Motives For Murder

by J F Straker

  ‘I apologized to him. I thought I ought to. He was the only person I’d tried to pump, you see, before James let the cat out of the bag. And the odd thing is that he seemed more worried than annoyed; wanted to know if I really believed J.C. had been murdered. When I said I did he went as white as a sheet.’ Colin himself looked worried. ‘I don’t like it, Anne. Chris is a damned good chap, and I’d hate like hell to get him into trouble. I’d rather drop the whole thing.’

  ‘He isn’t a damned good chap if he killed J.C.,’ said the girl. ‘But I don’t believe he did. Are you going to drop it, then?’

  ‘It looks like dropping me,’ Colin said gloomily. ‘Barring a miracle, I’m scuppered.’

  6 - A Glass of Milk

  The miracle, as Colin saw it, arrived after lunch the next afternoon, although no one would have recognized in David Lane a messenger from the gods. He was a scruffy little boy who seemed in imminent danger of losing his shorts. His stockings sagged round his ankles, the tail of his shirt flapped loosely behind him, his knees and legs were grimy. At Colin’s bellowed ‘Come in’ he opened the common room door a few inches and pushed his head through the narrow slit thus formed.

  ‘Can I speak to Mr Smelton, please, sir?’

  ‘What is it?’ growled Smelton, from the depths of an armchair.

  Thus encouraged, David Lane sidled round the door, closed it carefully, and tiptoed across the room with a grubby fist held out before him.

  ‘I was told to give you this, sir,’ he said, opening the fist.

  Smelton reached out a languid hand, plucked the object from the boy’s sticky palm, and examined it.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘I found it by the river, sir. On Sunday, when we were out for a walk with Mr James.’

  ‘Mr James wasn’t on duty last Sunday.’

  ‘No, sir. It was the Sunday before.’

  The word ‘river’ had caused Colin to sit up and take notice. For him it had only one significance. But Smelton sat with his back to him, and he could not see what it was that Lane had found.

  ‘Why didn’t you hand it in before?’ Smelton asked.

  ‘I didn’t know I had to, sir. Not until Barrett told me.’

  Prudence struggled with curiosity in Colin’s breast as the door closed behind the boy. At last he said, his voice casual and friendly, ‘What was it Lane found by the river?’

  Smelton did not answer. He placed the object in a waistcoat pocket, picked up his newspaper, and continued reading. Colin, red in the face, got up and walked out of the room. Smelton could have and enjoy his snub, but he was mistaken if he thought he could keep the matter a secret.

  Barrett was one of the school prefects, a tall, serious boy. Colin found him in the Fifth Form room. ‘It was an identity-disc, sir,’ he said. ‘It had Mr Connaught’s name on it. That’s why I thought Lane ought to give it to Mr Smelton.’

  ‘Quite right, Barrett. Exactly where did he find it?’

  ‘Just off the towpath, I think, sir.’

  David Lane, when run to earth in the gym, said he had picked it up on the grass between the towpath and the river; about half-way between the two bridges, he thought. But Colin was not interested in the exact spot; it was enough that he now had something more tangible with which to support his theory of murder. J.C. himself would certainly not have dropped the disc on the far bank, for he would have no cause to be there. Moreover, it seemed to establish an idea that had been forming in Colin’s mind — that the murderer had come from the far bank and not from the same side of the river as J.C.

  Filled with a renewed zest for detection, he hurried down to the towpath as soon as he was free. Somewhere along there the murderer must have waited, have changed into and then out of his swimming-costume. He would not do that on the path, but in the concealment of the bushes. Even at seven o’clock in the morning there was always the possibility that someone might be using the path.

  His search did not take long. Almost opposite the spot where J.C.’s clothing had been found he came on a small clearing screened from the path, where the bushes and long grass had been trampled and had not fully recovered. But although this, to Colin’s mind, proved the correctness of his theory, he found nothing in the clearing which could be used as concrete evidence of murder.

  Dusk was falling as he reached the bridge on his way back to the school, and he nearly collided with a cyclist as he hurried on to the road.

