Murder Under A Green Sea

by Phillip Hunter

  Longford had already purchased a ticket for Max, and, once aboard the train, they moved along the narrow corridor until they found an empty smoking compartment. Longford closed the door behind them, and they sat.

  Longford removed his hat, which he put on the seat opposite, then took his pipe and a packet of tobacco from his coat pocket. When he’d lit the pipe, Max took out a cigarette. Longford struck a match for him.

  “Thanks,” Max said, blowing the smoke at the door.

  The whistle sounded and the train jerked a couple of times, then moved off slowly, lurching and gradually picking up speed.

  There was a smell of soot and stale smoke in the compartment. It was cold, and the windows were coated in nicotine, making it dim inside, hardly more than an extension of the prison cell.

  Longford had finished smoking and now removed a brown paper bag from his coat pocket. He unwrapped a ham and mustard sandwich, offering half to Max, who declined.

  “This goes all the way through to London,” Longford said. “So if you want to get some sleep, sir, you could rest against the window.”

  “I’m all right.”

  They moved through the centre of Lincoln, and then into the suburbs, rows of houses and gardens passing quietly, as if asleep. Then into the working part of town, industry and dirt. They passed factories and warehouses, some abandoned because of the lack of trade. They passed men in flat caps and hobnail boots, lifting and loading and pushing.

  Finally, they left all that behind and entered the countryside.

  Max watched the flat, bleak land speed by. He liked train journeys. He liked to watch the world go by as the soporific rhythm of the wheels on the track lulled him. Now, though, that rhythm merely signalled his destination.

  In spite of himself, Max did begin to doze and was only half-conscious of the stops and starts as the train pulled into stations like Essendine and Little Bytham, small bleak places where the sky and fields were different shades of grey and the grass was greyer than both and the wind blew across the flat landscape, blasting the people on the platforms with icy gloom. The train would grind to a halt and pick up a handful of travellers before rolling off again to the station master’s whistle.

  Max opened his eyes and looked around him, taking a moment to slide out of the waking-dream state. When he saw Longford, emptiness opened up inside.

  “We’ve just passed through Peterborough,” Longford said. “You’ve been asleep an hour or so.”

  “Have I?”

  Max lit a cigarette and sat up in his seat. He looked out of the window, but now the view didn’t seem so peaceful, and his destination was too close. After a while, he turned to Longford and said, “Do you really think I’m a murderer?”

  Longford looked at the bowl of his pipe, then tapped it out on the bottom of his heel. He started to refill the pipe with tobacco. “I just follow the evidence, sir,” he said. “And I think you’re lying about something.”

  “That doesn’t make me a murderer.”

  “No, but until I can eliminate you from the inquiry, I have to follow what I have. Besides, more has come to light since we last spoke, and it doesn’t help your cause any.”

  “What more?”

  Longford put a match to his pipe, sucked in several times and finally exhaled the blue-grey smoke. He looked at Max. “When we reported to you that the deceased was called Crawford, you claimed not to know of him.”

  “And I didn’t.”

  “I might’ve believed you except that we’ve since discovered you went to a hotel called the Alderney, on Ebury Street. We have two eyewitnesses who describe a couple, whom we believe to be you and your wife. At this hotel, you gained access to a room occupied by a Daniel Burton. We now know that Crawford was, in fact, Daniel Burton. He’s been positively identified. So, my question to you is how would you know where to look for Burton if you didn’t know he was Crawford?”

  “I didn’t know. I suspected, but only towards the end of my interview with you. After that, I thought about it and decided that it was possibly Burton who’d been killed.”

  “I see. In that case, why you didn’t correspond these suspicions to the police?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure, you see. I thought I’d see whether I could find Burton and then I’d know for sure whether it was him. If it was, I’d have contacted you, naturally.”

  “I see. So, at this point you still thought it might have been the case that your friend was alive and well?”

  “Yes. Precisely.”

  “In that case, may I ask you why you didn’t ask the receptionist at the hotel to call Mr Burton’s room? Or why you didn’t go up and knock on his door?”

  “I…”

  “Because, sir, it looks suspicious that you didn’t do either of these things, if you suspected he might be alive. In fact, one of our eyewitnesses states that you claimed to be Burton, and it therefore looks more suspicious that you went up with the sole intention of entering the room. After all, if he’d been alive, you might have burst in upon him. That’s not how you behave with your friends, is it, sir?”

  Max didn’t have an answer for that. Of course, Longford was right. He’d been stupid to try to get access to Burton’s hotel room, and then even more stupid to gain access fraudulently.

  “There is another point to make, sir,” Longford said, hardly allowing Max the chance to consider a plausible excuse for the hotel incident. “If you knew Mr Burton was staying at the hotel, and you suspected he might be the deceased, why didn’t you mention him to us when we questioned you the second time?”

  “Well, I didn’t think—”

  “Because, again, it does look suspicious, doesn’t it? I mean, we did ask you to give us an account of your whereabouts on Friday night, and we asked for the names of anyone who could collaborate your story, and yet you didn’t once mention Daniel Burton. Why was that?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t remember that night too well.”

