Such Is Death

by Leo Bruce

  “No.’

  “Where did you go, Mr Rafter?”

  “To the Hydro.”

  “You dined there?”

  “I did.”

  “And then?”

  “A film.”

  “At the Palatine?”

  “No. The Regalia.”

  “At what time did you come out?”

  “At ten-fifteen.”

  “Then what?”

  “Home.”

  “So you were in before eleven?”

  “No, a puncture.”

  “You stopped to change a wheel?”

  “I did.”

  “And reached home?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  “Was Mrs Rafter at home at the time?”

  “In bed.”

  “You woke her?”

  “I did not.”

  “Can you provide any sort of evidence of all this?”

  “None.”

  “This is most unfortunate. It means that, however farfetched it may seem to you, it was possible, so far as can be shown, for you to have committed the murder. I was hoping you would have a clear alibi.”

  “Unnecessary,” said Locksley Rafter without the least emotion.

  “It may seem so to you. But you and your family are almost the only people who are considered to have any motive for killing this man.”

  Locksley astonished Carolus by asking a question.

  “What motive?”

  “I don’t think I need go into that. His return could not have been welcome to you. Did you know he was still alive?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did you go on the promenade at Selby that night?”

  “No.”

  “Or anywhere near it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was that?”

  “The car park.”

  “Which car park was it?”

  “Near the Hydro.”

  “That is the one by the little garden which divides the road from the promenade? A minute’s walk, in fact, from the shelter in which your brother was found murdered?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did you see anyone about when you went to get your car?”

  “No.”

  “That would have been when you left the Regalia Cinema at a quarter past ten?”

  “Approximately.”

  “You realize that somewhere round this time your brother was being murdered?”

  “I do.”

  “You heard and saw nothing that could be connected with this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I see you have electric heating here. Do you use coal at home?”

  “We do not.”

  “You have never had a hammer such as the one used?”

  “Never.”

  “Mr Rafter,” said Carolus desperately. “You have answered every question I have put to you and your answers may have been quite accurate. But have you nothing to tell me which may be of assistance?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you any opinion about this murder?”

  “None.”

  “What did you think of your brother Ernest?”

  “A louse.”

  “Have you always thought that? Or was it his reported behaviour as a prisoner of war which makes you say it?”

  “From childhood.”

  “You felt no sorrow at all at his death?”

  “Sorrow? None.”

  “But it was an inconvenience. The publicity and so on. Is that it?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Do you suspect anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Lobbin.”

  “Really?” said Carolus, delighted to come on anything as human as suspicion. “On what grounds?”

  “Motive. Ability. Opportunity.”

  “I see what you mean. But doesn’t it, all the same, seem rather improbable to you?”

  “No.”

  Carolus rose to go.

  “Thank you for all your co-operation,” he said ironically.

  “Delighted,” replied Locksley Rafter and with a curt nod to Carolus picked up and began to study some papers.

  There remained Stringer and on his way back to Selby Carolus decided that he would see him today, so that with the exception of Lobbin his interrogatees would all be disposed of.

  He found Stringer’s home—a council house on the outskirts of the town. The door was opened by three jam-stained children who fixed him with the cold insolent stare of creatures hypnotized by curiosity.

  “Is your father in?” asked Carolus.

  Their eyes did not leave him. There was no motion among them. They seemed not even to blink. One raised his voice.

  “Dad!” he said and continued to watch Carolus.

  “What is it? “came a male voice from within.

  “A man,” said the child.

  “Coming,” said the voice, and all became still.

  Mr Stringer when he presented himself was in shirtsleeves. He looked what Mr Morsell had called him ‘a good quiet little man, fond of reading’.

  “Yes?” he said peering myopically at Carolus over the heads of his children.

  “Could I have a few words with you alone?”

  “Are you the gentleman the Reverend Morsell told me about?”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Enquiring into something we won’t mention before the children?”

  “Well …”

  “If so, I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can tell you.”

  “But there is. I understand you were on the promenade that night.”

  “Ush,” said Mr Stringer sibilantly. “I don’t want them to know anything about it.”

  “Then send them away,” said Carolus growing, for once, a little irritated.

  “It wouldn’t do any good. I’m not to discuss it.”

  “Who said not?”

  “Mr Morsell for one. And there’s nothing to tell you for another.”

  “But you were down there, weren’t you?”

  “Down where? I’ve nothing to say and that’s my last word.”

  “I shall have to inform the detective inspector investigating the case that you decline to give information.”

  “You inform him,” challenged Mr Stringer. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “Then why not answer a couple of questions?”

  “Because not,” said Mr Stringer.

  One of the motionless children uttered again.

  “What’s he want, dad?”

  “Never you mind,” said Mr Stringer.

  “Perhaps I could call on you at the shop?” tried Carolus.

  “You would be wasting your time. I’ve told you I’ve got nothing to say.”

  ““I could at least buy a coal-hammer there.”

