‘I think you also had some high nitrogen in May?’
‘That’s right. And that lot went out on to the paddocks. The bloke who invented paddock grazing knew a thing or two. Not that it makes your fortune, mind, or even a reasonable return on capital. The bloody government takes care of that. They allow us just enough income to make certain we don’t despair completely and hang ourselves or sell up and take the capital abroad.’
‘How much nitrogen did you have in May?’
‘By the end of a season, I reckon to use three hundred units an acre …’
‘How many tons of nitrogen were delivered in May?’
East drank, looked quickly at the DI, then away. ‘You didn’t say exactly why you’d come here.’
‘That’s right, I didn’t.’
‘But it’s something to do with fertilizers?’
‘I’m investigating the death of Daniel Knott.’
East immediately became very much more cheerful. ‘The bloke who was burned to death and had been shot? I read about him in the papers. Now there’s a rum do … ’
‘Mr East, how many tons of nitrogen were delivered here in May?’
East drained his tankard. ‘I don’t see what all that’s got to do with Knott,’ he said resentfully.
‘You will.’
East crossed to the table on which were several bottles of beer and opened one. The beer sprayed out. He fumbled badly in getting the mug under the bottle and beer hit the wall to the right of the large open fireplace and trickled down it.
‘You know,’ said Clayton quietly, ‘you’ll have to tell me in the end.’
East filled his tankard with the beer left in the bottle. ‘It was ten tons. When you put on a couple of hundredweight after … ’
‘And were you paid the subsidy on ten tons?’
‘That … that’s right,’ he said reluctantly.
‘And you will expect to be paid the subsidy on the ten tons of compound fertilizer you ordered and received recently?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet Louthy Products in each case only supplied you with five tons of fertilizer and that’s how they marked the two fertilizer subsidy application forms.’
East sat clown. He drank the beer in vast swallows and then gripped the tankard with both hands.
‘How long has the racket been going on?’ asked Clayton.
East’s face became a picture of abject misery. ‘It’s not my fault — it’s the government’s.’
‘I suppose that’s one way of excusing oneself!’
‘I swear I wouldn’t have done anything like it if the government had ever given a damn about farmers. Prices go on rising and rising, yet what we get for the milk remains the same. I’m not like some lucky bastards, I don’t own this farm — I’m a tenant. So what can I do? My income’s gone down by a third in two years, yet I can’t sell up and get a large capital sum. When the bloke came along selling stuff and he suggested I get a bit of extra money from the government, well … It wasn’t stealing, d’you understand?’
‘What would you call it, then?’
‘I was getting in a bit of the money the bloody government owed me, but wouldn’t give me.’
Clayton made no comment.
‘What’s going to happen?’ muttered East.
‘I can’t say.’
‘Do you … Does this have to go to court?’
‘I shall report the facts. The action that’s taken is decided by other people.’
‘Suppose … suppose I paid you all the money … ’
‘I don’t know whether you’re offering to bribe me,’ said Clayton, and his voice was suddenly harsh, ‘but I strongly advise against the attempt.’
East lifted up the tankard and tried to drink. He was surprised to find it empty. He looked appealingly at the DI, then hurriedly away.
‘How exactly did you get caught up in this?’ asked Clayton.
Haltingly, in a low voice that was in complete contrast to his earlier bombastic one, East said: ‘The salesman from Louthy’s came to try to get me to buy from them. He promised top discount and two months to pay instead of the usual one. I had some cake off him. Next time, he asked about fertilizers and said they were going up in price soon and if I wanted some I should order quick. I had a good moan about the rising prices and he said there was a way of cutting costs and … and then … ’
‘You joined in the fraud. How did you share the extra money?’
‘Fifty-fifty.’ His misery increased. ‘It didn’t come to very much. If I’d only known … ’ He stopped.
That, thought Clayton, was the constant cry of the amateur criminal. ‘If I’d only known.’
*
For supper, Margery had bought a broiler and then cooked it with such care and a cunning selection of herbs that instead of being tasteless it was delicious. Clayton had two helpings and would have had a third had the carcass not, by then, been picked clean. ‘You spoil me,’ he said contentedly, as he stacked the dirty plates.
‘I know.’
He stood up and carried the plates across the kitchen to the sink. ‘What’s for afters?’
‘Chocolate mousse and some of that special double cream I buy from the little shop round the corner.’
The telephone rang. ‘Damn and blast!’ he muttered.
‘Don’t you go, Jim,’ she said. ‘If it is for you I’ll tell them you’re still out at work. You’ve done more than enough for the day.’
He shook his head. ‘I’d better handle it, love. It could be important.’ He went into the hall. The call was from Detective-Superintendent Barry. ‘How are things going, Jim?’
‘We’re gradually getting the picture, sir.’
‘Good, good. Mr Akers is a very efficient officer.’
‘So he tells me.’
‘It’s a good job we called him in. This is a big case, isn’t it, Jim?’
‘It is indeed.’
‘So much better to have called him in. Well, I’m glad everything’s going well. Good night.’
Clayton returned to the kitchen. ‘I’m glad one bloke’s happy,’ he said.
