by Carola Dunn
‘I understand, sir.’
‘The rest of us will go straight to Hertford. You can get in touch through the station there. We’ll go to the brewery. With any luck we’ll find someone who can give us access to the office. Don’t they have to keep an eye on the beer constantly?’
‘Sunday evening …’ Tom said doubtfully.
‘Well, if not, we’ll have to dig up – what’s his name? – the owner.’ Alec had made no attempt to memorise the details, his mind busy planning the necessary moves even as he listened to Shadd.
‘McMullen,’ Ernie supplied, pulling up in front of the Wood Green underground station.
‘Any questions, Mackinnon?’
‘Aye, sir: will I no need permission from Superintendent Crane, or even the Assistant Commissioner, for setting a watch on ports and such?’
‘Technically, yes. But, as Tom has pointed out, it’s Sunday evening. If you can’t get the super on the phone first try, go ahead in the name of the Yard and hope no one asks who’s authorised it. I’ll take responsibility, of course.’
‘Thank you, sir. Good luck.’
‘And good luck to you,’ Alec said as Mackinnon got out of the car.
They headed north towards Hertford. Most of the sparse traffic was moving in the opposite direction, returning to London after a day in the country. As the built-up area fell behind them, Ernie stepped on the accelerator.
‘What did I say?’ he crowed. ‘All three victims disappeared after visiting their local pub, and all the pubs were free houses. You even mentioned, Sarge, you’d had a pint of Hertford’s bitter at the Duke of York in Tunbridge Wells. No, I tell a lie, McMullen’s is what you said.’
‘One or t’other, so I did.’
‘Maybe Rosworth wouldn’t have got them – wouldn’t even have found them – if they’d stuck to tied pubs, or just pubs that didn’t sell Hertford Brewery’s ales.’
‘It’s a sobering thought, laddie. The man had the patience of an ox. He must have been looking for them for years.’
‘And laying his plans, Sarge. He had it pretty well taped. Bagged all three before we caught on.’
‘The one we have to worry about now,’ Alec reminded them, ‘is the fourth potential victim, Harris.’
‘Maybe we just haven’t found his body yet, Chief. Maybe he does go to a tied pub, or maybe he doesn’t drink, or only at home. It’d make it hard for Rosworth to even find him, let alone give him an excuse to hang about long enough to come up with a different plan.’
‘You’re full of theories, laddie. But I’ve got to admit, it makes sense.’
‘What about your original theory, Ernie?’ Alec asked. ‘The one you weren’t willing to propound without further evidence?’
‘Stuffing them into empty barrels.’ His attempt to sound modest was no great success. ‘I mean, I thought maybe the murderer was a dray-man. That business of two of the landlords saying no strangers were there, that tipped me off. Who’s not a stranger yet not a local resident? The dray-man, who delivers regularly. And if that’s what the murderer was, he’d have a good way to move ’em.’
‘A horribly unpleasant way,’ Alec observed. ‘Tied up, crouching, or perhaps bent double, unable to stir. Probably not enough air, even with vent holes.’
‘They must’ve been unconscious to start with, Chief, or he’d never have got them in. Good job none of them was as big as Mr Tring.’
‘On the contrary, laddie,’ Tom said soberly. ‘It might’ve saved their lives. But can you imagine what they felt like when they came round? Not only cramped and stuffy, and more than likely they had headaches, but not knowing what was going to happen to them.’
‘Can you imagine what the boy, Sammy Rosworth, felt like?’ Alec said soberly. ‘Not to mention his father, when he heard. This is a murderer I can almost sympathise with.’ Then he remembered Halliday’s daughter and Devine’s mother. No, in spite of the results of Halliday’s rigid code and Devine’s weak character, they had not deserved such horrible deaths.
Nor had Sammy Rosworth.
CHAPTER 23
None of them, not even Ernie, was familiar with Hertford. Alec hoped to find the brewery without calling first at the police station. Explaining the situation would be a waste of precious time. Better to set things in motion and then go and apologise.
‘We’ll stop at a pub on the outskirts and ask how to get there,’ he said. ‘They’re bound to know.’
