The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  ‘And where do most of the sacks go to?’

  ‘Generally we send them to the flour mills down at Tewkesbury, though sometimes they are transported upstream to the mills at Bewdley.’

  ‘Can you tell me whether anyone took grain upstream, from Worcester, say about five or six days ago?’

  ‘I will have to look in the ledger in the office.’

  ‘I would be obliged if you would do so.’

  ‘Here, Tom, keep an eye on things for a few minutes,’ said Snedden, sighing, and passing over the note pad to the workman.

  Ravenscroft followed the owner into the warehouse, where some wrought-iron steps took them into a back office. Here Snedden consulted a large book which lay open on the desk.

  ‘Yes, here we are. The Mayfly loaded up five days ago, bound for Bewdley with about forty sacks of grain.’

  ‘And who owns the Mayfly?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘The Mayfly is a barge, run by old Billy from Diglis.’

  ‘Billy you say?’

  ‘Yes, rough sort of fellow. Big scar down the side of his face.’

  ‘I know him. My constable had reason to have words with him the other night at the Old Diglis Inn. Tell me, does Billy operate the boat on his own?’

  ‘Oh yes, with the help of the horse, of course. The Mayfly has long seen better days, as has old Billy. Between you and me he’s rather too fond of the bottle,’ said Snedden closing the ledger.

  ‘But you still employ him?’

  ‘He’s cheap — and he does the job.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Snedden. Just one more question: would the Mayfly have reached Bewdley by now?’

  ‘She probably got there yesterday.’

  ‘Would she still be there now?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Most likely, I would think. Knowing Billy he’ll hold up there for two or three days whilst he drinks away his fee, before he decides to look around for another cargo on the river.’

  ‘Thank you once again, Mr Snedden,’ said Ravenscroft shaking hands with the merchant before making his way out of the warehouse.

  ‘And what did you find out about our Mr Cranston?’ asked Ravenscroft as the two men met up again outside the Talbot.

  ‘It is as he says, been employed by Worcester Porcelain for the past three years. He is one of their chief salesmen by all accounts. They seem quite pleased with the amount of business he has secured for the company. They can’t remember, however, where he came from. We could contact Wedgewood and see if they remember him,’ said Crabb, consulting his pocket book.

  ‘We’ll do that later. Right now, we have more pressing business. I thought it strange that Ruth Weston was found at Holt Fleet. If she had been killed here at Worcester, and then dumped in the river, we would have recovered the body downstream towards Upton and Worcester, but as the sack was recovered at Holt, the killer must have taken the body upstream.’

  ‘But why go to all that trouble? Why not just throw the sack into the river here?’

  ‘I believe the killer wanted to put some distance between himself and the scene of the crime. No, our killer was going north on business, and dumped the sack upstream believing that it might not be so easily found in that part of the river. Mr Snedden, who owns the warehouse, confirmed that one boat, or rather a barge in this case, called the Mayfly, left Worcester five days ago, bound for Bewdley. Holt Fleet is on the way.’

  ‘So our killer might be still in Bewdley on board the Mayfly?’

  ‘That might still be the case. Furthermore, the owner of the Mayfly is your old friend Billy!’

  ‘He’s no friend of mine. We should have clapped him in the gaol when we had the opportunity.’

  ‘The question is, Crabb, why would Billy want to kill Ruth Weston, if he is our killer? It just doesn’t seem to make sense. I don’t see how he could be involved with Evelyn’s death either, but I guess we won’t know the answers to those questions until we have tracked him down. You and I need to get to Bewdley as soon as possible and catch up with him. Let’s go back to the station and take the fly there.’

  Within minutes the two men had left the confines of Worcester behind them as they travelled northwards through the sleepy villages of Hallow, Holt Heath, Shrawley and Astley, until eventually they arrived at the picturesque riverside town of Bewdley. The sinking sun was producing a golden glow over the waters of the river as Crabb tied the horse to one of the trees along the side of the bank.

  ‘There seem to be quite a number of boats moored up along here,’ said Ravenscroft alighting.

  They made their way along the banks of the river, trying to read the names on the sides of the various boats and barges, in an attempt to find the Mayfly.

