Death Drops the Pilot

by George Bellairs

  “He might have heard that Captain Grebe was friendly with me.”

  “How could he know?”

  “I can’t say. You’re trying to trip me up, and I don’t know anything. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “All right, Lucy. That will do for the present.”

  Flushed and panting, Lucy hurried from the room and ran up the stairs like someone pursued. This was not lost on the men now being shepherded out by Braid: “It looks as if the Inspector’s on to somethin’. He’s found somethin’ out from Lucy...” It went all round the village in no time.

  Littlejohn strolled to the door. It was a pleasant, sunny autumn morning with a faint tang of approaching colder days in the air, and a stiff little breeze which bellied the sails of the boats tacking down the river for off-shore fishing round Farne Light.

  The ferry was in midstream, lurching a bit in the wind and tide, smoke pouring from her funnel as Joe Webb fired-up. The Irish Mail had gone, leaving a large blank in the affairs of the waterfront. Four fishing boats were on their way to Iceland and the men aboard stood in little groups on deck, waving to their families on the pier. The river-police launch bustled about on an aimless-looking patrol.

  Cromwell was talking to Leo, who also looked as if he hadn’t had a wash for weeks. His clothes were creased as though they’d been slept in, and he hadn’t had a shave for two days.

  “You crossed on the last ferry the night Captain Grebe was killed?”

  “I’ve said so, haven’t I?”

  “Tell me again, Leo.”

  Leo had arrived back drunk the night before and had flung himself on his bed fully clothed and slept all through the excitement of Jumping Joe’s murder. He, like the rest, hadn’t a proper alibi. He’d been seen coming from the last ferry again, but for the rest, there was only his word for it and he’d slept so soundly that he didn’t know a thing.

  “Yes. I crossed the last ferry. Now are you satisfied?”

  He licked his dry lips. His tongue felt like leather. He hadn’t had any breakfast because he didn’t feel like it and in spite of that, he’d been sick. He looked a bigger villain than ever with his dirty face, his sallow cheeks and baggy eyes, and his nose slightly askew.

  “There was another sailor with you when you crossed?”

  “Yes. A decent chap. He was goin’ to Iceland with the fleet on the morning tide. We had a drink or two together and went off for the ferry. I lost him when the blasted thing went aground.”

  “What sort of a fellow was he?”

  “Nice sort o’ bloke who’d just come across for a spree before he sailed. He wasn’t married and lived in Falbright with his maw.”

  He leered and showed his yellow teeth.

  “Ask me, he was a bit sweet on my sister, Lily. But she never give ’im a second look. She’s out for bigger fish, is Lily. She wants a chap as can give ’er a ’ome and money to spend. Not a ruddy mariner with a girl in every port.”

  “I thought you said he was a decent sort of chap.”

  “He was. What’s all this about? Sailors, Lily, last ferries...Where’s it all gettin’ us?”

  “I’ll be the judge, Leo. What was the sailor’s name?”

  “Fred.”

  “Fred who?”

  “How should I know? ’E was just Fred to me. Why should I want to know ’is name and address?”

  “I thought you might want to send back the pound or two you touched him for.”

  “Well, I didn’t touch him, see? And now I’ll ask you to leave me alone an’ let me get me wash an’ brush up.”

  “You need one. I’d be the last to stop you.”

  Leo gave Cromwell a dirty glare and looked ready to say something else. Instead, he turned on his heel and shambled away.

  Littlejohn thought how well Cromwell was looking. The sea breezes were suiting him. He had red cheeks and a red nose.

  “Hello, Chief.”

  “Hello, Cromwell. I’m sorry to put an end to your little riverside gossiping. I want you to go over to the police station in Falbright, contact the Yard, and ask them to make some inquiries in Gravesend.”

  “Something to do with Leo and Lily?”

  “Yes. Their father’s still alive, I think, and his name’s Leo. Does that convey anything?”

  “The postcards!”

  “Yes. We want a full history of Leo, Senior, and what he’s been doing since he vanished sixteen years ago. He seems to have hated John Grebe and he might have caught up with him here.”

  “But Jumping Joe...If Leo, Senior killed Grebe, he might have killed Joe as well. He must be around here somewhere.”