As it happened, the first pub they came to had a Hertford Brewery sign in the window. Tom went in, to reappear with directions and the landlord’s opinion that no one would be there.
‘I got directions to the police station, too,’ he said. ‘They’re not far apart, both in the town centre.’
‘We’ll check the brewery,’ Alec decided.
The big, red-brick Victorian building was easy to find, looming on a corner with woodland visible beyond.
Sniffing the pervasive aroma of malt, yeast and hops, Tom said, ‘Couldn’t mistake it for anything but a brewery, could you!’
It rose from one story at the front, no doubt offices, to four or five behind, capped with a tower. The lower part boasted a frivolous little domed clock tower, its golden hands showing nearly nine o’clock. Considering the time, Alec wasn’t surprised that the front entrance – an equally frivolous pillared, pedimented door – was locked.
The rain had let up a bit, but dark clouds hung overhead, bringing twilight early for the time of year. Darkness would make everything more difficult.
‘They must have a night-watchman, at least,’ Alec said, and rang the electric bell. ‘You two split up, reconnoitre round the sides and back.’
Tom and Ernie returned before anyone came to the door.
‘There’s a yard at the back where they keep the lorries,’ Tom reported. ‘The night-watchman there doesn’t have access to the offices, only the brewery itself, the factory as you might say. It’s kept locked but he does his rounds in there two or three times a shift. He’s heard they don’t keep much in the way of cash in the offices; they make daily deposits at the bank, and they have their own safe.’
‘Seems the only break-ins they’ve ever had have been people after beer,’ Ernie put in, grinning. ‘There’s nobody else there now, and he doesn’t know the McMullens’ address.’
‘The police station it is, then. I just hope they don’t insist on getting in touch with their chief constable,’ Alec sighed, ‘though we’ll have to sooner or later. He did already give us permission to interview the Hallidays. I’d rather wait till tomorrow to involve him.’
Copeland, the duty sergeant at the station, had already received an alert from the Yard. He was cooperative about not reporting their arrival to the inspector on duty until they had departed.
‘I’ll give you Mr McMullen’s telephone number and directions to his house, sir,’ he said, ‘but if you ask me, you’d do better to ask his chief clerk. He’s more likely to know where to find the information you need, drivers’ addresses and schedules and such. I’ve got Kelly’s directory here, of course, but if I was your man, I’d keep moving.’
‘I suspect he’s the sort of loner who probably lives in a boarding house. The chief clerk sounds like a good idea. I take it you know his name.’
‘My brother-in-law, sir. He’s not on the telephone, but he lives quite near. Tell him Jimmy sent you.’ He wrote down his brother-in-law’s name – Frederick Hodder – his address, and directions to his house.
Alec handed the paper to Ernie. ‘Thank you. Give my apologies to Inspector – Yates, was it? – would you, please, Sergeant, for dashing in and out so unceremoniously. Remind him Rosworth’s armed. We may well call for uniformed assistance to collar him. The inspector may want to ring his superintendent for authorisation.’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a hand in collaring the Epping Executioner!’ the sergeant exclaimed.
‘Great Scott, is that what the papers are calling him now?’
‘Ah,’ said Tom, �
�the fellows who write the headlines always fancy a bit of alliteration.’
Ernie looked impressed. Next time he had a dictionary to hand, he’d be looking up Tom’s latest addition to his remarkably extensive vocabulary.
They went out to the car.
‘Executioner!’ Alec was not amused. ‘Alliteration, my foot! It sounds to me as if the Essex police are as leaky as a sieve. The press were not supposed to be told how they were killed.’
‘Maybe they weren’t, Chief,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Could be chance, just the alliteration, like I said.’
‘I’d be more inclined to credit that if it weren’t for the way Gant behaved when we took over. I wouldn’t put it past him to try a bit of deliberate sabotage. Come on, let’s get moving.’
Hodder’s modest brick villa was just a few minutes’ walk beyond the brewery. Ernie parked the police car a few doors down the street to avoid alerting nosy neighbours. Answering the door himself, in his carpet slippers, Hodder was at first alarmed to find Scotland Yard on his doorstep on a gloomy Sunday evening. He was reassured on hearing Sergeant Jimmy Copeland had directed them to him.
