A Traitor's Crime

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘It … it depends on you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Would you take the money?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said instantly. ‘I’ll hide it where no one will ever find it. But why not just burn it?’

  ‘The money’s in old five pound notes and maybe one or two of them can be traced. Sometimes cashiers write figures on them when they’re in bundles in the bank.’

  ‘Give me the money,’ she said fiercely.

  He gave her the envelope, which she put in her handbag. She gripped his hand tightly in both of hers. Silently, they stared at the tumbling fountain. Another couple made to enter the retreat, saw it was occupied, and went on.

  ‘I feel so helpless,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘You mustn’t.’

  ‘Before, I’ve always been able to fight back. Even when I got taken in by the police, I was able to fight back and I didn’t give a tinker’s spit for anyone. But I care like hell now, yet there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘You’ve stopped their being able to say you took the money.’

  ‘This time. But Jo, there’ll be a next time, and a time after that. I was lucky because I discovered the hiding place before the D.C.I woke up, but I can’t always be lucky.’

  ‘They’ll discover who’s the real traitor.’

  ‘Will they? Barnard’s clever, but he hasn’t got anywhere.’

  ‘D’you know who hates you?’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Maybe this money will help answer the questions?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Bob, you’re surely not giving up fighting? I mean, you’re a person who’ll always go on fighting.’

  ‘How can you go on fighting when you don’t know who it is you’re fighting?’

  ***

  It was early evening. Clouds had come in from the west and the sky was now overcast, although it was still hot. Barnard sat in his room at the central police station and cursed. Without being able to prove anything, he was convinced Elwick had moved just that little bit faster than he had to outwit him. His mistake had been in allowing Elwick out of his sight before the search had been made.

  In one of the lockers in the C.I.D washroom, there had been a pile of old newspapers which had obviously been recently moved. That locker had been Elwick’s. Elwick had been out of the station for just long enough to have got rid of the money.

  Barnard stood up. Suddenly, he smacked his fist down into the palm of his other hand. Just a few minutes, during which he had dealt with another matter, had been enough to let Elwick wriggle off the hook. What would Elwick have done with the money? Posted it to himself? Surely that was too dangerous since his mail would be watched? Stored it in the left luggage lockers at the railway station? They would all be checked …

  He cursed once more, then remembered he was going out to Simlex’s house. He left and drove through the traffic that was still surprisingly thick, to Gorisham. All the time he was driving he was trying to put himself in Elwick’s place, to work out where he would have hidden the money in the relatively short time available. Grimly, he thought that Elwick must have been shocked to learn his meeting with Stuttering Joe had been observed by a police snout.

  Simlex’s house was larger and less ugly than Larksfray’s, but not so large and a little uglier than Astey’s. In this way, rank was confirmed. Simlex was dressed in an old pair of grey flannel trousers and a dirty white shirt. His hands were filthy and he apologised for them, explaining he was cleaning the silver.

  They went into the sitting-room and Simlex introduced Barnard to his wife, who sat in a wheel-chair.

  ‘I’m afraid Betty’s pretty well confined to the chair,’ said Simlex, stating the obvious.

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Barnard formally, and without genuine sympathy.

  ‘I don’t know how many doctors we’ve seen — they just don’t seem to be able to do anything for her.’

  ‘Of course they can’t,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘They’re not interested. They don’t care that I’ve got to sit like some stuffed dummy in this chair and wheel myself around.’

  Barnard remembered being told that Betty Simlex spent each day, all day, and every day, in moaning. It was no wonder that Simlex was prematurely going bald. ‘I wanted a word with you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Simlex turned and spoke to his wife. ‘Betty, be a dear and lay on some coffee, will you?’

  ‘What is it? D’you want me out of the way? If so, say so.’

  ‘All we’d like is some coffee,’ he said, in his even, good-tempered voice.

  She propelled the wheel-chair out of the room and slammed the door shut behind herself.

