The Tormentors (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series)

by George Bellairs

  As his eyes passed over the contents of the room, his mind was busy.

  Bridget Croake must have had the key of the upper chamber. What had she been doing with it? That is, if her death were suicide; and there was no reason for thinking otherwise of it. A cursory examination had convinced Littlejohn of this after they had found her. The overturned chair below the body from which she had flung herself to death; the absence of traces of violence, drugs, or struggle. Medical evidence would confirm it or otherwise.

  The dead woman had kept to her room since her return from Douglas on the night of her brother's murder. Had she been, in life, perfectly ordinary, or a hysteric, or even a schizophrenic . . .?

  He heard footsteps approaching and found Nessie standing at the door of the room, looking timidly at him.

  'The very person I'd like to talk with. Come in, Nessie.'

  Nessie approached him cautiously. She had been weeping and now began again. Tears ran down her cheeks and she couldn't speak for sobs.

  'Poor Miss Bridget . . .'

  'Have you any idea what might have made her take her own life?'

  Nessie fumbled about with her handkerchief, her eyes lowered, her face contorted.

  'Well?'

  'Mr. John was her favourite brother. They always went about together and looked after one another. It was a great shock to her, especially . . .'

  Then she stopped.

  'Especially . . .?'

  'She's gone, and out of her troubles. I promised I wouldn't tell anybody, but now perhaps it won't matter. She went to see an eye doctor in Douglas on Saturday. She only told me. She didn't want the family to know. She said she was enough trouble to them already . . .'

  Nessie wept again. Like a child sobbing and boo-hooing. Littlejohn waited until the spasm was finished.

  'She went to an eye specialist . . .?'

  'Yes. He told her she would go blind . . . Her eyes have been bad for a long time. I didn't know how bad they were, because she always used to say that it was her headaches made her giddy. She wouldn't see a doctor till I come upon her quickly one day reading a letter so close to her eyes that it nearly touched her nose. She said if I would promise not to tell anybody, she would go to an eye doctor in Douglas.'

  'And she kept it from everyone except you?'

  'Yes. When she got back on Saturday, of course, after the shockin' thing that had happened, she just shut herself in her room and wouldn't come out. She wouldn't eat and when I went and shook her and told her it couldn't go on, she just up and told me what the doctor had said. She'd be totally blind in a year's time from now and he couldn't do anything about it.'

  'How long has this been coming on?'

  'Best part of two years. Slowly, like, but surely. Poor Miss Bridey. It's all over for her now. She's at rest.'

  'You think she took her life because of what the doctor said?'

  'That, and Mr. John. I think she thought that if he was alive and her eyes were bad, he'd have looked after her. With his dying and so horribly, it must have unhinged her.'

  'She was normally a very sensible person?'

  'She was a darling, sir. Everybody loved her. We shall miss her about the house . . .'

  She burst into weeping again.

  'Could I just take a look at her room?'

  'I'll show you.'

  They climbed the broad staircase with its beautiful slender handrail to a room at the first floor back. A calm orderly room, with a large window giving a view across the flat fertile plain dotted with clean white farmhouses, with views of the church at Andreas to the left and a vista to the Point of Ayre, with its lighthouse, and the Mull of Galloway visible in the background, on the right. The walls were plain ivory and the woodwork white and there were a few portraits on the walls and two or three family miniatures over the fireplace. A large four-poster bed, a Sheraton dressing-table and a few chairs to match it, and a vast antique wardrobe.

  Littlejohn crossed to the window and looked out. Directly below the window, was the guest-house, with the door of the upper chamber, now locked, almost opposite the window of the dead woman's bedroom.

  'You didn't see Miss Bridget crossing to the guest-house?'

  'No, sir. Ever since she came in on Saturday, I've kept an eye on her.'

  'Did she say anything about the murder?'

  'No. Not a thing. She seemed to have put it out of her mind. But she wept and wandered about her room like somebody in a trance. My room's on the floor above, right over this. I left my door open when I went to bed, in case . . . I heard her wandering round in the night, too, like a ghost.'

