The C.I.D Room

by Roderic Jeffries

  Leery drank quickly, put the glass down, and helped himself with shaking fingers to a cigarette. ‘The police are getting to know how the van’s used. They’ve been asking about it because one of the shore staff was fiddling old hawsers. The detective saw a thing or two, including me having a word with the driver.’

  ‘Congratulations on an extraordinary piece of ineptitude.’

  ‘How was I to know he was aboard?’

  ‘Let’s have the full story from beginning to end.’ Heywood-Smith’s manner was not, as it usually was, blustery or bombastic: it had become hard and calculating. He listened in silence to what Leery said, then finished his whisky.

  ‘We can’t touch the next lot of gold,’ said Leery hoarsely. ‘We daren’t.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘We daren’t, or they’re bound to catch us.’

  Heywood-Smith smoked the cigar. The third lot of gold, on the Sandstream, was worth around seven thousand pounds. Leery was stupid to think he’d give up that much gold. A man didn’t give up the most beautiful thing in the world just because of a little trouble.

  Leery could stand the silence no longer. ‘I tell you, we’ve got to forget it.’

  Amateurs were always the same, thought Heywood-Smith. Their nerve broke long before there was any real danger. That was why the police picked up the amateurs, but seldom the professionals. Something had to be done to obstruct the police: to obstruct them until after the gold had been collected. Once it was ashore, the police could find out what the hell they liked since, with Leery cracking up, this obviously had to be the last gold theft. What most delayed the police? … Other crime. What crime immediately absorbed all their energies, leaving them almost careless about anything else? … The question answered itself. A crime laid at the feet of one of themselves.

  He clicked his fingers together in a gesture of self-satisfaction, stood up, and poured himself another whisky. ‘Is the detective constable young?’

  ‘Quite…quite young.’

  ‘Probably inexperienced?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Have you been friendly to him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has he been at all communicative to you?’

  ‘He’s often told me what’s going on.’

  ‘Then discover if he has a bank account. I hope so, because that’ll make things so much easier.’

  ‘Bank account? Make things easier? What in God’s name…?’

  ‘Together, my dear Captain, we are going to implicate your friend the detective in the most unpleasant crime of blackmail.’

  ‘I…I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’ll discover where he banks and then we’ll pay some money into his account. The driver of the van, a small-time criminal who’ll do anything for money, will say he’s being blackmailed by this detective and has paid over some blackmail money, equal to the amount paid in. Faced with this evidence, the police will break their backs to prove the detective’s innocence. The gold on the Sandstream will become of no importance to them.’

  ‘But…but what will happen to the policeman?’

  Heywood-Smith shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t do such a thing. If he’s found guilty…’

  ‘He’ll be severely sentenced, of course. You are clearly a man of principles, my dear Captain. I admire a man of principles since he’s prepared to sacrifice anything rather than those principles: even the friendship of so charming a lady as Prudence.’

  Leery stared at the other, an expression of horror on his face.

  *

  Leery paced the floor of his office. He was being told to wreck a man’s career, brand him a criminal, perhaps send him to prison. Why? Because if he didn’t, he’d lose Prudence. Then wasn’t this his nadir, the moment at which he could sink no lower and had to rise?

  Once he broke away from Prudence, he could rediscover his self-respect. He could live with Gladys once more on the same terms as any decent husband would.

  His mind was suddenly swept by mental pictures of Prudence making love with the skill of a courtesan and the frantic abandonment of a nymphomaniac. How could he live with the dreams but not the reality? How could Gladys’ crippled body begin to assuage the needs of his body and his mind? He went to his chair behind the desk and sat down. He looked at the telephone on the desk and when, half a minute later, he stretched forward and picked up the receiver, his expression was as if he were in actual physical pain. He misdialled the number, pressed down the bar, tried to control his emotions, and dialled again. When the connexion was made, he asked for Detective Constable Kerr. Kerr was out, but a message was taken.

