Death of an Alderman

by John Buxton Hilton

  ‘If we’re playing at Central European political police, there’s no point in doing the job by halves.’

  There was no immediate reaction from above. For half a minute or so, Kenworthy allowed nocturnal peace to settle on the neighbourhood. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to bark and some creature scurried through the dry twigs of one of the bushes.

  ‘Shiner——you’d better nip round the corner and make sure he doesn’t do a bunk through the main door.’

  But at that moment a light appeared in one of the windows which Wright had been watching. There were footsteps coming and going along an upstairs passage. Kenworthy hammered again. The footsteps came down the stairs. There was a grinding of bolts and the sliding of a chain in its slot. The door opened, and Gill stood on the threshold, a shabby, plum-coloured dressing-gown over his faded blue pyjamas, his few straggling hairs ruffled over his bald head. He had not put on his glasses, and he peered at his visitors through eyes red and puffy with sleep. At the top of the stairs they saw a shapeless woman with her hair in rollers and a drab woollen cardigan thrown about the shoulders of her night-dress. Somewhere in the flat above they heard a child crying.

  ‘We want to come in and talk,’ Kenworthy said. ‘It won’t wait.’

  Gill preceded them up the stairs, his hands trembling, though it might have been with the cold. His wife stood aside to let them pass, her eyes frightened and questioning.

  ‘Better go and look after the infant,’ Kenworthy told her. ‘We’ll call you if we want you.’

  Gill took them into his study, a large, musty smelling room, untidy with books and curios. A chess end-game was laid out on a side-table, with a newspaper problem folded beside it.

  ‘Gentlemen——I’m not surprised to see you here. I’m sure you know that.——But if you think I shot Barson, I was never out of the house that night. The Deputy Borough Treasurer and his wife were here. They brought some new records——’

  There was an overwhelming smell in the room. He had made a mess in his pyjama trousers.

  ‘I didn’t come here to accuse you of shooting Barson,’ Kenworthy said, ‘or even to suggest that you had him shot. But there’s a matter of withholding vital information, of obstructing the police in the performance of their duties, which has had the whole national net-work bogged down for the last twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I’ve been a fool,’ Gill said. ‘I never knew it would go as far as this. Even now, I can’t convince myself that there’s really any connection.’

  He was standing with his fingers jammed into his dressing-gown pockets. He had not remembered to ask the policemen to sit down. The room was like a refrigerator. Wright stooped down to plug in an electric bar fire.

  ‘Look,’ Kenworthy said, ‘you’d better go and clean yourself up. Go with him, sergeant——no need to hang round his neck, but stay near enough——’

  Kenworthy wandered casually round the study. The books were grimy, and thick dust lay along the upper edges of those in the higher open shelves. On the walls were unexciting reproductions of standard masterpieces and a few framed personal photographs; a younger and more eager Gill and his wife, leaning against a cairn with walking sticks in their hands; Gill, suitably intense, at the keyboard of a not very imposing church organ; Gill in the R.A.F., with a propeller on his arm and a smile for victory on his lips. That disposed of any connection with Barson’s R.A.S.C. junketings.

  Kenworthy picked up the printed report of a regional archaeological society and began to read it. Presently, Mrs Gill came into the room, her hair roughly combed, carrying a tray with cups, milk and sugar.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to be too hard on William. If only you knew what we have suffered.’

  ‘It depends largely on what he has to tell us, and how frank he’s prepared to be.’

  ‘He’ll tell you everything. He’s been dying to, ever since you’ve set foot in Fellaby.’

  ‘He’s got an extremely curious way of setting about it.’

  ‘He’s afraid he’ll lose his job,’ she said.

  ‘If he’s afraid of no more than that, perhaps the prospects aren’t so bad.’

  This startled her.

  ‘What do you mean? Surely you don’t think——?’

  ‘Ma’am, I’m two hundred odd miles away from home to investigate a murder. If what your husband has to tell me is a mere side-line, I doubt whether it’ll interest me much.’

  Wright brought Gill back, and he had changed into a sports-coat and flannels, putting on a shirt with a collar, but no tie. He was wearing his spectacles now, and looked flustered still, but was a little more composed. He went over to the side-board and picked up a bottle of Johnnie Walker with not more than two doubles left in the bottom.

  ‘Can I offer you gentlemen something a little stronger than coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Do you mind if I have a drop?’

  ‘If it’ll help you to talk.’

  Mrs Gill asked, ‘Do you want me here now?’

  ‘Perhaps later.’

  She left them reluctantly, looking at her husband with a loving glance that Wright found pathetic.

  Kenworthy spoke peremptorily.

  ‘Come over here and sit down——on this chair——’

  He wanted Gill near him. It was one of his principles, Wright knew, that some men found it harder to lie at close quarters. Gill sat forward, with his knees apart and his hands splayed over them.

  ‘Now perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me what this is all about.’

  ‘Do you mind if I begin at the beginning?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for spectacular originality.’

  ‘I was a young man when I first came to this town,’ Gill said, ‘young in mind, that is——young in heart, if you’ll pardon a cliché.’

  It was difficult to imagine. But he had, at least, once climbed a Scottish mountain.

