Corpse At The Carnival (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series)

by George Bellairs

  Her mouth hardened and she took out a cigarette with an effort at nonchalance which didn't quite succeed.

  'From the beginning, if you please,' said Littlejohn, giving her a light from his lighter.

  'Marion met him while on holidays at Brighton. He had a yacht there and he picked her up one night in the bar of his hotel. It might sound a bit sordid to you, but it wasn't. I think they genuinely fell in love. Anyway, it wasn't very hard for him to capture her fancy. His yacht and his money and his taking ways. She fell for him and even broke off her engagement with another man nearer her own age. Snowball was old enough to be her father. Marion was a good-looking girl . . . very. But she was a bit flighty. She paid for it.'

  'Snowball left his wife and lived with your sister?'

  'Yes. There were mother, me, and Marion at home. Dad died years before. Nothing Mother or I said would make her change her mind. He'd promised to marry her as soon as his wife would divorce him. She never did. Mother wasn't in very good health, but that didn't count in the arguments. Marion wanted to be near her, though, so she and Snowball took a flat on the outskirts of Leicester and there they lived for two years. Then he walked out on her and she never saw him again. He just vanished into thin air.'

  'Why?'

  Another pause.

  'Why do men walk out on women? They had a row, of course. He'd been getting tired of her for some time. At first, they were like a pair of love-birds. Thought the world of one another. Then, Marion started to nag him. I didn't blame her for it. Waiting there for a divorce that never came and more or less talked about by everybody. She'd no friends left. In other words, they'd messed up one another's lives and didn't know how to straighten things out. They should have gone far away where they weren't known, but Marion wouldn't. Mother was, by that time, bedridden, and Marion was always her favourite. I blamed Snowball for it all. He, as a man of the world, should have known how it would end. I believe he suggested they should call it a day and part, and Marion should go back to where she started. She wouldn't. . . . So he went. Only unfortunately there was a baby on the way by then and he didn't know. . . or so Marion said.'

  'Is the child alive?'

  'Yes. I adopted her. I was left to bear it all in the end. Mother died and Marion put her head in the gas-oven. She tried to do away with the baby, too. . . . Sealed up the kitchen the week after mother died and turned on the gas. . . . We had a dog, though. It howled the place down and somebody broke in. They saved the baby. Marion died. I was out at work at the time. I've had to bring the child up.'

  'Didn't Snowball provide for your sister?'

  'He left a note saying good-bye, and two thousand pounds in bank-notes. Most of it was intact when Marion died and I used it for bringing Bertha up . . . Bertha's the child. The sweetest thing, and I'm as fond of her as if she was my own. But the money ran out a long time since. It's taken every penny I could earn to keep her and me and bring her up nicely.'

  'Snowball never knew about this child?'

  'How could he? She never told him and we didn't know where he was.'

  Dusk was falling and outside the lights were going on. The windows were open and they could hear the steady heart of the town beating, a rhythmic throb as thousands of visitors circulated, talked, shouted and tramped the seafront and streets. Dim sounds of music somewhere, the shrill whistling of young men, and the answering shrieks, bordering on hysteria, of light-hearted girls. History repeating itself. Uncle Fred and Marion Crawley at Brighton, long ago; only their affair hadn't lasted for one evening, but for years and tragedy.

  They sat in the dim light, the ends of their cigarettes glowing.

  'How did you find him in the end?'

  'A picture at the cinema. . . . It was one of those funny coincidences you meet sometimes. It was last month. On the news reel. They showed the Manx Tynwald day. . . . You know, the kind of fair where they read the laws.'

  Littlejohn nodded. His old friend, the Archdeacon – now drinking tea with Mrs Kelly in her kitchen – read the laws in Manx and the First Deemster read them in English.

  'Yes. And what happened?'

  'It showed the official part and also the crowd at Tynwald fair. And believe it or not, there was Fred Snowball, large as life, one of the crowd. He didn't know they were taking him. That was obvious. He was busy talking to two men. And one of them was Ossy Finnegan.'

  'Ah! I see.'

