Hardcastle's Quartet

by Graham Ison

  ‘Very good, sir. I’ll get back down there straight away.’

  ‘I’ve told the West Sussex chief that you will be in charge of the enquiry and I’ve made it a condition that one of his CID officers will be attached to your enquiry. He wasn’t too taken with that idea and prevaricated a little. He said that the divisional superintendent, a man called Potts, was quite capable. But I insisted.’

  ‘Thank you for that, sir. From my brief dealings with Potts I think he and I would fall out sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Really? I can’t imagine an easy-going chap like you falling out with anyone, Ernie.’ But Wensley smiled as he said it. ‘Who are you taking as your bag carrier?’

  ‘Marriott, sir. He’s very good on a murder enquiry.’ Hardcastle paused. ‘But don’t tell him I said so.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Wensley, ‘until these four murders are cleared up you will be attached to New Scotland Yard. I’ve cleared it with the assistant commissioner and he’s informed Superintendent Hudson of A Division that you’re not available for any enquiries there.’

  When Hardcastle returned to his office, he shouted for Marriott and Catto as he passed the open door of the detectives’ office, but only Marriott came in.

  ‘Where’s Catto, Marriott?’

  ‘He’s rest day, sir.’

  ‘Not any more he’s not. Where’s he live?’

  ‘The section house in Ambrosden Avenue, sir.’

  ‘Send a PC to fetch him here. Now.’

  ‘I can telephone the section house, sir. We’ve got a direct line from here.’

  ‘Have we really, now?’ Hardcastle leaned back in his chair and blew pipe smoke gently towards his nicotine-stained ceiling. ‘D’you know, Marriott, if this telephone novelty catches on, policemen will become very lazy. There’s already talk of ’em driving about in motor cars.’

  ‘I’m told it’s the coming thing, sir.’

  ‘Well, I hope it doesn’t come before I’ve retired, Marriott. Now, about this Worthing job. The chief down there has asked for assistance. We’ll catch an afternoon train and start on the enquiry straight away. No doubt the idea of working all through Saturday night and Sunday will come as a nasty shock to them.’

  Marriott was not greatly taken with the prospect of losing yet another weekend, but long ago had become resigned to the fact that that sort of disruption was the lot of a CID officer.

  ‘I think Catto did a good job down at Worthing, sir.’

  ‘Mmm! It was only basic detective work, Marriott, but I suppose I ought to give him a pat on the back.’

  ‘I think he deserves to be encouraged, sir.’ Marriott was amazed that for once Hardcastle was on the point of paying a junior officer a compliment, especially when that officer was Henry Catto.

  ‘Tell him to see me when he arrives, Marriott.’

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ asked Catto.

  ‘Have you thought about studying for the promotion examination yet, Catto?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The reason was simple: Catto did not think that the DDI would recommend him.

  ‘Well, it’s time you did.’

  And that, Catto realized, was the closest he would ever get to receiving praise from the DDI.

  ‘Me and Sergeant Marriott are going to Worthing this afternoon, Catto,’ continued Hardcastle, ‘to sort out this murder of theirs. I want you here to deal with any enquiries I might have at the London end. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. And don’t make a Mons of it, Catto.’

  Hardcastle and Marriott had returned briefly to their respective homes to gather what they would need for a prolonged stay out of town. Consequently, it was six o’clock that evening before they arrived, once again, at Ann Street police station in Worthing.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the sergeant on duty.

  ‘DDI Hardcastle, Metropolitan. I’ve come to see Superintendent Potts in connection with this murder on your patch.’

  The sergeant looked surprised and then glanced at the clock. ‘Mr Potts is off duty, sir. It being a Saturday evening.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Hardcastle. ‘Well who is here who’s got something to do with it?’ It was apparent, now that the enquiry had been handed over to the Metropolitan Police, that the West Sussex force was to have nothing further to do with it.

  ‘Only the inspector is here, sir. That’s Mr Weaver.’

  ‘You’d better show me to his office, then,’ said Hardcastle, getting more irritated by the moment.

  The two detectives followed the Worthing sergeant to a room at the rear of the police station.