  'The ghost you were speaking about earlier?'

  'No, not that! That was in the room downstairs. Like somebody bricked-up in the wall, tryin' to get out.'

  'Which room?'

  'Mostly in the one we just left. The sitting-room.'

  'Miss Bridget got away in your absence?'

  'Yes, sir. It must have been while I was serving after the funeral of Mr. John. I was so busy, I must have left her for about an hour . . . I blame myself . . .'

  There were more tears and sad cries and Littlejohn tried to console her.

  'You've nothing with which to reproach yourself. You did your best'

  'But best wasn't good enough. I shall always blame myself.'

  'When the Archdeacon and I were in the upper chamber, we found that someone had been living there. Do you know who it was?'

  'Yes. It was Juan. He has a little flat over the new garage; quite a nice place. But Miss Bridget had said somethin' about hearing footsteps in the night. Just like I did. Juan was particularly fond of Miss Bridget. He insisted on movin' into the upper room of the guest-house and sleepin' there. It's right opposite this window, as you can see, and he kept the door open all night, like I did, in case Miss Bridget needed him. She only had to call through the open window.'

  Another mystery explained!

  'Where is Juan? We were looking for him earlier, but he was missing.'

  'He's taken Mr. Rigbee home in the car. He lives just through Ramsey, in Maughold. I don't know what Juan'll do when he hears about Miss Bridget. He'll go mad.'

  The droning voices in the room below suddenly ceased. The family conclave had broken-up and the Archdeacon was hunting for Littlejohn in the hall. At the same time, the police from Douglas and Ramsey drew-up in the courtyard and Knell emerged from among them.

  Littlejohn had forgotten Knell and the teddy-boys!

  The Croake affair had developed from a sordid little crime in a dark back street into a fully-fledged family mystery. If it finally ended by simply pinning the blame on Alfie Cryer, it would be a roaring anti-climax.

  The police took possession of the upper chamber of the guest-house and the doctor cursorily examined the body.

  'I'll send in a full report later, but, as far as I can see, it's a straightforward case of suicide. We'll see when we do a proper autopsy.'

  A tall, gangling Scotsman with a sad, deadpan expression, as though he expected everybody either to be murdered or commit suicide sooner or later. He supervised the removal of the body in the ambulance and then took himself off.

  Knell stood with the Archdeacon and Littlejohn watching it all.

  'Funny, isn't it, sir? A murder and a suicide in one family within a matter of days.'

  'Yes. If I were you, I'd carry on in this room, too, as though you were on a murder case. Fingerprints, careful examination of everything . . . The lot.'

  Knell's eyes opened wide.

  'You don't mean . . .?'

  'No. Just as a precaution. Any further news about the Douglas case? John Charles Croake's murder.'

  'No, sir. Cryer still denies having killed him. What do you think?'

  'We've hardly skimmed the surface of this case, yet. I can give you no opinion, Knell. There's still a lot to be done.'

  The heavy stillness of Ballacroake was suddenly broken by the hoarse shouting of Red Juan, who had returned from his errand and received the news.
He could be heard berating Nessie for allowing Miss Bridget out of her sight. It was just his form of grief. He couldn't weep, he was probably too proud to show any real emotion. And his outlet was to find someone to abuse. He stormed his way to his flat over the stables, slammed the door, and was alone with his sorrows.

  Back at the house, Mr. Ewan had retired to his room, as he always did with his problems and emotions. He was saying his prayers. Reuben and Joseph were still in the den, seeking their own solace from the usual source.

  Nessie passed carrying another bottle of whisky to the pair of them. She halted for a moment to speak to Littlejohn, whose sympathy seemed to have made her his friend for life.

  'They ought not to do it, sir. Miss Bridey would be sorry to think of Mr. Joseph drinking so heavy and her hardly cold and dead. She was fond of him. She'd have done anything for him.'