  'Yes. Mr Finnegan used to come over here now and then travelling for men's socks. He came across Mr Snowball one day on the promenade. He didn't know, of course, that I wanted to see Snowball. I never made a song and dance about Marion's relations with him and, as for little Bertha, well. . . I just said I'd adopted her when her mother died.'

  'You knew Finnegan at the time?'

  'Yes. It was quite true. He did teach me singing.'

  'Was he ever a business consultant, by the way?'

  'Yes. He was a native of Leicester who went to London to a firm of business consultants. They failed and he came back and got another job.'

  'And how did you come to be here at the time Snowball died?'

  'Finnegan took a fancy to me and wouldn't leave me alone. He'd suggested a time or two that we might spend a few days at the seaside together when he was on one of his tours. He's not a bad sort, really, but I wasn't having that. Him a married man with children. . . .'

  'It's not true, then, that you were going to be married if he could get a divorce?'

  'No.'

  'Why did you tell me it was?'

  'I was in a panic and wanted to appear, at least, as decent as I could. I didn't want you to think I was a woman who would go away like that with the first man who suggested it.'

  'I see.'

  'I don't think you do, Superintendent. I didn't mean it to turn that way, at all. I don't think Mr Finnegan did at the time, either. He'd never have married me with Bertha. She's away on her holidays with a school-friend and her family just now.'

  'Tell me exactly how and why Finnegan and you arrived at Sea Vista as man and wife.'

  'I asked Finnegan who was the man I'd seen him with on the film. He said an old friend he once knew in Leicester. They used to meet at some angling club. They were both fond of fishing.'

  'Finnegan pretended he merely knew Snowball by sight.'

  'He told me you'd been asking questions. He was afraid that if he said he knew him well, you'd suspect he killed him.'

  'Very well. How did you come to be here?'

  'It was difficult asking a lot of questions about Snowball. Mr Finnegan got suspicious and asked what I was getting at. And then, as he'd always said he'd do anything for me and wanted me to regard him as my best friend, I was foolish enough to tell him the whole story. I played right into his hands. He wouldn't tell me where Snowball lived, but, he said, he'd take me and give me a holiday. And, he'd support me in talking things over with Snowball. In fact, he said he'd see he did the right thing by Bertha.'

  'So you came as man and wife ?'

  'Yes. What else could I do? If I'd come alone, it would have been hunting for a needle in a haystack with all these people here. I didn't know Snowball's address.'

  'And you were going to approach Snowball together?'

  'Yes. We said we'd tell him about his daughter and ask him to help with her education. I can't afford to give her all she ought to have and she's a clever child.'

  'But why come to the very boarding-house Snowball was living at ? Why not find another and call on him here ?'

  'That's what I said to Mr Finnegan. But he said that, as I already knew, Snowball had a habit of bolting when trouble blew up, and if we were at Sea Vista, Finnegan could keep an eye on Snowball until he'd met his obligations.'

  'What happened?'

  'We arrived on Saturday and checked in as man and wife. Mr Finnegan had arranged to do a round of business here and I was on holidays. We were to stay till next Saturday. I wanted to see Mr Snowball right away and get it over. I thought I might make an excuse and
go back home if we could settle matters soon. Instead, Mr Finnegan wanted to put it off for a day or two. . . . Till a suitable occasion, as he expressed it. Before we saw him at all, Snowball had been killed. We were both in a terrible panic. If the police got to know why we were here and not married . . . well . . . it might have been awkward.'

  'An understatement, Miss Crawley! Are you quite sure neither of you saw Snowball before he died?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Can you assure me there was no interview, no quarrel, no violence between you or Finnegan and Fred Snowball?'

  'Of course, I can. If you think either of us had anything to do with the murder, you're very much mistaken. Why should we want to murder him? Alive, he could have helped me; dead, he was no use at all.'

  'That's quite logical. Well, thank you for answering the questions and please stay here until we say you may go.'

  'I've to be back at work on Monday. I can't afford to lose my job.'

  'You'll be able to go, Miss Crawley. If what you tell me is true you've done splendidly by your sister's child and when this is over, go back and forget it.'

  Her self-control broke at last and they left her in tears.

  After a pause to explain to the parson where they were going, Littlejohn and Knell returned once again to Sea Vista.