Chapter 10
The report from the forensic scientist arrived Thursday morning. He could add no new facts in respect of Knott’s body, but had found traces of Barbital-Veronal in Alexander’s body. He confirmed that Alexander had eaten a meal about three hours previous to death and part of that meal had consisted of meat, dumplings, and greens. The pieces of metal found among the debris of the burned-out section of the farm buildings were mainly of a ferrous nature, but there were two small lumps of brass: in no case was it possible to say what articles these had been before the fire.
Clayton met Akers and Bodmin in the courtyard of the station as he was on his way out and they were on their way in. ‘The report from the lab is in my room, sir,’ said Clayton.
Akers ordered him back upstairs. They went up to his room and he handed over the report. After reading through it, Akers looked up. ‘Have you checked what Barbital-Veronal is exactly?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Akers looked faintly surprised. He was wearing a lightweight grey suit, a white striped shirt with semi-stiff collar, and what appeared to be an old school tie. His black hair was smoothly in place, his face was untroubled by sweat. He looked like an up-and-thrusting executive, about to be voted on to the board.
‘It’s a long-acting barbiturate,’ said Clayton. ‘Takes an hour or so to work and traces remain in the body for twenty-four hours if the dose is strong enough.’
‘He obviously took some the previous night. Extraordinary how many people these days are so dependent on drugs.’
‘You know,’ said Clayton, ‘that meal just doesn’t make sense. Monday was a boiling hot day and to tuck into a really hot, heavy meal like that … ’
‘There are always odd facts to any case, Inspector, and it’s one of the investigator’s tasks to ignore those which obviously have no bearing on the case. What was the result
of your interview with East?’
‘The report is there on your desk, sir. There was a subsidy fiddle going on.’
‘What was the full extent of it?’
Clayton sighed. ‘It hasn’t been possible to determine that figure yet, sir.’
‘Don’t you think it’s rather an important one? And we’d also better determine what kind of alibi the nephew and Miss Clews have for the time of death.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You told me you were going to fire a gun in the farm building and have that half-wit in the woods see if he thought the noise was the same — has that been done?’
‘DC Burrows borrowed Mr Knott’s gun from Mrs Knott and fired it in the food store, first one barrel then the two together. Browland was in the woods and he says the two barrels together produced the same kind of noise and the direction was right.’
‘I suppose that’s the best we’ll be able to do.’ Akers went behind his desk and sat down. Detective-Sergeant Bodmin remained standing. After a while Akers said challengingly to Clayton: ‘Is there anything more?’
‘I’m not really certain. It’s just that I’ve a feeling … ’ He tailed off into silence.
‘A feeling? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘A feeling,’ said Clayton doggedly, ‘that we’re not really getting to grips with the case.’
Akers looked annoyed.
‘I don’t think we’re at the heart of it, if you know what I mean?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Surely, sir, you sometimes get an instinct about a case?’
‘I have learned to deal in facts.’
‘I’ve always found a case has a rhythm to it and when that rhythm seems to break up … ’
‘Inspector, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not readily explainable.’ Clayton rubbed his chin and wondered how in the hell he had been such a fool as to start this conversation. ‘It’s just that … Well, take the cake.’
‘What cake?’
‘The cattle cake in the interior Dutch barn. There are several tons there — why?’
Akers leaned back in his chair. ‘You still aren’t prepared to accept the fact that the cattle food might actually have been for the cattle to eat?’
‘Those cows are being fed on a very low-cost ration and as it’s August most of their needs are still being met by the grass — it’s only necessary to feed for the last couple of gallons, or so, and that’s being done with the crushed barley. That cake costs something over thirty quid a ton and so there’s several hundred quid lying about in the barn. With the way the farm was doing, Knott just couldn’t afford to wrap up that sort of money, merely to get discount for summer buying.’
‘Then perhaps there’s another swindle here?’
‘How can there be? There’s no subsidy on cattle cake.’
Akers shrugged his shoulders. ‘You tell me the farm is run down and doing very badly so perhaps the man was a fool as well as incompetent.’
‘Why isn’t there any hay or silage for winter feed?’
‘How the hell should I know why?’
‘You’ve got to have some sort of bulk feed for the winter. He couldn’t have afforded a ration of barley straw and an additive.’
‘Are we not agreed that he was incompetent?’
‘But having no hay or silage is criminal folly.’
‘Criminal?’
‘Just a manner of speech, sir.’
Akers looked bored.
‘Then there’s the medical evidence. D’you remember the pathologist’s report about the blow to Alexander’s head which was quite enough to kill him, yet he’d gone on breathing?’
‘He died because he suffocated.’
‘What I mean is … ’
‘Does it matter, Inspector?’
‘What about the van?’
‘What about it?’
‘When Dabs checked it, there weren’t any finger-prints at all.’
Akers picked up a pencil and fiddled with it. ‘On the face of things, that might be held a trifle odd. But Alexander may have looked after it with much greater pride than’s usual and may very recently have cleaned the interior. By chance, on the drive to the farm, he may not have put his fingers on any surface that would take prints.’
