Murder Adrift (16 page)

‘Somethin' of the kind. Why else should the murderer have loosened the dinghy to make it look as if the criminal had made off in it after the crime? There's another thing, too. Some funny goings on have happened on these coasts
of late. We know there's illegal immigration happenin'. And who knows what else? Drugs, perhaps. . . . A man who knows this coast with all its twists and turns and bays and bights could carry on for ever with such smuggling.'

‘And you think, Captain Turvey, that the actual killer tried to make it appear that Todd had been killed by some member of this smuggling gang?'

‘Why not, sir? But the murderer wasn't as bright as he thought he was. He couldn't, at that time of night, start the engine of the boat. He'd waken half the town. So he must either have known the tides or else he was just lucky. He got the water well on the ebb and the two boats went out to sea. Owing to their weight, the two boats would part company when they got to open water. But whoever did it, thinking they'd get well away to sea before the body was found, didn't know the indraughts and currents. The result was, that without the operation of the tiller and the engine, the large boat wandered about outside Fordinghurst Bay and the little 'un fetched up in Strine Cove on the next high tide.'

Captain Turvey's deductions and attempts at criminology having reached their limits, they thanked and left him.

‘What do you make of that, sir?' said Hopkinson, as they walked back to the hotel.

‘Captain Turvey has a good imagination and I'll bet when he and his fellow old salts foregather he'll amplify the tale and tell them all how he's put us on the right track and give them all the details of the crime. He's been a great help, though, and we must give him credit for it. Without being too technical, he's told us about the tides and peculiarities of the coast. He's reminded us of the illicit trade that goes on in his neighbourhood by night. And he's also given us a rough idea of how and why the murderer might
have used the boat for disposing of the body, instead of burying it or throwing it in the river.'

It was evening, after dinner, before they heard from Scotland Yard, who had called at the
Imperial Palace
to investigate Todd's alibi.

There had been some delay pending the arrival of Dan, the night porter, who had been on duty on the night of the crime. Dan knew Kenneth Todd quite well. Todd was an old client and regularly stayed at the hotel when on business in London.

Dan had been on the hotel staff for over 30 years and was one of those servants who regard all regular visitors as part of a family. He remembered Todd's last visit and could confirm that he had spent one night there and had retired at about ten in the evening. He recollected that Todd had stopped and spoken with him on his way from the reception desk, where he had been paying his bill, to the lift. At such an early hour to retire was unusual in London, Dan had jocularly remarked on it. Todd had said he'd had a very busy day, was tired, and also had to leave early in the morning, so he had paid his bill to save time. He felt like a good night's sleep.

According to Dan, at just after midnight, a telephone call had come through for Kenneth Todd. The hall porter had been chatting with the night telephonist and as calls at that hour were few and far between, he had noted that, too. The telephonist, who was also an old employee of the
Imperial Palace,
could confirm that, if necessary. Dan did not know who was making the call or what it was about; he was sure the telephonist didn't either. They were busy discussing the future of a man who was staying in the hotel on his way to collect a cheque for £200,000 he had won on a football pool.

The hall porter had gone off duty at eight the following morning. He had not seen Kenneth Todd again before he left.

Inquiries in the office disclosed that Todd had not taken breakfast in the hotel, but that was not unusual in many cases of early departure. There was a breakfast-car on the 9.05 from London to Portwich. Todd's bed had been slept in.

Inquiries on the second floor, where Todd's room was situated had been made, but nobody had seen Todd leaving in the night or early morning. The night staff had dispersed, however, and could not be interviewed until later.

So much for that.

‘Let's assume,' said Littlejohn, ‘that Kenneth Todd's call was from his mother, who was in some sort of trouble and she wished him to return right away or, at least, give her some advice as to what to do. If Todd is accustomed to travelling back on the 9.05 and taking breakfast on it, probably some of the dining-car attendants will know him. Ask the Yard to inquire on the train tomorrow morning and find out if he travelled back by it on the morning following the murder, and breakfasted with them. . . .'

