A Knife For Harry Dodd

by George Bellairs

  ‘Harry Dodd and his father saw you, and they saw Peter, too, which was a shock to them. They thought you deliberately ran them down. The old man was dumbfounded that his own flesh and blood should try it, and Harry Dodd suddenly realised that his son Peter might not be quite the loving boy Peter pretended to be. He expressed himself strongly, but he didn’t betray either of you. He aroused the Coroner’s suspicions by his fear and prevarication, but he didn’t betray you.’

  ‘Then Peter Dodd’s told you? The swine! After all I did for him.’

  ‘You were afraid to make a clean breast of what happened. You knew it would mean prison and disgrace.’

  ‘I knew I couldn’t undo what I’d done, and there seemed no sense in bringing disaster on myself. Well…I guess I’m for it now.’

  ‘We don’t exactly know that you were drunk, doctor. You might simply have been driving to the public danger. You’ll have to face the police. It may be manslaughter; it may be also drunken driving. On the other hand, it may merely be dangerous driving. You’ll have to take the risk. You cannot, as well, face perjury, which, if you persist in the tale Peter Dodd blackmailed you into telling, you’ll have to repeat in court, and which will be proved false.’

  ‘But I…’

  ‘Peter Dodd told you that if you’d confirm his alibi, he’d keep quiet about the accident.’

  ‘One good turn deserves another, is what he said.’

  The doctor chuckled, a mirthless, choking noise.

  ‘I’ll kill him for this!’

  ‘We’ll look after Dodd. You tell me what happened. You’ll have to give a signed statement later and, whatever happens, I’ll have to ask you to accompany me and make a clean breast of the accident. If you tell me the truth about the alibi, I shall merely take you in to the police and say you wish to make a statement. There’ll be no question of my arresting you, or even forcing you to come. I shall simply have given you a lift.’

  ‘I can say I’ve just heard that I caused the accident…’

  ‘That’s up to you. You’d better tell the whole truth, because I may be asked about it later, and I shan’t lie. But a voluntary statement will be regarded as very much in your favour.’

  ‘Very well. Dodd asked me to help him out of a mess. He said he’d got himself in a jam with a married woman. I knew his propensities that way. He said he was with her at the time his father was killed. The police would be questioning him and, although he had an alibi, because he was with the woman at the time, there’d be a scandal if he made it public. I knew the woman and I knew what a hell of a row it would cause. So I agreed. He’d been at my place about nine o’clock and left right away with the tablets…’

  ‘He deliberately gave his mother coffee… real coffee, which made her ill, so that he could get out on the excuse. He might even have drugged the coffee to make her sleep. From what she told me she was asleep when he arrived back with the medicine. He must have altered the clock at her bedside, too, because he called her attention to it, just to make her his extra stand-by.’

  ‘You don’t mean to tell me…Good God! You mean he killed his father and he wasn’t with Monica Waters after all?’

  ‘It looks very much like it. Who is Monica Waters?’

  ‘She’s the wife of one of his best friends. I didn’t know Dodd’s amours had extended that way, but he said so, rather shamefacedly. I’ve told you the truth. You’ll do your best for me?’

  Macfarlane now was a sorry sight. All his aplomb had gone. He looked years older; his frame even seemed to have shrunk.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, doctor. It’s up to you now. Go and see your lawyer, tell him the whole tale about the accident, and the pair of you go to Cambridge and make a statement to the police. Who’s your lawyer?’

  ‘Aspinall…’

  ‘The Dodd family lawyer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll go back to your place and you’d better ring him up. First, though, give me the address of Mrs. Waters. I’d like to see her. I must be sure that Peter Dodd wasn’t there, after all. What does her husband do?’

  ‘He’s a big steel man.’

  ‘Indeed! You’d better drive your car home and I’ll follow. By the way, your housekeeper confirmed Peter Dodd’s alibi…’ Littlejohn glared at Macfarlane, who winced.

  ‘Maggie’s been my nurse ever since I was born. She’d do anything for me. She’s old and her wits are a bit woolly. I’ve told her the tale several times. She believes it absolutely. She believes whatever I say as though it were holy writ.’

  ‘You ought to be damned well ashamed of yourself!’

  ‘I am. Bitterly. But Dodd blackmailed me into it. If he’d…’

  ‘Surely you had a way out. To go to the police and tell the truth.’