  ‘That was before I met Barson.——I’m afraid you’re not going to be impressed by what I shall tell you about our late leading citizen. I fear I shall not be able to make it very credible.——Barson was Chairman of the Library and Museum Committee when I was appointed——’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Kenworthy asked, ‘have you any pronounced political views yourself?’

  ‘Indeed, no. That would be most improper in my position. Of course, I have my personal opinions.’

  ‘Who hasn’t?——Go on.’

  ‘Barson was chairman, and in the normal run of events would have presided over the sub-committee that appointed me. And here, at the risk of a digression, I must, if you are to understand Fellaby, give you some idea of the importance in the local mentality of these appointments sub-committees.’

  He was a little more settled now, talking fluently, speaking to a brief which he had run over in his mind many dozens of times. Kenworthy nodded patiently.

  ‘They love it, superintendent. They love to sit there in their pomp and self-importance, conning over confidential references, asking personal questions, priding themselves that they’ve trapped the candidate on issues they know nothing whatever about. Believe me, superintendent, there’s more bad blood, even amongst members if the same party, about who should sit on appointments sub-committees than there is about any other aspect of council business.’

  ‘I don’t think Fellaby is unique in this respect.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But I think Barson was unique. He should have been the chairman of my sub-committee, and I’ve no doubt he was looking forward to it with the usual relish. Moreover, I now know that he had his own pet candidate for the post——a young man from one of the Leeds libraries, a nice chap, though there was nothing outstanding in his qualifications. But Barson went down with influenza at the last moment. Kershaw had to take the chair, my present chairman, pleasant old fellow, Labour man, made his name in the Co-op. You can always rely on Kershaw to see fair play, and, though I say it myself, I was appointed. And I was very pleased. I liked Fellaby. I took ove
r an efficient and loyal staff. There was this flat, which helped me over a tough housing problem.’

  And all the money he had saved up for mortgage deposit must have vanished into this uneconomical flat, with its vast floor space, its huge windows and its uncommonly difficult heating problem.

  ‘Then Barson came back on the scene and found out what had happened. He made my life misery from then on. You’ve seen from the newspaper reports that he didn’t like officials. He liked me less than any. The things you read refer only to formal, open meetings. You can have no idea what he was like in committee, when the press weren’t present. Or even in the streets of the town.——He sneered, gentlemen. I forget of whom it was once written, he was born sneering. Barson was born sneering——at public librarians. Do you know that he once made a serious attempt to deprive me of this flat? He said the rooms ought to be taken in for additional display space. And he used to talk about “the satisfied museum-going public of the pre-Gill era”.’

  The hands of the clock stood at a quarter to three. Kenworthy interrupted gently.

  ‘So. You disliked Barson. I dislike what I have learned about him. But someone disliked him enough to shoot him.’

  Gill made a gesture of despair.

  ‘That this should have happened at this very time is a coincidence that appals me. It makes me feel to blame, and I keep telling myself that I am not to blame. You see, no man’s tolerance is unlimited. There were times when I felt——I knew——that I could go on no longer. My wife will tell you. On the occasion when Barson moved a token reduction of my salary, we sat up halfway through the night, discussing the wisdom of my resigning without a job——or a home——to go to.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So——I had always suspected——a town like this has its whisperers, you know——it was often rumoured that not all Barson’s dealings were above board. That’s why I brought Warren in.’

  ‘Warren?’

  ‘Your man in the green hat——a private detective——’

  ‘You put Warren on to Barson?’

  ‘My wife agreed to let me devote a substantial portion of our savings to this. I gave Warren £150 down, and the balance of £350 was payable the day Barson was convicted of corruption on evidence supplied by Warren.——Oh, I must ask you to believe me, gentlemen——I was not prepared to let him trump up a charge. It had to be fair, it had to be just. But I had little fear that we would fail. In point of fact——’

  ‘Warren presented a verbal report to you that looked as if he were not so far off justifying your confidence?’

  ‘That is right, superintendent. On the very day on which the Luger pistol was stolen from downstairs.’

  ‘You could have saved the country at large a hell of a lot of trouble if you’d come forward with this earlier,’ Kenworthy said.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, superintendent. I was afraid of finding myself under suspicion for the larger crime.’

  ‘There are several hundred other questions I shall want to ask you, and I’m afraid I shall have to ask them tonight. I shall anticipate, and take one of them out of turn, because it closely affects my programme of work for the next twenty-four hours.——Was there really any connection between Warren and Barson’s military service?’

  ‘No. That was only part of what he called his spiel.’

  ‘Good! It doesn’t get us anywhere in particular, but at least it disposes of one issue.——All right, Mr Gill, as I’m a family man myself, I’ll let you go and fetch your good lady, and if it’s any weight off your minds, you can tell her I believe every word you’ve said.’

  The little man stood up, and Wright saw that there was a wet film across his eyes. In the interval whilst Gill was out of the room, Kenworthy began his ritual with his tobacco pouch.

  ‘It had to be Warren, of all people. Do you remember the case, Shiner?’

  ‘It doesn’t ring a bell.’

