‘No. We’ve just had a session with him. He’s in pretty poor shape. More psychological than physical. He’s almost scared to death. We got it out of him that he walked home after the dinner feeling at bit unsteady and as he was nearing his house he measured his length in the road. He must have come a real cropper. His face is swollen like a pudding. Last night, he said he’d been attacked; he didn’t want it to get around that he’d had a drunken fall. Bad for local morale and his own pride. I think he’s scared of something else, though. As I’ve told you, he was mixed up in an illegal immigrants racket with Heck Todd. More stupidity than anything else. He was completely taken in by Todd. And as he left the hotel last night Lever stopped him and told him he’d better be careful what he said to the police, and hinted that we were on the mayor’s track. All this being attacked might simply be a feint to make us think he was a victim instead of a criminal.’
‘And old widow Todd tried to keep you away from Lucy, because she thought Lucy knew too much. Do you think the old lady’s implicated?’
‘She’s a very formidable woman and might do anything to protect the family name. She was furious when we insisted on seeing Lucy. She dropped her mask of being the lovely old lady and showed her claws. Dr. Macmannus was a great help.’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘Yes. Tell us about young Roger Pollitt. The mayor says he owns his own fishing boat and spends all his time at sea.’
‘Are you thinking he might be bringing the immigrants over in his boat? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always been a bit of a harum-scarum. His father wanted him to become a lawyer, but Roger wouldn’t have any. He ran away to sea on a local fishing vessel and finally his father let him have his way. I must say that after that young Pollitt settled down to the job and got his captain’s ticket. I think it suits his father to have him away at sea. When he’s on land he’s a bit of a nuisance. Drunk and disorderly and sometimes a bit rough. We’ve had him in a time or two. He’s never done time. Just fines. A bit awkward for his father who’s a J.P.’
‘Did young Roger have much to do with Heck Todd?’
‘I’ll say he did. Did old Pollitt tell you that he’s separated from his wife? He did? She’s gone to live with her mother, who’s also separated from her husband. She’s a good-looking girl, but little better than a tart. Sailors shouldn’t marry that sort. She had a brief runabout with Heck Todd. When he came home somebody told Roger. He gave Heck the best beating-up he’d ever had in his life. That ended Heck’s affair with Marlene. Funnily enough, once they’d had it out, Heck and Roger got quite matey. When Roger was ashore they used to go out fishing in an old motorboat Heck owned. You’d never have thought they’d once fought it out over a woman.’
‘Who was Roger’s wife before he married her?’
‘The daughter of one of Todd Brothers’ representatives —John Willie Lever.’
Chapter 10
The Harbour Master
‘What about taking afternoon tea, sir?’
Littlejohn looked sharply at Hopkinson. It wasn’t often he made suggestions about taking a rest from his labours. It was obvious he had something other than refreshment on his mind. All the same, it seemed a good idea and after they had comfortably settled themselves in a quiet corner of the lounge it soon became plain what Hoppy was up to.
‘Have you formed any opinion yet, sir, as to who might have committed this crime?’
‘To be quite candid, Hopkinson, there are plenty of possibles, but the probable one hasn’t emerged yet. Take Mr. Pollitt, for example. He was more or less being blackmailed by Heck Todd. He buys a boat for pure speculation and finds he’s got a hot potato. In other words, he’s become innocently involved in an illegal immigration racket. Who, in the town, is going to believe him when he explains that he financed the deal without knowing the purpose Heck Todd had in mind. He’ll be treated as being up to the neck in the affair.’
‘But is he the type to get out of it all by murdering Todd?’
‘I admit he seems to be a little pompous coward. But if you’d seen him as I have during the past few days you’d realise that he might be driven in a fit of despair or intense fear to commit a crime in a frenzy.’
‘Has he an alibi?’
