A Knife For Harry Dodd

by George Bellairs

  ‘Here ! You can’t pin this on me…’

  ‘Sit down, Sid, and be sensible. I’ve told the Inspector quite a lot. I realised pretty soon that unless we tell the truth, we’re likely to get in a spot of real trouble. It was bound to come out sooner or later.’

  ‘Well, we’ve done nothing wrong.’

  There was a minute’s silence, as if somebody was making up his mind where to start. A little clock raced on the mantelpiece and then struck ten in thin tones.

  ‘Closing time. I’ll have to go and see to…’

  ‘Don’t be long, then.’

  Sid left the room and Peg went into the cocktail bar and returned with more bottled beer. It might have been the start of a cosy little social gathering round the fire.

  ‘Did Harry Dodd bring the parrot?’

  ‘Yes. He gave it to Nancy…That’s the little girl. She’s asleep upstairs.’

  ‘You’re her mother?’

  ‘Yes. I expect that seems queer to you. Especially if I tell you that I knew all about him. His divorce, his living with the Nicholls women, the way his family turned against him.’

  ‘You were in love with him?’

  ‘Yes. And he loved me, too. He was a lonely man and started coming here soon after they drove him from home. His affair with the Nicholls woman was just a flash in the pan. He kept coming here…’

  ‘How old is the child?’

  ‘Four last birthday.’

  It was amazing! This attractive woman, admired, desired and courted, probably by most men in the countryside, fell for the blandishments of Harry Dodd!

  ‘Harry Dodd! Where’s Harry?’

  The parrot, suddenly roused, began to shout for the man she had liked. The man who every week bought her a lot of seed from little rabbit-faced Ishmael Lott in Helstonbury.

  ‘He wanted me to marry him when the child was coming, but I wouldn’t. He’d made a big enough fool of himself as it was. This was no place for him, and he’d enough to do with his money. I wanted to see him a gentleman again, like he used to be, when first I knew him.’

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘Since I was a girl. He used to call here for a drink when my mother kept the place. He’d been a customer since before he married. He was always so kind and polite and, when I first remember him, he was good looking. He always treated me, even as a little girl, as though I was a great lady. Then we heard about the divorce. I was well in my twenties by then, and I hadn’t seen him for quite a time. We heard that his family had kicked him out. One day he arrived here for a drink. We got talking. He said he wished the old days were back again when I was a little girl and him pretending I was royalty. He’d got in a queer groove with the woman he’d run away with. She was never his kind, he said. It was a mistake…’

  ‘I think he told you the truth, Miss Boone,’ said Littlejohn. ‘From what we can gather, he was a mere lodger with the Nicholls pair.’

  ‘He said so, Inspector. Sid was in at the time, too. He just said casually that if ever Harry got bored, he’d always be welcome here. Harry took him at his word. He used to come and stay here, and fish in the river and shoot a bit with Sid’s gun…’

  ‘And the pair of you were attracted to each other again?’

  ‘We fell in love!’

  She snapped it vehemently.

  ‘We fell in love. He was lonely, and well…He was different from the rest who come here. They always look at you in a certain way, try to paw you, make suggestions, and get fresh. Harry was never that way. It’s funny…He gave a man a good hiding for trying to rough-handle me once in the bar. He got a black eye and a swollen cheek himself, and looking at the mess the other man had made of him, I realised how I felt about him.’

  Sid returned, very businesslike, dropped in a chair, and glared around.

  ‘Have you nearly finished?’

  ‘We’ve hardly started yet, Sid. What were you doing in Brande recently, asking for Harry Dodd?’

  ‘Who? Me? I don’t know anything…I never…’

  ‘Come, come, Sid. I know all about your enquiries at Brande, at the pub there, and at the Nicholls women’s bungalow pretending to be a dealer in old gold. And then at Cold Kirby…You were very anxious about Harry Dodd. Why?’

  Peg Boone was on her feet, her eyes blazing, standing over her brother.

  ‘You never told me. What were you after, hanging round there?’

  Sid was cornered, and at that minute the parrot decided to shout again for Harry Dodd. He hastily rose and flung the baize cloth over the cage.