  ‘That’s it, sir,’ said the sergeant, pointing to a door marked ‘Inspector’.

  Hardcastle pushed open the door without knocking.

  The uniformed occupant looked up from the papers on which he was working, and frowned at the interruption. ‘Who the hell are you, and don’t you ever knock?’ he demanded.

  ‘Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle of New Scotland Yard, and this is Detective Sergeant Marriott.’

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the inspector, rising to his feet. ‘I’m Tom Weaver. We weren’t expecting you until Monday.’

  ‘Well, I’m here, Mr Weaver. And now I want to get on with the job. The sooner I get back to London, the sooner I can get on with my three other murders.’

  ‘You mean you want to start immediately, sir?’ Weaver raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘But it’s Saturday.’

  ‘I know it’s Saturday, Mr Weaver, and surprising though it might seem I do work on a Saturday – and even a Sunday – where murder’s involved. The longer I leave it from the time of a topping, the harder it gets to solve it. I’m starting work now and I’ll carry on for as long as it takes. Now then, my guv’nor asked for me to be given the services of a local CID officer. Where is he?’

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any CID officers in the West Sussex Constabulary, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Weaver, almost apologetically. ‘And I don’t know anything about any such arrangement.’

  ‘Ye gods!’ exclaimed Hardcastle. ‘Just as well I brought a CID officer with me. Detective Sergeant Marriott here is highly experienced in dealing with murders. However, I want a local officer assigned to me full-time. Is that understood, Mr Weaver?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to detach an officer for special duties, sir. It’ll be necessary for me to speak to Superintendent Potts, and he’ll probably have to talk to the Chief Constable. And that can’t be done until Monday.’

  ‘In that case, Mr Weaver, perhaps you’d be so good as to give me the home address of the Chief Constable, and I shall go to see him,’ said Hardcastle, fast becoming annoyed at the apparent indifference of the Worthing police. ‘This is an urgent matter and unless I have a local officer right now, I shall have no alternative but to communicate with my Commissioner and inform him of your constabulary’s distinct lack of cooperation. And no doubt Sir Edward Henry will make his displeasure known to your Chief Constable.’

  Weaver dithered. His own senior officers were bad enough, but he had never met anyone quite like this acerbic officer from the Yard.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me for a minute or two, sir, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘I don’t know, Marriott,’ thundered Hardcastle. ‘What on earth’s going on down here? They’ve got a tricky murder to deal with, but no one seems to be doing anything. And that Inspector Weaver doesn’t seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation.’ Although the DDI would never criticize a Metropolitan Police senior officer to a junior rank, he had no qualms about expressing his opinion of provincial officers.

  ‘I think he’s in a rather difficult situation, sir,’ ventured Marriott, who had frequently been on the receiving end of Hardcastle’s uncompromising demands.

  Ten minutes later, Inspector Weaver returned. ‘I’ve arranged for Sergeant Burgess to be attached to you, sir. He’s on patrol at the moment, but I’ve sent the station ser
geant out to relieve him. That means that I’ll have to man the front office desk.’

  ‘It’s a hard life, Mr Weaver,’ said Hardcastle unsympathetically. ‘Where is this here Burgess, then?’

  ‘I’ve told him to change into civilian clothes, sir. I hope he’ll suit your purposes, but he’s very young for his rank.’

  ‘How young?’ asked Hardcastle.

  ‘He’s twenty-eight, sir, but the Chief Constable thinks highly of him.’

  ‘We shall see,’ admitted Hardcastle grudgingly. ‘But I suppose he’ll have to do. And now, Mr Weaver, I’ll need an office here where I can set up shop, so to speak.’

  ‘Oh!’ Once again Weaver had been presented with a dilemma. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better use this one until the superintendent can make a decision about it.’

  Hardcastle had doubts about Superintendent Potts’ ability to make a decision; he thought that he would probably have to consult the Chief Constable about any matter concerning police station accommodation. Giving Weaver no chance to resume his seat, the DDI sat down at the inspector’s desk. ‘Thank you, Mr Weaver. Be so good as to send this here Burgess to me when he turns up. And leave the door open.’