  Shades of Tony Cuttle! he thought, apologizing as the man dismounted. Then he recognized him. ‘You’re Mr Bain, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘How’s your wife?’

  ‘Not too good, thank you, sir,’ said the man. ‘It’ll be some weeks afore she’s out of hospital.’

  Colin expressed his sympathy.

  ‘What beats me,’ said Mr Bain, who seemed in no hurry to continue his journey, ‘is how petrol got into that there lamp. A real mystery, that is.’

  ‘But wasn’t there a tin of petrol in the shed? That’s what I was told, anyway. I thought your wife must have used it in mistake for paraffin.’

  Mr Bain shook his head emphatically. ‘She don’t fill the lamps,’ he said. ‘She puts them out in the shed of a morning, and I does them afore I goes to work. I just done them now. And, seeing as I filled all the lamps out of the same can well, you tell me how that one lamp come to blow up and the others didn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t realize it was like that,’ Colin said thoughtfully. ‘Is the shed kept locked?’

  Mr Bain said that there was no lock fitted, and added, in a voice that showed his mind to be running on much the same lines as his questioner’s, that his wife was usually out of an afternoon.

  ‘But you are there, aren’t you?’ said Colin.

  ‘Asleep upstairs,’ said the man. ‘With the doors shut and the curtains drawn. I wouldn’t hear nothink.’

  At dinner that evening Colin took little part in the conversation, his mind busy on the new problems that confronted him. Smelton too was silent. Colin wondered whether guilt had prompted the senior master to conceal the identity-disc from him, or whether he was just being bloody-minded. If Smelton were guilty would he dare to destroy the disc? That would be a dangerous game to play. Both Lane and Barrett, and doubtless several other boys, had seen and would be able to describe it.

  His thoughts turned to James. Lane had said he had found the disc during the Sunday afternoon walk on the day after J.C. had been drowned. Why had James chosen that walk on that day? Was it morbid curiosity — or was it another instance of a criminal being drawn to the scene of his crime? Had it no significance, or had it every significance?

  Colin wished he knew.

  After the meal he went upstairs to ponder the problem in the quiet of his own room. Even Anne was excluded from his thoughts and his company. He had told her of the identity-disc and of his search by the river that afternoon, of Mr Bain and his dark suspicions; but, although Anne appreciated that all these might be important, she was no wiser than he as to their exact significance.

  As Colin saw it the main obstacle to enlisting the support of the police was Joseph Latimer’s interpretation of the known facts. It was the common-sense interpretation, and would therefore be more likely to appeal to the police than his own. Doubtless Latimer could provide an equally innocent explanation for J.C.’s identity-disc having been found on the far bank; and if he could not explain away the explosion in the Bains’ cottage he would certainly be scornful of the suggestion that it was linked in any way with the death of J.C.

  What he had to do, Colin decided, was to discredit Latimer’s interpretation by making all the facts fit neatly into a theory of his own. But what was his theory? Obviously the murderer must have come from the far bank, from which it followed that J.C. could not have been forced into the water. Not forced physically, that is. Yet there must have been some urgency involved, or why the forgotten watch, the scattered clothing?

  What, then, was this urgency? It was that above all else w
hich he had to decide.

  There was also that mysterious call for help. J.C. had lost his voice, therefore he could not have shouted loud enough for Tony Cuttle, nearly two hundred yards away on the road, to have heard him. Yet it was surely too much of a coincidence to suggest, as the headmaster had suggested, that Tony had imagined if? If one believed in telepathy one might conceivably put it down to that. But not to imagination.

  Well, I’m damned if I’m going to accept telepathy, thought Colin. Yet what else was there, apart from Latimer’s sarcastic suggestion that perhaps it had been the murderer, and not J.C., who had called for help? And that ...

  He had been lying on his back on the bed, hands behind his head, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Now with a sudden spring he sat up and swung his feet to the floor, a gleam in his eye. By Jiminy, that was it! That was how it had happened! Latimer’s silly crack had hit the nail bang on the head. It was the murderer who had called for help!

