A Traitor's Crime

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  After she had left, he telephoned the bookmakers with whom he had Derby and Grand National bets and asked them if Dusky Boy had been running anywhere in the country the previous day. The bookmakers soon confirmed that no horse called Dusky Boy had run in any race. As he replaced the receiver, he brushed his moustache again, quite unaware he was doing so.

  There was a certain, almost stereotyped hostility, he thought, between the uniformed and detective branches, a traditional inferiority complex on the part of the uniformed branch who chose to believe that the detectives reckoned they were the better men. This resulted in little fraternisation at work. Therefore, if a man wanted to make a telephone call and not be noticed doing it, he would not make it in the other department — no uniformed man would make such a call from the C.I.D general room. The traitor had to be a detective.

  He visualised the detectives. Astey, smooth, capable, tough despite his smoothness: Simlex, efficient but without much initiative, the kind of plodding detective sergeant who was more valuable to a unit than many realised: Praden, cold, aloof, strikingly content with his own company but none the less a good detective: Larksfray, from Somerset, a brash extrovert who thought life was one long loud belly laugh: El wick, tough, determined, efficient, but suffering an enormous chip on his shoulder because he had had to fight his way through life when others hadn’t. Each, in his own way and under the right circumstances, was a good detective. He would have sworn that none of them would have let the team down: yet one of them had become a traitor.

  He made up his mind abruptly and crossed to the mahogany stand on which hung his uniform cap, with its silver ‘scrambled egg.’ Something must be done immediately to cut out the cancer that was threatening the body.

  ***

  Elwick drove the C.I.D Hillman — officially he was out on a case — through the home-going traffic to the art school. The building was very new, and very tasteless many thought, and was situated behind the town hall, a piece of gothic Victoriana, thereby offering a stark contrast in styles. He parked in the forecourt. He waited. He put his hand in his inside coat pocket and fingered the small wad of notes there — fifteen pounds, laboriously saved up from his pay by smoking less, drinking less, and eating all possible meals at the canteen. Joanna was used to being taken to the smart places and he was going to show her tonight that he wasn’t some yokel who didn’t know how to order a bottle of wine from some smooth bastard in a penguin suit.

  Several girls came down the stone steps from the main doors of the building. Their skirts were short and tight and he thought that the red-head in the centre would probably make an exciting lay in bed. He’d once known a red-head who was so damned hot she burned: her one trouble had been a tendency to use a knife whenever she lost her temper. He’d once only just missed having his liver spitted. He wondered what Joanna would say to that?

  He watched the girls until they crossed the forecourt and became lost in the crowds. They were having life easy and amusing. At their age, he had been in a gang fight in which a boy had been kicked to death.

  A few minutes later, Joanna came out of the building. With her was a man. A boy, thought Elwick scornfully, noticing the long curly black hair, black fuzz round the chin, and willowy body. Joanna laughed at something he said and when he put his flabby arm round her shoulder she made no attempt to get free. The bloody little ponce, thought Elwick, even though certain she was putting on an act for his benefit. He gripped his huge fists.

  She finally stepped free of her companion, casually looked round the forecourt, and then came over to the Hillman. She was wearing a dress that he considered too revealing — since she was wearing it — stockings in black and white checks, a collection of costume jewellery, and heavy make-up which, he thought, was rather like the make-up tarts in London had worn before the new laws had pushed them off the streets.

  He got out and opened the door for her, then returned to his seat. ‘How are things?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too bad, only the old woman who teaches ancient art is getting more hagish every day.’

  ‘Like a fag?’ he asked, bringing out the packet of expensive Virginian cigarettes that he knew she liked.

  ‘Thanks.’ If she noticed he had gone to the trouble of getting those cigarettes, she gave no indication of the fact.

  He struck a match. ‘I thought we might go to the motel out at Dredington Park for a meal?’ As casually as possible, he named the most expensive restaurant for miles.

  He was annoyed when she said nothing. Would she rather have a couple of bangers and plate of mash at Joe Lyons? He started the engine and drove out on to the road, ignoring an oncoming car with a boorish display of bad driving.

  She was silent until they reached the traffic lights, set at red, and then she said: ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to go to that Chinese place where we went before?’

  ‘What’s wrong with the motel, then?’

  ‘Nothing, but … ’

  ‘I can afford it,’ he said harshly.

  ‘Bob, I … Hell, I don’t know how to put it without making you lose your temper.’

  ‘I don’t lose my temper.’

  ‘You lose it at the drop of a hat and you know it. You’re like a great big grizzly bear who’s just sat down on a couple of dozen very sharp needles.’

  ‘So what are you? All smiles and soft affection?’

  She laughed. ‘D’you know what I’d be if I were? Your doormat.’

  ‘You’re talking … drivel,’ he hastily amended. The lights changed and he drove forward.

  ‘I’m not. You try and overpower everyone you meet, just to prove who’s top dog. The world’s a fight and the only person you begin to respect is the person who fights back.’

  ‘All I know about the world is … ’

  She interrupted him. ‘Couldn’t we call a truce? Let’s just agree that between us there isn’t a top dog. Then you can stop fighting and take that bulldog look off your face. Get rid of that and you could be mistaken for handsome.’