‘I am sure he can produce one. The usual story when a crime has been committed very late in the night. He’ll say he was asleep in bed at the time. That’s what Kenneth told me. . . . And, by the way, you might telephone to Scotland Yard about Kenneth and his alibi. He says he retired to bed around ten o’clock and slept until seven, after which he caught the 9.05 back to Portwich. Ask the Yard to send round to the hotel, the Imperial Palace, and find out if that was the case. Someone must have seen him on his way to bed and, again, when he left for his train. Ask, as well, if he was disturbed during the night. . . . By telephone, or something that might check that he was in his room all the time. Do it right away.’
No sooner said than done. Hopkinson, convinced that they were on a new trail, almost ran to the phone and back.
‘And now let’s take a stroll before dinner and make a call on the harbour master.’
They made their way across the swing-bridge and found the harbour master in his office on the quayside drinking very strong tea from a large thick teacup. He was a tubby red-faced man who, until he had quit the sea and taken his present job, had travelled all over the world. There was nobody else about and nothing much doing in the port so he was glad of some company and a chat.
The office was small and cosy and official notices and tide tables covered the walls. One or two ships in bottles and strange souvenirs from the lands and seas that Captain Turvey had visited in his time.
‘This is a great pleasure, gentlemen, and, I assume, what one might term a business call, seein’ that you’re both busy men and not given to wasting time on idle gossip.’
He offered them tea, which they didn’t care to refuse, and he soon set before them two mugs like the one he was using and filled them with his black brew. Then he lit his pipe and waited to hear what the visit was about.
‘We’re interested in some of the shipping connected with this port. For example, does Roger Pollitt, the mayor’s son, own a fishing boat that is registered here?’
‘Yes. He owns two, as a matter of fact. The James Gee, of which he’s skipper himself, and the Betsy Gee, of which Fred Jewell is captain. Both of them went out on the night tide 24 hours before the murder happened. They should be back on the next tide. You’ll see both of them soon. They couldn’t have been connected with the crime. They’d be well out at the fishing grounds by then.’
‘I’ll be quite candid with you, captain. So far we’ve been assuming that Hector Todd went to sea with a passenger in his boat and the stranger shot him and then made off in the dinghy. Could we be wrong, however, and could it be that Todd was murdered here in the town and his body carried to his boat and the boat unhitched and left to float out with the body on the tide? The dinghy might also have been untied and left to follow the current. This, when Todd’s boat with his body was found, would give the impression that the crime had been committed at sea and whoever did it had escaped in the dinghy.’
Captain Turvey slapped his thigh exultantly.
‘I thought the very same thing myself. I didn’t get in touch with you chaps about it because I don’t believe in meddlin’ in other people’s affairs, but now you mention it I’ll tell you how I see it. The doctors said Heck Todd was killed about midnight. High tide on that night was at 2.03. Whoever wanted the boat and the body to drift out to sea would wait until the ebb and then release it. If he sent it off before, the high tide would carry it upstream and the good Lord knows where it would end up. I’m not a detective, gentlemen, but as I read it, somebody killed Heck Todd here in Fordinghurst, let’s say at twelve midnight, as the doctors reckoned. They’ve a body on their hands and wish to dispose of same. What do they do?’
He looked cheerfully at Littlejohn and Hopkinson and before they could
answer continued.
‘Do they bury it in the garden or dump it in the river? As soon as a person doesn’t turn up as usual, or disappears, there’s a sort of hue and cry, as you gentlemen well know. They dig up gardens and drag the rivers and frogmen go down to the bottom and, as likely as not, the body’s soon found. The hunting ground for you, gentlemen, is merely in the town itself. It’s circumscribed, in a manner of speakin’. . . .’
Captain Turvey made a wide gesture with his arm.
‘But out at sea. . . . If you get a body out at sea, you’ve a wide ocean of possible suspects. . . . Haven’t you?’
He looked at his two guests for agreement.
‘You mean, you think the murderer wished to make it look as if Todd had taken out a passenger, or they may even have met out at sea, for some illicit business and they quarrelled and the stranger killed Todd?’