  ‘I’m afraid she gets a little upset at times,’ said Simlex, again stating the obvious. ‘You know how things go.’

  Thank God, I don’t, thought Barnard. ‘I want a quick chat about Elwick. I meant to get hold of you before you left the station, but I was too late.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, sir.’

  ‘You weren’t to know, man.’ Barnard’s voice expressed his irritation. He disliked people who apologised when that was unnecessary.

  ‘I’ll just put these things away, sir.’ Simlex crossed to the table on which was the silver. Barnard stared at the pieces. He was no lover of antiques and it irritated him that old things could be valued so highly. He saw the four apostle spoons and sourly thought that those shapeless lumps of silver were worth almost six hundred pounds. ‘How long have you worked with Elwick?’

  ‘Ever since he came to C.I.D, sir.’ Simlex opened the doors of a glass-fronted cabinet and began to put the silver on the glass shelves.

  ‘Did you know his background?’

  ‘Not when he first came, but he soon told us what it was.’

  ‘Any idea why he should do that?’

  ‘I think … Well I rather got the impression he was laying down a kind of challenge, if you know what I mean, sir?’

  ‘Near enough. What about friends? Has he got many?’

  ‘I can’t really say. He’s never been … ’ Simlex broke off as the telephone rang. He excused himself and left the room.

  Barnard crossed the room and stared at the silver. It might be ugly, but it was profitable. His hobby was gardening. All that had ever gained for him was backache.

  Simlex returned to the room. ‘It’s for you, sir. The station’s been ringing all over the place to try and catch up with you.’

  The telephone was near the window of the hall, on a small unpainted shelf. Barnard lifted the receiver. ‘Barnard speaking.’

  ‘Detective Constable Praden, sir. There’s a report come through that Albert Camps has just been picked up, very badly beaten up.’

  ‘What’s so important about that?’

  ‘He’s the grasser who was giving the chief constable all the information.’

  ‘Was he, by God!’ muttered Barnard. This made clear several things, chief of which was that by informing the chief constable of the meeting between Elwick and Stuttering Joe, Camps had identified himself as the informer. Elwick had had to protect himself.

  ***

  Keelton sat in his study at home and smoked. The window was open. From outside came the noise of traffic, greatly reduced now that it was getting dark.

  Camps was in hospital and the doctors were trying to save his life. He had suffered the penalty of being an informer who was exposed. Keelton remembered Camps as he had last seen him, years ago: small, wrinkled face which had made him seem old when he could only have been in early middle-age. Camps had had a wry sense of humour in those days.

  Camps had been beaten up because he had reported the meeting between Elwick and Stuttering Joe. As a result of his information, Elwick had been questioned and searched by Barnard, which made it very clear that the informer had been present the previous night. Once that was certain it could not have been difficult for the villains to decide who that informer must be. As
Elwick was the only policeman whom the information affected, wouldn’t it now need almost an act of faith to believe the traitor in the C.I.D could be anyone but he?

  Mary came in to the study. ‘Are you coming to supper, John?’

  ‘All right.’

  She stood by the desk. ‘Are things worse?’

  ‘They’re becoming definite,’ he muttered.

  ‘Try and forget it, just for a bit. You’re so tired and worn out. Yvonne was only saying the other day that you looked as if you were working much too hard.’

  ‘Knowing Yvonne, she probably referred to me as old and haggard.’

  Mary smiled. ‘You’ve a nasty, suspicious mind where she’s concerned.’ She linked her arm with his.

  In the dining-room, the table had been set for three.

  ‘Jo’s coming back, then?’ he asked.

  ‘She didn’t say she wouldn’t, so I’m expecting her.’

  ‘She ought to have the manners to tell you definitely, one way or the other.’

  ‘Your daughter has a lot more manners than most of her contemporaries.’

  ‘And a lot less than daughters in my day.’

  ‘Hi, Hi, Colonel Blimp.’

  ‘What the hell?’

