The Cursing Stones Murder (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series)

by George Bellairs

  "Meanwhile, what would you say if I spoke to his wife, Littlejohn? She might tell her own side of the story if she's faced with the fact that the doctor is risking arrest for her sake."

  "You can try, sir. No harm in that. Your venerable age and your cloth might be more conducive to confession than the official ways of a pair of policemen. Shall we go to Peel, then?"

  "Yes; but just a minute."

  The Archdeacon climbed from the car and took a last look at Eairy Cushlan, forlorn in the middle of the moor, its chimney smoking with its last fires.

  "Poor Eairy Cushlan. I remember when I was a boy, it was a trim, prosperous little croft run by a fisherman-farmer who tilled it in his spare time, supporting a little family. 'For them by day the golden corn we reap; by night the silver harvest of the sea,' as the old fisherman's hymn goes. Now the farm's on its last legs, between the sheets already, as Billy-Bill-Illiam says."

  "There'll be no more tenants?"

  "No. It won't pay. You can see how it looks now. In two years the moorland will have swallowed up the cultivated land, and in as many more the house will start to tumble down. It needed a Scotsman to put it properly and realistically. Stevenson might have been thinking of our old ruined crofts when he wrote about it. . . ."

  The old man sounded to be talking to himself.

  "Now, when the day dawns on the brow of the moorland,

  Lone stands the house, and the chimney stone is cold.

  Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed,

  The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old."

  The Archdeacon took off his shovel hat and waved it at the lonely house.

  "Good-bye . . . Eairy Cushion of old. . . . "

  Littlejohn let in the clutch and they descended to Peel.

  12

  THE UNWANTED ALIBI

  DR. FALLOWS had just arrived in for his lunch and he was annoyed when Littlejohn presented himself. Mrs. Fallows was taking a snack in her office as she drew plans for some new architectural venture, and her husband was eating his grilled fish on a tray in the dining-room.

  "Really, Inspector, this is becoming too much!"

  "Don't let me disturb your meal, doctor. I'm sorry if it's inconvenient just now, but it's important."

  Dr. Fallows pushed his tray away from him.

  "Make it snappy, then. I'm busy."

  "Why are you trying to draw suspicion on yourself, then, for the Levis murder?"

  Fallows was drying his lips on his napkin and was too dumbfounded at first even to lower it. Littlejohn could just see his startled eyes through his powerful glasses looking at him over the top of the stiff linen.

  "What do you mean, Inspector? And what business is it of yours anyhow? You're not officially on the case. I can't see why you need to meddle."

  "If I don't meddle, you and your family are heading for disaster, sir. You see, I know you were nowhere near the scene of the crime at the time it occurred. You were at Eairy Cushlan practically until dark from eleven in the morning on the day of the crime, which, I think, occurred before five in the afternoon."

  "How do you know that?"

  Fallows was mentally seeking some reply to the argument and was too flustered to find one.

  "I've spoken to Mrs. Keigh, your patient."

  "I protest! You've no business pestering my patients. It's unethical, to say the least of it."

  "Don't be foolish, doctor. If I tell Inspector Perrick the result of my investigations of this morning, you'll have a lot more awkward questions to answer. Who are you protecting in this matter?"

  "I've nothing to say."

  "I'll have to do the talking then, sir. You think your wife is responsible for the crime and you are prepared to take the blame."

  Fallows rose angrily to his feet and pointed to the door.

  "Get out and leave me alone! I've had enough bother with the police as it is. I'm ready to take what's coming to me and I don't need your help."

  Littlejohn, instead of following the doctor's orders, put his hat on the table, sat down and lit his pipe.

  "Listen. Do you persist, even if your wife isn't implicated? Are you going to insist on being a martyr, in taking up the attitude of self-sacrifice instead of being sensible? Nobody will thank or admire you for it. On the contrary, you're hampering the police in their investigations. I tell you this as a friendly gesture. I've no standing in the case, as you say, but I'm anxious that the right person shall pay for the crime."