  ‘Bloody buccaneer!’ Kenworthy said, but before he could enlarge on the theme, Gill was back, bringing his wife, who was dabbing at her blotchy face with a totally inadequate lace-edged handkerchief.

  ‘Superintendent Kenworthy, I’m so relieved——’

  ‘We’re not out of the wood yet,’ he said, ‘there still remains a mere case of murder——’

  ‘Oh, please, superintendent——’

  ‘——and I never could afford to believe in coincidence. I think we shall find a strong link between the murder of alderman Barson and the chain of enquiries which your husband set up, and which the mighty Mr Warren pursued with characteristic verve. Which is why I’m anxious to stay here asking questions till dawn if necessary.——Now, first, how did you light upon the egregious Mr Warren?’

  ‘He advertises publicly. He works from Bradcaster, which is convenient. I’d heard some one in the library speak highly of him. And I thought——’

  ‘That he wouldn’t have any inhibitions about slipping his scalpel into high society?’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it as neatly as that.’

  ‘How long is it since you first contacted him?’

  ‘About three months.’

  ‘Was he very eager to take the case?’

  ‘Not at first. He hummed and ha’d about the distance from his base, and the dangers of queering his pitch with the wrong people.’

  ‘Even though what you were offering him was, when all’s said and done, good money? After all, he could have had £150 for two days’ work and an admission of failure. I suppose you paid the first instalment cash in advance?’

  ‘A draft on the Post Office Savings Bank. But please don’t get the impression that Warren did not give value for money. I was a little worried myself, because several weeks passed, and I had no word or sign of activity.’

  ‘You sent him a chaser?’

  ‘I wrote him quite a firm letter, and he answered me by phone. Obviously he had had to clear a way through his current routine work. And then, he said, he had to do a fair amount of basic enquiry before he could actually start work on the ground.‘

  ‘Did he contact you at all while he was operating in Fellaby?’

  ‘Not until the afternoon you already know about.’

  ‘That was to present his final report?’

  ‘No. He said his investigations had reached a certain point, but they weren’t final. He had unearthed, he said, a number of potential charges, which he thought would stick. He promised me an interim report within the next few days——in writing.’

  ‘He asked you for more money?’

  Gill did not answer at once. His wife was watching him tensely.

  ‘Come along, Mr Gill.——I need to know.’

  ‘He didn’t actually ask for more money. He did mention that his expenses were mounting up more than he had expected——’

  ‘What sort of offences did he think he had discovered?’

  ‘It all seems so very trivial, now. They were concerned with deliveries which the Highways Department was supposed to have made for use in Barson’s garden.’

  ‘He had evidence enough on which to base these charges, had he?’

  ‘He said he was nearly satisfied. There were just one or two other enquiries which remained to be made.’

  ‘I see. And when his statement of evidence was complete, who was going to launch the action? You, or Warren?’

  ‘Oh, I would have taken that upon myself. It was part of our contract that Warren should fade out of the picture as soon as I was in a position to start proceedings.’

  ‘I’ll bet it was. Warren would see to that.’

  Wright looked at the little man, slightly built, incongruously dressed, flushed with emotional manhandling. As Kenworthy had said, his story could be nothing but the truth. And this mild, harassed, bullied little curio-hunter had been prepared to take on single-handed the moguls of the borough.

  ‘How would you have set about it?’ Kenworthy asked.

  ‘I would have seen the town clerk.’

  ‘Did Warren m
ention any other fiddles, other than the one with the Highways Department?’

  ‘There were one or two little things——sweeteners from market stall-holders, gifts of bottles of spirits from licensees when the Brewster Sessions were coming on, or when there was an application for an extension of hours. But Warren thought, and I agreed with him, that they would all have been difficult to substantiate. It would have been difficult to have felt sure of the witnesses, and in the outcome Barson might have ridden the storm——distinctly to my disadvantage.——I feel awful, talking about the man like this, now. I had no idea that this would happen. I still don’t see how there can be any connection——’

  ‘Did Warren give you the impression that he had stirred up anything else——something a good deal more serious, perhaps, but something he had no hope of proving?’

  ‘Such as what, superintendent?’

  ‘Well, something on a bigger scale than Fellaby. Some bit of national roguery, for example? Something spreading out into the county? Something to do with the places that Barson visited in the course of his work?’

  ‘No. There was no suggestion of anything like that.’

  ‘Did Warren say anything about Barson’s two years in the army?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know anything at all about that period of his life?’

  ‘No, superintendent, really I didn’t.——I still don’t.’

  Kenworthy admonished him with the stem of his pipe.

  ‘Mr Gill, you’ve been very sensible up to now. And until Barson was killed——which was none of your doing——you showed nothing but pluck. You were prepared to take on Barson——and his friends, if need be——single-handed. You weren’t scared. But you’re scared now. You were too easily satisfied——far too easily satisfied——when Barson came to you with the story of the Highways Department. When you set this affair in motion, you didn’t think, did you, that it was going to end up with a truck-load of paving-stones? When you squandered five hundred quid in the hope of hitting Barson for corruption, you must have known something. You must have suspected something a bit more serious than a few quids’ worth of corporation stores. Now, I’m asking you, what was on your mind?’