  “No you couldn’t, because we’ve none in stock. I sold the last one to …”

  “Yes, Mr Stringer?”

  “To the Reverend Morsell, if you want to know.”

  “Thank you,” said Carolus, “and good evening to you.”

  14

  IF his last two interviews had been difficult, they were nothing to the one that awaited him that evening. He was warned as soon as he entered the bar by Doris, now a firm ally if not a fellow conspirator.

  “You better watch your p’s and q’s,” she told him. “She’s on the warpath after you. She’s been in once this evening threatening I don’t know what and I shouldn’t be surprised if she comes in again. I told her, we don’t want any trouble in here, I said, but you know what she is.”

  “I don’t even know who she is,” said Carolus.

  “Oh, go along. That Bella Lobbin, of course. She says you’ve been saying things about her husband. I suppose she thinks she’s the only one that can go for him.”

  Carolus sat down in a corner but he had not long to wait. The door from the street was thrown open and a red-faced stringy woman with prominent teeth and furious eyes pushed her wa
y in.

  “Is that him over there? “she asked the room at large and without waiting for an answer crossed and stood over Carolus. “What have you been saying about my husband? “she asked loudly.

  “If you like to tell me his name I may be able to help you.”

  “Never mind his name! “shouted Mrs Lobbin.” and I don’t want any help from you, thank you. What have you been saying about him?”

  “Now Mrs Lobbin! “called Doris.

  “Oh, Lobbin,” said Carolus, as though it had just dawned on him. “Poor fellow,” he added feelingly.

  “I’ll give you poor fellow if you’re not careful! “went on Mrs Lobbin with more verbosity than coherence. “Going round taking anyone’s character away! There ought to be law against it.”

  “There is,” said Carolus.

  “It’s a pity you don’t follow it then. I’ve never heard anything like it. My husband’s a good man and wouldn’t hurt anyone let alone bang them on the head with a hammer, and here you go saying the police are after him and I don’t know what not. What’s it to do with you, anyway?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Then why don’t you keep your nose out of it? That’s what I want to know. Anybody would think you’d got a right to say things that aren’t true. If there’s any more of it you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “Have a drink? “suggested Carolus.

  “I wouldn’t touch your drink, not if you was to pay me.”

  “Just a small one?”

  “I’ll have a rum,” said Bella angrily. “I call it real low-down of you to pick on him,” she continued, as though to show that her acceptance of a drink in no way weakened her case. “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking like that about anyone,” went on Bella Lobbin, her fury unabated as she received her glass of rum with a quick nod. “You’d very soon get into trouble if I had my way. Cheerio. Here’s the best. You know very well my husband never had anything to do with it yet you go on blacking his name as though he was a crimingle.”

  “But Mrs Lobbin …”

  “Don’t Mrs Lobbin me. I’ve heard what I’ve heard and I’m not going to stand for it. I’ll tell you that. He’s got quite enough ideas in his head as it is.”

  Carolus, accustomed to pick up irrelevancies of this sort, said, “What kind of ideas?”

  “Writing and that. He thinks he ought to have been a writer, if you please. Still, that doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  “No. Not necessarily,” agreed Carolus. “What sort of things did he write?”

  “Don’t ask me!” said Bella Lobbin. “It’s bad enough to be married to anyone like that. Scribble, scribble, scribble. I don’t know. But it’s no reason for you to run round saying he did for this Ernest Rafter.”

  “But Mrs Lobbin, I said nothing of the sort.”

  “Next best thing you did. The police were after him tor it, you said.”

  “He is certainly one of the suspects.”

  “There you go again! ‘Suspects’! Who’s a suspect, that’s what I want to know. If my husband’s a suspect, how is it we’ve got our coal-hammer all this time? Answer me that. I keep it in the shop now to show people. With all this talk going round you have to do something. There you are, I say. What’s that, if my husband did it? It’s never been out of the house, I say, so I’d like to know how it can have been used for the murder. Besides, the police have got the one it was done with. I saw it at the inquest.”

  “But your husband was seen on the promenade that night, Mrs Lobbin.”

  “Well, I’ve told him often enough not to go wandering about at night. But that’s what he’s like. I want to think, he says. Think! It’s a pity he doesn’t think of his business a bit more. Anyway, it’s no excuse for you saying all sorts of things about him.” Carolus saw the resentment being brought back with artificial respiration. It was evident that Bella Lobbin had not said all she had promised herself to say. “What right have you to go telling people he’s a suspect? It only needs a little talk like that to have the police round again asking questions. You ought to know better. Yes, I will have another. Besides, there’s more than meets the eye in all this. What about that Mrs Dalbinney? After the way she behaved to me I’d believe anything of her.”

  “Didn’t you rather invite it, Mrs Lobbin?”