  ‘But Monica would have been involved. I did it for her sake as much as Dodd’s. I’m her doctor. I even brought her into the world. I attended when her two kids were born…’

  ‘Didn’t you check up with her?’

  ‘How could I? Do you expect me to ring her up and ask if she was in bed with Peter Dodd on such and such a night?’

  ‘Perhaps not. Peter Dodd knew you were very fond of her?’

  ‘Of course. I’m known as a friend of both her and her husband, and of both sides of their family. I’m godfather to their youngest son.’

  ‘And you believed Dodd, after all that! Is Monica Waters that sort?’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. But knowing Peter’s way with women…’

  ‘Turn your car and drive home.’

  ‘Don’t question Maggie, will you? It would break her heart. She’s all I’ve got of the happy old days now.’

  ‘I’ll not bother her. But you ought to have thought of all this before you involved her. Now, let’s get going.’ Back at the surgery, Littlejohn dialled the Waters home. A rough male voice answered.

  ‘Wot is it?’

  ‘Who’s speaking?’

  ‘Never you mind. What do you want?’

  ‘This is Dr. Macfarlane’s surgery. Is Mrs. Waters in?’

  ‘No, she ain’t, and that ain’t the doctor…’

  Littlejohn told Macfarlane to take the instrument and make sense of whoever was at the other end.

  ‘Dr. Macfarlane here. Who is it? Oh, it’s you, Lecky. Is Mrs. Waters in? I haven’t seen her about lately, but I’d like a word with her.’

  ‘The gardener,’ mouthed Macfarlane to Littlejohn. Littlejohn took the telephone in his hand again. The rough voice was telling a long tale.

  ‘I be in charge ‘ere now. Got to be careful. Wrong ‘uns rings up ‘ouses to see if they’s empty and then robs ‘em. You see the Waterses is away. Gone abroad. Expected back next week. Ameriker, they gone to. Mr. Waters is on one o’ them workin’ parties as goes out to see how the Americans works. What good Mr. Waters’ll do, of dunno. He wun o’ they capitalists, not a worker. Rum goin’s on…’

  ‘When did they go?’

  ‘Eh? That you, doctor? Your voice is different.’

  Littlejohn signalled to Macfarlane to take the answer.

  ‘They bin gone five weeks. All paid for, too. That’s where the public money goes to. Waste! That’s wot it is. We be taxed to pay for trips for the rich. But wait a bit. Our time’ll come. The workers’ time’ll come…’

  Macfarlane gently put the receiver back in its cradle.

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said. ‘I wish I had. I’d have rammed it down Dodd’s throat. I hope they hang him. The little swine!’

  ‘Better get on to Aspinall.’

  Macfarlane dialled a number and asked for the lawyer. Littlejohn could hear a slow-speaking dry voice come on in reply. The doctor pressed earnestly for the lawyer to call on him immediately. There was some argument and then Macfarlane said he wanted Aspinall to pick him up and go with him to the police station. That seemed to clinch matters. A sharp exchange of words and the receiver at the other end clicked.

  ‘I’d like a word with Aspinall in private befor
e you tell him your tale, doctor. You can arrange it?’

  ‘Yes. You can talk to him in the surgery while I potter around.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about Aspinall, but, strange to say, I’ve not yet met him.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a tartar. A bachelor, and worth a lot of money. In his younger days, he was in love with Mrs. Harry Dodd, but she preferred Harry and turned Aspinall down. Aspinall was very bitter about it. He vented his spleen on Harry when the divorce blew up. He was mad that Harry should do such a thing, and then when the family pressed their mother into taking proceedings, he hounded poor Harry good and proper. Never gave him a chance.’

  ‘He’s still a friend of the family?’

  ‘Of Mrs. Dodd. He’s her lawyer still. I don’t think he’s much time for the others. He never married.’

  A sleek black car drew up at the front door of the house, and Littlejohn, watching from the window with Macfarlane, saw emerge with great difficulty a tall, military figure, with a strong aquiline face, a white moustache and a bad limp.

  ‘Lost a leg in the first war. Wears a false one. It still troubles him, I believe, and gives him a lot of pain.’