  ‘Here we are, sir!’ Crabb cried out suddenly. ‘The Mayfly, wonder she’s still afloat the condition she’s in.’

  ‘Draw your truncheon. Billy could still be on board and might prove dangerous,’ said Ravenscroft stepping on to the barge, and opening the door to the living-quarters.

  ‘Seems to be empty,’ said Crabb, following him.

  ‘You’re right, it looks as though our Billy is not at home,’ announced Ravenscroft looking round at the old rags and rubbish that littered the floor and bed.

  ‘Probably at one of the pubs, sir, drinking away his wages.’

  ‘This looks interesting,’ said Ravenscroft, bending down and holding up a reel of bright red cord. ‘If I’m not mistaken this is the same cord that was used to strangle Ruth Weston. If you look closely you can see where a length has been cut off the main reel.’

  ‘Looks as though you were right, sir. Billy certainly appears to be our killer.’

  ‘It seems that way; all the more reason to find the blackguard. He must be in one of the riverside taverns. There is nothing for it, we will have to search each one until we find him.’

  They alighted from the boat, and stood on the cobbled path. ‘My guess is that he won’t have travelled far. There are a couple of inns down that way. We’ll try them first, and if we don’t have any luck, we can come back and try the ones upstream.’

  Crabb pushed open the door of the first inn and the two men stepped into the crowded bar. Ravenscroft enquired of the landlord if he had seen Billy and, receiving a negative reply, they made their way to the second drinking place — where again they drew a blank.

  ‘Back the other way, sir?’ asked Crabb. Ravenscroft nodded and the two men retraced their steps to where the Mayfly was tied up.

  ‘The Cobblers. Sounds the sort of place Billy might frequent,’ said Ravenscroft, standing outside a tavern, from where loud singing could be heard.

  They opened the door to a smoked-filled room full of drinkers attempting to keep up with the music being played by a buxom woman on an old piano. Ravenscroft pushed his way through the throng until he reached the bar. ‘We are looking for Billy,’ he said addressing the barman.

  ‘Why who wants him?’

  ‘So you do know him?’ said Crabb.

  ‘Over there!’ The barman pointed in the direction of the piano.

  Ravenscroft strained to look past the revellers in the smoke and the gloom of the poorly lit room.

  ‘There he is, sir. By the piano!’ shouted Crabb, above the din.

  ‘Get the cuffs ready. He might not come willingly,’ said Ravenscroft, marching towards the singing sailor.

  ‘Hello, Billy. Remember us?’

  The old sailor rubbed his eyes with a dirty hand, and lurched forwards in Crabb’s direction. ‘You’re that bloody peeler who threw me out of the Diglis!’

  ‘We’d like a word with you, outside,’ said Crabb, removing the sailor’s hand from his tunic.

  ‘The bloody hell you will. I’m ’avin me drink. Go away.’

  ‘Come on now, Billy. It will be best for you if you come quietly,’ said Ravenscroft, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  ‘And who the bloody hell are you?’ snarled Billy stepping forward and thrusting his grizzled features in Ravenscroft’s face.
/>   ‘I am an inspector with the Worcester Police,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning away from the stinking smell of alcohol.

  ‘Are you, by blazes?’ said Billy, attempting to throw the remaining contents of his glass in Ravenscroft’s direction, but missing and dowsing the piano player instead, much to the delight of the other drinkers.

  ‘Here, you look what you’re doing!’ she shouted.

  A sudden quiet came over the assembly, as everyone stared in the policemen’s direction.

  ‘Put the cuffs on him, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft in a firm voice, whilst grabbing the shoulders of the offending party.

  Crabb sharply snapped the cuffs together around Billy’s wrists.

  ‘Now come outside, Billy, nice and peaceful,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘Here, where are you takin’ our Billy?’ shouted one of the drinkers.

  ‘You ain’t takin’ him nowhere!’ chorused another, a sentiment that was echoed from various parts of the bar.

  ‘You keep your hands off our Billy!’ said an aggressive third voice.

  The situation was about to turn ugly, and Ravenscroft knew they would need all their powers as policemen, if they were to walk out of the inn unharmed and with their quarry.

