A Traitor's Crime

by Roderic Jeffries

  He turned the car and drove back towards the centre of town until he saw a call-box. He telephoned the station and asked for the duty C.I.D officer.

  Praden answered the call.

  ‘Is the D.I around?’ asked Barnard.

  ‘No, sir, he isn’t.’

  ‘Any idea when he left the station?’

  ‘The last time I saw him was not long after five.’

  ‘What job’s broken since then?’

  ‘None that I know of.’

  ‘Cut along and look in the crime book.’

  There was a long wait. Barnard searched his pockets for another threepenny bit for the coin-box and found only a sixpence. He cursed. He hated spending money on telephone calls — even when he would be reclaiming the money under expenses.

  ‘Are you there, sir?’ asked Praden.

  ‘I’ve bloody near gone to sleep, but I’m still here.’

  ‘The last crime was recorded at twenty past four, out at … ’

  ‘You’re quite certain?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The bleeps started and immediately Barnard replaced the receiver. He pocketed the sixpence with satisfaction.

  He returned to his car. There might have been a crime call which Praden knew nothing about and Astey had forgotten to enter in the crime book, but for the moment he, Barnard, was going to work on the principle that there had been no such crime.

  It was a quarter to eight. If he found a pleasant pub he could have a couple of ham rolls, a pint or two of draught, and be back in Elmers Crescent by nine-thirty. He thought that by the end of the evening, Astey might very well hate his guts.

  ***

  Joanna drove the Mini into the right-hand side of the garage, got out, swung down the overhead door, and locked it. She went into the house.

  Her parents were both on the settee in the sitting-room, watching television. She noted, quite coldly, that her father was looking exceedingly tired.

  ‘Hallo, Jo,’ said her mother. ‘Have a pleasant evening?’

  ‘Not very. Mother, I want to speak to you: to both of you.’

  Mary looked quickly at her, then picked up the remote control and switched off the television.

  ‘I was watching that programme,’ protested Keelton.

  ‘You were half asleep, John, and in any case someone of your intelligence shouldn’t insult it by watching such trash.’

  ‘As I’ve said before, it’s a relaxation — when it’s allowed to be.’ He stood up and crossed to the cocktail cabinet where he poured himself out a whisky and soda.

  ‘I’ve been out with Bob,’ Joanna said loudly. She was bitterly angry, yet, despite herself, a little reluctant to challenge the authority of her father.

  ‘You’ve been seeing him rather a lot,’ he said. ‘I don’t think … ’

  ‘Never mind that for the moment, John,’ said Mary hastily.

  He returned to the settee and sat down.

  ‘Yes, dear?’ said Mary.

  Joanna suddenly found it difficult to speak the words. Coming back in the car she had rehearsed them, stoking up the fires of anger. But when her mother had chided her father for watching the television programme, there had been an air of such ordinariness about everything that her anger became muffled. ‘It’s about Bob.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  She spoke directly to her father. ‘You’ve been making … ’ She stumbled over the next word, then spoke in a rush. ‘Making filthy suggestions, just because he’s what he is. If he hadn’t … ’

  Mary interrupted, in a calm voice. ‘What’s all this about, Jo?’

  ‘Has father told you that one of the policemen is a traitor?’

  Mary considered the question. ‘Vaguely,’ she finally answered.

  ‘They’re saying it’s Bob. And d’you know why? One of the reasons is because he took me to the motel for a meal. And d’you know how they heard about that? My own father told them.’

  Keelton finished the whisky in his glass.

  ‘You told them, didn’t you?’ said Joanna, her voice rising.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  ‘Then you’re the traitor.’

  ‘Joanna!’ snapped Mary.

  ‘How else do you describe prying into my private life and telling the police all about it, sneaking on me? Me, his own daughter.’

  ‘Stop being hysterical,’ he snapped.

  ‘Is it being hysterical to be sickened by finding my own father’s betrayed me?’

  ‘You’re nineteen, intelligent, and capable of facing facts. A member of the police force is the traitor. That man has to be uncovered, thrown out of the police force, and made to pay the penalty.’

  ‘All right. But it’s not Bob. Why pick on him?’

  ‘The traitor is a member of the detective branch.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘You must accept my word for it.’

  ‘Suppose it is a detective. Why go and sneak on me?’

  ‘Sneak is the wrong word … ’

  ‘There isn’t a better one,’ she retorted. ‘You’re doing your best to try and stop me seeing him, aren’t you?’

  ‘This is nonsense.’

  ‘You think that because he was born in the slums and got into trouble, he isn’t fit to take me out. It doesn’t matter that he never had a chance. You just want to drive him away.’

  ‘Be quiet, Joanna,’ snapped her mother.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘And I won’t have you talking to your father like that.’

  Joanna turned and left, went upstairs to her bedroom and sat down on the bed. Tears weren’t very far away. She suddenly felt lost, in a world that had turned cold and harsh in a way that she had never before experienced.

  In the sitting-room, Mary was the first to speak. ‘Is that true about Bob, John? Was he born in the slums and did he get into trouble?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it bad trouble?’

