Murder Adrift (17 page)

‘Not to my knowledge. You'd better ask her. Is that all? Because I've work to do.'

‘For the time being.'

As they rose to go, they heard, somewhere outside, the blast of a ship's siren. Littlejohn crossed to the window, which overlooked the port and the river. A fishing boat was standing on the far side of the swing-bridge blowing for it to open and admit her to the harbour. They bade Todd good-bye and he gave them a sulky reply. Relations there were no longer friendly.

Captain Turvey was leaning over the rails of the quayside watching his assistants working the bridge which slowly opened.

‘Is that the
James Gee
returning, Captain?'

Turvey removed his short pipe.

‘Hullo. You here again. Yes; it's the
James Gee
. . . .'

On the opposite side of the river vehicles were unloading empty boxes and barrels to receive the catch when the boat docked. On the bridge of the
James Gee
a huge bearded figure was directing operations and now and then waving a friendly hand at the men ashore,

‘Where's her sister ship?'

‘The
Betsy
? She's stayed on a bit. The fishing's good and she'll be in on the next tide.'

‘After dark?'

‘Yes. Around midnight. . . .'

Captain Turvey left them to attend to his official business. He bustled around and shouted orders. He might have been running a huge enterprise involving a large fleet of ships.

As the
James Gee
drew up alongside the waterfront a figure suddenly came in view, muffled in a large greatcoat and walking gingerly with the help of a stick. It was Sam Pollitt, His Worship the Mayor. He seemed to be ignoring the greetings of those who hailed him and posted himself at the edge of the quay waiting for the gangway of the ship to be run out. Then he shambled painfully onto the deck, looked around and, finding his son on the bridge, shouted up to him. Roger Pollitt descended the ladder and joined his father below and together they entered the cabin under the bridge.

‘The mayor seems anxious to talk to his son. We'd better go and join them and find out what it's all about,' said Littlejohn.

The swing-bridge was in place again and they crossed to the boat and climbed aboard. The little gathering clustered on the quayside moved near to overhear what was happening.

Littlejohn tapped on the door of the cabin and he and Hopkinson entered. They found a melodramatic scene going on there. The occupants froze momentarily as the police appeared. The mayor seemed to have lost his lethargy and was white with rage. He was brandishing his stick in the air above his son's head and Roger was holding his father's
arm at the elbow to prevent his delivering the blow.

‘Never raise your stick to me again.' Roger was saying and flinging his father from him, he turned to face the intruders.

Sam Pollitt and Roger, frozen in a sort of tableau by the arrival of the detectives, quickly became active again. The mayor lowered his stick and rested heavily on it and he and his son even smiled guiltily like boys discovered in mischief. The mayor spoke first.

‘Just a little tiff between father and son. I was rebuking him for not keeping me in touch with his movements.'

‘Not much reason for thrashing him, was it? That is a poor excuse, Mr. Mayor. . . .'

Roger Pollitt looked huge in the small cabin, which hardly held the four of them. He had stood sheepishly by until his father's feeble explanation gave him a chance to grow aggressive.

‘Look here! What the hell. . .?'

Littlejohn turned on him.

‘You look here, Pollitt! You yourself have a lot of explaining to do. We'd better all sit down and talk calmly. Otherwise, you and your father will go with us to the police station and we'll discuss matters there.'

Sam Pollitt was panic-stricken.

‘You'd better do as the Chief Superintendent says, Roger. If we're seen going to the police station with him, it'll be all over the town. I'm a J.P., you know, and it wouldn't do to. . . . '

‘So that's who he is. A detective. . . .'

‘One of the heads of Scotland Yard, Roger.'

‘I don't care who he is. He's nothing to me. I've been away all the time that this has been going on. . . .'

Littlejohn interrupted him.

‘You know why we're here, do you? Who told you?'

‘I got an English paper. . . .'

‘I thought you were at sea all the time. How did you come by a newspaper?'

The mayor began to bluster.

‘He's trying to protect me. I informed him by radio that Heck Todd had been murdered and his body had been found at sea in his boat. There's a radio station at Stye Head that keeps in touch with the fishing boats.'

‘You suspected your son had committed the crime? Why should you think that?'

‘Don't answer him, father. You're only putting your foot in it and incriminating me in a crime I'd nothing to do with.'

‘I was only. . . .'

‘Shut up, father.'