‘Come in, come in, Chief Inspector. The wife and I were just listening to the wireless.’
‘I’m afraid I’m hoping to drag you away from your programme. We need your help.’
‘Goodness me!’ Behind strong spectacles, his eyes shone. ‘But come in out of the rain to tell me about it, do. Emmy, my dear, Scotland Yard needs my help!’
‘Goodness me!’ His wife, as plump as he was spare, turned off the wireless set. ‘I’ll go and make some tea.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t time to stop for tea, Mrs Hodder.’
Blue eyes opened wide, making her look like a china doll. ‘Goodness me,’ she repeated placidly. ‘Well, I’ll go and make tea anyway. I could do with a cup and you won’t want me listening. Do sit down, gentlemen.’
‘Emmy is the soul of discretion.’ Hodder seemed earnestly reluctant to deprive his wife of a treat.
‘No, Fred, it won’t do. You know what Jimmy always says, “Those that don’t know, can’t tell.” If you go out, don’t forget your umbrella.’
‘No, dear.’
At last they were all seated in comfortable armchairs covered with faded chintz. Alec explained that he was looking for information about an employee of the firm. When Hodder heard that one of the Hertford Brewery drivers might be the Epping Executioner, he was horrified, but also thrilled at the possibility of being involved in his capture.
‘Naturally, I know where to find such records as there may be,’ he said doubtfully, ‘only I can’t promise we have up-to-date addresses for all the drivers. They get their schedules at the yard, and they’re paid in cash at the office, so we’re not sending anything to them in the post. These fellows who can drive heavy lorries can always find work. They come and go.’
‘My information is that Clement Rosworth has been with the company for many years, since before the war, with a gap for military service.’
‘Oh, Rosworth. You didn’t mention the name. Yes, he’s been with us for a long time. Are you sure he’s the man you’re looking for? I rarely deal with the drivers myself, but I’d be prepared to say he’s a very reliable employee, a quiet chap who keeps himself to himself. Not at all the sort you’d expect to be shooting people and burying the bodies.’
‘I dare say you’d be surprised at how many murderers are quiet chaps who keep themselves to themselves. We haven’t absolute proof of Rosworth’s guilt, but at the least we need to question him as soon as possible. If you’re ready, Mr Hodder, let’s get going.’
‘I’ll just fetch my keys. And my coat and umbrella.’
‘You might want to change your shoes, sir,’ Tom suggested.
Hodder looked down at his feet. ‘My goodness, I quite forgot I’m in my slippers. Thank you, Sergeant.’
The clerk was thrilled all over again when he found he was to have a ride in a police car, even if it was just the half-mile to the brewery. He sat in the back with Alec.
Turning the car, Ernie said over his shoulder, ‘I was wondering, sir, if you can give us a good description of Rosworth. What we’ve got isn’t much use.’
‘Oh dear, I don’t believe I can help. I must have seen him now and then over all those years, but he didn’t make much impression.’
‘Or a photograph, maybe? A company picnic, something like that?’
‘Well, yes. We’ve got them on the walls in the office, going back to the turn of the century. But to tell the truth, I can barely recognise myself.’
‘We’ll take a look,’ said Alec. ‘Blowing them up – enlarging them – might help. It may be more useful to talk to someone who knows him better than you do, Mr Hodder. How about the yard boss? The foreman, or whoever’s in charge.’
‘Mr Garvey. Yes, Chief Inspector, I can tell you where he lives. If he’s not at home at this time on a Sunday evening, you’ll catch him when the pubs close. Not that he’s a heavy drinker, I wouldn’t want you to think that, but he likes his pint with his friends. I find daily contact with the odours of brewing quite put me off strong drink. My wife makes excellent tea.’
‘“The cup that cheers but not inebriates,”’ Tom intoned. ‘I’m partial to a good cuppa myself, and sorry we didn’t have time to accept Mrs Hodder’s offer.’
