Nobody's Perfect

by Douglas Clark

  “You’re sure you didn’t make capital out of the fact that they had not appeared on the weekly absentee lists?”

  Torr reddened. “I mentioned it.”

  “But you never thought to warn Dieppe months ago that he was interpreting Company policy wrongly and that he should include his days off?”

  “I’m not here to tutor senior staff.”

  “I should have thought it would have come within your welfare duties. Keeping people happy. However, what else was there in the report?”

  “I gave a few instances when, in my opinion, Dieppe had not shown the initiative and grasp we in Barugt expect of executives. I suggested we had been mistaken in promoting him to his present position, and that we should be even more mistaken to keep him on.”

  Green said, “That’s rich, that is, coming from a man who’s been with the firm about a quarter as long as Dieppe, and holding only the same management rating. What bloody right had you to send in a report like that?”

  “Cut it out,” Masters said to Green. And then to Torr: “Did Mr Huth discuss the report with you?”

  “I heard no more about it after I’d sent it to A.A.”

  “Not at all? What about when Mr Huth sent for Dieppe’s file?”

  “Nothing about the report was mentioned.”

  “But you guessed the two were connected.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Green said: “Yesterday you denied having any knowledge of why Mr Huth sent for those three files.”

  “I had no definite knowledge. My suspicions and opinions don’t count.”

  “They don’t,” said Masters. “Unless you really did know why Mr Huth wanted Dieppe’s file, and you wanted to avoid the suggestion that he had called for your file to mete out the same treatment to you.”

  “Why should he?”

  “It was unusual for Mr Huth to interest himself in the staff. Yet one day recently he called for three files. Dieppe’s to sack him for reasons provided by you. Hunt’s because he had written a memo which as good as said the Company’s publicity policy was no good. Two of the three for the high jump! Why not the third?”

  “I still say he had no reason to think of dismissing me.”

  Green said: “Oh no?”

  Torr flushed angrily. Masters said: “There’s a little matter of a thousand Metathiazanone tablets which went missing, and have since been found in your private cage.”

  “And don’t let’s pretend you took them for a joke or to teach Mr Pitt a lesson,” said Green savagely, “because it won’t wash.”

  There was no time for Torr to think of an excuse. He had been led straight to the water. “A.A. couldn’t have known anything about that,” he said wildly.

  Masters said: “He knew all about it. A copy of the memo from the factory saying it was missing was sent to him. On the day that memo reached him he made a note on his desk diary to ask you about the drug’s disappearance. He linked your name with it immediately. And even more significant, the note is there with similar notes about Dieppe’s shortcomings and Hunt’s outspoken and unasked for memo on publicity. You were all three in his mind together, and he sent for all your files.”

  Torr sneered. “If that’s your case, it’s pretty thin. A.A. wouldn’t have done anything but give me a mild rocket for lax security at the loading bay. He wouldn’t have sacked me because he couldn’t have known where the tin of pills had gone; and in any case he wouldn’t have begrudged me a few tranquillizers for my own use, even if he had known I’d got them.”

  Masters said quietly, “And I don’t suppose he would have minded you sending some to your friends like Dopey Cordner for stopping dogs with.”

  There was no fight in Torr. The remark had felled him. Masters had expected denials and lies. There was nothing. It seemed as if Masters had been right and Torr had deluded himself he was safe because no move had been made against him for twenty-four hours. Or perhaps, Masters thought, Torr must have known, subconsciously, that all was lost, and for the past twenty-four hours had been conditioning himself to accept the inevitable when it came. Masters couldn’t make up his mind which had occurred; but he was pleased Torr had caved in so meekly.

  “Because I’ve helped to dope a few dogs doesn’t mean I murdered Huth,” said Torr.

  “Maybe not. But I’ve got evidence that Mr Huth was intending to discuss the missing drug with you. I’ve only got to show that he knew you’d stolen it and the case against you could be made to look as black as the hobs of hell. You see, Mr Torr, motive counts for a lot with a jury, and when they heard of why you wanted the Metathiazanone …”

  “I tell you I haven’t seen A.A. for weeks.”

  “That appears to be a common complaint in Barugt, so I’ll accept it for the moment. But I warn you, I shall try to prove you wrong, and if I can manage it, I shall have good grounds for thinking you took another, more lethal drug from the loading bay and used it for killing Mr Huth. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then my advice to you is to make a full and truthful statement to Inspector Green.”

  “Is he going to arrest me?”

  “You’ll be arrested by somebody from the local police who’ll be here before you’ve finished the statement.” Masters turned to Green. “I’ll send Brant down to help and ring Superintendent Bale. He’ll send somebody along.”

  Brant stayed long enough to make a brief report before he went to join Green. The Huth family doctor had never prescribed phenobarbitone or any other barbiturate for any member of the family, Mrs Huth had a simple vasospastic condition of the leg with slight ulceration. For this the doctor had prescribed a well-known vasodilator, not made by Barugt, which had no known side effects and the toxicity of which was so low that doses of up to twenty times the normal therapeutic level had resulted in no ill effects.

