“Is Ellen Fayle a patient of yours, doctor?”
“Ah! I see.”
“Let us put it briefly, doctor. Sir Martin liked and wanted children. His wife did not.”
“Excuse me, could not. A major operation some years ago made it impossible and also cut short her career as a singer.”
“Whatever the reason, they had no children. Then, after a lot of philandering, it seems Skollick found a girl he loved, a child was born, and he promised to obtain a divorce and marry her.”
“He may have done, but as far as I am aware, whatever Skollick promised Ellen Fayle, he hadn’t got round to discussing it with his wife before he died.”
“So, he was a cheat to the last.”
“Exactly. I know about the affairs of Ellen Fayle, although I had nothing to do with them medically. I suppose you know she went to the mainland.”
“Yes. And Skollick followed her there with his promises.
He may have made them. He may even have approached his wife about a divorce. It is likely that Lady Skollick would now deny it. Neither of them may have wished to confide in you about the matter, doctor.”
Pakeman winced slightly; just enough for Littlejohn to notice it.
“You have known Lady Skollick for a long time, doctor?”
“Yes. I knew her before Skollick met and married her. I have always been very keen on opera. I practised in London years ago before I came here. I heard her sing often then. A glorious voice. Jean Calloway, she was then. I met her through a mutual friend. We became friends, too.”
“Had you anything to do with their coming to live on the Island, doctor?”
“She wrote to me when they were seeking a quiet place to retire to and where their money would spin out better than on the mainland.”
The doctor was showing signs of irritation and Littlejohn realized that it was the presence of Knell which was preventing his talking freely.
“Would you mind, Knell, running into Ramsey and arranging a meal for us?”
“But you could dine here with me, Littlejohn.”
“We have someone to meet there, so please excuse us this time, doctor. Knell, you don’t mind, old man?”
And Knell suddenly twigged what it was all about, excused himself, and made off with great dignity.
“Thank you, Littlejohn. I tan speak more freely now.” Littlejohn understood. They were men of the same age and who instinctively liked each other. Thrown together a lot, they could easily have become good friends.
“Could you now tell me something of the past life of the Skollicks together, doctor?”
“She loved him very deeply. Why, I don’t know. He was always a rotter. When he went to gaol, it almost killed her. But she was waiting for him when he came out. He was beggared, himself, but had invested money in her name. She gave it back to him, although she would rather have divided it among his creditors. It wasn’t enough to enable them to live as once they’d done. Besides, everybody cut him dead. He was a condemned swindler. She followed him into exile here.”
“Her grief turned her to drink. Shall we put it that way?”
“Put it any way you damned well please. The life of a famous prima donna tends to champagne and the like. When he went to gaol, she drank more. When he returned to her, she was an alcoholic. I must say, he didn’t like it, and he did his best to stop her. She tried, and when they came over here and we met again, I joined in and managed to break her of the habit. Now, all this shocking business has started her off again. I don’t know where it will end now. Without Skollick, she doesn’t care. In that great lonely place on her own, she’ll drink herself to death.”
“Unless you intervene, get her out of Myrescogh, and help her to start afresh. You were once in love with her?”
“I still am.”
He said it in a voice so quiet and sincere, that he reminded Littlejohn of a young man talking of his first love.
“I’m sorry.”
“For God’s sake, don’t apologize. In any event, what the hell has it to do with you, and why the hell am I telling you? Enough to say that I didn’t murder Skollick. Although I’ve felt like it many a time. I could have strangled the swine. Let’s change the subject. It has nothing to do with your case.”
Littlejohn’s glass was almost untouched, so Pakeman filled his own empty one again and drank it off hastily.
“You didn’t tell me, doctor, that you were abroad in the curraghs when Sir Martin was killed.”
Pakeman was himself again and looked up sharply.
“Yes, I was. I was called-out to Fayle’s place. The old man was dying.”
“May I show you my notes on the night’s events?”