  She laughed. ‘Jo told me, with admiration, that you’d promised not to show her the parental door if she decided to marry a chef or a detective constable. You even declared you weren’t a Colonel Blimp. As I explained to her, underneath that rough exterior there beats a heart of gold.’

  ‘You said that?’

  ‘Well, not quite exactly that. I rather suspect she’d call those words corny, or whatever the latest word is.’

  Cold meat, potato and green salad, and pickles were on the sideboard. He picked up a plate and held it so that she could serve herself. When she had finished, he kissed her on the neck.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she asked.

  ‘For having enough sense of humour to keep some of us sane some of the time.’

  He was helping himself to green salad when they both heard a car drive up to a halt. ‘That must be Jo,’ he said.

  She turned and looked through the window. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Better late then never … As they used to say in my ancient day.’

  ‘But surely we’re only as old as we feel?’

  ‘Age is a myth, created by the young to explain the future.’

  ‘That, John, not only is not a recognised saying, it doesn’t even make sense.’

  He smiled.

  Joanna came into the dining-room. She was wearing a pyjama suit, in shocking pink. It suited her, making her look strikingly elegant.

  ‘Have you had a good day?’ asked Mary.

  ‘All right,’ she muttered.

  ‘Phyllis was telling me that one of your drawings is going to be put in a place of honour in the exhibition.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She went over to the sideboard and helped herself to a single slice of meat, no potato salad, and some green salad.

  ‘Can’t you eat a little bit more than that?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I’ve had my ration for the day.’

  ‘I’ll bet you haven’t! What did you have for lunch? A small plateful of stuff at that weight-reducing restaurant?’

  She did not answer. ‘I’ve seen Bob today.’

  Keelton went to speak, but checked himself at the last moment.

  ‘Has it upset you to hear that?’ asked Joanna, in a hard voice.

  ‘We won’t start on that subject just now,’ said Mary.

  ‘D’you know what they did to Bob today?’

  ‘No, and it’s none of our business — yours or mine.’

  ‘It is my business.’

  Keelton spoke. ‘Joanna, will you do something for me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just stop seeing him for a few days? You see … ’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘I won’t. I won’t ever stop seeing him, no matter what you do, think, or say.’

  ‘As a special favour … ’

  ‘To hell with that!’

  ‘Joanna,’ snapped Mary. ‘Your father … ’

  ‘What does he know about it all? He’s got his knife into Bob. Because someone’s a traitor and Bob had an unfortunate childhood, everyone automatically rushes to say it must be he.’ Her voice rose. ‘D’you know what they did to Bob today? They made him strip and they searched him. How much more can you degrade a man?’

  ‘We had no option,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what you say.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘You did it to humiliate him, to let everyone know what you think of him.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

  ‘That’s all you can ever say to me now — don’t. Don’t do this, don’t do that. You hate Bob and you’re determined to get him out of the way. Just because he was seen with someone to do with the case, he’s immediately accused of terrible things, like taking bribes. Shall I tell you the truth? He was called to the pub by an anonymous telephone call and hadn’t any idea who he was going to meet there. The man tried to bribe him to say how the investigations were going, but he wouldn’t listen. Five hundred pounds, that’s what he was offered.’

  ‘And did you know that the informer who reported the meeting has been found beaten up so badly that he may not live?’ he asked.

  She was shocked by the news. She lifted her hand to her mouth as she stared at her father. ‘Beaten … beaten up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you really think Bob could have anything to do with that?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Then you’re mad.’

  ‘I’ve tried to tell you … ’

  ‘You’ve tried to tell me lots of things, all of them horrid. You want to believe the worst about Bob: you won’t begin to see what he really is. If he wanted to fight a man, he’d do the fighting, not get others to do it in some horrible back-alley. Nothing would open your eyes to that, though. You hate the idea of my marrying him, despite what you said the other day. You want to separate us and you don’t care how you do it.’