  Fallows opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again.

  "I've nothing to say."

  "You were aware of your wife's association with Levis. You followed them and watched them. But were you aware that all that was over before Levis was killed, that your wife had gone the way of the rest, been brushed-off, and that Levis had found another woman to pester with his attentions?"

  Fallows sat glaring, but made no reply.

  "You knew quite a lot of what happened in Levis's affairs, didn't you? You knew she'd arranged to meet Levis on the day he was murdered. . . ."

  Littlejohn was making a shot in the dark, but it found a mark.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Never mind. Levis was leaving the Island to go abroad for quite a long spell. He wasn't taking Mrs. Fallows with him. In fact, I think he was taking someone else. . . . Just excuse me. May I use your telephone?"

  "I won't stop you. Telephone if you like."

  It didn't take a minute using his authority. Scotland Yard came on the line at once.

  "Please ring up the Hotel Rousseau, San Remo. . . . Yes, San Remo. . . right away. Priority. Ask if a man named Levis, who had booked with them around August 21st, reserved one room, or two rooms, and ring me back right away at this number. Peel 65432. . . . "

  Littlejohn returned to the doctor, who was helping himself to whisky. He didn't invite the Chief Inspector to join him.

  "Have you finished with me?"

  "Not quite. Now, sir, I want the truth, please. Did you know your wife went to Gob y Deigan to meet Levis that day?"

  No reply. Fallows drank deeply, added more whisky, and drank again.

  "Look here, Fallows. You've two children."

  "Keep them out of it! In fact, leave me alone."

  "Not till I've finished."

  Surgery hour was approaching. You could hear patients entering the lean-to waiting-room, banging the door, shuffling chairs as they sat down.

  "You followed your wife to her rendezvous several times, but on the day of the crime, you were held up by a dangerous case. You knew all the same, though, that she was at Gob y Deigan that afternoon. You knew that Levis had broken with her for another woman, and you thought Mrs Fallows had avenged herself and killed him. You're quite wrong, you know."

  "I'm not!"

  The two words were said spasmodically, before the doctor knew he'd uttered them. He looked embarrassed and closed his mouth tighter than ever.

  "Which means that somebody has told you your wife was involved in the death of Levis. You weren't present. You're very reluctant to accept an alibi, but I'm thrusting it on you, and if you persist in your present attitude, I shall produce the necessary witnesses to the Island police to prove you're lying."

  "What are you trying to do?"

  "Clear you of guilt and, if it's possible, your wife as well."

  "It isn't possible. . . ."

  Again the impulsive reply.

  "Which means that your wife's either told you, or someone else has. I don't think Mrs. Fallows has confided in you. You may not get on well together. . . ."

  "Leave my wife out of this!"

  "Impossible. As I was saying, it's not likely if she's committed the crime, she'll let you take the blame. Someone else has told you."

  "I don't want to discuss it. It's my surgery time. I must go."

  Littlejohn stood between the doctor and the door. Their eyes met.

  "Say what you've got to say and leave me to my patients."
<
br />   "Just this. I believe Ned Crowe has been talking to you, doctor. When I mentioned his name on my very first visit, you pretended you didn't know him, when all the time you did. Has he been blackmailing you?"

  "No. He's not that sort."

  "I thought not. But he told you he'd seen your wife at Gob y Deigan about the time Levis was killed. He threatened that if Johnny Corteen were charged with the crime, he'd tell all he knew. And last night, after I'd been round his place and he began to get scared, he sent for you. . . . Don't interrupt. It wasn't a false alarm at all you went out for. You went to Cursing Stones Farm in response to a telephone call. He met you there and said he was going to the police to testify about seeing your wife on the spot at the time of the crime. So you waited until he'd got on his way and then you ran him down. . . ."