  There seemed to be nothing more to do about the place. The body had gone, the officers of the High Bailiff, who presided at inquests, had asked their routine questions and deployed a policeman to check up on events. Littlejohn and the Archdeacon had made statements about finding the body, the family had answered the usual enquiries. Everybody was convinced that the sudden shock of her brother's death had unhinged Miss Bridget's mind and led her to take her own life. And that was all.

  Nobody except Nessie seemed to be active. Juan and Ewan shut in their rooms, Reuben and Joseph drinking and hiccupping in the study. There seemed to be no more questions which could decently be asked at present. After all, you don't set about a flagrant case of suicide as if it were a murder!

  'Do you mind if I try to get a word with Juan without the two of you there? He's in a pretty dreadful mood, judging from the way he set upon Nessie, and a party of us calling on him is hardly likely to improve him. I won't be long.'

  Another outside staircase of stone led up to the flat they had made for Juan Curghey when they renovated the stables and turned them into a garage. Littlejohn found the door at the top locked and knocked loudly.

  'Who is it?'

  'Littlejohn.'

  'Go away. I'm busy.'

  There wasn't a sound inside. Red Juan must have been silently brooding on his troubles.

  'You'd better open up. This is important. I shall wait till you let me in.'

  Heavy footsteps, and the bolt was drawn and the door flung violently open. Littlejohn hardly recognised Red Juan. He seemed to have shrunk in size. His body dangled loosely and his face was smaller. He was in his shirt-sleeves with his collar and tie unfastened. Even as he stood there, he seemed to find them oppressive and tore them off and flung them away.

  'I don't want to see anybody. Especially you. And I can't do with you hanging about, either. You get on my nerves. So go away.'

  ' I want a word or two with you about Miss Bridget . . .'

  'What has she to do with you? She never tangled with the police and dirtied her good name. And I'll see it always stays good, too.'

  'Hadn't we better go indoors, instead of shouting the odds all over the place.'

  Red Juan hesitated.

  'Come in, then, but you're not staying. I don't want company the way I feel just now.'

  'I won't intrude for long.'

  The man stood aside and let him in.

  There were two rooms, one a bedroom, with a kitchen partitioned off the large living-room. The latter was almost like a monk's cell in its simplicity. White walls, a couple of chairs and a table, a few books on shelves, a gun on a hook over the stove by one wall. A large casement window cut in the gable-end with a view across the curraghs to the hills. Evening was drawing in and shafts of late sunlight entered at an angle from the south-west. There were a few old framed photographs on the walls, and an enlarged snapshot of Red Juan, with a gun in the crook of his arm and dressed in his best coat and breeches, with Miss Bridget, wearing a large straw hat and smiling by his side.

  'Well, what is it?'

  'Have you any whisky here?'

  'Yes. Why?'

  'I recommend you to take some. It'll pull you together.'

  'I'm best judge of that. What do you want to ask me?'

  'You've been living in the upper chamber of the guest-house, I believe.'

  'What of it?'

  Red Juan glared and looked aggressive, as though being accused of a misdemeanour.

  'I gather you were there because you'd heard of some strange happenings in the house. What were they?'

  The man's face was set and hard.

  'Keep your nose out of my affairs. They're my business. I want to keep 'em so.'

  Littlejohn sat on one of the chairs and stretched out his legs. He slowly began to fill his pipe.

  'Look here, Curghey, isn't it time you dropped this surly, unfriendly manner? Your master has been murdered and Miss Bridget has taken her own life. A matter for the police. And we've a right to everyone's co-operation. It's time you joined in and helped us.'

  'What more do the police want? They've found the boy who knifed Mr. John and they've taken away the body of poor Miss Bridget. Isn't that enough?'

  'No. If I told you that the teddy-boy might not have murdered Mr. John, would you be surprised and more helpful . . .? '

  'What are you sayin'?'

  Red Juan towered over Littlejohn as though preparing to shake the truth from him.

  'I'm saying I've my doubts about the teddy-boy, and we've to be sure that someone else didn't commit the crime.'