  Leery replaced the receiver. Even now, there was still time to avoid this final act of betrayal. All it needed was some courage on his part. He lit a cigarette.

  *

  At 11.14 the following morning, a man walked into Central Police Station, Western Division. He leaned on the counter in the general information room and spoke to the duty sergeant. ‘’Morning.’

  The sergeant studied the other, a tall, thin man with a strangely white skin and prominent cheek-bones. ‘It’s Choppy Walker, isn’t it?’

  ‘So what if it is?’

  ‘I like to recognise old friends from my last division. Who’s ordered you here?’

  ‘No one’s done no ordering. I want to speak to the detective chief inspector.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll tell ’im that when we’re face to face.’

  ‘You’re not wasting his time for nothing.’

  ‘This ain’t nothing. Do I get to see ’im?’

  The sergeant picked up the nearer telephone and spoke to Kywood. He replaced the receiver. ‘Someone’s coming for you.’

  ‘Don’t trust me on me own?’

  The sergeant did not bother to reply.

  A constable entered the information room and escorted Walker along the corridor to Kywood’s room.

  Kywood, sitting behind his desk, stared up at Walker. ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘’Morning, Mr. Kywood.’

  ‘Let’s skip the civilities.’

  Walker sat down on one of the wooden chairs. Kywood waited.

  ‘I’m being blacked, Mr. Kywood.’

  ‘You’re what?’ Kywood had expected many things, but not this.

  ‘I’m being blackmailed.’

  ‘Then there’s a natural justice in the world!’

  ‘I’m entitled to the protection of the law, same as anyone else.’

  ‘You’re entitled to nothing but a place on the gallows. Who’s supposed to have put the black on you?’

  ‘A split.’

  Kywood’s anger was immediate. ‘Try and start trouble with some bloody story like that and I’ll see you spend the next ten years inside.’

  ‘One of your splits took a century off me this morning. I paid, then started thinking. Pay once, keep paying.’

  ‘Why’s he supposed to be blackmailing you?’

  Walker showed signs of nervousness. ‘That don’t matter.’

  ‘You’ll talk, if I have to squeeze every word out of you. D’you reckon to come in here and call one of my detectives a blackmailer and be allowed to keep silent? Talk,’ shouted Kywood.

  ‘There ain’t no call to get violent, mister. There was a bit of an accident, see. Straight, it wasn’t my fault. The woman steps off the pavement slap in front of me van. I did everything, but there just wasn’t no time.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It weren’t my fault.’

  ‘So you’re a bloody angel.’

  ‘I…I didn’t stop, like.’

  ‘Hit-and run?’

  ‘What chance ’ad I got, with me record? You’d’ve called it manslaughter and slapped me down.’

  ‘So you’re sorry you had to leave a poor old woman stretched out on the road. Now who’s blackmailing you?’ demanded Kywood, his voice thick.

  ‘A split
called Kerr.’

  15

  Fusil was working in his office when Kywood, unannounced, hurried into the room. Fusil looked up in astonishment.

  ‘Read this.’ Kywood threw a sheet of typed foolscap on to the desk.

  Fusil picked up the paper and began to read. ‘It’s a bloody lie,’ he suddenly said loudly.

  ‘Finish it,’ snapped Kywood, and there was a note of authority in his voice, a note which had been missing ever since he took charge of the investigations into the gold thefts.

  Fusil read through the statement. ‘All right. Now I’ll tear it up and flush the pieces away.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft.’

  ‘Do you believe a word?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I believe. It makes you choke: it makes me choke. But we’re stuck with it. Walker laid the complaint and there’s got to be an enquiry.’

  Fusil spoke more calmly. ‘All right, let’s have the enquiry in double quick time and clear Kerr.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Are you thinking there could be some truth in it?’

  ‘Coppers go crook.’

  ‘Not in my division, they don’t.’