  Mrs Trimble was nowhere about. In fact, she was in bed and the boarding-house was now in charge of a relief manageress, who did that kind of emergency work. Miss Archibald, known locally as Miss A. A tall, bony, sour-faced woman, who ruled other people's roosts with a rod of iron. She met the police at the door.

  'You're making it awkward for everybody, you know. Here's poor Mrs Trimble prostrate with 'er grief, and the police never off the doorstep. It's not good enough. As if we hadn't enough worry. . . .'

  'Has Mr Finnegan come in, yet?'

  'He's in the lounge.'

  'Kindly tell him we want to see him, and I'd like the favour of the use of the small room we usually interview people in. The office under the stairs.'

  'Don't be long, then. It's supper-time and I can't be bothered just now.'

  Knell saw red.

  'Look here, Miss A. I know you and you know me. If you don't stop obstructing the police in the discharge of their duties, it will be very serious for you.'

  Not very convincing, but it convinced Miss A. She went in the lounge to find Finnegan. There were apparently quite a number of lodgers there, having a final cheerful hour before supper. As usual, the accordion was hard at it, and someone was busy on the piano playing a florid accompaniment.

  I left my heart

  In the blue-grass country . . .

  It was a wonder someone didn't strangle the fellow! Certainly, Littlejohn remembered the sentimental refrain in his dreams. It was now the incidental music to the death of Uncle Fred. Hoarse voices, lubricated and sloppy from drink, were howling the chorus like dogs at the moon. The piano stopped, but the singing continued. The pianist must have been Finnegan! He emerged, bleary-eyed and unsteady.

  'What again! At this time? Can't you leave me alone? You've done enough at me, haven't you?'

  They took him by the arm and led him into the cubby-hole. He struggled and protested all the way. Littlejohn wasted no time. It was late and he was fed up.

  'You arrived on Saturday, Finnegan. When did you see Snowball after that?'

  'Didn't see him. He died before I could.'

  'Don't tell me any more lies. You've told enough already. You'll answer properly here and now or else come with us and spend the night at the police-station.'

  Finnegan went all to pieces. He started to snivel.

  'Why can't you leave me alone? I'm that mixed-up, I don't know which way to turn. I want to go home an' you won't let me. I want to tell the truth and you won't let me again. What do you want ?'

  'When did you see Snowball?'

  'Sunday, for just a minute, that's all.'

  'You met him last Tynwald day. What did he say to you?'

  'I don't remember. It's so long ago.'

  'I'll tell you. He asked you not to tell anybody you'd seen him. He said he wanted peace and quiet and to be left alone. He'd settled and was happy. Is that right?'

  Finnegan bucked up. He smiled broadly in great relief.

  'That's right. Egzackly right.'

  'Then you brought Miss Crawley here. You insisted on staying under the same roof as Snowball. Why?'

  'A good place, that's all. Recommend it.'

  'Rubbish! You thought if you told him why you were here, he'd pack up and bolt, as he's done before when trouble followed him. So you came to keep an eye on him.'

  Finnegan looked owlishly at Littlejohn.

  'Right again, sir. I'd a juty to my frien', Miss Crawley. What we came 'ere for. To see zhustice done. Intended to get it done.'

  'So you saw Snowball alone on Sunday without Miss Crawley knowing, and started to put on the screw. You told him why you were here. How much did you ask for?'

  'I don't know what you're talkin' about.'

  Littlejohn took him by the lapels of his coat and shook him till his teeth chattered.

  'Lemme go. Here . . . leave me alone. . . . I . . . I only asked him for a couple of thousand to educate little Bertha. . . . A nice gel, Bertha. . . .'

  'And you intended to give her aunt a thousand or less . . . Don't bluff me. You came here to blackmail Snowball. And now you look like facing a murder charge.'

  It sobered Finnegan at once. He staggered back, lost his balance, and sat down with a thud on the floor. Littlejohn stood over him.

  'It was that, wasn't it?'

  'I intended to pay over to Elsie all excep' my out-of-pockets.'

  'Good of you. Get up! What did Snowball say?'

  'He took it calm. He hadn't all that money on hand. But he'd see what he could do.'