‘Somethin’ of the kind. Why else should the murderer have loosened the dinghy to make it look as if the criminal had made off in it after the crime? There’s another thing, too. Some funny goings on have happened on these coasts of late. We know there’s illegal immigration happenin’. And who knows what else? Drugs, perhaps. . . . A man who knows this coast with all its twists and turns and bays and bights could carry on for ever with such smuggling.’
‘And you think, Captain Turvey, that the actual killer tried to make it appear that Todd had been killed by some member of this smuggling gang?’
‘Why not, sir? But the murderer wasn’t as bright as he thought he was. He couldn’t, at that time of night, start the engine of the boat. He’d waken half the town. So he must either have known the tides or else he was just lucky. He got the water well on the ebb and the two boats went out to sea. Owing to their weight, the two boats would part company when they got to open water. But whoever did it, thinking they’d get well away to sea before the body was found, didn’t know the indraughts and currents. The result was, that without the operation of the tiller and the engine, the large boat wandered about outside Fordinghurst Bay and the little ’un fetched up in Strine Cove on the next high tide.’
Captain Turvey’s deductions and attempts at criminology having reached their limits, they thanked and left him.
‘What do you make of that, sir?’ said Hopkinson, as they walked back to the hotel.
‘Captain Turvey has a good imagination and I’ll bet when he and his fellow old salts foregather he’ll amplify the tale and tell them all how he’s put us on the right track and give them all the details of the crime. He’s been a great help, though, and we must give him credit for it. Without being too technical, he’s told us about the tides and peculiarities of the coast. He’s reminded us of the illicit trade that goes on in his neighbourhood by night. And he’s also given us a rough idea of how and why the murderer might have used the boat for disposing of the body, instead of burying it or throwing it in the river.’
It was evening, after dinner, before they heard from Scotland Yard, who had called at the Imperial Palace to investigate Todd’s alibi.
There had been some delay pending the arrival of Dan, the night porter, who had been on duty on the night of the crime. Dan knew Kenneth Todd quite well. Todd was an old client and regularly stayed at the hotel when on business in London.
Dan had been on the hotel staff for over 30 years and was one of those servants who regard all regular visitors as part of a family. He remembered Todd’s last visit and could confirm that he had spent one night there and had retired at about ten in the evening. He recollected that Todd had stopped and spoken with him on his way from the reception desk, where he had been paying his bill, to the lift. At such an early hour to retire was unusual in London, Dan had jocularly remarked on it. Todd had said he’d had a very busy day, was tired, and also had to leave early in the morning, so he had paid his bill to save time. He felt like a good night’s sleep.
According to Dan, at just after midnight, a telephone call had come through for Kenneth Todd. The hall porter had been chatting with the night telephonist and as calls at that hour were few and far between, he had noted that, too. The telephonist, who was also an old employee of the Imperial Palace, could confirm that, if necessary. Dan did not know who was making the call or what it was about; he was sure the telephonist didn’t either. They were busy discussing the future of a man who was staying in the hotel on his way to collect a cheque for £200,000 he had won on a football pool.
The hall porter had gone off duty at eight the following morning. He had not seen Kenneth Todd again before he left.
Inquiries in the office disclosed that Todd had not taken breakfast in the hotel, but that was not unusual in many cases of early departure. There was a breakfast-car on the 9.05 from London to Portwich. Todd’s bed had been slept in.
Inquiries on the second floor, where Todd’s room was situated had been made, but nobody had seen Todd leaving in the night or early morning. The night staff had dispersed, however, and could not be interviewed until later.
So much for that.
‘Let’s assume,’ said Littlejohn, ‘that Kenneth Todd’s call was from his mother, who was in some sort of trouble and she wished him to return right away or, at least, give her some advice as to what to do. If Todd is accustomed to travelling back on the 9.05 and taking breakfast on it, probably some of the dining-car attendants will know him. Ask the Yard to inquire on the train tomorrow morning and find out if he travelled back by it on the morning following the murder, and breakfasted with them. . . .’