  The pathologist’s report confirmed that Huth had been suffering from nephritis recently. He had taken large amounts of alcohol and phenobarbitone. Both were inadvisable in his condition, and though the phenobarbitone had caused death, it had been potentiated by the alcohol. Without the alcohol he might have lived. He had died in the early hours of the morning.

  With no fresh news from either of these reports, Masters was for the moment undecided what to do. But not for long. He told Hill he was going down to the main entrance to speak to Mablethorpe.

  He said to the commissionaire: “Can you leave your post for a few minutes?”

  “I’ll get a relief. Bert, one of the internal postmen, usually stands in. I’ll just see if he’s free.”

  Masters strolled out through the double doors and waited in the open air. When Mablethorpe joined him he asked: “Army?”

  “W.O. two in the Gunners. Field Artillery. Never with anybody else — Ack Ack. Anti Tank and the like.”

  “Yesterday morning I thought you seemed upset at Mr Huth’s death. Did you like him that much?”

  “I thought a hell of a lot of him. When old soldiers came into civilian life there’s some who won’t take them on their merits. Think because a man’s been a sar’ major he’ll want to turn the place into a training depot overnight, or that he must be a nut case for having joined up at all. Mr Huth wasn’t like them. When I applied to come here, Torr was not for having me. Thank God Mr Huth was about at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Company was just moving in here from some old premises in London, and the directors and some of the managers were down here for the day making plans. Torr came and gave me my interview here and I could tell he’d turned me down. Him and me didn’t see eye to eye, but he said he’d let me know, which meant napoo in my book. Anyhow, there wasn’t anybody here to make themselves useful, so I buckled to and lent a hand. I’d nothing else to do. Not that I really did as much as a Wrac on jankers, but it appears I helped Mr Huth. I didn’t know who he was, but I saw him wandering about wanting this and wanting that and nobody to get it for him. Anyhow, I must have done what he wanted, because when we�
�d finished he asked who I was. I thought to myself ‘now’s my chance.’ So I told him.”

  “And got yourself the job? Well done.”

  “And fifty bob for my trouble. Not that Mr Huth was free with his money. I’d say he was a bit tight-fisted, but he was like a good C.O. in the army. Never interfered, but knew what was going on by instinct. He spoke to me every time he passed me, and he called me Mister Mablethorpe. Some of ’em here don’t seem to think either’s necessary.”

  “Did you ever meet Mrs Huth?”

  “I did, sir. A fine lady. Not what you’d call a pin-up girl in one sense, but a pleasure to meet at any time. She always remembered me at Christmas, and always the same message: ‘For helping Adam.’”

  “Has she been to Barugt House recently?”

  “She only ever came about twice a year, and one of those was always to present the prizes at the kiddies’ party. She didn’t fuss around like some of the other wives. I sometimes have a foyer full of them on Friday afternoons. A firm’s just like a regiment, sir. If you let them, some of the wives would take over.”

  Masters stood in silence for a moment and then asked: “Did any strangers call at Barugt House on Monday?”

  “Several. They do every day. But not one gets past me or Bert. We hold them in reception, phone up the one they want to see, and make them wait till they’re fetched.”

  “That’s at the main door. What about the other entrances?”

  “We see to that, too. The back door comes in at first floor level and leads straight into the post room, and Bert or one of his mates is always there to ask questions. Nobody’s supposed to use it who isn’t authorized, so they know who to let through and who not. And then there’s the lower door, which goes straight down a ramp into the stock room, and that’s always manned. We never leave it open and empty, no matter what happens.”

  “Isn’t there a loading bay?”

  “Ah, you can get into the bay itself easy enough from outside, but it’s only open for an hour or so a day. Just long enough to unload and load up again. And to get out of it on the inside’s a different matter. You have to pass through a glass-walled office that always has somebody in it when the doors are open. No, I don’t think unauthorized people would get very far without being seen. They might, if they were trained at getting in, but I don’t think they’d be able to choose their time to suit themselves. They’d have to do it when somebody’s back was really turned.”

  Masters said: “One of my sergeants made a remark about how difficult he thought it’d be for a stranger to get very far in Barugt House. He had to take a sheet from the women’s rest room and he came back feeling like a thief because so many people had eyed him with suspicion.”

  “There you are then,” said Mablethorpe. “If you’re thinking somebody from outside killed Mr Huth, you’re wrong. It was an inside job, definitely, and if I knew who’d done it, his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. What beats me, though, is the reason for it. Still, you never know. These days there’s plenty who’ll excuse murder, rape or anything else. And the youngsters do just what they fancy.”

  “You don’t approve of modern youth?”

  “Of course I do. Most of them. I’ve got kids of my own nearly grown up. No, it’s only the odd one that gets on my tits. They’re like a gun that’s firing short in a barrage. They need to be sorted out and relaid good and proper. That’s what we should do with what they call social misfits. Only I don’t call them that.”

  “Would you put them in the army, Mr Mablethorpe?”

  “Not likely. That’s always the cry. Put them in the army! The army can’t afford them any more than the rest of the community. Good homes, hard work and short haircuts are what most of them need.”

  They walked towards the main doors. “Can I ask how you’re getting on?” said Mablethorpe.