  'Why didn't you say so before? If it's someborry else, the sooner he's caught, the better.'

  'Tell me, then, do you know anyone who would benefit by the death of Mr. John, or who might have wished him out of the way for some other reason, say revenge?'

  'Noborry would want revenge on Mr. John. He was a good man who never did harm to anyone. He was a man of money, though, and some might benefit from his will when he died.'

  'The family, you mean?'

  'Yes. But it's silly to think of any of them.'

  'Where were you on Saturday night?'

  'In Ramsey at my sister's. They'll tell you it's the truth. I go there every Saturday and stay to my supper. I left about eleven o'clock.'

  'These funny happenings at the house; what about them?'

  'Miss Bridget told me she'd heard people prowling around. Nessie said it was a ghost. But there are no ghosts at Ballacroake any more. It must have been someborry of the family. It wasn't my business to go asking questions. Miss Bridget was frightened, though, so I told her to keep her window open, and I'd sleep in the upper chamber of the guest-house, which is right opposite her room. The nights are warm and I left the door of the chamber open. It seemed to comfort her, but I never heard anything.'

  'You had the key?'

  'Yes.'

  'You told Mr. Ewan you didn't know where it was when he asked you. Why?'

  'My things were there. I didn't want anybody messin' about among them. I thought you'd no business there.'

  'Where was the key?'

  'It's kept on a nail in the kitchen. But it was in my pocket when you asked for it.'

  'How did the place come to be locked then, when first we went up, and unlocked again when we found Miss Bridget?'

  'I'd locked it.'

  'Why?'

  'Just to keep you out.'

  'Knowing that Miss Bridget's body was hanging there!'

  Red Juan looked stricken and angry at the same time.

  'Of course I didn't know. It was simple. I overheard you and the Archdeacon talking about going up there, prowlin' about my things. I didn't want you there, askin' why I was sleepin' there and not in this place. Why I was there was between me and Miss Bridget, and nobody else. I slipped up the steps, turned the key to lock it, and went down again without lookin' inside. Then, Mr. Ewan told me to open the place for you. Instead, Mr. Reuben asked me to run Mr. Rigbee back home to Maughold, as he was late for a music lesson. So, I rushed up the steps, unlocked the door without goin' inside, and ran down again to get the car for Mr. Rigbee.'


  He then sat down at the table and beat his fists upon it. His teeth were clenched so tightly that it gave him a hideous rictus, like one who had taken poison.

  ' . . . If I'd only looked inside, instead of hurrying to keep you out, I'd perhaps have been able to save her.'

  'You wouldn't. She'd been dead for half an hour or more.'

  'Is that the truth?'

  'It is.'

  He seemed relieved.

  'You've nothing more you want to tell me, Curghey? Anything strange happening in the family. Any suspicions you might have?'

  'I've nothin' to say about that. As far as that goes, I've been with the family over forty years and I'm one of them. I don't go gossuppin' about 'em. And I've no suspicions.'

  'You know why Miss Bridget took her own life?'

  'I've some idea.'

  He sprang to his feet, shouting.

  'Anyborry who has anythin' to say about Miss Bridget will have me to answer to. You remember that, too.'

  'I will. She was distressed by the death of her brother. But there was something else . . .'

  'She told me. She told me most things.'

  It was a sad thought that, these two old lovers, kept apart by Bridget's timidity and Juan's fanatical loyalty to the family, should have been content to remain at Ballacroake, each because the other was there, and should have exchanged secrets and confidences to the end.

  Red Juan beat the table with his fists again, and then, for the first time, raised his stricken face and addressed Littlejohn in friendly, almost affectionate terms.

  'She was going blind, the doctor said. As if that mattered! It was me who used to wheel her about in her invalid chair the time when she broke her thigh, and carry her around like a baby till she found her feet again. She used to come to me for comfort when things were wrong in the family. Couldn't she have known I'd be her eyes as well, when her own failed her?'

  Littlejohn let him quieten down.