  For a few moments he stayed where he was, excitement mounting in him as he realized how much was now explained, how so many previously inconsistent facts now fitted harmoniously together. Then, exultant, he made for the door. Anne must be told. And as he scurried down the stairs in his stockinged feet there flashed into his mind the happy picture of an adoring Anne engulfed in admiration of her fiancé’s genius.

  But the picture faded instantly as he burst into the common room. James Latimer stood with his back to the door, his outstretched arms barring Anne’s exit. The girl’s face was flushed, and Colin knew that she was near to tears. His love for her, his dislike and jealousy of James, the frustration and excitement of the past few days, welled up inside him and spilled over. Acting on impulse, he caught hold of James’s outstretched right arm, swung him sharply round, and hit him with all his force full on the point of the chin.

  James went down and stayed down. Anne, consternation struggling with relief, turned first to Colin and then to prostrate man. Colin knelt beside her guiltily. Anger had vanished with the blow, and the likely consequences of his impetuosity began to crowd upon him.

  ‘He’s out cold,’ he said. ‘Must have hit him harder than I thought. But there’s no damage done, I fancy; he’ll come round in a moment. Thank the Lord he didn’t crack his skull against anything.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have hit him, darling,’ said Anne, still struggling with her tears. ‘It was a dreadful thing to do.’

  Colin knew she was right, but refused to admit it. ‘It may teach him to leave you alone in future,’ he said.

  ‘But he wasn’t doing anything,’ she protested. ‘He asked me to have dinner with him tomorrow, and I refused. Then he said he wouldn’t let me out of the room until I changed my mind. I was furious, of course, and terribly glad to see you; but I don’t believe he would have used actual force to stop me leaving. I imagine it was his idea of a joke.’

  ‘It isn’t mine,’ said Colin.

  James sat up and rubbed his chin, looking vacantly at the two figures kneeling beside him. Then, as memory returned, he rose unsteadily to his feet and slumped into an armchair.

  The others stood up. ‘Are you all right, James?’ Anne asked anxiously.

  Colin, feeling extremely uncomfortable, muttered a shamefaced apology. ‘Afraid I lost my temper,’ he said.

  James glowered at them. He was in no mood for forgiveness. ‘Apart from giving me no chance to defend myself, who the devil gave you the right to interfere?’

  ‘Anne and I are engaged,’ Colin said briefly.

  ‘Oh!’ James was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Well, that doesn’t entitle you to assault any other man who happens to speak to her, damn you. You had better learn to control your temper, my lad, if you hope to remain a schoolmaster. That is one of the essentials.’ Gingerly he caressed his chin with his fingertips. ‘You can say goodbye to Redways. You’ve asked for trouble and now you’re going to get it. Once my father has an earful of your behaviour this evening you’ll be out, and out sharp. I’ll see to that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t stay in this ruddy dump if you trebled my salary,’ Colin retorted. He had been prepared to eat humble pie in order that the incident might be hushed up, but as James was clearly in no mood to be magnanimous he saw no further need for humility. ‘And from where I’m standing it looks as though you’ve been in trouble, not me.’ He rubbed the knuckles of his clenched fist significantly. ‘As for Mr Latimer — well, he may be your father, but I doubt if he would approve of your molesting a lady.’

  ‘That’s a damned lie!’ the other protested hotly. ‘I wasn’t molesting her. Ask Anne.’

  ‘Forcible restraint, then. You can call it what you like, but it amounts to the same thing. And if I catch you at it again you’ll get the same treatment.’

  ‘Try it when I’m looking and see what happens.’ James turned to the girl. ‘I’m sorry about this, Anne. When your hot-headed fiancé returns to his senses (if any) you might inform him that I neither molested nor restrained you. Good night.’

  Anne did not answer. When James had stalked from the room she looked at Colin in consternation.

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, darling. It’s torn everything.’

  Colin was more annoyed than sorry, and said so. ‘It doesn’t matter two hoots,’ he assured her. ‘James and I were due for a bustup sooner or later. Just as well to get it over.’

  ‘But you’ll lose your job.’