  Keelton sighed heavily. ‘He joined a wild gang. They went in for thieving and he got picked up. The court was lenient and put him on probation and the probation officer was an exceptional man who saw in Elwick some real good. He worked like hell, smashed down a hundred and one barriers, and got the police to take on Elwick as a probationary P.C. I doubt any other man would have managed it.’

  ‘And now Bob’s past is counting against him?’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Is that fair?’

  ‘The world isn’t fair. Mary, if Elwick’s guilty, he’s guilty, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘You aren’t … ’ She stopped.

  He spoke harshly. ‘I am not persecuting Elwick because he’s friendly with Joanna. I may be an old blimp in everybody’s eyes, including yours, but I still have a reasonable sense of decency and fair play and the police investigation stays a police investigation and nothing more.’ He stood up. ‘It may interest you to know that whilst Joanna accuses me of persecuting Elwick because of her friendship with him, Detective Chief Inspector Barnard accuses me of not persecuting Elwick for the same reason.’

  She stood up and crossed to his side. ‘Don’t be so bitter with me, John … It’s a horrible situation.’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered grimly, ‘it’s that all right.’

  ***

  Barnard sat in the front seat of his car, almost in darkness because the nearest concrete lamp standard was some way away, and thought about his son, who was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. The world had changed. When he, Barnard, had first joined the police, a man had, generally speaking, to be from a certain social background before he had very much hope of becoming an officer in the Royal Navy. Now, the officers were a mixed bag. That was loudly proclaimed to be an excellent thing. Strangely, almost unbelievably, his son didn’t agree.

  A Vauxhall drove up to number twenty-four and turned into the short pathway. Astey got out and opened the garage doors. He garaged the car, shut the doors, took the key from his pocket and unlocked the fr
ont door. He went inside.

  Barnard looked at his watch and was vaguely surprised to find the time was just after half-past ten. Years ago, he had discovered the secret of keeping a sharp watch yet letting the mind wander, so that time passed easily and smoothly. He decided to give Astey five minutes so that he could tell his wife what a hell of a busy night he’d had.

  Barnard left his car and crossed the road. He knocked on the door of twenty-four. Astey opened the door.

  ‘ ’Evening,’ said Barnard, and stepped into the hall.

  Mrs Astey looked out from the sitting-room. A quick expression of annoyance crossed her smooth, cold face.

  ‘Thought I might just be lucky enough to catch you before you went to bed,’ said Barnard.

  Astey had no option but to offer hospitality. ‘Would you care for a drink, sir?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.’

  Mrs Astey stepped into the hall. She said, with determined politeness, that she’d be delighted to get coffee. She went into the kitchen.

  Astey led the way into the sitting-room. ‘You wanted me earlier on, Clarissa said? Is it something important, sir?’

  Barnard ignored the question. ‘Nice house. I suppose it’s a police house?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘They do you well in this force, you know. It’s got quite a name for itself, has the Flecton Cross borough police force. Treats its policemen as if they were ordinary, decent human beings.’ He chuckled.

  Astey’s expression was one of irritated uncertainty as he stood in front of the needle-work firescreen that shielded the empty fireplace.

  Barnard felt in the pockets of his coat. ‘Got a fag, lad?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Give us one, will you? Left mine in the car.’

  Astey took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Would you mind telling me … ’

  ‘It’s a funny thing, smoking, isn’t it? Everyone says it’s as dangerous as hell, but we all go on and on doing it. Maybe it’s a kind of compulsive suicide? Like the lemmings.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.’

  ‘Haven’t you, now? That surprises me. You look the kind of bloke who would think about such things. I’ve always said that the police force is divided into those who wait to be told what to do and those who think about what they ought to be doing. You strike me as coming in the second category.’

  ‘Maybe, sir, but it’s a bit late … ’

  ‘You’re early to bed, eh? I used to be like that until I got old. Don’t sleep so long now and I’ve never seen any fun in lying in bed, staring into the darkness.’

  Mrs Astey entered the room. She carried a tray on which were three cups and saucers, coffee jug, milk, and sugar. She put the tray down on a small table, saw that Barnard was smoking but had not an ash-tray close to hand and hastily provided him with one, then poured out the coffee and passed round the cups.

  Barnard helped himself to three spoonfuls of sugar. He spoke to Astey. ‘I came to have a word with you earlier on.’

  ‘So Clarissa said.’

  ‘Been out on a job all this time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The one which hung you up around six?’

  Something about the other’s voice quite suddenly made Astey realise the position into which he had unprotestingly let himself be manoeuvred. He cursed himself for a fool. Whilst he had been silently swearing at the other for mumbling on and on, Barnard had been setting up the situation in which he, Astey, had to say in front of his wife what he had been doing that evening. He went to speak to her, to try to get her out of the room, but Barnard forestalled him.

  ‘Was it a big job?’

  ‘Fairly,’ replied Astey, in a tight voice.

  ‘What line of country? Assault: g.b.h?’

  ‘A … a straight larceny.’

  ‘Much taken?’

  ‘Not very much, no.’

