“That made me think a bit. You know how it is in a district like this. The local butcher is always suspect when stock goes missing, and more often than not isn’t to blame. I began to look at Edward Carlow. By now he was softer than when he’d been on the farm. He was drinking at the pub, and doing a bit of betting.
“So we come to June of this winter. The Forest Ranger reported that he’d found evidence of possums having been trapped. As you know, this year’s fur prices have been very high. Also, possums are protected. The Ranger had his eye on a timber cutter named Henry Foster, and we agreed that Henry Foster could be the illegal trapper and that Edward Carlow could be the skin buyer from Foster. Could be, mind you. We had no proof.
“My ideas about Carlow’s prosperity were firmed a lot when his empty van was found parked in the scrub near that old logging stage where you met me and Miss Answerth this afternoon. How come that that van was concealed by the scrub when Carlow’s body was a mile away in Answerth’s Folly?
“Carlow was last seen about five p.m. on August Nst. He was then driving out of town, Mrs Carlow saying that he was going to Manton, where he was courtin’ a woman. She couldn’t tell us the name of this woman, and we couldn’t locate her. I believe she was truthful about it, that Edward told her a yarn about courting a girl.
“The next day, shortly after eleven in the morning, Carlow’s body was discovered by a feller named Blaze, the men’s cook out there. It was by the merest chance, too. The cook shot a duck and when wading out to get the bird actually kicked against the submerged body.
“The van wasn’t found until the following day when we began examining every off track from the track to Manton. It was well concealed by the scrub, and finding the van was chancy because, during the night Carlow was murdered, it rained heavily and tyre tracks were scarce. That afternoon, Inspector Stanley and Detective Jones arrived from Brisbane and took over.”
“You had then questioned the cook and the Answerth stockmen?” Bony probed.
“Blaze, the cook, yes. There were no men in camp the night Carlow was murdered. Excepting the cook, the only man employed at that time was the head stockman. The shearing was over and the sheep put into the spring pastures, and so work was slack. The head stockman was on the booze here in Edison. Feller by the name of Robin Foster.”
“Same name as the wood cutter.”
“Yes. Henry Foster’s brother.”
“How did the cook come out of it?”
“Seemed to me he came out square. Only a weed of a man, and elderly into the bargain. Carlow was a big man and could have defended himself easily against a man like Blaze. According to medical evidence....”
“We will leave that to Dr Lofty,” Bony interposed. “Contact him now, and ask him to come and yabber ... the word being yours.” Lofty was telephoned, and Bony then asked:
“Is the man Blaze still cooking for the Answerth men?”
“Yes. Been there a very long time. Used to be head stockman. Turned to cooking when age fastened on to him.”
“You examined the van belonging to Edward Carlow?”
“Too right. There were several cut-open sacks in it and a light tarpaulin. Obviously last used to transport meat. Remembering the possum query, I examined the inside of the van pretty thoroughly. Not a single possum hair in it. I did find evidence that coke had been loaded, and subsequently established that Carlow had brought a load of coke from Manton for use at his home.”
“Did you mentioned the Forest Ranger’s suspicions concerning the possum-trapping to Inspector Stanley?”
“No ... o.”
“Why not?”
“What we thought about that possum angle was just surmise,” replied Mawson before giving the correct reason. “Beside, the Inspector didn’t want co-operation.”
“Still, had you mentioned the matter, Stanley would have had experts sent down from Headquarters to examine the van with meticulous thoroughness. The possum point is important, and I thank you for drawing my attention to it. Where’s the van now?”
“With Mrs Carlow. She took over the butchering business. Alfred does most of the shop work and uses the van to transport carcases to the shop from the slaughter yard. As I said, they employ a man to slaughter for them. Ed Carlow used to do his own slaughtering.”
“The slaughter-man ... character?”
“Local farmer. Good character. Has an alibi no one could bust.”
“What about the timber cutter ... Foster?”
