The C.I.D Room

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘It was an experiment for the wool trade. They reckoned they’d get a few more bales in and give themselves some more profit.’

  Kerr slowly walked round the open square of number 6 and the chief officer followed him. On the after bulkhead was a steel door. He tried it, but it was locked from the other side.

  ‘Goes through to the steering flat,’ volunteered the chief officer.

  Kerr was uninterested. This was a Sunday and he shouldn’t have been condemned to the hold of a ship. He should have been out, having fun.

  He returned to the square at number 5. The chief officer kept pace with him and they climbed down to the lower ’tween.

  ‘Someone said another load of gold’s been pinched?’ asked the chief officer.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What d’you reckon they do with the gold?’

  ‘Melt it down and then flog it or export it. It’s worth a fortune if you can get it into India.’

  ‘You can say “if” again. I knew a bloke who got caught trying. They gave him ten years in jail and an Indian jail’s no rest camp.’

  Kerr shone his torch at the port locker. The heavy, insulated door was swung open and he walked inside. Immediately, he smelled the acrid scent of the fumigating gas.

  The chief officer sniffed. ‘It always gives me the creeps to be down below after a ship’s been fumigated. Reminds me of the gas ovens at Auschwitz.’

  Kerr examined the locker. The bulkheads, deckhead, and deck offered no hiding place. He tried to visualise how the gold theft could have been carried out. If the fourth officer was honest, the gold had been loaded, the locker properly locked and sealed, and within twenty-four hours the square had been so solid with cargo that a two-foot midget greased up to his eyeballs couldn’t have got near the locker door. Then it was impossible!

  Hell, he thought, why bash his brains out when the D.I. was being paid so much more to bash his brains out?

  ‘D’you meet many thefts from ships?’ asked the chief officer.

  ‘Not on this scale.’

  ‘It reminds me of one trip I made. We picked up four million quid in gold at Cape Town. I tallied all the iron-edged boxes into the strong-room and then walked over ‘em. Four million quid under my feet. Think what a bloke could do with four million.’

  With four million in his bank, thought Kerr, there’d be no more Sunday work.

  He led the way out of the locker and across to the ladder, climbed down to the deck of the lower hold. When three-quarters of the way across to the bulkhead, he saw a dead rat whose fur was exceptionally long.

  The chief officer kicked it aside with unnecessary force. ‘Life’s lovely for him with masses of frozen grub and then a load of gas is suddenly pumped in and it’s curtains. I tell you, just like Auschwitz.’

  Kerr, with an unusual sense of revulsion, stared at the body, visible in the torchlight. ‘It’s got hellish long fur.’

  ‘It’s the refrigerated hold does that.’

  Kerr flashed his torch upwards and the beam just picked out the deckhead. ‘When’s the loading begin?’

  ‘Tomorrow at eight o’clock, starting with a couple of heavy loads from the floating crane.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘A week. Then she’s off to Southampton and Bristol and I’m away for some leave. If it weren’t for getting home as often as I do, you could take my shore-staff job and stuff it. No galley staff aboard and I have to nip ashore for meals and hope the marine super doesn’t start yelling for me whilst I’m away.’

  ‘What’s Captain Leery like?’

  ‘Too smart. Try and cover up something and he’s on to it like a dose of salts. They say he was murder as skipper. Ever met his wife?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘I joined the company before she had her accident. Good for the bed, that’s what she was in those days. You can always tell ’em, can’t you?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Big eyes, moist lips, and breasts you can find without a buttonhook. When I was on passenger ships, I always picked out the woman with the biggest eyes, the moistest lips, and the best-filled tits. Never went wrong once.’

  Kerr showed more interest than before. ‘I’ve been told there’s plenty of bint going on passenger ships?’

  ‘Salt air and a uniform works better than a dozen bottles of Spanish Fly. When I was on the middle watch, I used to take on two every night: book one for six o’clock and the other for eight. I tried three for a while, but couldn’t keep awake on watch.’