“I’ll be most interested in them.”
Littlejohn produced the usual plain envelope on which he made his notes and the doctor rose and looked at it over his shoulder. He even put his arm across Littlejohn’s back and his hand on the other shoulder as he did so. They could have been very good friends if only.
10.0 p.m. William Fayle of Ballagonny dying. Dr. Pakeman sent for. Not at home. Message left.
11.0 School ‘tay’ ends. Rev. Lee locks up.
11.30 Lee at home.
12.0 Skollick leaves Mrs. Vacey.
Lee goes to William Fayle’s deathbed.
1.30 Lee leaves Fayles’.
2.0 Shots fired.
2.10 Dr. Jakeman arrives at Fayles’.
2.15 Church bell begins to ring.
2.45 Dr. Pakeman leaves Fayles’.
2.50 Doctor arrives at Church.
“Now, doctor. You were at the church five minutes after leaving old William Fayle’s deathbed. Did you go that way home?”
“When Skollick’s body was found, about 1.30, they telephoned my house from the call-box in the village. I was out, of course, but Mrs. Vondy knew where I was and rang me at Ballagonny.”
“And you left right away.”
“I did. I was sure the old man would rally and last until the morning. But, as they say in these parts, he went out with the tide, just after I left. A very strange business and, to me, quite inexplicable, unless you believe that superstition can kill a man. or make him live in spite of a death sentence.”
“I have often come across such things. And you went right away to the church?”
“Yes. The body was there and past helping. I didn’t even move it, but left it for the police surgeon who arrived soon afterwards. Sullivan Lee was half demented. We took him to the house of one of his parishioners and put him to bed. We even had to undress him. I gave him a shot in the arm and left him ready for sleep. When the Cellings, who gave him hospitality, went to see how he was next morning, the vicar had got up and gone. I believe the police arrested him trying to board the morning boat.”
“May I ask about your movements on the night of the crime, doctor? You arrived at Ballagonny just after two. What were you doing, say, between ten o’clock and your arrival at the Fayles’?”
“Am I suspect, then?”
“Not at all, sir. This is just a matter of routine.” Pakeman sat down again and poured himself another drink.
“Have another, Littlejohn?”
“No thanks, doctor. It’s getting past lunch-time for us both. If you’ll just.”
“Very well. You can add this schedule to that you’ve already got. At ten, when the message arrived from Ballagonny, I was in Andreas. Baron, of Ballabreeve, Andreas, will confirm it. I’d called to see him about some shooting. I got back here at about a quarter to twelve; Mrs. Vondy was in bed. She had left a message about the call from Ballagonny. I must confess I was tired out. I’d been for a walk with Baron over the fields, following a busy day, and I’ll be quite candid about it, I fell asleep in this chair over a glass of whisky. It was half-past one when I awoke. I went off hell-for-leather to the Fayles’ place. I got there just after two.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You see, I’ve no alibi between leaving Baron and arriving at the Fayles’. I was a
t Ballagonny just after the shot was fired and just before the bell started to ring, and that gives me no alibi at the time Skollick was murdered. But who could give anyone an alibi at that time of night in pitch darkness?”
“I quite agree, doctor. You just happened to be abroad at the time, on your way to a case.”
Knell was back, tactfully strolling in the garden, smelling the flowers and examining the fruit trees with an expert eye.
“It’s time to go, doctor. We’ll meet again soon, I hope, and by then, I trust all this unhappy business will be cleared up.”
“So do I. You’ve no idea who did it?”
“None whatever.”
“Not suspecting poor old Sullivan Lee, are you?”
“It’s not a question of suspicion, doctor. Mr. Lee has, by his conduct in the affair, almost confessed. He’s piled up circumstantial evidence against himself and won’t even explain or tell us what happened on the night of the crime or how he came to be praying over the body at that unearthly hour. He’s not the type, and I hope he comes to his senses before his trial.”
“It’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Knell decided to ring the bell and the interview ended.