Hopkinson rose with his customary enthusiasm and Littlejohn had to call him back.

‘There's another thing. I don't suppose there's a late night train to Portwich from London. Look it up in the time-table at the reception desk and, if there isn't such a train, ask the Yard to inquire among the taxi drivers who serve the hotel if any of them had a fare to Portwich or Fordinghurst, preferably the latter, after midnight on the night of the crime.'

Early next morning Scotland Yard telephoned again.
One of the drivers of an all-night taxi service remembered taking a fare from the
Imperial Palace
at 12.30, or thereabouts, to Fordinghurst. He wasn't very bright and made the darkness an excuse for being unable to describe the man.

‘I dropped him in the town square at about three o'clock. He was in a hurry. Kept tellin' me to get a move on. He came from the hotel and picked me up round the corner. Spoke like a toff, but didn't pay like one when it came to the bill. I had to tell him that a run like that after midnight cost more than a little jaunt in the sunshine. He was tallish, dressed in a dark suit, didn't say much. That's all I can tell you.'

Immediately after breakfast, Littlejohn, this time accompanied by Hopkinson, crossed the swing bridge to the offices of Todd Brothers and asked for Mr. Kenneth. The girl, who on Littlejohn's previous visit had been filing her nails, was this time reading a paperback and seemed reluctant to drag herself away from it.

‘Mr. Todd will see you.'

Todd seemed to be going through the morning mail. It was impossible to guess whether or not, from his looks, the strain of current events was affecting him. His pale, lined face was worried to start with, but he was still well-groomed, not a hair out of place, his linen impeccable and his dark suit well cut and brushed.

‘This is an early visit, Littlejohn. Has something happened?'

He showed his anxiety by wrinkling his forehead more than ever.

Littlejohn introduced Hopkinson. Todd could hardly contain his impatience.

‘Well? What is it?'

Littlejohn remembered the advice of the local police. Handle the Todds carefully. The Todds are influential people in these parts and carry a lot of weight. Well, that was all over now. Henceforth they were going to be treated like all the rest. Like poor old Pollitt, who was so confused about Heck Todd and his death that he had tried to drop out of the whole affair by giving himself a crazy alibi which wouldn't hold water.

‘Take a seat, both of you. And then please say why you've called so early. I'm just in the midst of my morning mail and I haven't much time to spare.'

There was no mention of a glass of wine apiece this time. Kenneth Todd was rattled and wondering what was coming next.

‘I wish you'd get this affair cleared up, Littlejohn. It's causing a lot of trouble locally. People are wondering who'll be the next victim. It's very annoying.'

‘It must have been more annoying to be shot through the heart and die. And more annoying still that those who could help us to find the criminal won't tell us the truth.'

Todd leapt to his feet his pale face suddenly flushed and his hands clenched. Hopkinson rose to his feet as well, as though placing himself at the ready to protect Littlejohn from a sudden assault. Instead, Todd changed his mind and sat down again. He seemed to be telling himself to play it cool. Littlejohn looked him steadily in the eyes. It seemed to put Todd out of countenance and he blinked once or twice and then removed the spectacles he was wearing, polished them, and put them on again.

‘I don't understand what you're talking about. Who has been lying and why?'

‘You told me when last I was here that you were in
London at the time your brother was murdered. Midnight, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. What of it?'

‘You retired about ten and slept until seven the following morning. . . .'

‘Yes. Well?'

‘Then, you caught the 9.05 train to Portwich. . . .'

‘Yes. What's wrong with that?'

He shouted it across the desk. And Littlejohn noticed that Todd's hair had become dishevelled again without any interference on Todd's part. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead.

‘You didn't tell me everything about that night. You received a telephone call in your bedroom about midnight, the time your brother was shot. . . .'

Todd was still trying to keep cool, even nonchalant.