  Kerr thought that this indeed was life in Elysium. A call from the D.I. above interrupted any further thoughts on the subject. He climbed the three ladders up to the deck and as he stepped over the booby-trap coaming, the D.I. said: ‘Found anything?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘Then try looking. Keep your eyes open, man.’ He turned and walked for’d.

  Kerr stared after the retreating figure. Presumably by now, he thought resentfully, the immaculate and lately departed Detective Constable Charrington would have solved everything and found an extra hundredweight of gold to boot.

  The chief officer spoke. ‘Is he your boss? Sounds a bit sharpish?’

  ‘If he sat on a needle, it’d be the needle which jumped.’

  *

  Gladys Leery, in the sitting-room of their house, drank the sweet sherry slowly. ‘George,’ she said, as she put down the glass, ‘please tell me something.’ She leaned across the chair until she could grip his fingers.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The absolute truth.’

  With a sudden sense of panicky alarm, he wondered if she had discovered about Prudence?

  Her voice rose. ‘Do you want a divorce?’ She tore her fingers free, as if his hand had suddenly become red hot.

  He stared at her. She was shivering, her face was white as it was when pain swept over her, and she was gripping her lower lip between her teeth.

  ‘I…I’ve been thinking about it an awful lot.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I know what it’s been like for you. We used to have such fun.’ She spoke in a rush. ‘I’m no use to you now, George. I often lie in bed and hate myself so much for what I’m doing to you that I try to pluck up the courage to commit suicide. I’m no good.’

  Was she deliberately trying to make his conscience overwhelm him? he wondered bitterly. Did she imagine herself committing suicide in order to leave behind her one last gesture of hate that must always haunt him?

  She spoke again, in a voice that shook. ‘D’you remember how we were always wishing for a fortune so we could educate the kids and all that sort of thing? I got a fortune from my accident but, oh God, I wish I hadn’t!’

  ‘Wishing won’t do any good,’ he said harshly.

  She looked shocked. ‘Can’t you understand what I’m trying to say?’

  He assured her he could, and after a while she seemed satisfied. A few moments later, she left to dish up the lunch.

  Lunch, as a meal, was a failure despite all the care with which she had cooked. Perhaps, he thought, as he ate some of the slightly burned beans — and assured her they tasted perfect — everything she touched was doomed to go wrong.

  Immediately after coffee, he left the house, driving off in the direction of the centre of town in case she was watching. Half a mile further on, he turned and doubled back on to the Crossford road.

  When Prudence let him into the flat, she was wearing a man’s shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged the contours of her body. She kissed him and made certain that she pressed her body against his so that he felt the swell of her breasts against his shirt. He ran his hand down her back and she shivered and moaned. Close together, they went through the sitting-room and into the bedroom.

  Later, they lay on the bed and smoked. When she had stubbed out her cigarette, she leaned over and rested her breasts on his chest. ‘You’re so wonderfully strong,’ she whispered.

  It was all too obvious that she was going to ask for something. Whenev
er she wanted something, she used her body with all its unusual skills to overcome any possible opposition from him. The more abandoned and voluptuous she was, the more she was going to ask for. It was a classic situation, repeated whenever and wherever a woman wanted something from a man thirty years older than she was.

  After a while, she asked him if he’d buy her a special little something. This something was a very thin platinum wristwatch which she had seen the previous morning in the Fortrow branch of a large London jewellers’. She added that it was so wonderful and it only cost two hundred and twenty-five pounds.

  ‘On Friday,’ he promised her.

  ‘But couldn’t you maybe get it tomorrow?’

  ‘Not before Friday.’

  She was annoyed.

  *

  Detective Chief Inspector Kywood climbed up the gangway and boarded the Sandstream. He went aft and found Fusil by number 4 hatch.

  ‘I want a word with you, Bob.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  Kywood offered a packet of cigarettes, but Fusil shook his head and began to fill his pipe from a dirty old leather pouch. He thought that Kywood’s attitude in the case had changed a great deal. Cynically, Fusil decided the other had discovered the truth in the old adage about sinking or swimming together.