  ‘I do not … ’ he began angrily.

  ‘Bob said you’d never willingly let me marry him. He said people like you thought marriages between classes were as bad as between black and white.’

  ‘To hell with classes,’ he said, with angry exasperation.

  ‘That’s right,’ she shouted, ‘try and make out now that you don’t believe in such things. When you’re talking to me, you’re so liberal you’d almost agree to shake hands with a homo. But when you get back to work you do everything in your power to make certain Bob’s got out of the way. I wouldn’t believe Bob, but he was so right. If you’d found the money before he got it to me, you’d have crucified him. You … ’

  ‘What money?’

  She stared at him, with growing horror.

  ‘What money?’

  She looked at her mother with a childish and pathetic appeal for help because the world was threatening to overwhelm her.

  ‘You must tell me,’ he said.

  She looked away from her mother. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘He gave you money?’

  ‘I was mixing him up with Frank. Frank gave me … ’

  ‘When? This morning?’

  ‘I tell you, it was Frank … ’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘There wasn’t any. Please, there wasn’t any.’ Tears formed in her eyes.

  ‘What have you done with the money?’

  ‘But I keep telling you, it wasn’t Bob.’

  ‘Mary, find Joanna’s handbag.’

  ‘No,’ Joanna shouted.

  Mary shivered. ‘John … ’

  ‘Find her handbag,’ he ordered harshly.

  Mary stood up. Joanna slumped back in her chair and began to sob. Mary left the room, was back almost immediately with a large red plastic handbag.

  ‘Is there an unusually large amount of money inside?’ he asked.

&
nbsp; Mary hesitated, then opened the handbag. She brought out a brown envelope, at the sight of which Joanna moaned.

  Keelton walked round the table and took the envelope from his wife. He opened it, by pressing the sides. Inside were a large number of bank notes, as far as he could see all of five pound denomination. At a guess, there were five hundred pounds there.

  Joanna made one last desperate attempt to stave off the disaster for which she was responsible. ‘That’s my money, not his. You can’t prove anything.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’ he asked sadly.

  ‘I sold my jewellery.’

  ‘At what shop?’

  She shook her head, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘You’ve got to face up to the truth, Jo.’

  Joanna spoke wildly. ‘But that isn’t the truth. Dad — you’ve got to believe. When Bob was questioned this morning he knew for certain someone was trying to frame him. He guessed they’d hidden money somewhere to make it seem he’d been bribed and he searched for it. The money was in a locker. He just had to get it away before he was searched. I swear that’s the truth.’

  When she saw the expression on her father’s face, she stood up. ‘It’s the truth. If you tell anyone about this money I’ll never, never forgive you.’ She ran out of the room and they heard her going up the stairs.

  He stared down at the envelope in which was the money.

  ‘John,’ said Mary.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You realise the precise situation, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he answered bitterly.

  ‘She told you something by mistake, when talking to you in confidence. She’s always trusted you. You know what you’ll do to her if you break that trust. If you betray it, she’ll never forget it or forgive you.’

  He swore.

  ***

  He sat in his study. By his side was a glass of whisky, half finished. Outside, a nightingale sang, filling the air with the beautiful sound until a heavy lorry rumbled by.

  His position was impossible. He had to betray either his daughter or the police, and he was prepared to betray neither. The traitor in the C.I.D had to be uncovered and the honest detectives cleared of suspicion: the drug racket had to be broken up: Flecton Cross borough police force must be seen to be freed from corruption so that no man could call on such corruption as a bolster to the argument for amalgamation. If the evidence concerning the money were given, perhaps with Elwick’s finger-prints having been found on the money to bolster that evidence, the other detectives would finally be cleared. On the other hand, he owed an absolute duty to his family. Concepts such as justice were necessary to any civilisation, but a man’s family lived and breathed and were his most precious possession on earth. If he gave the evidence of the money, he would be betraying his daughter, cruelly hurting his wife, and destroying his family.