“Said he was in camp all that night. Couldn’t shake him. But ... His camp is within three miles of the logging stage.”
Bony made another of his cigarettes. Years of practice had not brought skill to his fingers, and his fingers remained careless if tenacious in following one pattern. Every cigarette bulged in the middle and dwindled to a point at either end.
“You have given your facts, Mawson,” he said presently. “Now give your opinions. First, why was Carlow murdered?”
“Personal opinions, mind. Because he owed money for carcases to a cattle or sheep lifter, or owed money for skins to a possum trapper. He tried to put it over a man who would not stand for it.”
“Sound,” Bony murmured. “Who murdered Edward Carlow?” Mawson slowly shook his head, saying:
“Wouldn’t care to guess.”
“We’ll find out. Sounds like the doctor arriving. How d’you get along with him?”
“All right. Good man with babies, they say. Co-operative with us. Done a lot to get the local hospital on its feet.”
Mawson rose and crossed to open the door. He was there a half-minute before welcoming Dr Lofty, and when the doctor entered Bony was ready to receive him. Lofty had the physical appearance of a jockey, the eyes of a hypnotist, the voice of seduction. Mawson’s introduction of Bony produced momentary shock, followed by keen interest.
“A privilege, Inspector!” he drawled, and produced a foolscap envelope which he dropped upon the desk.
“Good of you to come round,” murmured Bony, and they all sat. “Your P.M. report? Thank you. Before we discuss it, I would be obliged did you concentrate on your post mortem on the body of Edward Carlow. I’ve had small opportunity to study that case as presented by my Department’s Official Summary and other data. The scene at least is common with this last crime.”
“As you say, Inspector, the scene is the same in both murders,” agreed Lofty. “One was drowned, the other strangled. One had put up a fight for life, the other hadn’t been given even that chance.”
“We begin, Doctor,” Bony said. “You knew Edward Carlow when alive, of course?”
“Yes.”
“Was he ever your patient?”
“On several occasions. For minor causes. Accidents. The man was a perfect specimen ... until he took to drink. At the time of his death the liver was spotted, one kidney was diseased, and he was unhealthily fat. Still, he would have lived for years. My grandfather drank three bottles of whisky every day during the last four years of his life, which ended at a hundred and two. I wanted to look inside him, but the relations wouldn’t have it. Most interesting old chap.”
“You like post mortem work?”
“Love it.”
The little man’s black eyes were bright with laughter. He made himself comfortable on the straight-backed kitchen chair and smoked a cheroot with enjoyment.
“Edward Carlow, I understand, was forcibly drowned. Taking into account his diseased kidney and spotted liver, what kind of man, physically, must the murderer be?”
“A man who could take either you or me between his forefinger and thumb and pinch us in two separate parts, and then sit on each part and flatten it to mere parchment.”
Bony was not amused by being thus associated with the wispy, skinny little doctor. He said:
“Carlow’s body bore evidence of a fierce struggle?”
“It surely did. There were patches of ecchymosis all over him. He fought for his life in the shallow water of Answerth’s Folly, or he was first
struck unconscious and then dragged into the water. Mud and weed from the bottom of the Folly were embedded under the fingernails, and weed and organisms were found in the water taken into the lungs and stomach. There were, of course, all the other appearances of drowning.”
“D’you know if he could swim?”
“For years he was the beach guard at our annual aquatic sports,” Dr Lofty said slowly. “There’s no possible doubt that Carlow was forcibly held under water until he was dead.”
“How long, in your opinion, was the body submerged?”
“Eight to twelve hours.”
“Assuming that the body had not been found until it rose to the surface normally, do you think a superficial examination would have disclosed the fact that the dead man had fought desperately before drowning?”
“Are you thinking that the murderer, being unaware of his victim’s injuries, calculated that the superficial injuries would not be evident after the body had been submerged for several days? That he hoped the coroner’s verdict would be death by misadventure?”
“Yes, along that line, Doctor. It’s possible, is it not?”
“Quite.”