“I took the hint, sir, and not only booked us a lunch in Ramsey, but went and gathered up the parson as well from Maughold.”
“I’m very grateful, old chap. The doctor was a bit over-whelmed by the two of us.”
“Did you get any further, sir?”
“Yes, thanks.”
The parson was waiting for them in the car along the road. The very sight of him lifted the gloom from Littlejohn’s mind. They were soon in Ramsey for a late meal, awaiting which Littlejohn brought the Archdeacon and Knell up-to-date with all that he’d done since last they met.
“And now it’s my turn,” said the Rev. Caesar Kinrade just as the meal arrived. They were dining in a tastefully converted cellar of an hotel on the promenade at Ramsey. Through the windows, which were level with the road outside, they could see the sea, with ships on the far horizon. The sun was shining again and the sky was clear blue. The meal consisted of large helpings of grilled plaice caught that morning off the sandbanks beyond the pier.
“I’ve had a good talk with Martha Joughin. Pakeman’s a strange fellow from all accounts.”
The old man looked thoughtful and there was a look of compassion on his face.
“He was trained as a medical missionary and lost his faith.”
Outside, a coal boat was blowing to enter the harbour.
A procession of legs passed the windows which, on account of their height in the wall of the cellar, cut off the bodies at the thighs, revealing only the skirts and trousers of anonymous strollers whose footsteps rang on the pavement.
“I called on Mrs. Joughin, at Maughold. It was difficult getting her to talk of her former employer. She is still so overwhelmed by her large legacy that she can do nothing but eulogize her dead benefactor. In addition, she’s deaf. However, eventually.”
The owner of the restaurant arrived to enquire if they were enjoying the meal and had all they wanted.
“I have some fine old Cognac, gentlemen. You’ll take a glass with your coffee, I hope. On the house, of course. And by the way, there’s a reporter in the bar upstairs. He wants to know if you can give him anything fresh on the case.”
Knell made a hasty exit and they could hear him in indignant conversation with someone unseen, who was apparently excusing himself but asking for fair play.
“Give us a break, Inspector. Give us a chance.” Knell returned after telling the landlord they wished to be private, and closed the door of the room after him. He looked like a man who has done a job well and sat down and helped himself liberally to cheese.
“Mrs. Joughin was with the doctor for many years and naturally she saw a lot of him, knew his history, and also many of his secrets. These she found out for herself in ways I didn’t ask her to detail. But she said that he still has a simple cross nailed to his bedroom wall. Sometimes he prays before it and at others he hurls taunts and abuse at it. He must be a very unhappy man.”
“He reminds me a little of Sullivan Lee, Archdeacon.”
“I was just going to say the same, Littlejohn. They seem to be a tortured pair and I’ve no doubt they understood one another very well. To see them face to face. However, Lee’s very looks betray the turmoil of his mind, but Pakeman has his feelings very thoroughly under control. He has a sardonic humour quite alien to Lee and is a man of broader mind. I wonder what brought Pakeman to his present state of mind.”
“An unhappy love affair?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I was too busy imagining the substance of his faith changing and decaying, like India rubber which, in time, rots and loses its strength and resilience.”
“He fell in love with Lady Skollick in the days when she was a prima donna. She was Jean Calloway, then.” The parson threw up his hands in surprise.
“Well, well. So she was Jean Calloway. She was very familiar with the Isle of Man in times past. In her heyday she crossed every summer to sing at the celebrity concerts held in Douglas. She knew the Island well. Perhaps that is why she thought of it when it came to her husband’s release and the need to seek refuge in some quiet place. Pakeman was once in love with her?”
“She married Skollick instead. She apparently loved him right until his death. He seems to have made her very unhappy. She turned to drink for comfort and is now on the way to becoming a confirmed alcoholic.”
“And Pakeman lost his faith through losing her, and fled to the Isle of Man. The whole affair has about it some of the ingredients of a Greek tragedy.”