  “We don’t even know what he looks like. Lily hasn’t seen him since she was a kid and he’s been out of circulation for quite a time. Go and get to know all about him and a description of him, if you can. He may have done a stretch in gaol. That might have put him away for a while. Inquire about that, too.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Leo Fowler, ex-tugboat captain on the Thames; 13 Tenterden Street, Gravesend.

  Cromwell took it all down and then looked with relish at the river and the sea, the ferry tying-up, the old salts and young fishermen too busy with their gossip to get on with the day’s work.

  “The sooner you get off and do the job, the sooner you’ll be back, old man.”

  “I’ll go by the next ferry, sir.”

  “It won’t take you long.”

  There was a bit of a stir on the jetty. The group of men who daily watched and talked about everything which came and went in the river and at sea, were watching a boat just rounding the Farne Light with her course set for Falbright port.

  “It’s the North Star. What’s she back for? She ought to have been in the Iceland grounds by now.”

  A man who had just come from the ferry was eager to satisfy them.

  “They’ve wirelessed the harbour office that they’ve had an accident. The galley-boy was struck by a hawser and he’s broke ’is leg in two places. They want a doctor and when they’ve landed the boy, they’ll be off again to join the rest at the fishing grounds.”

  The motor vessel was hurrying upstream at a spanking speed, her engines full out, her bows ploughing into the choppy water and throwing up a huge feather of spray. They all watched her tie up at the pier and the boy was carried to a waiting ambulance. They could see his mother agitatedly fluttering on the edge of the little crowd and finally they put her in the vehicle with the boy.

  Some of the crew went ashore. It looked as if the skipper was either effecting repairs or taking on more stores ready for the next tide.

  One of the ship’s company could be seen talking to a man who ran a little motor launch, a minor kind of ferry, which plied to and fro between the villages and factories on the river banks. They seemed to be striking a bargain. Then the sailor climbed in the launch which set out and crossed to Elmer’s Creek.

  “It’s Fred Heath.”

  One of the old salts on the jetty shaded his eyes with a calloused hand and announced his discovery.

  “What’s he want? He seems in a ’urry to get over here?”

  “Luve’s young dream,” cackled his companion, and all the rest of the party laughed. “He’s keen on Lucy at the Arms, for some reason. Won’t leave ’er alone. She won’t ’ave nothin’ to do with ’im, but he’s made up his mind.”

  Fred Heath was landing from the motorboat and clambered along the jetty with the skilled movements of a real sailor.

  “Stick at ’er, Fred. You’ll bring ’er down yet,” shouted the man who seemed to know so much about Fred and his amours.

  The sailor paused, blushed, made a gesture of punching the air as though it were a man’s nose, and then hurried along to the Barlow Arms. With long strides he vanished through the door.

  Littlejohn followed him in.

  Fred Heath met Lucy face to face as she hurried downstairs.

  “Hello, Lucy.”

  “Hello, Fred. I can’t stop. I’m busy. What are
you doin’ here? I thought you were in Iceland.”

  Fred looked pathetic. The sight of Lucy seemed to have taken all the strength out of his huge, powerful frame. He didn’t know where to put his hands, moved from one foot to the other, stammered, and turned his cloth cap round and round in his great fingers.

  “We’ve had a bit of an accident. Young Crowe, the pantry-boy, broke his leg and we had to bring him back to ’ospital. We’re goin’ back on the afternoon tide and I’ve an hour to spare. I thought I’d...Maybe you’ll just ’ave a drink with me, Lucy. I’d take it as a favour if you would.”

  Lucy was a bit cruel about it all. The sight of the huge sailor turned shy and awkward because he fancied her, made her long to shake him and tell him she preferred men who knew what they wanted and got it, without stammering and blushing. She wasn’t used to men of Fred’s sort.

  “Why do you ’ave to come just as I’m on with the lunches, Fred? It’s too bad of you. I can’t stand about drinkin’ with you now. Mrs. Braid ’ud give me the sack as true as I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucy. I thought...”

  “Well, I’m busy now. I’ll see about it when you get back from the fishing. That is, if I’m still here.”