  ‘What’s in this for you, then? Just a question of pride that no man in your division could go crook?’

  ‘I’ve a pride in my division, all right, but I also know the men in it. I wasn’t struck with Kerr when he first came, not by a long chalk, and he can still be a fool any day of the week because he hasn’t yet learned the world isn’t all beer and skittles, but he’s shown he’s a real policeman. He wouldn’t go crook.’ It was the first time Fusil had ever defended Kerr, but although it was an almost automatic reaction since he would have defended any of his men against such an allegation, he did genuinely feel certain that Kerr would not have disgraced the force he served in.

  ‘Every man has his price,’ said Kywood sharply.

  ‘And would just a hundred quid be Kerr’s price?’

  ‘Blackmail goes on. Kerr might have reckoned he’d arranged his pension.’

  ‘Let me see Walker.’

  ‘Not in your present mood. You’d start off by belting him to make him talk the way you want.’ Kywood sat down. ‘Face the facts, Bob. It took something big to get Choppy Walker along to the station to admit to a hit and-run.’ He leaned forward. ‘You reported that Kerr thought Evans had been on the fiddle with old hawsers?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘If there’d been an extra hawser on the van when it hit the woman, Walker could’ve been nailed for receiving on top of everything else. That would make the blackmail really strong. Walker’s got a long record for small crime: he might have drawn preventive detention for a receiving job. He’d pay a hundred quid any day of the week to avoid P.D… Unless and until he took time off to realise he’d never be allowed to stop paying. It all adds.’

  ‘I say it adds up to nothing.’

  ‘And I say Kerr is to be suspended from duty, on full pay, as from now.’

  ‘That’s not fair, sir.’

  ‘It’s the rule.’

  Fusil muttered something about the rules which Kywood was careful not to hear. ‘Who’ll carry out the enquiry, sir?’

  ‘You know as well as me it’s got to be someone from another force.’ Kywood rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Who was that chap you were with in the county force, now a D.I.?’

  ‘Peters?’

  ‘That’s the one. I’ll see if the county chief constable’ll release him.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The rules would be observed. The rules didn’t state that the accused’s D.I. and the investigating officer must not be friends.

  ‘If Kerr’s innocent, it’s a frame,’ said Fusil.

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘On account of the gold.’

  ‘That’s ninety-nine per cent certain. And that must give you a lead.’ Kywood suddenly sneezed. He blew his nose. ‘You’ve another load of gold being loaded tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Watch it.’

  ‘I’ll not be going away to the South of France.’

  ‘You’ll be begrudging every minute you can’t be working to clear Kerr.’

  Fusil picked up his pipe and scraped out the bowl with the blade of a penknife. ‘Have you told the chief constable yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will he do all he can to support Kerr?’

  ‘Look, Bob, the Old Man gets on everyone’s wick at times, but he’ll back his blokes through thick and thin unless and until they’re proved to be guilty.’

  ‘That’s fair enough.’

  Kywood stood up. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Right, sir. Will you give me the copy of Walker’s statement?’ When it was handed to him, Fusil put it down on his desk.

  Kywood left. Fusil packed his pipe with tobacco. He struck a match and lit the pipe. Logically, a D.I. couldn’t be blamed if one of his men, without any warning, went crook, yet it meant something somewhere was rotten in the division. He shook his head impatiently. Had Kerr gone crook? He’d refused to accept the possibility to Kywood, but could one man ever answer for another? What evidence would there be other than the word of a small-time crook?

  He used the internal telephone to call the C.I.D. general room. He spoke to Kerr and asked him to come to his room. ‘Kerr, a complaint has been laid against you.’

  ‘Sir?’ Kerr was relatively unworried. Since the day that the public had been invited by a Home Secretary to make complaints, their incidence had risen steeply.

  ‘You’ve been accused of blackmail.’

  ‘What?’ Kerr’s manner changed abruptly.