  It fell like a bombshell. Fallows's eyes opened wide, he staggered, and then made for the whisky bottle again. Littlejohn was there first, however, seized the bottle and held it. The two men faced each other.

  "You're not drinking yourself out of this, doctor. Besides, you've patients to attend to . . . . "

  "You're . . . you're not arresting me, then?"

  "You can thank God that Quiggin was on the road as well and, in swerving to avoid him, you didn't hit Ned Crowe hard enough. He's going to get well, but when he's able to, he'll talk. You'd better make a clean breast of it all."

  Fallows slumped in a chair, held his head in his hands for a minute, and then suddenly looked up.

  "I'd better tell you all I know. I don't know how you've found out, but you're devilish right. I did run down Crowe and I'm ready to take what's coming to me, now or in due course."

  "That's nothing to do with me. I'm not on the case. It's Perrick's business. What I'm concerned about is to clear up this stupid idea of yours in covering your wife and to get on with the case. Why did you do it?"

  "The day after the body had been identified, Crowe came here. He said he knew all that had happened and if anybody was accused who wasn't guilty, he'd tell the police. I asked him what he meant."

  Fallows paused. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and his lips and hands trembled.

  "You see, I knew the body was Levis's from the start. I examined it when it was found. There was a gold cufflink hanging from the sleeve of the shirt. Not much but enough for me to make out the pattern before I destroyed it. It was one of a pair my wife had bought him last Christmas when they were friendly. I saw it in her drawer before she gave it to him. I knew it was Levis all the time, and I was glad. I didn't mention it to a soul. Let them find it out themselves! I'm a doctor, not a detective."

  "And so . . . ?"

  "I wondered what had happened and whether my wife was involved. I may as well tell you, we don't get on. "You seem to know. We rarely speak to each other except for decency in front of others or the children. We ought to have separated long ago . . . but . . . I . . ."

  "But you love her still?"

  Fallows took it on the chin without a word.

  "Yes. And besides, there are the children and, after all, I'm a doctor. That's an honour in itself and in our profession . . . well . . . one has a standard."

  "No need to explain, sir. I understand. What about Ned Crowe?"

  "He said he went down to Gob y Deigan that day. About four in the afternoon. He'd seen Levis going there and wondered what he was at. He'd also seen my wife go down the glen."

  "Ah! You know who the girl was who'd displaced your wife in Levis's affections?"

  "I knew that, too. It was Crowe's daughter. But she was off the Island at the time. Crowe told me. He was half drunk when I saw him the first time. He said he was alone. He was maudlin. Said Margat had left him alone and he didn't know what would become of him."

  "What did he say about your wife, doctor?"

  "Where was I?"

  "Ned Crowe went down spying on Levis and Mrs. Fallows. . . ."

  "Yes. He went to the top of the cliffs and saw down below; Levis lying on his face and my wife bending over him. Crowe said she'd killed him and he was going to see that nobody else suffered. Then, last night, he said he couldn't keep quiet any longer."

  "And you did your damndest still to shield your wife?"

  "Are you married? Wouldn't you do the same? After all, whatever she's done to me, she's the mother of my two boys. Is it likely I'd see her hang? And now, you can tell the police here and I'll say I did it and she found the body when she went to meet Levis."

  "I won't let you do that. I shall produce the people from Eairy Cushlan to prove you were there all the time."

  "Why can't you let me alone! I don't want to live any more. I might as well take the rap. Keep out of this. It's my business. The local police will never find out unless you tell them."

  "Don't be a fool! Whatever the local police do, I'm not giving up this case until the real murderer has been brought to justice. Is your wife in?"

  "Yes."

  "Then she's probably opening her heart to my friend the Archdeacon. People have a habit of doing that to him. We must have the truth from her. Haven't you spoken to her about it?"

  "I tried to, but it started a row right from the start. She got on her high horse, saying I was rubbing in her affair with Levis and trying to be the injured husband. I've tried since, but she won't speak about it."