  ‘What of it? There are plenty more jobs, most of them a damned sight better than this one. The only attraction at Redways is you; and, to be on the safe side, I think I had better take the attraction with me.’

  Anne hugged him, relieved that he should accept his probable dismissal so cheerfully. ‘What made you dash into the room like that?’ she asked. ‘Did you know James was in here?’

  ‘Good Lord!’ Memory returned to him. ‘No, it wasn’t anything to do with James. I have seen the light, darling. I mean, I know how J.C. was killed.’

  ‘Really? How?’

  ‘It was something old Latimer said that pressed the button, although it didn’t click at the time. He was trying to be funny, as usual. He said that if Tony wasn’t mistaken in thinking he heard someone shouting for help, and if J.C. had lost his voice, was I suggesting that it was the murderer who called out? Well, I wasn’t. But I am now. For that’s who it was, you see. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

  Anne shook her head in bewilderment.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Surely that’s the last thing a murderer would do?’

  ‘Not this one. Look — this is how I think it happened. The murderer waited on the opposite bank until J.C. was due, then slipped into the water, swam out to the middle of the stream, and started to splash around and call for help. Tony Cuttle heard him — and so did J.C. And that is why J.C. didn’t wait to take off his wrist-watch or fold up his clothes — he just chucked his things off and went to the rescue. And when he reached the supposedly drowning figure ...’ Colin shrugged his shoulders. ‘J.C. wasn’t a big man. It wouldn’t call for much strength to push him under and keep him there.’

  Anne shuddered.

  ‘How horrible! Anyone who could do that would have to be an absolute monster. I can’t believe it of any of the staff, Colin. I just can’t.’

  ‘Murder is always horrible. I don’t see that drowning is any more so than poison, come to that.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But all the same ...’ A thought occurred to her. ‘What about the identity-disc and the keys?’

  ‘I think the murderer swam over to this side of the river after he had finished with J.C., and took the keys from his pocket. But the disc is more difficult. There must be an explanation as to how it got to the far bank; I just haven’t thought of it yet, that’s all. But it’ll come to me in time.’

  ‘Do you think J.C. knew who it was when he went to the rescue?’

  ‘No. Too misty. That mist was in the murderer’s favour from start to finish. If someone else came on the scene before J.C. reached
him he could pretend that he himself was drowning; feign cramp, or something like that. And if the someone else turned up during the struggle, or before he had had time to leave the water and hide, the mist would have obscured what was really happening. The murderer could have explained — if he was ever asked to explain — that J.C. was in difficulties and he had gone to the rescue. Unsuccessfully, of course. He’d be quite a hero, in fact.’

  ‘I still don’t believe anyone at Redways could have behaved like that,’ the girl persisted. ‘It’s too horrible to contemplate.’

  ‘You don’t want to believe it, you mean.’

  She knew that to be true. Ever since Colin had persuaded her that J.C.’s death was no accident she had deliberately shut her mind to all that the word ‘murder’ implied. If there was a murderer among them, she had told herself, he was a murderer by accident and not by design; a murderer who, having killed, would be filled with instant remorse. But how different it looked now! If Colin were right there must have been cool, calculated planning and execution — followed, no doubt, by satisfaction in success. It implied the work of a monster; and that monster, according to Colin, was one of themselves. Any one, from Mr Latimer down to Miss Dove.

  No, not Mr. Latimer. He at least was ruled out. He couldn’t swim.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Colin when she mentioned this.

  ‘Well, he didn’t bathe at all last term. The rest of the staff did — even Webby. But not him. And it’s well known that he hates cold water.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he can’t swim,’ Colin said obstinately. ‘I’d want stronger evidence than that before ruling him out. And talking of Latimer — I suppose I’d better see him now and get it over.’

  ‘Not tonight, darling,’ said Anne. ‘Leave it until tomorrow morning. It will give him time to cool down after James has had his say.’

  The door opened slowly, and Diana’s head appeared. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her as she came into the room.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘A bust-up? I heard an almighty row going on in here, and then James came out looking absolutely black with rage. Since then I’ve been hanging around waiting for my curiosity to overcome my finer nature. Do tell.’