‘You must drop by, Sergeant, any time you’re in Hertford. She’ll be delighted to brew a pot for you.’
Before the chitchat could get out of hand, they stopped outside the brewery. Leading them to a side door, Hodder took a ring of keys from his pocket, and opened it. Apart from the smell, the offices were no different from those of any middle-sized, reasonably prosperous business. Hodder went straight to a filing cabinet labelled EMPLOYEE RECORDS. Everything was grouped by job categories and neatly alphabetised. In no time, he pulled out a folder with Clement Rosworth’s name on it.
‘Here we are.’
Alec gestured at Ernie, who took the folder, laid it on the nearest desk, and opened it.
‘Clement Rosworth. Address is a local boarding house, Chief. Run by a Miss Florence Dill.’ He wrote down the address in his notebook. ‘But there’s a bunch of others crossed out. Looks as if he’s moved about a bit since the war.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. Quite apart from the discomforts of boarding-house life, assuming he’s been planning this pretty much ever since he was told, he wouldn’t want to get too close to anyone.’
‘Chief Inspector, may I ask … ?’ Hodder said tentatively. He had a piece of paper in his hand, taken down from several drawing-pinned to a board on the wall.
‘’Fraid not, Mr Hodder. I will say that there would not appear to be any danger to anyone at the Hertford Brewery. Telephone number, Ernie?’
‘No such luck. It’s mostly pay and pension details. That the schedule you’ve got there, Mr Hodder?’
‘Yes, Rosworth’s schedule for next week. I’m afraid it’s a carbon copy. The master sheet will be in the yard office.’
Ernie took it and cast a glance over it. ‘This’ll do, thank you, sir.’
Meanwhile, Tom had been wandering about the room, looking at the group portraits hanging on the walls. He took one down. ‘This one’s the latest, Chief. Looks like it might blow up well. The names are printed underneath so he’s definitely in it.’
‘Careless of him. May we borrow it, Mr Hodder?’
‘Of course, of course. Anything I can do to help.’
Tom already had the photo out of its frame. He looked at the back. ‘Local photographer’s stamp.’
‘Good! One more thing, Mr Hodder, if it won’t be trespassing on your kindness. You must be anxious to get home, but I would very much appreciate it if you would accompany DC Piper to see Mr Garvey, just to reassure him that it’s in order for him to assist us.’
‘By all means, Chief Inspector.’
‘Excellent.’ Alec turned to the door. ‘I’ll drop you both off at his house. I’m going to the
police station to sort things out there. I’ll send someone to Garvey’s to drive you home, Mr Hodder.’
‘Oh, no, indeed.’ Hodder locked the door behind him. ‘That won’t be necessary. We’re quite a small town still, though growing, growing. The rain seems to have stopped. I can very well walk home.’
‘It’s nearly dark. I’ll send the car. Piper, if you’re not finished with Garvey when the car arrives, have it come back for you. We can’t waste any time.’
When Alec and Tom arrived at the police station, the local superintendent was already there and the chief constable of the county was on his way. Luckily the super was a reasonable man and understood the urgency of the case. Alec hoped the CC would be willing to admit they were still on the same case. If he decided to be awkward, or to take a personal hand in things, he could delay them considerably.
Best to get things started without him.
After arranging for enlargements of the photograph to be printed, he said to Superintendent Starke, ‘The first thing, sir, is to find out whether Rosworth is at home. If so, we should be able to get the job done without a fuss. But I’ll need to post men all round the house, or front and back if it’s a terrace—’
‘It is,’ the local inspector confirmed.
‘Good. What I propose is to send DS Tring here into the house. Depending on the suspect’s presence or absence, he’ll attempt an arrest or have a chat with the landlady.’
‘To find out whether she has any idea where the fellow’s got to,’ said Starke intelligently. Of course, superintendents, who had worked for their rank, were often if not always more intelligent than chief constables appointed because of their connections.
‘Exactly, sir.’
The details were quickly worked out and they left the station before either the CC or Ernie Piper arrived. A very unhappy Sergeant Jimmy Copeland was left behind to hold the fort, which included explaining matters to the chief constable.