  “You aren’t goin’ away?”

  His distress was pitiful to see.

  “I don’t know. I just couldn’t stand this place in winter. It ’ud drive me daft.”

  “I’d make it up to you, if you’d stay on. I’d...”

  “I’ve got to get on with my jobs, don’t I tell you. I’ll see you when you’re in port again.”

  She left him standing there in his misery and the swing doors of the dining room flapped behind her.

  “I’d like a word with you, Fred.”

  “What the ’ell do you want? Who are you anyway?”

  Fred, now that Lucy had gone, had become a man again. He was ready, in his anger, to fling the massive man standing in his way right into the street. He’d take anybody on!

  “My name’s Littlejohn. I’m a police officer. You’ve heard of Captain Grebe’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  Fred Heath didn’t care about John Grebe. Even a man who’d been killed and pitched into the Hore couldn’t be more wretched than he felt. He told Littlejohn he didn’t care a damn about old Grebe and it was the ferry-master’s own fault if he’d come to mischief.

  “...Botherin’ around with Lucy, an old man like him. If it hadn’t been for his age, I’d have chucked ’im in the river myself many a time. What did an old boy like him want with a nice girl like Lucy? A nuisance to her, that’s what he was.”

  “All right, all right, Fred.”

  “It’s not all right.”

  “You were on the ferry at the time old John was killed.”

  “What of it? I didn’t do him in. I was being done myself at the time and I’d no time to see what was goin’ on on the bridge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can’t you leave me alone? I didn’t do the murder.”

  “Nobody says you did, although you could be a good suspect, you know. You wanted old Grebe out of the way because he was paying attentions to Lucy and pushing your nose out.”

  “I don’t care who knows about what I think of Lucy. She’s a fine girl. And I did want to break every bone in the old swine’s body and that’s how I’d have done for him, not sticking him in the back. And I’ll thank you to leave me alone and I don’t ruddy well care if you are police. I’m going back to my ship and nobody’s goin’ to stop me.”

  “You’re wrong there, Fred. I am, if you don’t answer my one or two questions.”

  “Why, you...”

  “Now, don’t be silly, Fred. It won’t do you any good with Lucy, getting in a row with the police and landing in the cells, instead of aboard the North Star earning your money for when you set up house with your girl.”

  Fred paused and scratched his bullet head.

  “You think...”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m no specialist in the ways of women, but you ought to try being a bit less humble with her and take her by storm...Not now, you silly ass. You’ve your ship to get and my questions to answer. She’ll not run away while you’re in Iceland. I’ll see to that if I’ve to lock her up till you’re back.”

  Fred actually chuckled.

  “Well, I’ll be blowed! You’re a good sort for a policeman. What did you want to know?”

  “You said you were occupied in ‘being done’ whilst Grebe was being murdered. What does that mean?”

  “I picked up with a fellow at the Arms the night old John got murdered. He was just passin’ through and we had a drink or two. Then we went off for the last ferry together. Len...Leo, or somethin’, he was called. I wish I could see him now...By God, I’d...”

  He clenched his huge fists.

  “As soon as we’d got aboard, he tried to borrow a pound or two. I said nothin’ doin’...So he pulls out a little gold lady’s watch. Said it had been his mother’s who was dead. Worth twenty pounds. I could have it for five. And he says straight out, ‘I can see you’re keen on that girl at the Arms...’

  “How he knew I don’t know. He says how she’ll think the world of me if I buy it and give it her. And, just havin’ seen her and findin’ her not much in my favour, I’m inclined to agree. I’ve just five pound, three shillings left from my pay and I leave myself with the three bob and take the watch.”

  Fred’s temper was rising and he had to swallow hard to keep himself in hand. The ferry was coming in again and he had to hurry, for he had suddenly developed a desire to save money in view of Littlejohn’s advice, and fourpence on the ferry was a sight different from extravagance on Buzzard’s motor-launch, privately hired.

  “...When I get on the North Star and we’re under way, I pull out the watch and show it to a pal of mine. He laughs. He’d seen a cheapjack in Falbright sellin’ the very same article for a pound in the market and after he’d sold half a dozen, he cleared off before they found out they were brass and wouldn’t go proper. This one of mine hasn’t gone ever since I got it.”