“But, so far, we haven’t a clue as to who murdered Skollick. It might very well have been the denouement of a drama which began when Jean Calloway married Skollick instead of Pakeman. Either Lady Skollick or Pakeman might have murdered Sir Martin. But neither of them did. She was asleep in bed at the time of the crime. Her maid confirms that in the strongest of language. The doctor was hurrying to the deathbed of old William Fayle of Ballagonny and the whole of the Fayle family can testify to it.”
The Archdeacon sat quietly, his chin on his breast across which also spread the white froth of his beard.
“Old William Fayle. I remember William. A fine man.”
“His granddaughter is the mother of Skollick’s son.”
“Dear me! More and more complications.”
“But not more and more suspects. They were all in at the deathbed whilst the crime was being. Wait a minute! Was the crime being committed at two o’clock? Were the shots heard at that time, the ones which almost blew off Sir Martin’s head? The report of the autopsy said death occurred round about two o’clock in the morning.”
“In other words, did the police surgeon assume that the murder took place when the shot was heard, before he examined the evidence? Did he commit the famous logical fallacy of begging the question?”
“Perhaps assisted by another doctor from whom he took over the body. Dr. Pakeman. Who performed the postmortem, Knell?”
“Dr. Rees Whatmore, sir.”
“My old friend! He won’t like me soon. I challenged his finding once before in a very similar case to this. One which involved a change of time and place, too. I’ll ring him up. Excuse me.”
There was a telephone-box at the head of the stairs and Littlejohn rang up the police surgeon. Luckily he was in.
“Dr. Whatmore? Superintendent Littlejohn. How are you, sir?”
“Very well, thanks. Hope you’re the same.”
His voice sounded inquisitive, as though he either expected Littlejohn was about to call him in for an ailment of his own, or else challenge some report or other in his work as police surgeon.
“I’m just helping the local police on the Skollick case.
You performed the autopsy?”
“Yes. Nothing wrong about it, is there? I’ll stake my reputation.”
“You don’t mind
if I ask you a question or two, doctor?
I’m not doubting your findings, but a little more detail will help us.”
“Fire away.”
There was relief in the voice.
“The head was so badly shot about that a proper examination of it was difficult?”
“If you’d had two shotgun cartridges fired at your head at almost point-blank range, Superintendent, there wouldn’t be much of it to be examined. Death was instantaneous and from the obvious cause.”
“And occurred at two o’ clock?”
“Yes.”
“Judged by the temperature of the body and other usual signs?”
“Yes. Look here, Littlejohn, what are you getting at?”
“Could death have occurred sometime before two?”
“I stated in my report that I inferred that death had occurred between one and two o’clock that was in keeping with the time the shot was heard, but fully confirmed by examination of the body.”
“You weren’t able to be more precise?”
“No, Superintendent. You see, the body had apparently been first out of doors, where the crime occurred. Then, it was carried indoors. The temperature of the interior of the church was considerably higher than that outside. In fact, almost ten degrees. I noted the thermometer by the door.
The stove had been going during the day. It is usual to light it for a day in mid-week at certain seasons in the year. The curraghs are damp, you know, and the interior decorations and fittings tend to mould if the fabric isn’t kept dry. The temperature of the dead body, therefore, was quite a problem.”
“Which you tackled admirably, doctor. A little before one or just after two might, therefore, be reasonable?”
“Theoretically, yes. Practically, no. The shot was fired at two and the dead body found shortly after. That seems to confirm the expert findings.”
“Thank you very much, doctor.”
“A pleasure, but I don’t quite see what it’s all about, Littlejohn.”
“I’ll call and explain personally very soon, sir. By the way, was there another doctor present when you arrived?”
“There were two. McWinnie, the police surgeon from Ramsey, and Pakeman of Lezayre. Strangely enough, Pakeman was passing at the time the body was found. He’d been to a case nearby.”
Toll the Bell for Murder (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery) Page 10
