The Body in the Dumb River

by George Bellairs

  All in a dull monotone, almost a pleading tone of voice, as though seeking someone to take her confession and forgive her for the thoughts which haunted her.

  Chloe stood dumbfounded.

  ‘I don’t know you, Elvira. Whatever’s made you like this? I…’

  ‘When father didn’t come to the funeral, as he’d promised, I knew he did it, and was afraid. I hated him then. I think I’ve always hated him. It was through him, wasn’t it, bullying and discouraging us, that we ruined our married life? He turned the girls against their own father and made them despise him by always picking on him. I hate him now for all he’s done to me.’

  Chloe didn’t say a thing, but stood there, tight-mouthed, amazed at the flow of words coming from her sister. But she didn’t try to stop them. Perhaps she, too, felt the same about Scott-Harris. Littlejohn thought of Walter Cornford, whom he’d left at the club, drunk in the middle of the afternoon, aware of the old man’s contempt for him, too.

  Scott-Harris had lost his only son, the apple of his eye, and took it out of the men his daughters had chosen.

  ‘Give me another dose of brandy, Chloe. Then I’ll tell the Superintendent everything.’

  Chloe gave her a keen look. Then she went to the sideboard, rummaged inside it, produced the bottle, and poured out a tablespoonful. Elvira lapped it up.

  ‘Don’t put the bottle away. I may need another dose.’

  It might have been the first steps in sin, the way Elvira carried on!

  Chloe put the bottle on the table to avoid further argument, but kept a wary eye on it. Almost a quarter of the brandy had gone.

  Littlejohn guessed why Elvira was so tearful and talkative, so different in outlook, almost sentimental. She had had more than one dose of brandy. Chloe, the soft-hearted member of the family, had been giving Elvira tablespoonfuls of courage and comfort! Well, it was better than drugs.

  ‘I thought James seemed different, somehow, when he came home last week-end. He was more independent and manly; and much happier about something. I thought his business must have been doing better.’

  Perhaps that was what she had wished for all along. A more virile and courageous husband who’d stand up to her bullying father, instead of the timid little nobody she couldn’t respect. As for the change in Teasdale’s outlook and manner… She hadn’t heard about Martha Gomm’s expected baby. Perhaps now, she never would.

  ‘I thought James had been up to something or other, but he never said a word until we got to Father’s, last Sunday night.’

  It was a bit rambling and Elvira kept looking from one to the other of the two listeners, seeking approval.

  ‘On the way there, we called for some petrol. I was quarrelling with James at the time. He talked of coming home once a fortnight, or even once a month, instead of weekly. That’s when I first started to suspect him. He’d been travelling for years and never once missed returning every week-end. I spoke to Father about it in front of James.’

  Littlejohn could imagine it. Elvira denouncing James to her father, and the old man’s caustic reaction. He couldn’t bear Teasdale and any excuse for reviling him was always welcome.

  ‘What did your father say to that?’

  Elvira gulped and looked eagerly at the brandy bottle, but Chloe didn’t take the hint.

  ‘He said he’d expected it. And then he said right out that James wasn’t a commercial traveller at all, but ran a low-class game on fairgrounds and was living with another woman when he was away from home.’

  She began to cry again. Her face contorted frightfully and the tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and ran off the tip of her chin.

  Chloe clasped her sister to her again.

  ‘That’s enough for now, dear. If you must talk about it all, wait till another time when you feel better.’

  Elvira stopped her weeping as though someone had turned off the tap of her tears. She pushed her sister angrily away.

  ‘I won’t stop and I won’t wait till another time. I’ve started this and I’m going to finish it. I shan’t sleep till I do. I haven’t slept a wink since Monday.’

  Littlejohn remembered that she hadn’t lost her appetite, however, and he doubted whether she’d spent many sleepless nights either. However, no use arguing…

  ‘Father said that, at first, he hadn’t believed it himself. It was Ryder who’d told him about it, and Ryder often embroidered the truth. But Ryder had produced the man who’d actually seen James and his hoop-la and his other woman at Lincoln Fair…’

  ‘Lowestoft.’

  ‘I said you knew all about it, Superintendent. What did I say, Chloe? He knows. I knew it was a cathedral city somewhere in the east. Well, Father said, so that I could have it from the horse’s mouth, he’d asked the man who’d seen James to call while I was there. “I’ve done it,” he said, “because I know you’ll try to make me a liar if I don’t prove it to you. So I’m going to face you both with him for the sake of the family and to prove what a little rotter you’re married to.”’

  Littlejohn could see old Scott-Harris gloating over it.

  ‘James got in a terrible rage. He hadn’t expected it. He usually just dropped me off at Father’s and went on his travelling. But this time Father had insisted on him coming in, as he’d something he wanted to see him about. Have you a cigarette on you?’

  Chloe’s eyes almost shot out.

  ‘But you don’t smoke, Elvira!’

  ‘I do. When nobody’s in, I smoke Irene’s. She has some in the end drawer. Pass the packet. I don’t care now who knows that I smoke.’