  ‘What’s first, sir?’ asked Marriott, once Weaver had disappeared to take charge of the front office of the police station.

  ‘We find ourselves somewhere to stay, Marriott.’

  ‘How about the Sea View Hotel, sir? It’s where Kitty Gordon stayed.’

  ‘Good idea. And before we go any further, we’ll refer to this here corpse of ours as Hannah Clarke. We’ll only confuse ourselves if we keep calling her by one of her three names. And by the time we’ve finished, we’ll probably find out she’s got a few more monikers to add to the list.’

  Hardcastle had been studying the documents that he had brought with him from London for half an hour when a man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a light suit and carried a straw boater in his right hand.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr Hardcastle?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Sergeant Burgess, sir. Inspector Weaver said you wanted to see me.’

  ‘Come in, Burgess, and close the door. How well d’you know Worthing?’

  ‘I know it very well, sir. I was born here, and I spent some time as a beat-duty constable before being made sergeant.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. This here is Detective Sergeant Marriott. He’s solved more murders than you’ve had hot dinners and you’ll learn a lot from him if you keep your ears open.’

  Burgess shook hands with Marriott. ‘How d’you do, Sergeant?’

  ‘The name’s Charlie,’ said Marriott. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Edward. Known as Ted.’

  ‘I’ve got an important job for you straight away, Burgess,’ said Hardcastle.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ responded Burgess keenly.

  ‘Find two chairs and bring ’em in here.’

  Burgess, believing he was about to be given an important task, looked momentarily stunned by this instruction. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said eventually.

  ‘That should test his detective skills,’ said Hardcastle, chuckling as Burgess hurried away to do his bidding.

  Minutes later, Burgess struggled through the door with two upright chairs.

  ‘Right, sit down, both of you,’ said Hardcastle, ‘and you, Burgess, are to listen to what I’ve got to say. Now, then, I take it you know all about this here murder I’ve been sent to Worthing to solve for you West Sussex fellows.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The victim was a young woman called Kitty Gordon who was staying at the Sea View Hotel. But wasn’t she drowned?’

  ‘Kitty Gordon was only one of the names she used, Burgess, but she didn’t drown; she was strangled and her body was then thrown into the sea. It was made to look like a drowning because she was attired in a bathing dress. It might’ve looked as though she was going for a midnight swim, but that wasn’t the case. My view is that her murderer dressed her in a bathing dress after he’d topped her to mislead us. Her clothes were found in a lifebelt locker by one of the pier-master’s chaps when he was doing some checking up. Her handbag and an umbrella were there, too. But it takes more than that to deceive me.’

  ‘So, what exactly d’you want me to do, sir?’

  ‘You’ve been assigned to me to assist in the investigation and your local knowledge will come in handy.’

  ‘But Inspector Weaver said it was only for today, sir, until he’s had time to talk to Mr Potts and get someone permanent.’

  ‘Well, Burgess, you’re with me permanent and if anyone tries to take you away there’ll be one hell of a row. And I’ll start with the Chief Constable.’

  Burgess’s mouth opened in surprise. He had never heard any of his own officers say that he was prepared to have a row with the Chief Constable.

  ‘If anyone tries to put you on other duties you’re to let me know immediately. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Burgess.

  ‘Good. The first thing we’ll do, Marriott, is get up to the Sea View Hotel and find ourselves a couple of rooms. Then we’ll see what more the landlady can tell us that she hasn’t told Catto. What was her name?’

  ‘That’s Mrs Croft, sir,’ volunteered Burgess. ‘I know her.’

  ‘There you are, Marriott, I told you that it’d be handy to have a local officer with us.’

  ‘There’s a bus that we can catch at the end of Ann Street, sir, that’ll take us straight there.’

  Hardcastle studied the young sergeant sternly. ‘Get one thing clear, Burgess. Officers from Scotland Yard do not take buses to go about their enquiries in a murder investigation. They use cabs and your Chief Constable picks up the tab.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Burgess, becoming increasingly surprised at each of Hardcastle’s utterances. He had never, in all his service, taken a taxi in the course of police duty.