  “But your memory returned.”

  “No. I mean, yes.”

  “That’s convenient, sir.”

  Max clenched his jaw. He wasn’t helping his cause. But Longford wasn’t finished. He said, “Apparently, nobody had been in the room for a few days. There was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door, so the maid left it. After your visit, the receptionist became suspicious and informed his manager. Only then was the door opened. What do you think they found, sir?”

  Max knew, of course, and his blood ran cold with the knowledge, and with the fear of his position. Longford didn’t wait for an answer. He said, “They found the body of a man, sir. And they called the police, and that’s when we discovered that the dead man was Major Frederick Rice.”

  “That doesn’t mean I killed him. He was dead already.”

  “If you’d found him dead, sir, why didn’t you contact the police yourself? You see, at the very least you’re guilty of failing to inform the police of a crime.”

  Longford took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose. He took his time doing it. When he’d put the handkerchief back in his pocket, he said, “Then there’s that strange comment from General Monroe. Now, you admit that he was your battalion commander during the war, and Rice was a company commander in the same battalion, and you were a lieutenant in another company of the same battalion.”

  “Yes, I admit all those things.”

  “Then why would General Monroe tell us that Rice had nobody to fear except you? After all, sir, we couldn’t have a more unimpeachable character witness than General Monroe – Chief of the Imperial General Staff.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “We did. But I’d like to hear you explain it to me.”

  Max was quiet for a while, considering how much he should reveal. He knew he should wait for Mr Bacon, or some other lawyer. But he also knew he was in a lot of troubl
e, and Longford’s suspicions were increasing. Indeed, they were becoming certainties.

  Max said, “In war, people do things that otherwise would seem wrong. That was a bad war, and lots of men did things that they’d be ashamed of in other circumstances.”

  The inspector considered what Max had said and, in a soft, measured tone, said, “I’m a civilian policeman. Anything that happened in the war would be out of my jurisdiction, even if I could prove it.”

  “Monroe was friends with a couple of the company commanders. Something happened once, and I think he suspects me of… killing one of them.”

  “And Major Rice?”

  “He was another of the man’s friends. They were old campaigners, and they’d known each other for years.”

  “And, of course, they were officers.”

  “Yes.”

  “And upper-class, one would imagine.”

  “Does that have any bearing?”

  Longford didn’t answer that question. Instead, he sat and sucked on his pipe for a while. Then he said, “I admire your honesty, Mr Dalton. Although…”

  “Although what?”

  Longford looked at his pipe and tapped the embers down with his matchbox, which brought Max’s handcuffed hand up. “Well, as I said, I’m a civilian policeman. What happened in the war isn’t my concern, unless it relates to something in the civilian world. Unfortunately, sir, you’ve just given me a reason why you’d want to kill Mr Burton and Mr Rice. You’ve given me a motive.”

  “What do you mean? What motive?”

  Longford cleared his throat and said, “For instance, blackmail.”

  “What? That’s insane.”

  “Not at all. Suppose Major Rice had some financial problems. He might hit upon the idea that he could blackmail you, the husband of a wealthy woman, and a man with a solid reputation to maintain. He might realise that he and Burton together would be able to provide enough evidence against you, and that you would be forced to pay them. Then, having understood their plans, you might have realised that your only course of action would be to kill them. All the evidence fits such a hypothesis. And you yourself have admitted that Rice, and, indeed, General Monroe, suspect you of murder.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Longford was just about to explain that he was serious when the compartment door opened. Both men looked up and saw a young woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a grey trouser suit and carrying something large in her hands.

  “Martha?” Max said.

  “Mrs Dalton,” the inspector said.

  Martha took a step, raised a large cast iron wrench and dropped it on Inspector Longford’s head.

  “Ouch,” he said, furiously rubbing his head.

  “Sorry,” Martha said, hitting him again.

  “Ouch. Madam… Mrs Dalton, will you please stop doing that.”

  “I have to,” she said.

  “Martha—” Max said.

  “I’m going to have to arrest you for striking—”

  Martha swung the wrench again, but Longford dodged it. The wrench slipped from Martha’s grip and landed on Longford’s foot.

  “Ow, my bloody foot,” he said, followed by another exclamation that was less constrained, and more anatomical.

  “I’m really sorry,” Martha said.

  Longford’s face was red with fury.

  Then Martha kicked him in the shin.

  He jumped up out of his seat, slammed his head in the luggage rack, and fell, unmoving, to the floor, pulling Max down with him.

  Martha stared, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh, my God, I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him.”

  “Calm down, Martha.”

  “We’re all going to hang. Quick, we have to run for it. Come on, Max. Max.”

  “I’m handcuffed to him. I can’t run.”

  “What are we going to do? Max, what are we going to do? He’s dead. He’s dead.”

