A Knife For Harry Dodd

by George Bellairs

  ‘I never realised…’

  ‘Nor did any of us when first we began on this case. There was Harry Dodd, divorced, living what appeared an aimless life with a couple of nondescript women, going every night to have a drink at The Bear in the village, with his cronies, loafing around, bored to death. That’s as the world knew him. Actually, he had a purpose in life, and all his efforts were centred on achieving it. He went from strength to strength; he even planned to meet you again, leave his two women. and live a respectable and quiet life in his old home once more. The idea of Nancy started that, I believe. He wanted to give her a decent settled life away from the pub and her Uncle Sid…perhaps away from Peg. Once he thought you and he might adopt the kid, and asked you about it.’

  ‘He did. He didn’t say it was Peter’s… or his.’

  ‘No. They kept it quiet between them. It might be that Peter didn’t want it to get about for the sake of his reputation, or that Harry couldn’t, as you say, bear the idea of Peter marrying Peg Boone, or that Peg was hoping to make a better catch and leave Peter in the lurch if a chance came. Be that as it may, Peter was her tool and she used him. She wanted to lay her hands on Harry Dodd’s fortune. He wasn’t in a hurry to hand it over. Probably he intended to look after the child’s education and upbringing himself, and, if he died, Pharaoh would control the money. Then he suddenly had the idea of returning to you.’

  ‘The family Bible incident was just a means of getting in touch again?’

  ‘Perhaps. But Harry was so carried away that he had to have the Bible to put little Nancy’s name in it as his first grandchild. Then he must have told Peg or Peter, who made him remove it. It didn’t suit their purpose to have their plans rushed. They’d an eye on the money, I suppose. When Harry Dodd asked you about starting all over again and you agreed, it must have been a shock to that pair. Not only that, he told Pharaoh he was going to alter his Will, leave his ready money to you, and most likely he mentioned Nancy and the matter of her living in the refined atmosphere of your home instead of at The Aching Man. Peter was always in and out of Pharaoh’s. I think the old man rather liked him and regarded him as go-between and confidant about Dodd family matters. He might even have hoped he’d one day become his partner. When Peg and Peter learned of Harry’s plans, they decided to work fast if they didn’t want to lose a fortune. They killed Harry Dodd.’

  Mrs. Dodd covered her face with her hands.

  ‘I can’t believe it. And yet Peter seemed interested in his father, morbidly interested, after the time about which the child must have been introduced to her grandfather. Do you know, until then, Peter was on the side of Winfield and his sister in despising their father…’

  ‘It didn’t cost him much to kill his father. After all, Harry Dodd had gone away from home, disgraced his children, lived with a couple of poor-class women. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter didn’t hate him, for, after all, if Harry Dodd had remained at home, the business might have done better under his practical eye than under Winfield’s, and there would have been more money about.’

  ‘That’s true. Peter has complained.’

  ‘We’re forgetting something else, however. The other murders. You must remember that whilst Harry Dodd was uncertain of your reaction both to his returning to you and to adopting his grandchild, and hoped to persuade you in course of time, there was one person who had remained his loyal friend and in whom he confided. That was his father. William Dodd had put his father in a home, but Harry regularly called for him and took him out and gave him little treats and excursions. It was on one of such excursions that Dr. Macfarlane, driving his car whilst drunk, ran them off the road and the driver was killed. Peter was in the doctor’s car taking a lift. The doctor went on without stopping and left the driver of the damaged car to die in the ditch. Peter used this event to blackmail the doctor into giving him an alibi…’

  ‘You don’t mean he…?’

  ‘Peter knew his father and grandfather were in the car and yet he didn’t stop to see if they were hurt. In fact, as things then were, it would have pleased him if they’d died.’

  ‘You mean Grandpa Dodd knew about things, too.’