Hopkinson rose with his customary enthusiasm and Littlejohn had to call him back.
‘There’s another thing. I don’t suppose there’s a late night train to Portwich from London. Look it up in the time-table at the reception desk and, if there isn’t such a train, ask the Yard to inquire among the taxi drivers who serve the hotel if any of them had a fare to Portwich or Fordinghurst, preferably the latter, after midnight on the night of the crime.’
Early next morning Scotland Yard telephoned again. One of the drivers of an all-night taxi service remembered taking a fare from the Imperial Palace at 12.30, or thereabouts, to Fordinghurst. He wasn’t very bright and made the darkness an excuse for being unable to describe the man.
‘I dropped him in the town square at about three o’clock. He was in a hurry. Kept tellin’ me to get a move on. He came from the hotel and picked me up round the corner. Spoke like a toff, but didn’t pay like one when it came to the bill. I had to tell him that a run like that after midnight cost more than a little jaunt in the sunshine. He was tallish, dressed in a dark suit, didn’t say much. That’s all I can tell you.’
Immediately after breakfast, Littlejohn, this time accompanied by Hopkinson, crossed the swing bridge to the offices of Todd Brothers and asked for Mr. Kenneth. The girl, who on Littlejohn’s previous visit had been filing her nails, was this time reading a paperback and seemed reluctant to drag herself away from it.
‘Mr. Todd will see you.’
Todd seemed to be going through the morning mail. It was impossible to guess whether or not, from his looks, the strain of current events was affecting him. His pale, lined face was worried to start with, but he was still well-groomed, not a hair out of place, his linen impeccable and his dark suit well cut and brushed.
‘This is an early visit, Littlejohn. Has something happened?’
He showed his anxiety by wrinkling his forehead more than ever.
Littlejohn introduced Hopkinson. Todd could hardly contain his impatience.
‘Well? What is it?’
Littlejohn remembered the advice of the local police. Handle the Todds carefully. The Todds are influential people in these parts and carry a lot of weight. Well, that was all over now. Henceforth they were going to be treated like all the rest. Like poor old Pollitt, who was so confused about Heck Todd and his death that he had tried to drop out of the whole affair by giving himself a crazy alibi which wouldn’t hold water.
‘Take a seat, both of you. And then please say wh
y you’ve called so early. I’m just in the midst of my morning mail and I haven’t much time to spare.’
There was no mention of a glass of wine apiece this time. Kenneth Todd was rattled and wondering what was coming next.
‘I wish you’d get this affair cleared up, Littlejohn. It’s causing a lot of trouble locally. People are wondering who’ll be the next victim. It’s very annoying.’
‘It must have been more annoying to be shot through the heart and die. And more annoying still that those who could help us to find the criminal won’t tell us the truth.’
Todd leapt to his feet his pale face suddenly flushed and his hands clenched. Hopkinson rose to his feet as well, as though placing himself at the ready to protect Littlejohn from a sudden assault. Instead, Todd changed his mind and sat down again. He seemed to be telling himself to play it cool. Littlejohn looked him steadily in the eyes. It seemed to put Todd out of countenance and he blinked once or twice and then removed the spectacles he was wearing, polished them, and put them on again.
‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Who has been lying and why?’
‘You told me when last I was here that you were in London at the time your brother was murdered. Midnight, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘You retired about ten and slept until seven the following morning. . . .’
‘Yes. Well?’
‘Then, you caught the 9.05 train to Portwich. . . .’
‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’
He shouted it across the desk. And Littlejohn noticed that Todd’s hair had become dishevelled again without any interference on Todd’s part. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead.
‘You didn’t tell me everything about that night. You received a telephone call in your bedroom about midnight, the time your brother was shot. . . .’
Todd was still trying to keep cool, even nonchalant.
‘Is that all? I can explain that. It was the hall porter ringing to say he’d forgotten to ask if I wished breakfast early next morning. . . .’
Murder Adrift Page 12