  She had never spoken to him like this before. In the past she had always fought back rather than turning the other cheek.

  ‘Smile,’ she said.

  He suffered some embarrassment.

  ‘Try. It mightn’t crack your face.’

  ‘You’re in right good form.’

  ‘That’s because I like going out with you.’

  He digested that information. At first, he wondered if she were making a fool of him, but as he looked quickly at her face he saw an expression that convinced him she was telling the truth. He took his left hand off the wheel and laid it on her right hand, completely enveloping it. ‘And I like going out with you.’

  ‘Good. Then would you mind terribly if we went to the Chinese restaurant?’

  He removed his hand. ‘Why?’

  ‘Very simply, because I like Chinese food a lot.’

  ‘Or is it because you think I can’t afford to go to the motel?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Bob!’

  ‘I can afford it, just as well as your pansy friends. I suppose that long-haired pimp you came out of school with … ’

  ‘That so-called long-haired pimp … ’ She stopped herself. Then she spoke more calmly. ‘All right, Bob, let’s go. It’ll be fun as I’ve never been before.’

  ‘You’ve never been?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘You don’t seem to realise I have to live on my allowance.’

  ‘Don’t your pansy friends take you?’

  ‘Firstly, they aren’t pansies, secondly they can’t afford to go to a place like that.’

  He grinned. It was worth going without smokes, without drinks, and risking food poisoning at the canteen, to take her to somewhere where other people couldn’t afford to take her. When she told her father about it, he would have to start realising that Detective Constable Robert Elwick wasn’t just another slob.

  She stared through the windscreen. She was glad that for the first time she h
ad swallowed her pride, her urge to meet antagonism with antagonism, and had lied to him about never having been to the motel. He was like a dog with two tails now, judging from the delighted grin on his face. He had shown her that he wasn’t just as good as the next bloke, he was a damn sight better. He was a real fighter, she thought, worth a dozen ordinary people because he would reach the top without any help from anybody or anything. The motel was very expensive, but she could order only the cheaper dishes. The head waiter was a very superior, very condescending man. She wondered, with delight, what would happen if he tried to get too superior with Bob: would Bob floor him with one good right to the chin?

  ***

  Keelton and Mary watched the television play through to the end and it was only as the credits were coming up that he switched off the set. ‘What a load of tripe!’

  She laughed. ‘Then why watch? I suggested switching off after the first couple of minutes, but you said no.’

  ‘I thought you really wanted to see it.’

  ‘You’re a liar, John.’

  He yawned. ‘It’s some sort of relaxation and I suppose that up to a point it’s a case of the more tripey, the more relaxation.’

  She studied him, as he stood in front of the set. ‘Something is really upsetting you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, after a slight hesitation.

  ‘Can you tell me what?’

  ‘It’s the worry of the police traitor.’

  ‘Is it certain now?’

  ‘Yes, it’s certain.’

  ‘Have you any idea who it can be?’

  ‘One of the detectives.’

  ‘It’s … it’s all rather horrible.’

  ‘It’s bloody,’ he said angrily. He walked over to the cocktail cabinet and brought out a half-empty bottle of whisky. ‘What about a nightcap?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  He poured out a whisky.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve done it. I saw the chief constable of the county force and asked him to send us an investigating officer.’

  ‘What’s Frederick say?’

  ‘He doesn’t know the full story, yet.’ He added soda to the whisky. ‘I’ll tell him tomorrow.’

  ‘Will the news become public?’

  ‘Sooner or later. In any case, there’ll have to be a trial.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, though.’

  ‘Not my fault, but it is my responsibility. D’you know something, Mary? In all the years I’ve been in the force, I’ve never met this position before. It makes me feel sick, angry, and all but helpless, all at the same time.’

  She tried to find some words to help him, but realised this was impossible.

  A car drew up in the drive and soon afterwards a door slammed.

  ‘There’s Joanna,’ said Mary.

  ‘Who’s she been out with tonight?’

  She looked quickly at him. ‘I told you — Robert.’

  ‘Robert Elwick?’

  ‘John, I know what you think, but just at the moment … ’

  ‘As her father … ’

  ‘As a father who’s got more common-sense than most, you know very well that in this day and age a daughter makes her own friends and they may come from outside the narrow social boundaries you and I knew. And that’s a good thing.’

  He drank. ‘She goes out with him just to annoy me.’

  ‘There probably was a touch of juvenile thumb-on-nose at the beginning, but it’s got beyond that now. She’s coming in, so stop looking like Jove sitting on one of his thunderbolts.’

  He returned to his seat and lit a cigarette.

  Joanna entered the room. ‘You’re up late,’ she said, in a defensive tone of voice.

  Mary answered easily. ‘Your father insisted on watching a television play that must win an award for being the stupidest play of the month. Thank goodness it’s over and we can go to bed. Would you like a drink first?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Did you have a nice evening?’

  ‘We had dinner at the motel,’ she said, with studied casualness.

  ‘Where?’ asked Keelton.

  ‘At the Dredington motel.’ Joanna said good night and left.