  ‘The précis of the witness statements has just come through from New Zealand, Bob.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If there’s anything in ’em to help us, I can’t see what it is.’ Kywood sat down on the hatch. ‘Both the fourth and chief officers watched the loading and unloading and both saw to the sealing and padlocking of the locker.’

  ‘What about the padlocks?’

  ‘No signs of forcing.’

  ‘What about the number of seals the chief officer has left?’

  ‘They check out.’

  ‘It’s a different ship with a different crew,’ said Fusil, ‘so if it were the crew who were doing the stealing, there’d have to be two separate lots. That’s just not on. Then it has to be someone this end who can get at the special cargo between the time it leaves the security shed and the time the other cargo blocks off the locker.’

  A tanker moved slowly upstream towards the oil-discharging berths: her deep-toned siren sounded two short blasts and one of the tugs answered with two high-pitched peeps.

  ‘The thing that really beats me,’ muttered Fusil, ‘is why we haven’t got any lead on gold sales.’

  ‘Obviously because none’s yet been sold.’

  ‘Why not? Villains don’t hang on to stuff like that. The gold’s either ashore and for some quite exceptional reason hasn’t yet been put on the market or else it’s still aboard.’

  ‘You’ve searched this ship over and over again.’

  ‘We could search it for another month of Sundays and still not be certain we’d found every possible hiding-place for twenty-two pounds of gold.’

  Kywood stared across the water. ‘They’re loading twenty-one thousand quid’s worth of gold charms on this ship: seven thousand quid’s worth just as gold. I’m telling you, that’s bloody well got to arrive.’ He stood up.

  Fusil’s pipe had gone out. He lit another match and sucked flame on to the tobacco. He spoke slowly. ‘Each time, they’ve had to know the gold’s being shipped, the marks on the crate it’s shipped in, whereabouts it’s being loaded. They’ve had to be able to get aboard without trouble and they’ve forced the lock without leaving marks, which means a key. They’ve known the kind of lock long before they went aboard. They’ve also had a supply of blank seals and a sealer.’

  ‘You’re back to the shore staff and Leery.’

  ‘That’s right. Only there’s still no proof. He explained away the overdraft without any trouble. He keeps showing an interest in things, but why not? He’s in charge of cargo.’

  Kywood flicked his cigarette stub on to the steel deck. It landed in a small drop of water, held around a rivet head: the stub sizzled and then, as it soaked up more water, went out. ‘Loading’s about to start. It’s the end of the immediate hunt for the gold.’

  ‘Looks like it, sir.’ Fusil wondered if he’d just spoken the epitaph to his own career.

  11

  By Wednesday, 1,500 tons of cargo had been loaded in the Sandstream and everywhere was thick with dirt and litter that would not disappear until the ship was at sea and the bos’un and crew had hosed her down.

  Kerr walked for’d to the bows and stared down at the scummy water, filled with old dunnage, oil slicks, paper, a dead cat, and several rotting oranges. A ship in port was a pathetic sight, he decided. But even more pathetic was a detective constable on a ship in port when the case was dead.

  A shore carpenter, in grease-stained boiler-suit, came for’d and began to check the windlass. He switched on the starboard winch drum, which revolved with a grating noise.

  Kerr walked aft, past the windlass, and across to the rails between numbers 1 and 2. He watched the crane at number 2 hoist a load of sacks of chemicals and lower them into the hold. Some of the stevedores were said to be making forty quid a week. On forty quid a week, one could take Judy out two nights a week and still survive.

  He saw Captain Leery and another man walk towards the gangway. Leery had a good job which carried a good pay. His bad luck was that his wife had got messed up in a car accident.