  'Are you sure you didn't have a row with him about it when he refused and told you to get out ?'

  'Damn sure. He was mos' polite. Surprised when he heard he'd got another daughter he didn't know about. Matter of fact, seemed quite moved.'

  'So, to make sure he didn't bolt again, you kept an eye on him?'

  'Right again.'

  'Did you see him on Sunday morning for the first time?'

  'Night. He'd gone out when we got up and I couldn't talk private over dinner. Now could I ? So I went to his room when he came in after tea.'

  'Did you see him again that night?'

  'No. Monday. Just before dinner. About hal' past twelve. I say, can I go now? They'll be wondering . . . .'

  'Stay where you are. After lunch, you still kept an eye on him?'

  'Yes. He went in the kitchen and brought out that bonny little girl, Susie. And they came and talked private in this room. I was in the lounge, readin'. Nobody knew I was in. I was keepin' an eye on Snook, you see. Not goin' to have him doin' another bunk.'

  'Let's get this right. . . . He'd lunch and then, a short time after, he'd a talk with Susie in here. What next?'

  'Then the pair of 'em went upstairs. They thought nobody saw 'em. Yours truly saw it. So did Trimble, who was also keepin' an eye on them on the q.t. He went quietly up after 'em and stood for a minute, listenin' on the first landin'. Then, he came down again. I was peepin' through a crack in the half-open door of the lounge. Trimble looked mad with rage. Purple with it. Talk about committin' a murder. He looked ready for it. When the coast was clear, I nipped up to my own room to get ready to go out myself.'

  'Then what happened?'

  'Nothin' much. Snook, or Snowball, or whatever you like, and Susie was still up in her room. I started to wash and was runnin' water. But I heard Snook comin' down the stairs agen.'

  'Trimble was nowhere about by then ?'

  'No. He'd vanished in the kitchen and I suppose, as usual, he started on the bottle agen. I've caught him a time or two. You see, with bein' lame, he didn't get out much and his missus didn't seem to want him with her. She always went out on her own.'

  'What
were you proposing to do when you went up for a wash?'

  'I was at a bit of a loose end. I decided to go out to the carnival.'

  'Where was Miss Crawley?'

  'She went out on her own with Mrs Greenhalgh and the kids. She said she wanted a change.'

  'Did anybody else see all this?'

  'No. They'd all gone to the carnival.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'There was only Trimble, Susie and Snook in the place, as far as I knew.'

  'What time was this?'

  'I took my watch off to get a wash. It was three o'clock by it and it was ten minutes fast. Ten to three.'

  'Obviously. Well?'

  'I heard Snowball comin' down the stairs, put out me head, and saw him half-way down the last flight. It was gloomy, but I could see he'd got his hat on and no bag. So, I thought he's not likely to welsh on me without all his belongin's and just in a panama an' his suit . . . . I went out a minute or two later and just saw 'im turnin' the corner on to the prom. I went the other way to the carnival. When I got back, they said he'd not been in . . . . And he didn't come in to tea. I thought he'd done it on me. However, news came later; he was dead. And that's the ruddy lot, and can I go now? They'll be talkin' about all this among the lodgers.'

  'Yes. You can go. But don't try to get away from here until I give permission.'

  'How much longer? I've business to attend to.'

  'I don't know yet. Miss Crawley will be leaving, alone, with my consent, on Saturday.'

  'Well, of all the . . .'

  'Be off with you, now. And don't forget. . . .'

  Finnegan shambled off sheepishly and they could hear a cheer to greet him from the lodgers as he joined them again.

  After that, Littlejohn called it a day. They arrived at Grenaby just after eleven-thirty and the place seemed dearer to him than ever.

  13

  THE FUNERAL OF UNCLE FRED

  FRIDAY. A melancholy day in more ways than one. Not only was there the funeral of Uncle Fred to cast a blight upon it, but it was the last day of holidays for most of the visitors.

  Littlejohn and the Archdeacon were at the police-station early. 'They can all go tomorrow, Knell,' Littlejohn had told his colleague concerning the visitors at Sea Vista. 'Get them to leave their addresses.'