  ‘Still enough to keep you away from home and hearth for four and a half hours?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What’s the total value of the stuff that’s been pinched?’

  ‘They don’t yet know.’

  ‘Who are the owners?’

  ‘I … I forget the name, just for the moment.’

  ‘I suppose you had to call the team in from their evening meals? Photos, dabs, the lot?’

  Astey shifted uneasily in his seat and looked quickly at his wife. ‘I’ll put in a full report, sir. Now, if you could just say … ’

  ‘You don’t have to report to me, lad! I’m a stranger,’ said Barnard jovially.

  ‘I meant the chief constable, sir.’

  ‘Of course. I suppose you’ll leave that until tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He drained his cup, then jerked back his sleeve until he could see his watch. ‘It’s getting on,’ he said blandly, ‘so I won’t keep you out of bed any longer.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks very much for the coffee, Mrs Astey. Very welcome.’

  She stared at him in open perplexity. Then she noticed her husband had not moved and she sharply told him to see Mr Barnard out.

  Barnard’s last words, as he stepped out of the house, were: ‘See you tomorrow, lad.’

  Astey made no answer.

  ***

  Barnard arrived at the central police station at eight o’clock, went up to his room, and telephoned the desk sergeant to demand a cup of coffee. The sergeant said the canteen didn’t open until ten. Barnard said the sergeant was to use his initiative and then rang off.

  He read through the reports on his desk. P.C Donne had seen the owner of the shop in Redlington. The man — described as elderly, rather stupid — remembered the five apostle spoons and was still swearing at having let a fortune slip through his fingers.

  Barnard leaned back in his chair. That cleared up the money in Simlex’s account so that there was now no unexplained sum of money in any account known to belong to one of the five men. This, really, was to be expected. If the traitor received money for his information — and that was by far and away the most likely reward — he would know both from common sense and experience that any investigation would start at his bank or savings account. The money could have been in cash, but by spending money a man showed that his standard of living had risen. It seemed likely that Detective Inspector’s Astey’s standard of living had risen — if you were catholic about what you included in a standard.

  There was a knock on the door and a uniformed sergeant came in with a cup of coffee.

  ‘Thanks, lad,’ said Barnard. ‘Initiative works miracles.’

  The sergeant left.

  Barnard grinned. Most of the men who worked for him reckoned him a right bastard. He didn’t lose any sleep over knowing that. He’d never ever set out to run in any popularity stakes, nor would he ever try to be the kind of father-figure the chief constable went in for.

  He lit a cigarette, telling himself as he did so that he must smoke less or end up on the mortuary slab, drank the coffee, and read through the other reports. Despite all efforts, to date no real progress was being made in uncovering enough evidence to bring in Brierley and his mob. Informers had been promised big money, but no one was grassing. Records had examined the files on the men and had come up with nothing new. The narcotics squad in London had been asked to trace the route of the drugs to Flecton Cross, but their report was still awaited. Two more addicts had been picked up and questioned, eventually to give the name of the same pusher. The pusher had been questioned, but he’d been clean and the room where he’d been boarding had been clean, so there was no chance of holding him. As happened so often, justice was being delayed, if not defeated, because justice demanded legal proof and villains had learned that it paid them to concentrate on denying the police legal proof rather than worrying about how to stop the police ever suspecting the truth.

  Barnard stubbed out his cigarette, left, and went along to the detective sergeant’s room. Simlex
was not there, but the crime book was. He took it back to his room. There was no entry that Astey could use.

  Astey reported at a quarter to nine. He was dressed as carefully as ever, but a certain nervousness to all his movements showed he was far from his usual smooth, confident self. When he saw the crime book on the table, he became more openly nervous.

  Barnard leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs behind his braces. ‘ ’Morning lad. Sleep well?’

  Astey did not bother to answer.

  ‘I’ve been looking through the crime book. Something’s missing.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Aye. There’s no crime down for six o’clock last night, which was when you were called out. Got any comments?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Who was thieved? Have any dabs turned up? What was the modus? Come on, lad, let’s hear some of the details, out of interest.’

  ‘You know I wasn’t out on a job,’ said Astey fiercely. ‘You knew it last night, when you made certain I had to give the story in front of my wife.’

  ‘I can’t say I didn’t guess.’

  ‘Why d’you drag her into it?’

  ‘I reckoned you wouldn’t go back on your original story in front of her. She’s not here now, so what’s the truth?’

  ‘The truth’s my business.’

  ‘You’re the second man to stand in front of this table and say that. I’d’ve given you credit for more common sense. Everything’s my business right now.’

  ‘Not this.’

  ‘Where were you last night when you lied to your wife? With Brierley, shaking him down for another hundred quid?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘With Fingal? Got lots of things in common with that little rat?’

  ‘Godamn it, I wouldn’t trade with them. I didn’t pass on the news of the raids.’

  ‘Someone did.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Then where were you? Why deceive your wife, who’d got a meal all ready for you? What happened so unexpectedly? Did one of the mob suddenly demand a meeting?’

  ‘It wasn’t anything to do with them,’ said Astey hoarsely.