  Aspinall was limping up the drive. The drawn face spoke of pain or bitterness, the twist of the lips, the cold blue eyes, the lines between the nostrils and the mouth. The doorbell clanged. Maggie showed in the lawyer. Macfarlane introduced them.

  ‘What’s all this about? An arrest or something?’

  The voice was dry with a whip crack in it. The eyes missed nothing and were set in heavy lids with wrinkles surrounding them. They never smiled.

  ‘Inspector Littlejohn has given me some advice, and I want you to help me by your presence at the police station when I make a statement. I’ve been playing the fool, Cyril, and I look like being in trouble.’

  ‘Is this an official visit, Littlejohn?’

  ‘I’m here about the death of Harry Dodd, sir. The other matter doesn’t really concern me, and I’d rather not be present when it’s discussed. I shall naturally be on the side of the police in it; you’ll be on the defendant’s side. I did ask to meet you, sir, seeing you were coming.’

  ‘Humph…’

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a minute…’

  Macfarlane tactfully withdrew.

  Littlejohn didn’t beat about the bush.

  ‘I’m here on the case of the Dodd murders, sir. I’ve heard you mentioned as the family lawyer, but, so far, we haven’t met.’

  Aspinall frowned. He hobbled to a chair, sat down with an effort, his false limb stretched before him. Littlejohn could guess he’d had the leg removed almost to the hip.

  ‘I’d better tell you right away, Littlejohn, that I’m Mrs. Dodd’s solicitor. I can’t, therefore, be dragged into this matter. I may have to undertake the defence of one or other of the family, if Mrs. Dodd asks me.’

  ‘You judge that one of them may have a hand in Mr. Dodd’s death?’

  ‘I judge nothing. I’m simply saying that I can’t tell you anything that might incriminate all or any of the family.’

  ‘You know Mr. Peter Dodd, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll tell you, then, sir, that the reason I’m here is to check the alibi Mr. Peter gave us for himself on the night his father died. Dr. Macfarlane was to support it. The doctor tells quite a different tale. He will, at the police station, make a statement which will explain how and why Peter Dodd tried to make him a party to a false alibi…’

  ‘And that’s why you prefer to be away when it’s done?’

  ‘You’ll understand when the doctor explains.’

  ‘It’s not surprising. Peter’s a wrong ‘un. I never liked him. He’s been a great trouble, instead of a support, to his mother, although she dotes on him.’

  ‘Why is Peter Dodd unemployed, sir?’

  The lawyer’s quick eyes met those of Littlejohn and seemed to probe right inside the Inspector’s mind.

  ‘Nobody wants him in his own profession. He was a junior partner in an old-fashioned firm in the city. He misapplied funds and joined-up in the war in a hurry. The thing killed his senior partner. Mrs. Dodd made good the defalcations.’

  With a quick jerk Aspinall was on his feet and standing before the Inspector.

  ‘You’re not to use this in your case. I mean, it’s not to appear on the record. I’m telling you because I want you to find out who killed Harry Dodd. I never liked Harry Dodd. He was a common fellow, who treated a superb woman badly and, at the time, I’d gladly have killed him myself, if I hadn’t been civilised. But I believe Mrs. Dodd hoped to find happiness in her declining years by joining her husband again. She told me and I didn’t approve. She wished it so, and her wish is my law. Instead, somebody killed Harry Dodd and spoiled everything for her. She still loved him. By God, I want whoever did it to suffer the extreme penalty. Who did it?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. But I’ll find out…’

  ‘You’d better. Is young Peter involved?’

  ‘Well…He’s cooked himself an alibi which has broken down. I’ve got to see him about it. He says he was with a woman at the time and daren’t bring her in. The woman he mentioned wasn’t in England, so Mr. Peter’s going to have some explaining to do.’

  ‘He’s turned out a bad lot. Though to see him about, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He’s living on his mother’s bounty at present.’

  ‘What happens on her death?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in confidence again, but mind you, don’t dare divulge it. He gets an income for life from the estate. Mrs. Dodd contends she found capital enough to put his embezzlement right and all he gets is a modest income…No capital sums, because he’d probably get through ‘em quickly enough and turn to crime again…’

  Aspinall paused.

  ‘Turn to crime again, eh? Is that significant?’

  ‘It may be, sir.’

  Macfarlane was back.

  ‘Am I a bit too soon?’

  Aspinall shook hands with Littlejohn.