  ‘I am Inspector Ravenscroft. My colleague is Constable Crabb. This man is required for questioning concerning the murder of a young female in Worcester some days ago.’

  ‘I don’t care who you are. You ain’t taking our Billy!’ shouted back the first drinker.

  ‘’Ere, ’ere!’ shouted several others, as the crowd gradually surrounded the two policemen.

  ‘Now look here. I am a police officer and I am walking out of this inn with this man,’ shouted Ravenscroft, summoning up all his courage, and looking around at the menacing group.

  ‘The devil you will!’ came back a voice.

  ‘If anyone tries to stop us, he will be arrested as well, and will spend the night in the cells.’

  ‘You just try. Bleeding coppers!’

  ‘Crabb, draw your truncheon!’ instructed Ravenscroft, as the crowd closed in.

  ‘Oh leave off, you silly buggers!’ The speaker was the lady pianist who was busily engaged in mopping up the ale from her ample features. ‘This is a respectable inn. We don’t want any trouble here.’

  ‘I’ll poke their lights out first!’ growled one of the drinkers.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, Seth Robinson. For God’s sake let ’em go. Come on, let’s have another sing song,’ she said, resuming her seat and striking up a new tune.

  ‘Crabb, let’s get out of here, while we can,’ whispered Ravenscroft, relieved by the temporary lull in the proceedings. ‘Where’s Billy?’

  ‘Lord, sir, he’s given us the slip!’ replied Crabb, looking frantically around him.

  ‘Quickly, let’s get out of here.’

  The two policemen thrust their way through the singing crowd, and out into the night air.

  ‘Things were turning a bit ugly in there, sir.’

  ‘And our friend Billy has taken the opportunity to escape. He can’t have got far, with those handcuffs on him,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Where the devil has he got to?’

  ‘He’s over there, sir. On the bridge!’

  ‘Quickly. After him.’

  Crabb darted along the towpath, Ravenscroft following on behind.

  ‘Come and get me, you stinking landlubbers!’ taunted Billy, climbing up on to the parapet of the bridge.

  Crabb ran forward and reached out to grab the swaying figure, who suddenly lunged in the direction of the constable. Ravenscroft raced up on to the bridge and was horrified to hear a loud splash, as the two toppled over the edge into the waters below.

  ‘My God, Tom, are you all right?’ shouted Ravenscroft, looking down at the waters and trying to pick out the figures in the darkness. ‘Tom! Tom!’

  ‘I’ve got him!’ came back a voice he recognized.

  ‘Hang on, Tom. I can see a rowing boat at the side. I’ll be with you as soon as I can,’ replied Ravenscroft, racing down the steps at the side of the bridge, quickly untying the rope and flinging himself into the vessel.

  ‘Tom, are you still there?’ he shouted, as he rowed frantically into the centre of the river.

  ‘Over here!’

  ‘Hang on, Tom.!’ shouted Ravenscroft, redoubling his efforts, as he rowed towards his colleague.

  ‘I can’t hang on to him much longer.’

  ‘Can you push him up on to the side of the boat?’ said Ravenscroft reaching Crabb, and laying down the oars.

  ‘He’s out cold, sir,’ he spluttered, pushing the old seadog upwards towards the boat. Ravenscroft grabbed hold of the man and hauled him aboard. ‘God, he’s a weight. Now give me your hand, Tom, and I’ll haul you up as well.’

  Ravenscroft reached out for his bedraggled colleague, and gradually lifted him upwards and on to the boat.

  ‘Are you all right, Tom?’

  ‘The villain grabbed hold of me, and I couldn’t stop us falling into the water,’ he replied, breathless and bedraggled, as he collapsed on to the seat.

  ‘You certainly frightened me. Get your breath back while I take a look at him,’ said Ravenscroft, turning Billy over at the bottom of the boat.

  ‘I think he might have hit his head on one of the pillars of the bridge as we went over.’

  ‘There’s a nasty gash on top of his head. I’m afraid he’s dead,’ pronounced Ravenscroft, sitting back.

  ‘Save the hangman a job,’ muttered Crabb.

  ‘Pity we didn’t have the opportunity to question him when he had sobered up. You sit there and I’ll row to the shore and see if we can find the local station.’