  He produced in his huge paw a slightly tarnished little watch, a flashy imitation of a modern style, but made on the cheap.

  “I’m sorry, Fred.”

  “If I could find that Len or Leo, or whatever he calls himself...I’d ram it down his blasted throat.”

  “But there’s one other question. The ferry broke away from her course when old Grebe died and ran down river and lodged on a sandbank. Did everybody leave the ship in the same way? A party from the town hurried down and took them off across the bank.”

  “Len or Leo didn’t wait. He jumped on the bank and off without waitin’. He vanished into the dark. Good job for him, too. If I’d laid me hands...”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. We zigzagged a bit. I was so busy with the watch and payin’ for it, that I didn’t gather me wits together till it was too late and we were headin’ for the bank. But I jumped up then and looked over the side to see where we were. We was headin’ first for the Falbright bank of the river; then just as I thought we’d struck, she screwed round her bows again and hit the other bank on the Elmer’s Creek side.”

  “Yes.”

  Fred scratched his head again as though to stimulate his brain.

  “I’m not sure. As I said, I was a bit sort-of still bothered about the watch. But I think that as we touched the Elmer’s Creek bank, somebody jumped off and on to the sand. There’d be two feet or so on our starboard side. You see, the river shelves sudden. They dredge the channel...You follow...The Jenny was in the dredged part, but a foot away was the bank in shallow water. Easy to jump to it and get to land that way. It looked as if whoever jumped got the wind up proper and took the risk. He must have landed all right. I didn’t hear no splash.”

  “Thank you, Fred. That’s fine.”

  But Fred wasn’t listening.

  Freshly-shaved and washed and feeling better for a dro
p of brandy cadged from his sister, Leo was coming swaggering from the hotel yard, on the lookout for someone from whom to borrow a pound or so. He was posing as one of the principals in the drama of Elmer’s Creek. Lucy’s brother. The girl, who, in spite of his brotherly advice, had got mixed up with a man who got murdered.

  Leo didn’t see Fred until it was too late. With two quick strides Fred was on him, took him by the throat, jerked his arm, and raised Leo kicking from the ground. Leo tried to shriek but he had no breath. Fred took out the watch and endeavoured to ram it, as promised, down his victim’s throat, but Leo bit his thumb. Whereupon Fred raised his massive fist and after throwing Leo in the air, caught his jaw with a punch like a battering ram as he fell to meet it. Leo doubled up, groaned and lay sprawling, stunned, and pretending to be unconscious to prevent another assault.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Fred.”

  Littlejohn took the angry sailor by the arm. He was sorry for Fred with all his problems, but it really couldn’t go on.

  “What shouldn’t I have done? Let him get up an’ I’ll give him some more. I’ll teach him.”

  “You’re doing yourself no good, you know, Fred. Leo’s Lucy’s brother.”

  Fred didn’t seem to understand plain English at first. He looked at Littlejohn and then at the crowd which had gathered round.

  “He’s who?”

  “Lucy’s brother.”

  “Oh. Oh, hell.”

  Fred didn’t even stop to make his peace with Leo or hit him again. They were hauling in the gangway of the ferry, and with three long loping strides Fred reached the gap between the jetty and the boat, leaped over it, gathered himself together on the deck, and ran and hid himself with Joe Webb in the engine-room, as though Lucy were in hot pursuit and eager to avenge her brother!

  9 THE SARACEN’S HEAD AT PULLAR’S SANDS

  THE noon ferry had departed taking Cromwell with it. The bar at the Barlow Arms was idle and the loungers of the jetty had gone home to lunch. Littlejohn felt at a loose end.

  He slowly strolled along the shabby promenade in the direction of the police station. A few late holidaymakers sauntering up and down working up an appetite for lunch. Two elderly men taking the air, shoulders back, breathing deeply, arguing about something. A woman with three children; one carrying a bucket and spade, another a little fishing net, and the third a balloon which suddenly burst, whereat he set up a loud wail. Two more women, one pushing a perambulator, and the other, from all appearances, almost ready to do the same.