‘It … it doesn’t seem really likely. And nothing explains the meal that Alexander had eaten.’
Akers dropped the pencil on to the desk. Inspector, as a specialist, I investigate a large number of murders, or suspected murders, all over the country. When were you last concerned with one?’
Clayton thought back. I suppose it was some time ago.’
‘And were you then in charge of investigations?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then I suggest you take careful note of something — in any case you investigate, especially murder, it is a golden rule that ninety-nine times out of a hundred it is the obvious which is the truth.’
‘But odd facts … ’
‘Are almost certainly completely extraneous. In basic terms, what have we here? Two men who have died in circumstances that point to their having killed each other in the course of a fraud. In dying, one fell against the very dangerous electric wires which shorted out and started a fire that was fed by paraffin and diesel oil. That, Inspector, is the obvious picture. Now I trust you don’t believe I could have overlooked the alternative?’
‘Of course not.’
‘The alternative is that both deaths were engineered by someone who thereby benefited. Obviously it is only Knott’s death that can benefit someone — so if he’d been murdered by a third party, it would have been when he was on his own: no murderer is going to kill two people when one’s enough. Suppose we ignore that very elementary fact and go on to ask ourselves who has a motive for Knott’s death? We get the names of his wife, the nephew, and the Clews woman. The wife has a corroborated alibi for the time of death and you are going to check the alibis of the other two this morning, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then if we discover each of the three has a good alibi, we know that although he or she may benefit from the death, none of them murdered Knott. D’you agree?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank God for that! Now go out and check the essential facts and stop worrying about cow cake and dumplings.’ Clayton left and went back to the courtyard, climbed into his car, and lit a cigarette. On the face of things, Akers was perfectly right — yet Clayton could not stop feeling certain the odd facts were somehow of significance. Yet was his certainty really pig-headedness? Was he being a fool? After all, Akers knew a hell of a lot more about murders than he did. Shouldn’t he just shut up? A cynical detective-constable had once said, on his retirement, that he’d gained no promotion because he’d never learned to agree with all his superiors in all cases at all times. What was to be gained in this case — other than trouble — by continually angering Akers?
He started the car’s engine. If Hulton and Hazel Clews, as well as Mrs Knott, had alibis, there really could be no room for further argument.
*
Paul Hulton was mole-draining a twenty-acre field when Clayton, coat off, tie undone, finally found him. He drew the mole through a patch of rushes, continued to the end of the field, stopped, and lifted the mole on the three-point linkage. He pulled out the control button and the engine shuddered to a stop.
Clayton studied him as he climbed down. He was a very strong man, so compactly built that some of his height was masked. His heavy features suggested a bitter, determined character, always fighting for what he wanted, not very likeable, but a man who never knew the meaning of defeat. ‘Sorry to stop the good work,’ said Clayton.
Hulton stretched. ‘I’m not complaining at a break — so long as it’s short.’
‘You’ve a job on your hands with this place.’
‘It’ll be a bloody miracle if I can get things straight in five years, working fifteen hour
s a day.’ He gestured violently. ‘How the hell could anyone let a place get in this state? This clay doesn’t make for good farming, but the place was reasonable when Reggie had it. Trouble was, Daniel thought he was going to be squire. Like every other bloody stupid gentleman farmer, he hired a manager as lazy as he was crooked. Then there was the shoot. Full-time keeper, big shooting parties, saddle of mutton and mulled wine on the table. And d’you know where the money for all that came from? From this land. Ditches weren't kept dug, hedges grew out, drains blocked up, the dung wasn’t put out, no basic slag was bought, he wouldn’t use the premium bulls from the AI because they cost more … ’ Hulton kicked a large clod of earth with such violence that it broke up and splattered the surrounding land.
‘You can’t have had much time for him, seeing all this going on.’
‘When I read in the papers he was likely dead, I called it a miracle.’
‘His death did someone some good, then?’
Hulton wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. ‘It saved this farm, that’s what it did.’ He looked round him. ‘This place’ll come back eventually. Drain the land and the right grasses’ll grow: fertilize, slag, shove the dung and the slurry back on, and the grasses’ll grow like mad. Buy in fresh cows, use premium bulls, enlarge the herd … It’ll come.’
‘What are you going to do about the shoot?’
‘Let it to anyone who’s fool enough to pay good money for it. Meantime, I’ll clear as many acres of the woods as I can for more fields.’
‘You’ve got it all planned out, then?’
‘I’ve had it planned a long time. And when I saw that bloody old fool raping the soil …’ He stopped.
‘You wished him dead?’
‘Dead and buried,’ said Hulton violently, ‘so as the land could come to me. It hurt to see the land being ruined.’ Hulton had wanted the farm right enough, thought Clayton, but as he had said to Akers, Hulton’s reason wasn't entirely selfish — as a true countryman, he had been genuinely distressed by seeing land become derelict.
Hulton wiped his forehead again, then looked at his watch. ‘I’ll be getting back to work: another hour’ll see this field done. There’s so much to do.’ He climbed back on to the tractor.
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