  As Ravenscroft rowed towards the river-bank, he realized that although it looked as though he had now caught the probable murderer of Ruth Weston, he was still no nearer to understanding why the old sailor had committed such an act. He wondered whether Billy had also killed Evelyn, but if so, for what reason? What would the sailor have wanted with the book? Now that Billy was dead, the questions seemed unlikely to be answered — and the recovery of the Whisperie seemed further away than ever.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Well done, Ravenscroft.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  It was the following morning and Ravenscroft and Crabb had just reported the events of the previous evening to their superior at the station in Worcester.

  ‘Good work indeed. Show the people here that the police mean business, and that no crime will go unpunished!’ said Henderson stroking his moustache.

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘Pity you couldn’t get a confession out of the murdering swine before he topped himself.’

  ‘He didn’t top himself, sir. He hit his head on the side of the bridge when he fell into the river,’ corrected Ravenscroft.

  ‘Yes! Yes, whatever! Result’s the same and that’s what counts,’ said Henderson irritably. ‘Suppose he killed Evelyn as well?’

  ‘We don’t know that, sir. We still haven’t recovered the book.’

  ‘Yes, that damn book. You searched the boat, I suppose?’

  ‘We did, sir, but there was nothing except the red cord that I believe had been used to strangle Ruth Weston.’

  ‘H’m. Probably sold the book on to some collector or other,’ suggested Henderson.

  ‘We could get a warrant and search Dr Renfrew’s house,’ interjected Crabb.

  ‘The blazes you will! Renfrew is a prominent citizen. He’ll have the law down on us in no time. No, Ravenscroft, we can’t go marching over innocent people’s property, without a by your leave. It just isn’t on, man.’

  ‘I take your point.’

  ‘Look here, I quite understand if you’ve had enough of this case and want to get back to London. Now that we know that this Billy character killed Miss Weston and probably Evelyn as well, it’s only a matter of time before the book turns up.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I would like to conti
nue with the case. We don’t know that Billy killed Evelyn, and I’m sure that I will shortly be able to recover the book,’ pleaded Ravenscroft, anxious that the case should not be taken away from him.

  ‘Yes, yes, all right then. I suppose a few more days won’t hurt. You might turn up something. Must get on now, Ravenscroft; races start tomorrow. Worcester will be full by teatime with every rogue and villain that was ever born under the sun; but we’ll be ready for them Ravenscroft, yes, we’ll be ready for them,’ said Henderson, pulling on his coat and striding out of the room.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, as the door banged behind their chief.

  ‘So, we’ve got a few more days to solve this crime,’ said Crabb. ‘I suppose there’s no doubt that old Billy did kill Ruth Weston?’

  ‘I have no doubt at all. He evidently lured Ruth Weston down to the river-bank late at night, where he strangled her aboard his barge. Then he placed the body in one of Snedden’s sacks, and kept it on board the boat until he was able to dump it in the river, further upstream. The question remains, however — why?’

  ‘Money, sir?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘He murdered the poor woman for the money she had on her person?’

  ‘Somehow I doubt that. He would have not known how much money she had in her pockets. Also, it does not explain why she left her son and her lodgings to go walking alone, late at night, down by the river.’

  ‘She could have been meeting someone?’ suggested Crabb.

  ‘I think you are probably right. Ruth Weston had an appointment with someone down by the river. Instead she meets old Billy, who is the worse for drink, and who then kills her for what little money she has, unless, of course, unless Billy was paid by a third party to kill her!’

  ‘But why? Why would someone, this third party, want Ruth Weston out of the way?’

  ‘That is what we must find out. My guess is that, by some means or other, she had found out who had killed Evelyn, and the killer then lured her down to the river-bank, where he paid Billy a sum of money to kill her and dispose of the body.’

  ‘Seems highly probable, sir, when you think about it.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we are still miles away from finding out who is our killer. I tell you one thing Crabb, I don’t like that Cranston fellow. I feel he is hiding a great deal from us. Go to the telegraph office, and send a telegram to the Wedgewood factory in Stoke on Trent, asking them if they can tell us more about him.’