  ‘Shut up! We’ve had enough about Harry Dodd. To hell with Harry Dodd!’

  Peg persisted.

  ‘What were you after?’

  ‘It’s no business of yours.’

  ‘But it’s my business, Boone,’ added Littlejohn. ‘You’ll tell me what you were after. Did you get to know that Dodd was going back to his wife, and did you go for revenge for your sister?’

  Sid Boone flung back his head and laughed mirthlessly.

  ‘Revenge. That’s a good one! Tell him, Peg. Tell him all about it. Revenge? Why, it was her who persuaded Dodd to go crawling back to his wife. She wanted Nancy’s father to be a gentleman, instead of the lodger of a motley pair like the Nicholls women.’

  ‘Is that so, Peg?’

  Littlejohn turned to her paternally. He was finding out more and more about Peg Boone, and what he knew he liked.

  ‘Yes. I wasn’t having him hanging round this cheap pub going to seed and becoming a sort of potman and, by the same token, he wasn’t staying with the pretty pair he lived with at Brande. He’d told me that his wife wanted him back and would give him his old home and place again. She’d made up her mind that if he’d go back, he’d get his share of the works and her personal fortune if she died first. That was what I wanted. Even if Nancy wasn’t legitimate, I wanted her with a gentleman for a father. Harry said he’d tell his wife about Nancy and they’d adopt her.’

  ‘Silly fool!’

  Sid spat it out and sat back growling.

  ‘You hold your tongue ! It was like Harry Dodd. A bit naive…I told him he’d do nothing of the kind. That would ruin it all. His wife certainly wouldn’t take to the idea, and what did he think his grown-up children would do if a child of four was suddenly brought on the scene? I made him promise to say nothing about our child. One day he came and said he’d just got the family Bible and put Nancy’s name in it. Of all the silly things to do! Just an impulse he said, and he was so fond of her. I tore out the pages…’

  ‘So that was it. I saw the Bible with the missing pages.’

  ‘That was a long time ago. I told him to give it back to his wife. It belonged at home.’

  Littlejohn turned to Sid Boone.

  ‘But that doesn’t answer the question I asked you, Boone, about your enquiries in Brande and Cold Kirby. What did you want with Dodd?’

  ‘It was a private matter.’

  Sid was sulky and curt.

  ‘You were after money, weren’t you?’

  ‘Sid…You didn’t go cadging from Harry, did you?’ Peg Boone was standing angrily over her brother again. He sprang to his feet and thrust his face close to hers.

  ‘What if I was? He owed it to me, didn’t he? What did I get out of all this Harry Dodd business? A sister on my hands with a bastard…’

  Quick as a flash, Peg Boone slapped his face.

  ‘Don’t you dare use that word again. You know you’re as fond of the kid as I am. But you just can’t stop your betting and drinking, can you? You went to Harry for money?’

  ‘Well? What of it? He made you an allowance for the kid…and it was a good one. Where did I come in? I never got a bean out of it. And then he started talking of going back to his wife. Do you think I was going to stand by and let him do that to my sister…?’

  ‘You’ve suddenly grown very solicitous about me, Sid. Don’t be silly, now. Although Harry’s made a settlement for Nancy, I’m alone, now he’s d
ead, in looking after her. I’m not having you mixed up in a murder rap, so you’d better talk and tell the Inspector what it’s all about. You were trying a bit of blackmail, Sid. You were going to say you’d tell Mrs. Dodd about him and me, weren’t you…? Weren’t you?’

  ‘Well? You’d got the settlement. I’d got damn’ all. If he could afford to give you five thousand for Nancy…’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Seen your bank-book…’

  He looked pleased with himself and leered cleverly at her.

  ‘And where did Harry Dodd get all that money from?’ continued Sid. ‘If he’d so much, he could get a bit more for me. You never let-on where he lived, so I had to go and hunt around. I heard him talking about Brande and Cold Kirby, so I went. Unlucky, though, I was. He was away. Before I could get him again, he was dead.’

  ‘Where were you the night he was murdered, Boone?’ Sid Boone laughed at Littlejohn.