  Mary did not speak until certain Joanna was upstairs. When she did speak her voice was strained. ‘John — what are you thinking?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘But you can’t … ’

  ‘How in the hell can an ordinary D.C afford to take someone to dinner at the motel?’ He stubbed out his cigarette, although barely smoked.

  CHAPTER V

  The meeting was at ten o’clock on Sunday the sixth of August, in Keelton’s room. Present were Detective Inspector Astey, Detective Sergeant Simlex, and Detective Constables Praden, Elwick, and Larksfray. As they stood in front of his desk, Keelton studied them. One of them was a traitor, spitting on his oath of allegiance: which one?

  ‘You’ll know why you’re here.’ He spoke harshly. ‘Just in case you’d like to be in any doubt, however, I’ll spell it out for you.’ He paused, to give himself time to control his anger. A traitor was an abomination, but he had to be treated as just another criminal. ‘A distribution centre for drugs has grown up in this town and we can be ninety-nine per cent certain that the gang running it comprises of at least Brierley, Pears, Fingal, and Prater. We’ve questioned one of the pushers but we’ve got nowhere with him for lack of proof, especially since the addict, Barnes, had recanted on all he said. Twice we have received tip-offs that the drugs would be at certain addresses at certain times and we’ve mounted raids. The raids have proved abortive. Proof has now come in that the villains were tipped off about the raids. Further, it seems certain the traitor concerned is a member of the detective force.’

  There was a long silence. Keelton sat very upright in his chair. The standing detectives stared back at him, sullen, angry expressions on their faces.

  ‘I’ve always prided myself on the high moral fibre and the efficiency of this force. It’s been a force to be proud of.’

  There was another silence.

  ‘If the traitor has an ounce of decency left in him, he’ll admit now to what he’s done and the matter will be cleared up quickly. That way, it may be possible to salvage a little of the reputation that has been so hardly but justifiably earned over the years.’

  There was another silence.

  Keelton slammed his right fist down on the desk. ‘Goddamn it! The traitor will be caught, but in the meantime he’ll drag the names of his mates through the stinking mud that he’s been wading in. Flecton Cross force is a small one, but it’s been one of the most efficient in the country. It’s a force one could be proud of. I’ve always been proud of it, damned proud, and it hurts like hell to lose even a shred of that pride. There’s still time to salvage something. I’m asking the guilty man to admit to his guilt, to accept his punishment, and so give the rest of us the chance to rebuild a detective force we can once again be proud of.’

  There was another silence. One of the standing men shifted his weight and his shoes squeaked.

  ‘Very well.’ Keelton now spoke with a cold, bitter anger. ‘An investigation will be carried out by Detective Chief Inspector Barnard from the country force. You will give him every possible assistance. That’s all.’

  They left. Astey was the last to go and he was half-way through the open doorway when he halted, turned, and came back into the room.

  ‘Well?’ snapped Keelton.

  ‘I’d like to know why we had to bring an outsider in, sir?’

  ‘You know as well as I that it’s the rule that in any investigation into a complaint against a serving police officer, the investigating officer has to be of at least one rank senior.’

  ‘Isn’t my rank one rank higher than the others?’

  ‘You could not have handled the investigation.’

  ‘Are you saying … ’

  ‘I’m saying that the investiga
tor has to be one rank senior to any officer who may be under suspicion.’

  Astey’s smooth, neat face reddened. ‘I demand … ’

  ‘You are in no position to demand anything.’

  Astey turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

  ***

  Detective Chief Inspector Barnard from the county police force, was six foot in height, broad shouldered, with a long, pendulous face. His reputation spoke of a first-class detective who was careless about how many corns he trod on. He drove up to Flecton Cross central police station at eleven o’clock, parked his car in the courtyard and went into the station through the back door and along the corridor to the general information room.

  ‘ ’Morning, sir,’ said the duty sergeant, who recognised him.

  ‘Let Superintendent Webstone know I’m in his territory and tell the chief constable I’m here.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The sergeant spoke to the chief constable over the internal telephone, then said to Barnard: ‘Will you go right up, sir, he’s expecting you? At the head of the stairs turn left and it’s the end room.’

  Barnard went up to Keelton’s room. He shook hands, then sat down in the chair that had been placed ready.

  ‘You know the facts?’ said Keelton.

  ‘Yes, sir, but I’d just like a rundown on them. There were these two raids, each of which failed. Word came through after the first one that the villains had been tipped off. In the second one, the villains thought they’d be funny and they carried around a packet of tea. Later, a civilian telephonist reported a message that was obviously warning the villains. That message came from the C.I.D general room.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘It’s logical to assume the call was made by a detective, so our suspects are the D.I, the D.S, and three detective constables.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s the case,’ said Keelton tightly.

  Barnard studied the other. ‘It’s not the first time a policeman’s gone crook.’

  ‘That fact doesn’t make the present situation any the less objectionable. I’ve always prided myself on this force.’

  Barnard did not bother to concern himself with the chief constable’s sense of pride. ‘The general room is used by the three detective constables so the obvious presumption is that it’s one of them: equally, one of the other two might have gone in there in order to raise this presumption. What about times? Do we know the time of the telephone call?’