was a confusion of crazy words with ‘Littlejohn’ only intelligible among them. He assumed someone was telephoning.

  It was Dr. Macmannus.

  ‘Littlejohn? I’ve just left the Big House. Lucy Todd is all right. A bit overdosed with sedative, but lucid. The old lady must have given her a double dose. Can you get over there right away? I went up to the flat to examine Mrs. Hector, but I couldn’t get a word with her alone. The old lady followed in her wheel-chair. They have a lift for her and she was up there as quickly as I was.’

  ‘So, you didn’t learn much from Mrs. Hector?’

  ‘The old lady must have confined her to her room by sheer strength of will. However, I thought it best not to press Mrs. Hector, but I told old Mrs. Todd that you wished to see Lucy right away and Lucy said she wished to see you, too. It was important. Old Mrs. Todd seemed quite put out because she tried to get Lucy to say why she wanted to talk with you and Lucy refused to tell her. She wouldn’t even tell me. So eventually the old dragon gave in and said you’d better call as soon as possible and get it over. If I were you, I’d pay a visit before old Mrs. Todd changes her mind. . . .’

  ‘I’ll be along right away, doctor. And thanks for your help. I’ll let you know what happens. . . .’

  There was nothing for it but to leave the rest of the meal and make for the Big House. Littlejohn took Hopkinson with him.

  When they arrived Littlejohn rang the bell. The curtains of one of the ground floor windows moved and they saw the maid looking out at them. Then she disappeared. They could hear steps indoors, but it was a minute or two before anyone arrived. Then the elderly maid put in an appearance.

  ‘You are expected. Madam said I was to take you upstairs. . . .’

  Her lips were tight and her voice absolutely flat. They followed her up. She was in no hurry. Their steps were soundless on the thick carpet. The walls were papered in plain white with rows of old prints hanging on them. There was not a sound from above. It was as though someone was listening for their arrival.

  One of the bedroom doors on the broad landing was standing open and as the maid led them to it Littlejohn saw old Mrs. Todd sitting by the window in her wheelchair. She was looking down and didn’t see the newcomers right away.

  Then a bed with a middle-aged woman sitting up in it among a lot of pillows. She didn’t look like an invalid. On the contrary, her face was flushed and her grey hair, worn short, was in order as though she had had the attentions of a hairdresser recently. In her prime she must have been a beauty, for even now her features were fine and her eyes large, dark and wide apart.

  The old lady turned and saw them and with a quick jerk of her hands and arms propelled the wheel-chair to join them at the foot of the bed.

  She gave them a queer smile, making an effort to appear natural when all the time she was thoroughly upset.

  ‘I believe my daughter-in-law has arranged with the doctor to see you, Chief Superintendent. It appears she has some information for you. What it is I don’t know. She refuses to confide in me.’

  She gave the figure on the bed a disgusted look. Lucy Todd took no heed of her; she might just have not been there. It was evident that there had been a quarrel between them before Littlejohn arrived.

  ‘Did Dr. Macmannus tell you to call?’

  No greetings, no introductions. The two women seemed preoccupied with what they had been quarrelling about.

  ‘When last you were here my mother-in-law didn’t tell me you had called and gave me no opportunity of telling you what I know. The maid said you had been. . . .’

  Old Mrs. Todd couldn’t contain herself. It was something new for her to be defied and her wishes flouted.

  ‘There was no reason for telling you the police had called. This is my house and I’m not responsible to you for who calls here and what their business is. Now tell the police what you have to say and let us get it over.’

  Lucy Todd remained very calm.

  ‘You kept me away from them. In fact, you kept me away from everybody after Hector died. When he called this morning Dr. Macmannus told me to pull myself together. Pull myself together, indeed! How could I do that when all the time you were stuffing me with sedative pills. I told that to the doctor today. He said the pills were to make me sleep at night. Instead, you immobilised me with them. . . . ’

  The old lady was pale with anger and her hands trembled. She turned to Littlejohn.

  ‘As I told you, Chief Superintendent, the recent tragedy has unhinged her. She is not herself. There is proof of that in the fact that she has suddenly turned against me, whereas before we were the best of friends.’

  Hopkinson stood at the foot of the bed with a blank expression on his face. He looked at Littlejohn who seemed quite unmoved by the rumpus, but inwardly was wondering whether or not to terminate the row by insisting on getting down to the business in hand, or else letting it develop and perhaps result in some useful disclosures.

  ‘I understand you wished to give us some information, Mrs. Hector? Could we get on with it? We have a busy afternoon before us. . . .’

  ‘Certainly. I’m sorry to waste your precious time, but my mother-in-law. . . .’

  ‘I suppose you wish me to leave the room, Lucy? I’m not curious about what you have to say. It will probably be something and nothing. A mountain out of a molehill.’

  The old lady slowly turned her chair in the direction of the door.

  ‘You needn’t go. This will interest you. In fact, it’s something
you ought to know. I haven’t told you before because you would have tried to make me keep quiet, as you always do whenever matters threaten the good name of the Todds. . . .’

  ‘What do you mean . . .?’

  With an angry gesture the old lady switched her chair round to face her daughter-in-law.

  The fracas was going to start all over again and Littlejohn did nothing to stop it.

  Instead of imparting her precious information to the police, Lucy Todd addressed her mother-in-law.

  ‘You didn’t know, did you, that your precious Hector was using his boat to bring in illegal immigrants? Or did you know? If you knew, did you tell the police? I’m sure you didn’t.’

  If she could have risen to her feet, the old lady would have done so and rushed to the bed in anger. Instead, her body stiffened and her hands gripped the arms of her chair until the knuckles showed white and her fingers looked like predatory claws.

  ‘That is a lie! He would never. . . . You are making all this up to spite me. You wicked woman!’

  ‘You know me better than that. I am as anxious that the murderer of my husband shall be run down and suffer as you are. More so. I haven’t the honour of my precious family to worry me as you have. I tell you, he has been carrying on this trade for months. . . . ’

  Littlejohn interrupted them.

  ‘Excuse me. How did you come to know this, Mrs. Todd?’

  Hopkinson took out his notebook and snapped his ballpoint pen. Progress at last!

  ‘About three weeks ago, we had retired early here. Kenneth was out at a dinner. There were only Mrs. Todd, myself and the two servants in the house. Hector had, for a long time, been sleeping out, mainly on his new boat. I did not retire right away, but sat in my room writing letters to my sons. It was after eleven and the house was quiet, when suddenly I thought I heard someone moving downstairs. I went softly down and from the hall saw there was a light in the study, the door of which was half open. I went to investigate as quietly as I could. It was Hector. . . . ’