‘Is that all? I can explain that. It was the hall porter ringing to say he'd forgotten to ask if I wished breakfast early next morning. . . .'

‘At midnight, after you'd been in bed two hours?'

Todd shrugged his shoulders.

‘I admit it was a bit tactless, but I was reading in bed and it didn't disturb me.'

‘That's not what the hall porter told us. . . .'

Todd's mouth fell open and then he snapped his jaws together in anger.

‘I like your impertinence! Do you mean to tell me that you've been making inquiries about me at the hotel? I'm an old client there and I resent . . . '

‘I, too, resent your behaviour. I believed what you told me the other day. This check was made as a matter of routine. They told us quite a different tale from yours when we came to confirm your statement. You received a
telephone call from home at midnight. . . . Don't interrupt. At 12.30 you left the hotel unseen and took a taxi from the rank outside. You hired him to bring you to Fordinghurst and you arrived here around three o'clock. . . .'

Todd still tried to remain cool, but it was hard going.

‘Who told you that cock-and-bull story. It is either a complete lie or a silly mistake.'

‘We can confirm it all. Now, I recommend you to modify your previous account of your movements on the night of the crime, and tell me why your mother wanted you back here at once, and you obeyed her.'

‘Do you suspect me of this crime?'

‘How can we? You were in London at the time it was committed. That has been confirmed. Why did you lie to me about your movements after the telephone call?'

Todd thought for a minute and then tried to relax and speak quietly. He kept licking his lips.

‘Very well. I'll tell you the truth. It was a purely domestic matter. The telephone call was from my mother. She'd been taken unwell again. We have to watch her health, as you doubtless know. She telephoned me to say if I'd finished my business she would like me to return at once. I told her what to do; to take some medicine and go back to bed.'

‘You didn't tell her to send for the doctor, in spite of your anxiety?'

‘I suggested it, but she said she'd see how she went on and if she felt worse she would telephone right away. I hired a car and returned as quickly as possible. When I got home she was much improved. In fact, I found her asleep.'

‘Meanwhile, your brother had been murdered and his body was floating out to sea.'

Todd frowned and pondered for a minute and then slowly : ‘Floating out to sea? What do you mean? He was shot at sea aboard his own boat.'

‘We have changed our ideas about the pattern of the crime. We now think that Mr. Hector was murdered here in Fordinghurst and his body carried to his boat which was turned adrift and went out to sea with the ebb tide.'

Hopkinson looked as surprised as Todd about the disclosure. He wondered what Littlejohn was getting at.

A sulky look came on Todd's face.

‘I don't see any justification for such a change of front. If Hector was murdered on dry land where did it occur?'

‘I've no idea. But if he was killed somewhere in the town his body would have been moved to the boat tied up at the waterfront. Someone must have seen the operation. There's always somebody about. By hard work the police will find out eventually.'

‘The inquest is tomorrow morning and the funeral's in the afternoon. . . .'

‘That won't hold up the investigation. . . . By the way, sir, do you own a revolver?'

‘What a question! Are you thinking that I shot my brother. You've insinuated as much before. I can assure you. . . .'

Outside, something seemed to have gone wrong with one of the motor vehicles. The driver kept whirling the starter and nothing happened. Then he flung back the bonnet with a crash and started again. Finally, he shouted to someone else to come and give him a hand. It got on Todd's nerves. He rushed to the window and opened it and there was an argument which ended in Todd telling him to be quiet and banging down the window.

‘You were accusing me of shooting my brother. . . . '

Two livid red spots had appeared on his cheeks and the stiff attitude he assumed in his anger made him look like a tailor's dummy.

‘I didn't, sir. I asked a perfectly reasonable question. Do you possess a revolver?'

‘I don't. I never considered one necessary.'

‘Does your mother own one?'

‘Is she a suspect, too? Well. . . . That's the limit! I'm going to complain to the Chief Constable about this. It's an outrage. Of course she doesn't. . . . '

He suddenly paused and looked uneasy. Then he recovered his composure.