“Therefore, the murderer knew something of pathology?”
“He could have learned that much from a medical textbook, but more likely from a published report of an inquest. I’ve read in the newspapers two such reports this last twelve-month. There’s no proof, though, that the murderer intended this.”
“But he drowned the man when he could have killed him with his hands about his throat, or with a stick or a stone.”
“If he wasn’t himself played out by the struggle and had strength only to hold his victim under water.”
“Let us pass to the death of Mrs Answerth. How old was she?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Therefore, frail?”
“Yes and no, Inspector. Mrs Answerth had always led a very active life. Up to the time of death, she grew the vegetables in the garden about the house, and attended to the fowls and ducks. She suffered slightly from lumbago, but her heart and lungs were sound. When I last saw her, and that was two years ago, she walked upright and her mind was unimpaired.”
“She was not drowned, I think.”
“She was strangled with rough cord or light rope. The mark of the ligature was quite plain. She was dead when her body entered the water. I believe death was very rapid, and that death was due to asphyxia rather than to shock. There was but little mucus froth and no water in the lungs.
“The body was fully clothed,” the doctor proceeded. “I found more weed adhering to the back of the head than to any other part of it. There was a quantity of weed pressed into the cavity between the neck and the back of the blouse, and there was much weed adhering to the calves of the worsted stockings. All that provides me with a picture. I can see the body being dragged through shallow water by the cord or rope with which the woman was strangled, and then, when the ligature had been removed, pushed out into deep water.”
“Where, it was thought, it would sink,” added Bony. “Assuming that the body had not floated, that it remained submerged till putrefaction brought it to the surface to be found and at once examined by you, what might have been the result?”
“It would be probable that the mark of the ligature had faded into the general slough of the skin, and also the internal appearance would be such as to indicate drowning. Assumption would point strongly to death by drowning, but in view of the Carlow drowning, assumption would not have been accepted.”
“H’m!” Bony smiled his thanks. “Do you remember, Doctor, or you, Mawson, whether during the inquest on Carlow anything was said of the specific gravity of the body?”
“Yes,” promptly replied Lofty. “Old Harston ... he’s the coroner, you know ... asked me if it wasn’t a fact that the specific gravity of a fat man, like Carlow, was much lighter than that of the body of a lean man.”
“He wanted to know if the body was weighted with anything which submerged it,” added Mawson.
“And I had to give a lecture on the subject,” Lofty continued.
“Mrs Answerth was not a fat woman, was she?” inquired Bony.
“No, she was tall and gaunt. She had no more fat than I have,” answered the doctor.
“And therefore her murderer possibly thought it certain that her body would sink and remain submerged for days.” Bony stood. “The body of the next victim disposed of in Answerth’s Folly will be efficiently weighted.”
Dr Lofty stubbed the butt of his cheroot and rose from his chair.
“Pleasant prospect,” he drawled, and Bony decided that the accent had been cultivated. “You know, Inspector, another asphyxia case will bore me. Arrange that the next one is by bullet or bludgeon. Good night! Anything you want of me, don’t hesitate.”
Mawson accompanied him to the street gate. Bony studied the doctor’s excellent photographs of the cord mark round the dead woman’s neck. Voices drifted inward through the open doorway, and he looked up to see a tall, prosperous-looking man precede the constable into the office.
Chapter Four
Venom House
MR HARSTON WAS imposing and emphatically solid. To observe him was to regret that he wasn’t wearing morning clothes, complete with top hat and spats. Instead, he wore a pair of beautifully cut gabardine trousers and a sports jacket of extremely conservative hues. The hazel eyes were alive and friendly. The tint of the grey hair from which rose the bald dome, the crow’s-feet and the mouth combined to place his age in the late fifties.
“Sit down, Mr Harston,” Bony said affably. “I understand you are the deputy coroner. Happy to make your acquaintance. I am, of course, looking into the circumstances surrounding the death of Mrs Answerth.”