  Littlejohn handed her his case and lit her cigarette. She puffed at it like an old hand.

  ‘The man arrived before James had time to say very much. An awful man. I knew him by sight. His name was Jasper Wood…’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Jasper or Harry, it makes no difference to his awfulness. I’ve heard him sing in the Messiah at the local Methodist chapel. His voice is in keeping with his looks. He just said he’d seen James at Lincoln with his stall and that woman, and he turned and asked James didn’t he remember. He looked very pleased with himself and sneered, because he said James had snubbed him at Lincoln. And James actually lost his temper again and slapped Jasper Wood in the face, and Ryder who was present and Father had to go between them and stop a fight. I’ve never seen James so furious. Ryder, in the end, took Wood to the door and told him he’d better go, which he did.’

  She was talking now as though relating incidents which hadn’t cut deeply into her own life. She’d forgotten her part in the drama and sounded almost casual and objective. Littlejohn began to wonder if recent events had upset her mental balance.

  ‘After he’d gone, James suddenly turned on Father, and I’ve never heard the likes of what he said to him. I’m sure Father’s never had such a telling-off in his life before. He called him a bully, a self-opinionated nonentity, an impostor and a hypocrite. He even used bad language. I’d never heard James swear before. He must have learned it from the fairground and the woman he’d been associating with.’

  Then, she lowered her voice dramatically.

  ‘He finally said he wanted a divorce from me, as he couldn’t bear the life he was leading any longer. Father didn’t ask him why. He told him he’d see that I never divorced him, and I agreed with Father. To think of him going off with a fairground trollop… Well, at the time, I felt I’d been insulted, and so did Father. “I’ll kill you for this, Teasdale,” Father shouted. “So you’d better look out.” And he went and pulled down a sword from the wall and drew it, and began to wave it about. Ryder took it from him. So Father opened the door and told him to take himself off to his woman and his hoop-la, or he’d throw him out himself.’

  Chloe sat down breathless in the nearest chair. She couldn’t believe it! Brawling in the Scott-Harris family!
/>   ‘And James went, Elvira?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He ignored Father. He even laughed at the sword and the threats. Father might just not have been there. He turned on Ryder, who’d been hanging about all the time, saying nothing, but taking it all in. He said to Ryder, “So you’ve carried out your threat and told the major, have you?” It seemed that Ryder had been trying to get money from James to keep quiet. He’d even sent James a letter about it. James had refused to pay and Ryder had done what he said he would, blown the gaff, as James vulgarly called it. James said he was going straight to the police about it, as they had ways of dealing with blackmailers. He said he’d enough evidence for them. Ryder laughed, denied he’d ever done such a thing, and said James was simply venting his spite on him.’

  ‘And did your husband leave after that?’

  ‘He was just going and made for the door, but Father called him back. He said he wanted a word in private with him, as it looked as if James was going to start a family scandal and he wouldn’t stand for that. He said he wanted it settled then and there. And he told me to go and wait in the morning-room, as I’d been upset enough already. I said I’d rather stay and hear it out. Father got mad again and roared at me to get out and do as I was told. I saw there’d only be another fight if I didn’t. So I went. I was too upset even to argue.’

  And once more, she began to weep, but went on talking through her sobs.

  ‘I must have been in the morning-room a quarter of an hour—no more—and I could hear them shouting in the dining-room. At one time they sounded to be running round and round, but before I could go to see what it was all about, there was silence again. After about five minutes, I went back. James had gone and Father was there alone.’

  ‘What time was it?’

  ‘About nine.’

  ‘And you got there about seven. Was all this going on for two hours?’

  ‘Yes. I haven’t told you all the details, but the quarrelling went on for so long, and the men would reach the end of one quarrel and then start again about something else. I think they must have gone through all the family history since James married me, and some previous to our marriage. Now and then, they’d stand glaring at one another for what seemed an age, and then James would make for the door and Father would call him back and they’d begin all over again. It was a nightmare. And there was I, standing, struck dumb, having to listen to it all. I might just not have been there. James usually left about seven, but he seemed to have made up his mind to have it out once and for all, this time.’

  ‘And you stayed on after your husband had gone?’

  ‘Yes. I went home about half-past ten.’

  ‘What made you say your father had murdered your husband?’

  ‘He said he would, and if Ryder hadn’t prevented him when he took down the sword, I’m sure he’d have injured him then.’

  ‘You think he killed him whilst you were in the morning-room?’

  ‘When else? Father was flushed and upset when I returned. He could hardly speak and when he did, his talk was all mixed up. I thought he was going to have a stroke. I got him some brandy and stayed with him a bit. Then he said he’d be all right; I’d better go. I asked him what had happened while I was out of the room. He said he’d tried to talk some sense into James and that James had gone to think it over. He’d be back at the week-end.’

  ‘Where was Ryder whilst all this was going on?’