  ‘Remember…All that was in confidence.’

  ‘I’ll respect it, sir.’

  The doctor and lawyer went off together to Aspinall’s office and then to the police.

  Aspinall was a good lawyer. Macfarlane having nobody to testify against him, denied he was drunk and pleaded the state of the road. He got away with dangerous driving and a fine. His driving licence was suspended and he had to walk and cycle to his patients for twelve months. He was lucky, because everyone who was present at the accident except himself and Peter Dodd was dead. And as for Peter Dodd…well…

  20—Cromwell Draws a Blank

  Cromwell and Littlejohn were due to meet in Cambridge at half-past four. It was a quarter to that hour when Cromwell drew up at The Aching Man. He had torn himself away from the tragic home of Enoch Shoofoot after doing all he could to help.

  The Boone place was ominously quiet. One or two vehicles, mainly transport lorries, stood in front of the building. Inside, Sid Boone was leaning on the counter, blind drunk. His customers helped themselves from time to time and put the money in the till. At the sight of Cromwell, Sid straightened himself and addressed the assembled guests.

  ‘To ‘ell with police… Always ‘angin’ round places, spoilin’ business, and keepin’ customers away…’

  He sniffed.

  ‘Did any o’ you fellers smell somethin’? Has the cat brought somethin’ in… or is it a bluebottle in plain clothes that’s buzzed around…?’

  He reeled over to Cromwell.

  ‘This is a respectable public ‘ouse. I’m the landlord, and I can throw out anybody who’s a nuishance. Gerrout… Gerrout…You’re a public nuisance.’

  Cromwell seized Sid by the V of his waistcoat and shook him like a rat. Sid’s teeth rattled like a pair of castanets.

  ‘Now, Sid. That’s enough being offensive. Where’s Peg?’

  ‘In bed. She’s not so well. You coppers ‘as worried her stiff. She’s sick
. Can’t see ‘er.’

  ‘Get her. This is serious.’

  ‘Nothin’s serious any more. You lot’ve spoiled it all. Here we were, the three of us. What do you do? You muck up the whole lot. We were ‘appy till you came. Now what…?’

  The customers began to look uneasy. They’d been taking a few free drinks at Sid’s expense, and thought they’d better make themselves scarce before real trouble broke out. They shuffled off, trying to look as if they weren’t interested.

  Sid was making for another drink when Cromwell stopped him.

  ‘You’ve had enough. Sit down.’

  He pushed Sid in the middle of the waistcoat, and Sid slumped on the bench. His head lolled in drunken stupor. Cromwell seized a bottle of soda water from the counter and syphoned a shower bath of sparkling fluid over Sid’s head and face. Sid’s arms flailed and his eyes appeared wide and round through the jet of fizzing water.

  ‘Gerroff…Stoppit…Whatyouthinyourat…?’

  ‘Sober up, Sid. Sober up, or I’ll give you another dose.’

  ‘What’s all this about? I ain’t done nothin’…’

  ‘You know Shoofoot and Macey…?’

  ‘Oo?’

  ‘You heard me. You and Peg persuaded them to give alibis to Peg on the night Harry Dodd was killed. Why?’

  ‘I dunno nothin’ about it. Count me out of Peg’s business. She tells me nothin’…’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I said she’s in bed. She’s sick.’

  ‘Where’s the kid?’

  ‘Where you think she is? She’s with her maw.’

  ‘Get Peg down. This is important.’

  ‘Go to ‘ell. I’m not dishturbin’ my sick sister for anybody…’

  Cromwell thrust Sid aside and hurried to the foot of the stairs. There was dead silence above. He ran up two steps at a time.

  The landing was dark and illuminated by the light from the bathroom at the end of the corridor, the door of which stood open, revealing an old-fashioned bath and an untidy interior with dirty towels and a bathrobe lying on the floor.

  There were four other rooms on the corridor and Cromwell opened them one by one. The first looked like Sid’s, a bare, untidy place, which could have done with the windows opening wide. It reeked of cheroots and stuffiness. Next, the child’s room. Toys on the floor, a cot, Disney pictures on the walls, the whole neat and tidy. Cromwell went in. There was a wardrobe behind the door. The door of the wardrobe was open, revealing nothing but a little pinafore embroidered with rabbits. The rest of the clothes had gone.