  The two men climbed the gangway. Kerr watched them go aft, past the accommodation, then he thought about Evans, the shore-staff chief officer, who made the women queue up… The tropical night was hot, the tropical sky twinkled to a multitude of brilliant stars. Serena looked at him, her face twisted with passion, and begged him again and again to take her to his cabin. He hadn’t been going to bother, but he looked at his wristwatch. There were still twenty minutes to go before he was due to meet Fenella. In any case, Fenella could wait. He put his arm round Serena’s shoulders and she shivered violently and uncontrollably as his fingers touched her flesh. Her demands became still more urgent…

  ‘What’s got you dreaming?’ demanded someone.

  Startled, he swung round to face Braddon.

  ‘I shouted and shouted, but not a word got through. All right, this job’s finished. There’s another handbag snatching over at Highmoore. Go to one-one-five, Alders Avenue, and see the woman of the house. She may be hysterical.’

  ‘Shall I slap her face or just pour cold water down her back?’

  ‘You’re heading for trouble. Watch it.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’ Kerr thought that the C.I.D. had lost their senses of humour.

  *

  That afternoon, the D.I. called for someone to return to the Sandstream to make one final check on the port locker in number 5 lower ’tween. When told only Kerr was on hand, he swore and then said to send Kerr.

  Kerr boarded the Sandstream and examined the port locker yet again. If the door were locked and sealed, the Bank of England hardly offered greater security. He left the hold, dodged a couple of bales being swung across the deck by a crane, and for no definite reason made his way up to the monkey island. He leaned on the wooden dodger and stared out over the foredeck. Where was the gold now? And how fast was it being spent?

  The wind had a touch of winter to it and he buttoned up his mackintosh. He opened the two brass doors of the binnacle and stared at the compass card. The ship was heading three marks away from west, up towards north. What did that make it? When he’d been in the boy scouts, they’d taught him to box the compass, but now he could only remember the cardinal points.

  He closed the brass doors and turned to go down to the bridge when he saw Evans walk along the foredeck to number 1 hatch. He couldn’t see Evans now without a feeling of envy. Evans had really discovered the secret of life.

  *

  Evans went round the winch-house and out of sight. The stevedores at number 1 had ceased working and two men stood by the square. One of them signalled to the crane and the runner was lowered into the hold. After a short while, the crane began to hoist up and it b
rought into sight an untidy heap of hawser which looked as if it had twisted itself into a dozen gigantic knots. The hawser was lifted over the side and on to the quay.

  Kerr climbed down to the bridge and went out to the wing. The hawser had been dropped on to the for’d end of an open Volkswagen van and two stevedores were struggling with the untidy mass. The crane swung back inboard and lifted out a second hawser, which was loaded on the after end of the van.

  Kerr lit a cigarette. He heard a clatter from the gangway and looked down at it. Leery and another man, the latter being the same person who’d been with the marine superintendent the day before, were going down the gangway. Once on the quay, they walked towards the Volkswagen van and when they reached it, Leery leaned inside the cab and spoke to the driver. Afterwards, he and his companion crossed to a parked car.

  Through the gap between two cargo sheds, Kerr saw the car draw up to the dock gates. Two policemen, one wearing overalls, came forward and one of them spoke to Leery. He and his passenger, he was carrying a brief-case, climbed out and went into the hut. The policemen in overalls searched the inside of the car and the boot, then got underneath with a flashlight. He had just regained his feet when Leery and his companion came out of the hut and returned to the car. They drove off through the gateway. Even now, when the case was to all intents and purposes over, no one was allowed ashore unsearched.

  Kerr left the bridge and went down the for’d ladders to the main deck. As he stepped out on to the foredeck, through the storm doorway in the for’d accommodation bulkhead, he saw that a third hawser was being unloaded. He dodged a couple of bales as they were swung across, grinned at the ribald comments from a stevedore, and continued for’d. He saw Evans climb up over the booby-trap coaming and cross to the rails.

  ‘Getting rid of some old stuff?’ asked Kerr.

  ‘Yeah. The ropes are only good for so many trips and then they’re sold to the scrap-merchant boys.’

  They stared down at the van and watched the stevedores lumping up the last hawser so that no bights overhung the sides.