  ‘In his pocket when we found him dead, he had the address of The Aching Man. Harry had given it to him as the home of his great-grandchild, and he must have called there, found Peter and upbraided him for his share in the accident. Perhaps he had tumbled to the idea of who Harry’s killer might be, for Harry was bound to have confided in him about the money and what he was going to do with it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Haven’t we said that Grandpa Dodd was the only one of his flesh and blood he could talk to about anything intimate? As soon as the old man turned up at The Aching Man, his doom was sealed. It wouldn’t have done to have him around talking and focusing suspicion on Peter and Peg.’

  ‘But Pharaoh. Surely he did nothing wrong?’

  ‘Pharaoh was a shrewd old bird. He seemed half asleep and to have all his heart in his boat, but he was a wily lawyer. He perhaps saw through Peter’s scheme and talked a bit too much. He scared Peter into murdering him, too, and trying to make it look like an accident. Not only that, it made Peter aware for the first time that Harry might have left papers, some account of what he proposed to do in the way of altering his Will, cutting Peter and Peg’s interest away from them, and putting Nancy’s money in your hands. Peter, with his father’s blood on his hands, got scared lest papers or a diary left by Harry Dodd should betray him. He was first on the spot the day after the crime; he patiently put up with the women and Uncle Fred, who was their self-appointed lawyer, with that in view. And when he couldn’t get anything, he robbed Pharaoh’s safe and then burned down Harry Dodd’s bungalow in the hope of destroying the evidence. I do believe that Peter destroyed a new Will, which was in Pharaoh’s safe, and left the money to you. Only a copy was found. The original has vanished.’

  ‘Why have you told me all this, Inspector?’

  She stood up and looked him full in the eyes.

  ‘Because you are the only person who could ease my mind about Peter. I have not had experience before of a son murdering his father. Such occurrences are a bit unusual. Of course, I mean, there might be a brawl and high words, and father and son might fight, but a cold, deliberately planned murder of this sort is rare in England. Abroad, sometimes, yes. At any rate, I’ve never made an arrest of this kind before. I wanted Peter’s background. You’ve given it to me. He mustn’t have regarded Harry Dodd as a father, except when he wanted something. Otherwise Harry Dodd was just another man and not a very desirable one to Peter, at that.’

  Mrs. Dodd’s eye fell on the tea tray.

  ‘The tea’s cold. I’ll ring for more…’

  ‘Please don’t. I must go now.’

  But the maid had entered. She had Cromwell’s note in her hand.

  ‘Excuse me. May I read this message from my colleague, please?’

  He read the hasty note in Cromwell’s bold hand and screwed it up and threw it in the fire.

  ‘I think, after all, I might have a cup of tea. That will do, Mrs. Dodd. Don’t bother to ring for more. I like it strong.’

  She poured out a cup and handed it to him and passed the cake. They sat down. Nothing was said, except an odd exchange about the weather until they had laid down their cups.

  ‘Is Nancy upstairs, Mrs. Dodd? What have you done to her? She’s very quiet.’

  Littlejohn dropped it like a bombshell, and Mrs. Dodd took a second or two to gather herself together.

  ‘I…I…How did you know?’

  ‘My colleague has been to The Aching Man and found the birds flown. Peg has gone and Sid, her brother, reports that Nancy went away with a lady…’

  ‘She is upstairs, asleep. Her mother left her with Sid. I arrived to find the child heartbroken and weeping, and I took her and brought her here. She will live with me in future, and I will carry on the work my poor Harry Dodd set his hand to.’

  ‘
Peg must have got scared. We’ve been checking alibis more closely. The same applies to Peter. What have you done with Peg and Peter, Mrs. Dodd?’

  ‘I…? Why should I…?’

  ‘What made you suddenly decide to visit The Aching Man?’

  ‘I was interested in the child.’

  ‘That will hardly do as an explanation why you brought her home with you. Peg would never have allowed it. You can’t just go and steal a child like that. There was some other reason, and that reason was that Peter told you they were both in trouble…’

  ‘The steward at the Trevelyan Club told him that the police had been there and had mentioned him, and been particularly interested in Dr. Macfarlane. He was terrified, and said he was in trouble. I then accused him of killing his father. I told him that I knew all about his drugging my coffee, faking an alibi, and also that I knew about the child at The Aching Man. After you told me about her, I went there. Peg Boone doesn’t know me. I left the car and walked half a mile. I put on tweeds and pretended I was staying in the vicinity. I saw Nancy on the stair head, playing with a kitten. I thought how like my own daughter she was when my child was that age. I realised that she was Peter’s child.’