  “Quite well, I suppose,” said Masters. “But we don’t know who the murderer is yet.” They went inside and, for the record, Masters asked Bert if he’d noticed any strangers on Monday. The answer was no.

  Bert went off to finish sorting the post. Mablethorpe said, “I’ve been glad of the chat, and I’d like to say sorry for yesterday morning. I was feeling a bit bloody-minded at the time.”

  “I could tell.”

  “I knew you could, else I wouldn’t have said sorry now. I hate violence, you know. Of any sort.”

  Masters laughed. “That’s the hallmark of the true soldier,” he said, and pressed the lift button.

  Masters and Hill waited for Green and Brant. They came to Huth’s office at half past five.

  Green said: “We kept him till everybody had gone and the coast was clear. But that chap Mablethorpe was still in the foyer and I didn’t like the look he gave Torr. When he saw we were escorting him out, the old boy looked as though he’d have liked to have had a bash at him.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just shook my head, hoping the old boy would cotton on that we hadn’t got him for murder yet. He understood.”

  Masters said: “Mr Mablethorpe is a very understanding man.”

  4

  After the fine, bright weather of the preceding two days, with no sign of a cloud blanket to keep the ground warm at night, there was a crisp frost — the first of the autumn — on the Thursday morning. Motoring in traffic was difficult. Drivers who hadn’t encountered similar conditions for at least half a year seemed taken by surprise, and out of practice at holding the road. Masters, anchored by his bulk, sat unmoving in the car. Green hung on to the back of Brant’s seat till his knuckles showed white with the strain. There was little conversation except for appreciative remarks from Masters about the trees which, almost leafless, sparkled prettily in the misty but powerless sunlight. Green didn’t reply. He concentrated on weaving his body with the movement of the car. He found no beauty in the midst of danger. He began to look happier only when they reached Huth’s office and he could relax his tensed muscles.

  “What about Torr?” he said. “Are we going to concentrate on him?”

  “Forget him,” Masters answered. “Cross him off your list of suspects.”

  “What? How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t, absolutely. But I’m satisfied Huth didn’t know about Torr’s dog track capers. If he had known, Torr would have been out on his neck last week, not sitting in his office this Monday plotting murder. And if Huth didn’t know, Torr had no reason to murder him.”

  “Hell,” said Green. “You’re easily satisfied. Remember Huth called for Torr’s file. How do you explain that?”

  “He called for Hunt’s file, too. To promote him. He might have wanted to promote Torr.”

  “That slob? I thought Huth was a good businessman!”

  “So he was. It doesn’t mean he had a perfect team. Besides, we’re all blind to other people’s faults at times.” He spoke with feeling. He’d had Green round his neck for long enough. He added: “Or learn to live with them even if we don’t accept them.”

  “Huth called Torr a con man.”

  Masters sat back and lit his pipe. Then he said, “It seems strange to me that an important firm like this had only a lowly departmental manager in charge of the Personnel activity, when it includes recruiting top-grade technical staff. Departmental manager isn’t as high as Area manager. You remember what Miss Krick told me when I got her to talk about status in Barugt? She mentioned one appointment at the top of the tree among managers — just below director level. She called him a Controller. The proper title is Control Manager. That’s what I think Huth’s note was referring to. His “Con Man” was a shorthand form of Control Manager, and I think he intended to promote Torr. It seems a more likely interpretation than a written reference to Torr as a con man. Don’t you think so? Bearing in mind that Huth had a reputation for getting rid of people within the hour if they crossed him.”

  Green said: “I suppose you’re right.”

  “One gone, two to go,” said Hill.

  “You mean,”
said Green, “that Torr was telling the truth when he said that Huth’s note about the missing drug only meant that he wanted security in the loading bay tightened up?”

  Masters said: “That’s my opinion. Huth couldn’t have cared less about thirteen pounds’ worth of harmless drugs. It would have been a different matter if Metathiazanone had been a dangerous product.”

  “You’re the boss,” said Green. “At least Torr’s inside with enough evidence against him to keep him there for a bit. Who do we look at now? Dieppe?”

  “We’ll go and see him before he starts dashing about the place.”

  Green said: “If he’s in yet.”

  Masters and Green went to Pharmacy. The girls of the department were gathered in a group at one of the windows. They were excited, chattering and peering out onto the employees’ car park far below. Catherine Blake was the first to notice them. She said sombrely: “We’ve got our little something to talk about.”

  Masters was worried by her tone. “What’s happened?”

  “Teddy crashed his car just outside the main gate. Look! They’re pushing it into the car park now.”

  They peered through the gap at the bottom of the swing window. The mist was not strong enough to hide the four men manhandling a grey Morris 1000 into a corner space. The car was still a mover although the front was badly battered and, to judge by the antics of the pushers, the steering linkage damaged.

  “That’s just the car I’d have said he’d have had,” Green said quietly. “Same type, same colour. Is he badly hurt, does anybody know?”

  “Not really,” said Vera. “Vi heard he’d got a broken arm and some cuts on his face. Somebody else heard he was unconscious.”

  Christine Blake said: “He had a seat belt, but he was the world’s worst driver.”