  ‘He must have retired to his room or else gone out. I usually stayed to supper on Sundays, but none was laid. I asked Father if I’d better get us some, but he said he wasn’t hungry and would just have a drink and go to bed when I’d gone. Later, when I heard what had happened to James, I was sure they’d had another quarrel after I’d gone in the other room, and that Father had taken the sword again and killed James. You remember the wound was a stab in the back. The noise I heard was Father chasing round the room after James. He must have caught him and killed him. That was why Father was so upset when I found him.’

  It sounded fantastic. A real bit of old-time melodrama, concocted by some unsophisticated eccentric. Furious father, chasing round the betrayer of his daughter with a sabre and cutting him down to avenge the family honour!

  ‘What do you think happened to the body? How did it come to be discovered in the Dumb River, near Ely?’

  ‘I think Father or Ryder must have hid it till I left and then taken it there. To make it look as if that woman had done it. I wish she had. It doesn’t seem right to accuse my own father of doing it. But it was my husband who was murdered, however unfaithful he’d been to me, and I won’t sleep again till the truth has been found. I can’t see how else the body got to Lincoln.’

  ‘Ely.’

  ‘It’s the same.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’d better call and see Major Scott-Harris. I’ll ask him what he has to say about it all.’

  ‘Don’t tell him what I’ve told you, will you? It might not have been Father, after all. It might have been somebody else.’

  ‘Who, for example?’

  ‘It might have been anybody. A robber, or a hold-up on the way after he’d left Basilden.’

  ‘But how would such a person have known to take it to the Dumb River? I’ll have to make enquiries…’

  The bell on the doorpost was ringing and Chloe hurried to let in the visitors. Littlejohn bade Mrs. Teasdale a hasty good-bye and followed Chloe out.

  It was the girls returning from seeing off their rich relatives. Two of them had their boyfriends with them, which might have explained the long time in returning from the station. Littlejohn was hastily introduced to the doctor and the bookie as he left, but didn’t retain much impression of them. He was too dazed by Elvira’s dramatic recital. He thought the doctor looked like a bookie and the bookie like a doctor, and wondered if they’d got mixed up in the confusion of introduction. The last he heard was the girls saying the train was very late arriving to carry away their aunt and uncle, and Elvira’s voice asking Chloe if it wasn’t medicine time again.

  15

  Family Differences

  At five o’clock in the afternoon, Basilden was like a dead town. The factories had not yet finished for the day, the women were off the streets preparing their evening meals, the shops were empty. Nobody much about, except the knot of gossiping old men who, as long as daylight lasted, seemed to hang around the corner of the square, talking interminably. All their eyes were on Littlejohn as he made his way back to the police station.

  There was nobody in the police station except the sergeant-in-charge and a solitary constable attending to the telephone and sorting out files.

  ‘Inspector Naizbitt and Sergeant Cromwell not back yet?’

  ‘No, sir. They must be having difficulty in finding a magistrate. Several of the J.P.s are at work or out of town, and Mr. John and Mr. Jabez Casson, who usually do emergency work, are probably too busy with the fire at their factory to attend to their public duties. The fire’s still burning. All our spare men are out there and we’ve had to close the main street that leads up to the station. It looks as if one side of the factory might collapse and fall across the road. They’ve had to send for the brigades from Haystonbury and Lindale to help…’

  As if to confirm it, a large fire engine clanged its way through the town and vanished in the direction of the fire.

  ‘I think I’ll make an informal call on Major Scott-Harris then. When they arrive with the search warrant, you might ask them to join me at Rangoon and then we can get on with the job.’

  Two policemen thereupon entered carrying a man who looked as though he’d been celebrating the fire. At that early hour, he was dead drunk. The two bobbies did their best not to be rough with him as they struggled to the cells, but he made it difficult. He writhed to free himself, cursed them profoundly, and
said what he would do to them if they’d give him a chance.

  Littlejohn walked to the Scott-Harris home. All the police vehicles were out but it only took ten minutes to get there on foot.

  The house looked more gloomy than ever. Not a sign of anyone at home. The light was on at Enter and Littlejohn pushed open the door and found himself in the dark hall. Nobody bade him enter the living-room where Scott-Harris always made his headquarters, so he knocked and went in.

  Major Scott-Harris was lying on the couch in front of the fire, which had almost burned out. He looked ill this time. All the ruddy colour had vanished from his cheeks, leaving a network of purple veins behind. He was breathing heavily. The usual whisky and soda and the plated tray were at hand.

  ‘How-de-do, Littlejohn. Thought you’d be calling again. You don’t seem able to keep away. What is it this time?’

  ‘I suppose I’d better make up the fire again, sir.’

  ‘I’d regard it as a favour if you would. One or another of Elvira’s brood ought to have been here by now. Expect they’ve taken the huff because I didn’t attend the damn’ funeral. I didn’t feel up to it. Hate the blasted cemetery to start with, and I hate more a crowd of weeping relations all tryin’ to look upset and wondering at the same time what sort of a meal they’re goin’ to get when it’s all over. Did you go?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s part of the case and I thought it my duty to be there.’

  ‘Can’t see any duty in it. I guess you were keepin’ an eye on the principal characters of the tragedy. Did it go off all right? No scenes?’