  "My view is that she went there to meet Levis and found him dead when she got there. How long was she there with him, do you know?"

  "Only what Crowe told me. He said as soon as he saw her going to the shore, he crossed the field and went to the cliffs. He said she must have come up behind him and killed him right away."

  "She probably found him there and thought she was sure to be accused if she gave the alarm. So she crept away and kept quiet."

  "I wish to God I could believe it."

  "We must ask her . . . "

  The telephone bell rang in the hall.

  It was Scotland Yard. Levis had booked two adjacent single rooms for himself and Mrs. Levis at the Rousseau, San Remo.

  Littlejohn returned to Fallows.

  "That was London who've been speaking to the hotel at San Remo, where Levis was going the day he was killed. It looks as if he was taking Margat Crowe with him, as his wife. It was either another of his tricks, or else he'd got it seriously at last and intended marrying the girl."

  "The swine! I'm glad he was murdered. He was married already."

  "No, he wasn't. That was a tale he told to protect himself. He'd already divorced his wife on the mainland."

  "I might have expected it! Perhaps he was involved in unsavoury affairs over the water, just as he was here. Someone might have come over specially to kill him for something."

  "It's quite possible, doctor, but why choose Gob y Deigan just at a time when Levis was leaving the Island, and why should a stranger from England choose just the right moment to kill him? I mean, when so many other suspects were in the vicinity."

  "I see no reason why not. Opportunity is a grand thing when you're out to kill a man, and opportunity presented itself with a vengeance when Levis went alone to the cliffs at Lynague. Only, unfortunately, my wife was there at the time and unless you either keep quiet about it or solve the case, she looks like being in trouble. Added to that Ned Crowe will tell the truth when he recovers consciousness."

  "Perhaps he might tell something we don't expect; something that will give us all a surprise. He may know more about the murder than we think."

  "I hope to God he does! I'll leave no stone unturned to keep my wife out of this. In fact, I'd have another go at killing Crowe if I thought he was going to involve her in a sordid shady court affair."

  Fallows flushed an angry red as though already in the act of doing violence to Ned Crowe.

  If the doctor hadn't had a good alibi, Littlejohn could well have thought him capable of committing murder for love of his unfaithful, sneering wife. Crime passionel! Littlejohn looked at the doctor who stood like an animal at bay, trying to get
out of his dilemma by hook or crook. A baggy old suit, heavy pale face, bald head with thick grey tufts of hair over his ears, and the hair grown long at one side and brushed across the bald crown to hide its bareness. Brown, almost innocent-looking protruding eyes; you might almost have said he was pop-eyed. And the powerful glasses which gave him a look of Pickwickian benevolence.

  Yet Fallows had felled a rival for his wife's affections with a blow and put paid to a promising medical career. He had left a distinguished post on the mainland and taken his wife away to general practice in the Isle of Man in the hope of winning back her love. And then Levis had come along. Dr. Fallows wasn't the stock theatrical type of jealous husband, but he'd shown initiative and acted passionately and violently when goaded. He'd even run down Ned Crowe in a rage, lest his wife should suffer.

  "I'm sure she is quite incapable of violence!"

  There he was; at it again! Fallows's faith in his wife was past comprehension!

  "She can't bear suffering and violence. She's too intellectual and sensitive for that. She's been a good mother. I reckon I'm not much of a man to live with all one's life. I've been too immersed in my job and neglected her."

  "Don't take all the blame, doctor. It's not fair to think it's all your fault . . . ."

  Littlejohn shouldn't have said it; he ought to have known better. It only made Dr. Fallows madder.

  "What the hell's it got to do with you? What do you know about our life together? I tell you, most of the blame's mine."

  The door suddenly opened and Pamela Fallows entered followed by the Archdeacon.

  "What blame?"

  She overheard it as she entered and strode straight to her husband. Her cheeks were flushed and instead of shifting and wandering all over the place, her eyes were fixed straight on him.