  ‘You faced Peter with it?’

  ‘Yes. He asked me for money to get away. He was in trouble with the police, he said. I repeated that he was his father’s murderer and he would get no help from me unless he made a clean breast of the whole thing. He told quite a simple story, in keeping with your own deductions, Inspector, except in one point. Peg, he said, stabbed my husband. Harry, it seems, asked them to give up Nancy and let us take her when we remarried. Peter said they would talk it over and let him have an answer the next night. They would meet just before ten outside The Bear in Brande. Harry could hardly have them in the inn with his friends there, or invite them to Mon Abri (was it called?) to discuss a matter like that.’

  ‘I follow…’

  Mrs. Dodd’s cheeks grew flushed with emotion as she told her story.

  ‘They met Harry and told him that if he’d hand over the money, which was to go to Nancy on his death, he could take her and they’d renounce all right to her and go away. Peter, it seems, learned of the invested money from papers he found in his father’s raincoat at the inn. Harry, who was naturally a hot-tempered man, flared up. He pointed out that the money was Nancy’s, and nobody was going to get it from her on any pretext. He also, it seems, told Peg and Peter exactly what he thought of Peg in no uncertain language. Peter, who inherits his father’s temper, insulted Harry. Now Harry was a stocky, strong man, who in his day had done a bit of boxing, and he thereupon started to chastise Peter like a naughty child. If Peg hadn’t interfered it might have ended all right, but she tried to help Peter and caught a blow intended for him. She went mad at that, ran to the car, took out a bowie knife, which Peter always carried in the pocket…he had done some camping and it was really a kind of boyhood keepsake…and struck out at Harry. It was all over in a few minutes, some people were coming out of The Bear, and Harry told Peter to make himself scarce and he’d be all right. Peter said he walked steadily into the telephone box in the middle of the village and they drove off. Next morning news came that Harry was dead.’

  ‘And Mr. Walter Dodd…?’

  ‘Called at The Aching Man and said that Harry had told him he was meeting Peg and Peter and going to agree to take Nancy. Grandfather knew the time they were due in Brande. His testimony would have hanged them. But Peg didn’t tell Peter that, till grandpa was dead. She had smothered him in his bed…’

  ‘Did Peter mention Pharaoh?’

  ‘Mr. Pharaoh knew as much as grandpa. Harry, elated at the thought of getting Nancy, told him triumphantly to get a deed of adoption ready and said he was meeting her parents at Brande that night. Mr. Pharaoh must have been thinking things over. He sent for Peter from Lowestoft and told him he’d meet him on his boat. Peter said he went and Mr. Pharaoh was so abusive that he struck him and he fell and cracked his head…’

  Littlejohn smiled sadly.

  ‘I can believe that Peter didn’t kill his father or his grandfather. He can have credit for that until we catch up with him. But he murdered Pharaoh in cold blood. He told you a lie about that to win your sympathy. Mr. Pharaoh was struck from behind, a hard, foul blow, and the murder was carefully made to look like an accident.’

  Mrs. Dodd rose to her feet.

  ‘My son has done worse even than Cain. He has been responsible for his father’s death and his grandfather’s. In heat and fear such things may happen, and the woman who damned him might have done it. Mr. Pharaoh was a harmless old man who was fond of Harry and made his life bearable at a time when everybody seemed against him. I can never forgive Peter for that. I promised him I wouldn’t tell what he had done. I consider myself under no obligation to him. He is no son of mine. He and his woman left an hour before you arrived. I gave them a cheque for all the ready money I had, and I said I’d try to get more to them if they’d let me know later. I was sorry for Peter, who confessed like a wilful child, and said that, come what may, he’d have to stand by Peg Boone who was in it with him. He refused to leave without Peg Boone. After all—he is my own flesh and blood! It seems he lied to me. He might even have killed his father himself.’

  ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s the truth. They left with my cheque for two thousand pounds. It will overdraw my account, but the bank won’t mind that. They had Peter’s M.G. car and their suitcases and were going to the bank first and then on to heaven knows where…’

  ‘May I use your telephone, please?’

  He looked up the number of Mr. Pharaoh’s firm and soon was speaking to Miss Jump.

  ‘Yes,’ she said in reply to Littlejohn’s question. ‘Mr. Peter Dodd asked me two days ago for a written permit to try out the Betsy Jane. I wrote one out. He said he might know a buyer…’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Mrs. Dodd.

  ‘Probably somewhere out to sea by now, but not for long.’ She walked into the hall with him and he took up his hat and gloves. Littlejohn gently reproached her.

  ‘There is just one vital objection, Mrs. Dodd, to our accepting Peter’s story that he didn’t think of murder when he set out with Peg to meet his father. The doctor’s alibi was framed afterwards; the coffee was doctored beforehand. Why should he do that if he didn’t anticipate needing an alibi?’

  Mrs. Dodd sighed. ‘I asked him that,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t for an alibi, but proved lucky for him, all the same. Peter had promised to stay in all night with me. Rather than concoct troublesome excuses to enable him to get out and meet Peg, he doctored the coffee to get me to bed. He was that way. The line of least resistance… always.’

  ‘I quite understand, Mrs. Dodd, that, as Peter’s mother, you have felt justified in delaying us by withholding the truth until the very last minute. You hope thereby to give him a good start. But I’m afraid it will be no use…’

  She pulled herself up and replied brokenly.

  ‘I don’t think I wish to give them a chance, now. But I pray God will destroy them in His own way before the law is called upon to do so…’

  Her prayer was answered. Little, henpecked, rabbity Ishmael Lott was the chosen vessel of wrath!

  22—The End of the Betsy Jane

  Mr Ishmael Lott arrived at his shop good and early on this particular day. He opened the front door, took down the shutters, rubbed his hands, and chuckled with glee. Then he descended to the cellar and began to behave even more strangely. From under a pile of sacks he took a large kitbag in which he began to rummage. He whistled between his little rabbit-teeth as he worked, his nose close to his job, like a foraging tapir.

  A pair of boots, several lots of clean socks, a sweater, handkerchiefs, shaving tackle, toothbrush for his rabbit-teeth, an extra pair of flannel trousers…One by one he looked them over, counting them as he hissed his tuneless song. From the pockets of his raincoat he added to the contents of the bag
some papers, a passport, a telescope, a copy of Culpepper’s Herbal (for he believed in every man being his own physician), and, as if to bless the lot, a Testament. Carefully stowing everything with trembling fingers, he pulled on the rope of the sack, drew it tight, and swung it to feel its weight. Satisfied, he padded upstairs furtively, opened the back door, and unlocked the garage in the yard behind. A large corn lorry was standing there, ready loaded with sacks of meal. He’d arranged that the night before.

  Ishmael, now humming like a bumble bee, carefully hid his kitbag under the meal sacks, gave them a pat of affection and reassurance, went back to his shop, and opened up. A quarter of an hour later his daughter, who closely resembled him, teeth and all, arrived, carrying her lunch in a bag and two lurid love tales with which to while away the time.

  ‘What’s the matter with you? You look feverish.’

  She eyed her parent up and down.

  Mr. Lott gave her a crafty look and tried not to appear excited.

  ‘I feel a bit chilly. It’s gettin’ colder. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Are you goin’ on the lorry today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where to?’

  Mr. Lott would have ground his teeth with anger if they’d only met properly. As it was, he screwed up his face with distaste. His wife and his daughter couldn’t leave him alone. Where? How? Why? When? It was sickening! Inside, he felt like laughing. Good-bye to all that today!

  ‘We’re goin’ to Cambridge.’