“So I’ve been given to understand by Miss Answerth ... Miss Mary Answerth, Inspector.” Mr Harston carefully arranged the creases of his trousers. “Er, I can assure you that everyone here wishes you success in your investigations. It’s very late to call on you, but I was prevailed on to do so by Miss Answerth, who telephoned me half an hour ago with reference to her mother’s body. They’d like to have it as soon as it can possibly be released.”
“That will depend now on you as coroner,” Bony stated. “I have the report of the post mortem conducted by Dr Lofty, and from it you will agree that an inquest is called for. The report definitely favours homicide. Perhaps you would glance through it.”
Mr Harston accepted the document with a faint: “Ha! Just too bad!” He produced black-rimmed spectacles attached to a thin black ribbon, and took his time to read the report.
“Yes, an inquest is certainly indicated, Inspector. Have you thought of a date convenient to you?”
“Well, no, Mr Harston. It would, I think, be best to defer the date ... say for a week or ten days. I arrived only late this afternoon, and haven’t yet visited Answerth’s Folly. I intend doing so early tomorrow.”
“Oh! Yes, very well, Inspector. The body...”
“There’s no reason why the family cannot take charge of it tomorrow ... tomorrow afternoon ... after I have interviewed the members of the family and staff. You could, I think, decide to sign the release at one o’clock. You have known the family for some time, I understand.”
“For many years, Inspector. When I came to Edison I was but a youth, and old Jacob Answerth was almost my first client and became my most valued one. He was a strange man, full of inhibitions, and sometimes violent, in order, I think, to triumph temporarily over fear. There’s a name for it which I cannot recall. Anyway, he was generous to me, making me a beneficiary under his will, and in his will he commanded his daughters to have me continue as their business agent, general adviser and friend.” Mr Harston chuckled. “They obeyed the command to the extent that I have, since the old man’s death, been a sort of Grand Vizier.”
“He suicided, did he not?”
“Yes. Shot himself. No apparent reason. Financial position was pleasing and secure.”
&nbs
p; “I understand there is a son. What of him?”
“By the second wife ... the late Mrs Answerth. Mary and Janet are the children of the first wife. Morris Answerth would be about twenty-six or seven. Not quite normal. Harmless, of course, but needs supervision. He doesn’t enter the picture so far as I am concerned. I haven’t seen him for years. After old Jacob blew out his brains, the younger daughter, Janet, returned home and slipped into authority over the family. A quiet girl, artistic, universally liked. Mary manages the station and the stock and the employees. An Amazon. She offends my sense of what is right in a woman.”
“I met her,” Bony smilingly admitted.
“Rude, ignorant, violent and almost always objectionable,” Mr Harston proceeded. “Mary Answerth has shouted me down in my own office. She has called me every name used by rough working men. She has openly insulted me in the street. Because now and then I feel that her attitude is less deliberately intended than natural to her, and in view of her forebears, I’ve put up with it, and eventually found it best to give back as much as she gives. I have to admire her for her business acumen. Peculiarly enough, I get along better with her than with her sister. Yes, old Jacob Answerth didn’t leave behind him easy clients.”
“May I assume that Miss Mary Answerth is equally objectionable to other people?”
“That is so.”
“Would the Answerths, as a family, be likely to have enemies?”
“It’s likely that Mary Answerth has a hundred enemies. But Mrs Answerth, no. Mrs Answerth was entirely negative. From the time her husband died, she was never seen in Edison but once, and on that occasion she came to town to consult Dr Lofty.”
“Did you know the first wife?”
“Oh, yes! The first wife was a kind of hanger-on to a gang of travelling shearers. If you think of the last woman on earth to snare into marriage a wealthy pastoralist, you will see that woman. Mary is her very flesh and bone and mind. Janet takes after her father, or rather her father would have been more like her had he been more balanced. The second Mrs Answerth was the daughter of respectable and affluent pastoralists. She wasn’t happy with her husband.”
Venom House Page 3