  Just then, the door slid open. Martha looked over and was surprised to see old Mr Tomlinson who, ashen-faced, was staring at the scene before him and clutching his chest. He staggered away. “Ooh, that was dear old Mr Tomlinson,” Martha said.

  “What? Who?”

  “Oh, no. He’s going to get the guards. He’s going to squeal, he’s going to dob us in, Max.”

  “You’re talking gibberish.”

  “We’re going to be caught. We have to go. Now. Max. Max!”

  “I have to get out of these handcuffs.”

  “Cut his arm off,” Martha said desperately.

  “You’re panicking.”

  “I’m not panicking,” Martha screamed. “Cut his arm off. Cut all his arms off.”

  “The keys are attached to his fob.”

  Martha scrambled to find the inspector’s watch and followed the fob chain, finding the keys attached to the end, in his waistcoat pocket. Her hands were shaking as she tugged at the chain.

  “Calmly, Martha.”

  “Yes. Nora Charles.”

  “What?”

  “The Thin Man, remember?”

  “Get a grip, for God’s sake.”

  Calmly, Martha stretched the chain over to Max’s wrist and unlocked the cuffs.

  “Actually,” Max said, rubbing his wrist, “I think it’s more like The Thirty-Nine Steps now. That makes me Robert Donat.”

  “You remind me of Robert Donat. Who am I, by the way?”

  “Madeleine Carroll. Now, let’s get out of here.”

  “I don’t feel very well.”

  “You’re in shock. Take a deep breath.”

  Having released his wrist from the handcuffs, Max attached the empty cuff to the metal leg of the seat, which was securely screwed into the train floor. He then pulled down the window and threw the key out. “Right,” he said. “What now?”

  “What would Robert Donat do?”

  “Robert Donat can’t help us now.”

  “I mean, what did he do in The Thirty-Nine Steps?”

  “Uh, they stopped the train on the Forth Bridge, and Robert Donat escaped.”

  “A bridge, Max,” she cried. “We need a Forth Bridge. Where is it?”

  Max grabbed Martha by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You’re hysterical. Will you for God’s sake calm down.”

  Martha, breathing hard, looked directly, and with some anger, at Max. “If you slap me, I’ll turn you in myself.”

  “I’m not going to slap you. Are you calm?”

  “I think I’m going to faint.”

  “You’re not going to faint. Now, hold on to something.”

  He went into the corridor, grabbed the communications cord and yanked it down.

  The train screeched and juddered to a stop. Further along the corridor, there were angry shouts, a woman screamed, things crashed to the floor.

  Max opened the door and jumped from the train on to the side of the tracks, then lifted Martha down.

  They were at the edge of a grass field. Max helped Martha over the wooden fence, and they started to walk quickly towards a road in the distance.

  “I bet you’re glad I brought my trouser suit now,” Martha said.

  Along the train, people were opening windows and peering out, pointing at the two fugitives. Martha turned briefly and caught sight of an elderly man, his head out of the window, breathing heavily as though in some physical distress.

  “Oh, look,” Martha said, “it’s old Mr Tomlinson.”

  Old Mr Tomlinson happened then to see Martha and Max.

  “It’s all right,” Martha shouted to him, “we didn’t cut his arms off.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Once at the road they walked south and managed to flag down a small flatbed truck carrying engine parts. The driver was a grizzled fellow with unkempt
dark hair and a face of thick stubble. He emanated an odour most commonly associated with livestock. Martha, however, didn’t seem to notice.

  In fact, she was very quiet over the course of the journey, shivering now and then, either from the cold or from delayed shock. Max put his arm around her shoulders and held her close.

  The driver dropped them in the centre of Huntingdon before continuing his journey, taking his excessive craniofacial hair and strange anatomical smell with him.

  Now Martha and Max were in the far corner of a small tea house in Huntingdon, along a quiet street just off the market square.

  “He was very nice,” Martha said, “that driver.”

  “He wasn’t nice, Martha.”

  “He brought us here. He could’ve dropped us anywhere.”

  “He brought us here because the three of us were squashed in the cabin, and you were sitting next to him.”

  “Oh.”

  They shared a cheese sandwich and a pot of tea. Money was becoming an issue and, since they’d had to abandon all their luggage, they were ill prepared for flight.

  “What are we going to do, Max?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Martha hugged herself. “Well, I suppose it could be worse,” she said. “We’re together, at least. And you’re not in prison.”

  “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “I decided I had to get back to London, speak to Mr Ham. So, I checked out of the hotel in Lincoln, went to the station and sat in the tea room while I waited for the train. And I saw you and the inspector.”

  “I see. And that weapon you used? The wrench?”

  “There was a man there, on the station concourse. And he had a bag of tools, and the wrench was poking out of the top. When I saw you, I got up to follow, but then I thought that Inspector Longford might have you handcuffed. So, I bought the wrench from this fellow. And… well, here we are.”

  Max smiled, leaned forward and kissed her. “We can’t go back to London,” he said, “not without knowing what we’re going to do. The police will be looking for us.”