  Hardcastle picked up his bowler hat and umbrella. ‘Come along, then,’ he said, and led the way through to the front office. ‘Ah, Mr Weaver.’

  ‘Sir?’ said Weaver, standing up.

  ‘D’you have a telephone here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Be so good as to call me a cab.’

  THIRTEEN

  It was close to five o’clock when Hardcastle, Marriott and Burgess arrived at the Sea View Hotel. Hardcastle and Marriott were carrying the small suitcases they had brought with them from London.

  ‘Hello, Mr Burgess. What are you doing here on a Saturday evening?’ Mrs Croft appeared surprised as the three men entered the reception area of the hotel, and glanced at the London detectives’ suitcases.

  ‘I’ve been attached to the enquiry into the death of your guest Miss Gordon, Mrs Croft,’ said Burgess. ‘And these gentlemen are from New Scotland Yard,’ he added. ‘Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle and his assistant Detective Sergeant Marriott.’

  ‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ said Hardcastle, raising his hat.

  Mrs Croft frowned as she acknowledged each of the two London officers in turn. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘The policeman who was here yesterday said that the unfortunate Miss Gordon had been drowned. Why should Scotland Yard be interested?’

  ‘I’m afraid that Miss Gordon wasn’t drowned, ma’am,’ said Hardcastle. ‘She was murdered.’

  ‘Oh, the poor dear girl,’ exclaimed Mrs Croft, her face blanching as she put a hand to her mouth, and promptly sat down on the only chair in the reception area. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘That’s why we’ve come to Worthing, ma’am,’ said Marriott. ‘To find her killer.’

  ‘You mean he’s here somewhere?’ asked Mrs Croft, looking quite anguished at the prospect of a murderer being in the vicinity.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t know where he is at the moment, ma’am,’ said Hardcastle. ‘But I’ll soon have him dancing on the hangman’s trap, be assured of that.’

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Mrs Croft appeared even more distres
sed by Hardcastle’s uncompromising statement.

  ‘My sergeant and I would like to take rooms here for a few days, Mrs Croft,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Can that be arranged?’

  ‘By all means, Inspector,’ said Mrs Croft warmly. She recovered instantly, believing that some prestige would attach to her hotel as a result of having as guests Scotland Yard officers who were investigating a murder. ‘I have empty rooms because Saturday is changeover day at hotels like this one. I must say, though, that since the war started people aren’t so keen to have holidays at the seaside, what with so many men being away at the Front. Or dead,’ she added mournfully. ‘Women aren’t willing to come away by themselves, you see. It makes it a bit difficult for my hubby and me to make ends meet. Mind you, the fact that Miss Gordon was murdered might help trade.’ She stood up, suddenly taking a perverse pride in the fact that her hotel had accommodated a murder victim. ‘However, you don’t want to hear any more of my complaining, Inspector. I’ll show you the rooms.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Croft,’ said Hardcastle, ‘but that will have to wait. Me and my colleagues would like to inspect the room that Miss Gordon occupied. I take it that you haven’t let it out to anyone else?’

  ‘Certainly not, Inspector. She paid for a week in advance and all her things are still there. I asked the policeman who came yesterday what I should do with them, but he said that I’d have to wait for the superintendent at Worthing to decide what’s to be done.’

  ‘I see.’ Hardcastle smiled at the thought that a superintendent would be required to make such a decision. ‘I think we’ll be able to take care of that for you, Mrs Croft.’

  ‘I’ll show you up, Inspector, and then I’ll make sure your rooms are ready for you.’

  Kitty Gordon’s room was on the first floor with a view of the seafront and the pier which, Hardcastle noted, was only a short distance away from the hotel. But contrary to Mrs Croft’s complaint that trade had suffered as a result of the war, the beach was crowded with holidaymakers. Women in large hats were seated in deckchairs watching children playing in the surf, and there seemed to be no shortage of men. Although a few were in army or navy uniform, the other men were in civilian attire. Despite the warmth of the evening many were wearing jackets, collars and ties and straw boaters. Several intrepid souls had ventured into the sea, the women holding up their skirts, the men with their trousers rolled up. Somewhere in the distance a band could be heard playing.