  ‘Walker — Choppy Walker — swears he paid you a hundred pounds this morning for your silence.’

  ‘I’ve never clapped eyes on him.’

  ‘He was driving the Volkswagen van on which were the ropes from the ship. He admits being in that hit-and-run case you’ve been investigating. He says that as soon as you found out he was the driver, you demanded a hundred quid to keep quiet. Did you blackmail him this morning?’

  ‘Of course not, sir.’

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it. If you’ve betrayed the force, have the guts to admit it here and now so that we can clear up the whole stinking mess as quickly as possible.’

  Kerr spoke angrily. ‘D’you think I’d black some dirty small-time villain?’

  ‘An extra hundred quid’s still a lot of money for a detective constable who likes the women.’

  ‘What I spend on other people comes out of my pay.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. There’ll be a full enquiry and until then you’re suspended from duty on full pay.’

  ‘Walker only has to open his mouth and I’m labelled a crook?’

  ‘You know the rules. You’ll hold yourself ready at all times to help in the investigation.’ He suddenly cursed. ‘Look, Kerr, there won’t be a single man in the command who doesn’t pull out every stop to prove Walker a liar.’ Fusil tried to sound as if there could be no doubts at all about Kerr’s innocence.

  ‘I…I know that, sir.’

  ‘Write a full report on the hit and-run case and give a minute-by-minute timetable for your movements this morning.’

  ‘When am I supposed to have seen him?’

  ‘Between seven and eight-thirty.’ Fusil picked up a pencil. ‘Get those reports in as soon as you can.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What cases are you handling right now?’

  ‘The larceny at the off-licence in Kirk Road, two sets of witness statements, and the hit-and-run case, sir.’

  ‘Tell Rowan and Welland to take over. That’s all.’

  Kerr left.

  *

  Kerr walked along the pavement and felt both anger and fright. His world had been a carefree place where a bloke did his job well but did not take anything too seriously because life wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Yet suddenly his world had become a grim and bitter place. Fusil had acted
as if he could easily believe the lies — was that because the D.I. had never liked him and so could easily conceive the lies to be the truth? Was there any proof beyond Walker’s word? How could there be? Yet… He turned into the road in which Judy lived. An Aston Martin D.B. 6 went past, exhaust growling. Behind the wheel was a pansy-smart young man and Kerr suddenly hated him because he was wealthy and so carefree.

  He reached the house and knocked on the brown-painted front door. The landlady — a squat, puffy woman with half a moustache — opened the door. ‘Is Judy in?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Anderson is in her room.’ Mrs. Green’s voice suggested it was immoral of him to call at 5.30 in the afternoon.

  He stepped past her and into the hall.

  ‘Visitors are not allowed in my house after nine o’clock at night,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘It’s not quite that late yet, is it?’

  ‘You know very well I’m talking about last night. You weren’t out of here until three and a half minutes past eleven.’

  ‘I wasn’t anywhere near this place last night.’

  She stared at him as if about to call him a liar, but remained silent. He hated the ugly woman for telling him part of what had happened.

  He walked to the end of the narrow hall — smelling of cooking — and knocked on the second door. As he went in, he saw Mrs. Green was still staring belligerently at him.

  Judy was lying on the bed, reading. She looked at her watch. ‘You’re early, John.’

  ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘What?’

  He sat down on the bed and took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘I’m in trouble.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Serious trouble.’

  ‘What kind of serious trouble?’

  ‘I’ve been accused of blackmailing someone.’

  ‘And have you been?’

  ‘Don’t you know me any better than that?’

  ‘But what would happen to you if you had?’

  ‘I’d be shoved in jail in double quick time, that’s what.’

  He noticed she was looking at him in an enquiring manner and he suddenly, and bitterly, realised she was wondering how likely it was that he was guilty.

  Within five minutes, she had developed a very bad headache, so bad that she was terribly sorry but she could no longer go out with him that evening. He left, more angry, more scared.