  ‘Here. I’ve been here all night tonight, too. You can’t pin it on me. A score or more of my customers’ll give me a watertight alibi. I might be a bit of a gambler and, as my loving sister says, try to touch a friend now and then for a sweetener, but I don’t rise to stabbing folks in the back. You’ll have to try again, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s quite true, Inspector. My brother was here all night till well after closing time.’

  ‘About the settlement, Miss Boone…Did Harry Dodd tell you where he got it?’

  ‘No; and I didn’t ask him. It was properly done. His solicitor, a Mr. Pharaoh, I think he called him, attended to it.’

  ‘Did the lawyer come here?’

  ‘Yes. I know it seemed funny bringing him all that way, but he and Harry were personal friends. They’d been at school together, and Harry trusted him.’

  ‘And did Harry tell you that his wife had agreed to take him back and…I want you to be sure of this…and give him back his place in the works and his share of her fortune if she died first?’

  ‘Yes. That’s quite true.’

  There were sounds from overhead, and Peg Boone, after excusing herself, left to attend to the child.

  ‘Peg’s a B.F.,’ said Sid Boone sagely. He’d been drinking and was getting sleepy.

  ‘Peg’s a B.F. Loveliest girl in this county, bar none. Should have married into a County family…engaged to one of the Lumley boys at the manor, just by here. Nice fellah. Got himself killed though in the Battle of Britain. Plenty others wanted her since, but nobody else would do. She took it hard. Started drinking a bit too much. Then…along comes Harry Dodd. Well…I ask you…Harry Dodd! I wanted to show the fellah the door right away. Didn’t like the looks of him and said so. But what I say’s of no account here. An’ after all, she’s all I’ve got, is li’l Peg. All I’ve got in the world…I ought’ve looked better after her…Poor old Peg…’

  He started to cry, full of beery self-pity.

  ‘You’d better go up to bed, if you’ve been taken that way again, Sid,’ said his sister, returning. ‘Is it the poor old Peg story, Sid? Don’t worry. I can look after myself and the kid. And we won’t turn you out in the snow. So get up to bed and sleep it off.’

  Sid had grown very docile. He drank up his beer, took off his shoes, laid them in the hearth, and retired in his stockinged feet.

  ‘Goo’ night…No ill feelin’s…Goo’ ni’…’ Shortly afterwards Peg Boone let the two detectives out. Littlejohn shook hands with her in the porch.

  ‘Keep your spirits up, Peg.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s funny. One day it was all arranged. The next, Harry’s dead. I can’t go to his funeral. I can lay no claim whatever to him. He’s just gone…And yet, I was the one he loved…’

  She started to sob, and hustling the pair of them out, she closed the door on them.

  11—Dead End

  When the two detectives arrived home at The Bear in Brande at midnight, Mr. Mallard rubbed his hands and welcomed them to an extensive supper. He was prepared to overlook the eccentricities of their comings and goings or strange conduct. Had they got up in the small hours and started conducting an investigation, he would have been delighted. It was something to tell his customers about. The news that he was entertaining Scotland Yard at his lowly pub had spread far and wide, and tonight there had been a record house and bumper takings.

  ‘Come in, gents,’ said Mr. Mallard, opening the door to them. ‘There’s a nice bit o’ cold supper for you in the Snug. Don’t ‘urry. The night’s yet young…’

  The following morning the Inspector, leaving Cromwell to call for any news at the police station in Helstonbury, ran over in the car to Cold Kirby, where he expected to find Andrew Comfort, home on compassionate leave from the R.A.F. to help his mother square up his late father’s estate.

  Andrew was a nice lad. Tall, well set-up, and a bit gauche and shy, he hung protectively around his mother when the Inspector called for a talk.

  ‘It’s time somebody took an interest in my father’s death,’ said Andrew. His shock of black, uncontrollable curly hair rose high on his head and gave him a surprised look. ‘They never found out who caused the accident, but I think it was deliberate.’

  His mother tried to restrain him, anxious that he should show a bit of respect for the police, but Littlejohn was curious.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It came out that somebody crowded them off the road intentionally. Why? My father had no enemies. It must have been somebody after Mr. Dodd. Why don’t the police try to…?’

  ‘We’ll do our best. I’m sure your father’s tragedy is mixed up with the later death of Harry Dodd. I want you to help if you can.’