  “What do you mean invite it? I told her what I thought of her, if that’s what you mean, same as I’m telling you. I’m not one to keep anything to myself when I know I’m in the right. You know very well you’ve got no business to come interfering. Cheerio. All the best. The sooner you go back to where you come from the better for everyone, if you ask me.”

  There was a long smouldering pause.

  “And anyway, why couldn’t you ask my husband to his face if you had anything to say, instead of going behind his back talking about him?”

  “I will,” promised Carolus.

  Mrs Lobbin finished her rum and rose to go. But for the benefit of those who had heard her outburst she could not leave without showing that she was no whit mollified by two rums, and meant to have the last word.

  “So you mind what you’re saying,” was her good-bye to Carolus, as with flushed face she stood over him. “Else I won’t be answerable.”

  On that she marched out.

  “What did I tell you?” asked Doris. “Can you wonder at him spending his evenings in here when he’s got her at home nagging at him all the time? It’s a wonder he hasn’t done something before now. He’ll be in presently, poor fellow, glad to get away for a bit. She very seldom comes in here, I will say that. They live over the shop and I think she has a bottle there when she wants it.”

  When Lobbin entered he looked round to find Carolus then came straight to him.

  “I’m afraid my wife has been trying to pick a quarrel with you,” he said. “I’m sorry if she said anything out of place. She gets ideas in her head.”

  “That’s what she told me about you,” said Carolus smiling.

  “Oh, that. No, I mean she gets hold of something and can’t let it rest. I’ve tried to make her see that you and the police are bound to want to know all about those who were on the prom that night, but she won’t see it. Now I’m perfectly willing to tell you anything you want to know.”

  “Thanks. I’d like very much to hear what you knew of Ernest Rafter.”

  “I was a p.o.w. with him. That’s all.”

  “He behaved badly?”

  “That’s an old story and he’s dead now. I don’t want to rake up details. But there’s no doubt about it he was in with the Japs.”

  “And you suffered from it?”

  “Look, Mr Deene, those of us who went through all that want to forget it. Most of us have forgotten it—except sometimes, at night. There’s no point in trying to fix the blame. Rafter collaborated and that’s that.”

  “You bore no grudge?”

  “I’d long since forgotten all about it.”

  “Until?”

  “Until one day the name suddenly connected in my mind with this family here.”

  “And you told Mrs Dalbinney. Why did you choose her?”

  “She’s a lady,” said Lobbin simply. “Anyway, I didn’t know the others much then. Bertrand’s only taken to coming to the shop lately and Miss Rafter I just knew by sight.”

  “Mrs Dalbinney asked you to say nothing about it?”

  “Yes. She did. And I wouldn’t have if my wife hadn’t got hold of the story and gone round there and made a fuss. I told you she gets ideas in her head. Before I knew where we were it was all over the town.”

  “But you had no idea that Ernest Rafter was still alive?”

  “Not before that night, I hadn’t.”

  “That night. You recognized him, then?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first. Well, I wasn’t quite sure all along. I saw this man in here with those peculiar eyes he had and at firs
t I just thought he was like Rafter. Then there was something about him I thought I knew. He seemed a lot older than when I knew him in Burma. When I knew him he looked quite a young man. Now he looked old and kind of bitter. It took me some time to be sure it was the same.”

  “But you were sure in the end?”

  “Yes, because I asked Doris his name.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Do? Nothing. I had my own troubles that night.”

  “You didn’t think to let the Rafters know their brother was here?’

  A smile crossed Lobbin’s rugged and untidy face.

  “The last time I did that it led to trouble so I wasn’t going to have that again. I kept what I thought to myself. But I did wonder what the family would do when they knew he was here.”

  “He didn’t recognize you?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. He didn’t say anything, anyway. He was knocking them back pretty fast.”

  “You saw him leave the bar?”

  “I didn’t notice him going. But at some time before ten I saw he wasn’t there any more. I asked Doris when he’d left and she said—‘oh a long time ago’.”

  “You waited till closing time?”

  “Pretty well. I usually do. Then I went for a walk.”

  “Which way did you take?”

  “Not towards this shelter where the man was found. Right up the other way towards the Palatine cinema.”

  “See anyone you knew?”

  “Yes. Mrs Dalbinney and her sister. It looked as though they’d just come out of the cinema. When I saw them they were walking back across the road from the prom.”

  “But, Mr Lobbin, why didn’t you tell them then that their brother was still alive?”

  “Me? After what happened before? Not likely. I just kept going as fast as I could. I didn’t want any more of that. They’d hear soon enough, I thought.”

  “They certainly did. But it must have been almost irresistible to tell them then.”

  “No, Mr Deene. I’d seen what had come of my putting my nose in before. I just said good-evening and set off walking in the opposite direction.”

  “Towards the shelter where the body was found?”

  “Well, that way.”

  “Who did you meet this time?”

  “I met Mr and Mrs Bullamy.”

  “Again, you didn’t say anything to them?”

  “No. They were over on the other side near the sea.”