  Outside, the daily bus to town was drawing up at the stop in front of The Bell. A number of country women carrying shopping baskets mounted it, followed by one or two girls who eyed the inn anxiously, for word had gone forth that Andy Comfort was home, and not a few of the local beauties had designs on him. They couldn’t leave him alone.

  ‘Come on. Get in…’

  The conductor was getting out of patience, hustled them aboard, rang the bell, and the party vanished in a lot of dust and noise.

  ‘How can I help…?’

  ‘Tell me what your father and Mr. Dodd were doing in their little workshop. Was it anything likely to attract trouble?’

  Andrew Comfort seemed amused. He grinned, showing his strong white teeth.

  ‘Trouble? Why, it was the most harmless thing in the world. I know Dodd kept saying they’d make a fortune one day if they could only strike a formula that would beat the existing ones for welding; but they never did. I know Mr. Dodd was feverish to do it and get one back on his family, but when he died he’d not done it. If they’d both lived, they’d have found out something or other of use. Two good brains like theirs, two good engineers like dad and Mr. Dodd might have pulled it off. They didn’t have long enough.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, sir. I helped them till I joined up, and only the weekend before I left for the R.A.F., dad was down in the dumps about it. He’d hoped to be in the money with Dodd, you see, but they’d tried one formula after another and one process after another, but never had been able to beat existing methods.’

  ‘So it wasn’t anything in that line that attracted dangerous enemies to them?’

  Young Comfort looked bewildered.

  ‘You mean spies or such like?’

  ‘No. Just family trouble from the Dodd angle.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not that. There was nothing to threaten the Dodd family set-up.’

  ‘You’ve no other ideas as to who might have had it in for Dodd or your father?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s a mystery to me…’

  So that was a dead end! And yet Harry Dodd had tried to make out to his wife that he was on the way, by his researches, to threatening the family business and putting it off the map. It looked as if Harry hadn’t been the straightforward type everybody thought he was. He’d talked of going back to his wife, yet he’d told her
a fairy tale about his researches in steel, and he’d said nothing at all about his mistress and the little girl at The Aching Man. They were back where they’d started; in fact, the whole thing was much more obscure.

  On the way to Helstonbury, Littlejohn had the road almost to himself and pondered the case.

  It might be a crime of sordid love, or revenge, or just to put a nuisance out of the way. It looked as if Harry Dodd and his father shared some secret which made them dangerous to someone. Walter Dodd had, after all, been his son’s closest friend after Harry’s family had cast him off. He might have given his father information which condemned him to death as surely as it had condemned Harry himself. It seemed absurd for Willie Dodd, the rising politician, to kill his father and brother simply to protect his majority at the polls. They might have made him seem a bit ridiculous—Harry with his shady amours and his father with his heckling and reaping up Willie’s past weaknesses—but was Willie likely to risk total ruin by a murder?

  Harry’s ambitious family, Winfield Dodd and Lady Hosea, were hardly likely either to murder their parent and grandparent simply because they were a couple of common fellows who kept seedy company and behaved with little discretion.

  But what of Peter Dodd, who was closely attached to his mother? Suppose, after Harry’s borrowing from Mrs. Dodd on a sort of confidence trick and settling thousands of pounds on Peg Boone and the child she’d borne Harry, young Peter Dodd had found it all out. He’d not only feel a fool himself, but hate his father for the dirty tricks he’d played on his mother. And after stabbing his father, had he suddenly come up against his grandfather, who might have accused and threatened him?

  That was the only sensible theory Littlejohn could concoct for the time being.

  On the High Street in Helstonbury, he passed Mr. Sebastian Dommett, who ignored his friendly wave. Mr. Dommett had taken umbrage because the Scotland Yard officers had not, on the previous day, attended his court for Harry Dodd’s inquest. It had been adjourned, of course, but Mr. Dommett was sensitive to every form of disrespect.

  At the police station, however, Littlejohn had no chance to talk about Mr. Dommett and his foibles, for there he found Mr. Pharaoh’s pretty clerk, Joan, sitting in the Superintendent’s room, crying her eyes out. Judkin and Cromwell were there looking helpless and letting her have her fill of tears.