‘As I said before, Pollitt, we'd better talk quietly and you'll answer my questions.'

‘It doesn't concern me at all.'

‘Your father seems to think it does. He even concocted a charade of a second attempted crime to draw us away from you.'

‘He what? Is this true, father?'

‘I thought you and Todd had quarrelled. . . .'

‘But I was miles away at sea.'

‘I thought he'd followed you and you'd. . . .'

‘I never heard such rubbish. I was nowhere near Todd and you ought to have known that.'

‘I was only making sure. I was in a panic. . . .'

‘You're in a panic now, so you'd better keep quiet, father.'

‘Your father was afraid that, in the investigation, your business of bringing over illegal immigrants would come to light.'

Roger Pollitt laughed as though it were a huge joke.

‘Everybody who owns a boat nowadays is accused of ferrying cargoes of illegal immigrants over from the Continent. It's absurd. You can't prove I've ever engaged in that trade. . . .'

‘That's up to the local police. We're concerned with murder at present. You were a friend of Hector Todd's?'

Young Pollitt screwed up his face in distaste.

‘You'd hardly call him that. If you think he and I were running an immigrants racket, you're wrong. I never liked him and when he approached me on a business proposition I made sure it was genuine. . . .'

‘What sort of proposition?'

‘I sometimes go across to Holland. There's a good market there for scallops and herrings. The Dutch boats come over for them, but if I can deliver the catches myself it's more money in my pocket. Heck Todd had got to know that I went to Holland and asked me if I'd do an errand for him in Amsterdam.'

‘What kind of errand?'

‘Before I tell you, I've got to make it plain that Todd assured me that the affair was straight and above board and I obliged him in good faith. Understood?'

‘If it was an honest deal, or whatever you'd call it, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What was it all about?'

‘He wanted to sell a diamond ring. He said he'd had it a long time and it had been given back to him by a girl he'd been engaged to once and the engagement had been broken. I saw no reason to doubt the story. He'd had a few girls in his lifetime and besides, Todd was hardly the kind who would have stolen it. Whatever else he might have been, he wasn't a thief. I asked him why he didn't try to sell it over here, perhaps in Hatton Garden, but he said Amsterdam was the best place for deals of that sort and he'd a friend there who would handle it.'

‘How long since was that?'

‘At the beginning of last month. I was going over to Scheveningen and as he said he'd pay all expenses and a bit for myself, I did him a favour.'

‘What was the Amsterdam address?'

‘I think it was 23 Oude Kerk Place. The name was Kroon and Company. An office and a very substantial one, too. Nothing fishy about it. Todd had fixed up the matter by post. I did as he instructed. Handed over the package and they gave me a bank draft. They took the ring away. I guess they examined it carefully before parting with the money.'

‘How much?'

‘I didn't ask. It was no business of mine. The draft was in a sealed envelope, addressed to Todd, which I handed over to Todd when I arrived back. I only guessed that it was a cheque and that was confirmed when Todd opened the letter. He hadn't the money to pay on the spot, but handed it over in a day or two. I guess he was broke and had to change the cheque before he could give me what was owing.'

‘And that was all?'

‘Yes. And I've told you the truth. Now that Todd has been murdered I guess the atmosphere has changed a bit and this ring business seems suspicious, but I swear I handled it in good faith. Todd might have conned me into it, but at the time it seemed a straight deal.'

Sam Pollitt, who had been listening open-mouthed to his son's story, thought it time he spoke in his favour.

‘Roger's always been a good son. Straight as a die, he is. I'll vouch for that. He wouldn't. . . .'

‘Thanks, dad, but I'll speak for myself. It seemed legitimate to me at the time and if I've been taken in it's my own fault. I ought not to have let Todd persuade me.'

‘Don't worry, Mr. Pollitt. If what you say is true you've committed no crime. In fact, you've helped us a good deal. What kind of a stone was it that you handled?'

‘A real beauty. Todd showed it to me before he parcelled up the box. I'm no expert at diamonds, but if you'd seen it you'd have agreed with me. I've never seen one like it. It was a single stone, as large as a good-sized pea. Todd gave it to me in a ring box. I was glad when I'd got rid of it. I felt scared to death having it about me. He must have trusted me.'

‘Why not?' said Sam Pollitt proudly. ‘Your good name's known all over the county. . . .'

‘That's all right, father. Don't keep on about it.'

They left father and son to continue their argument and when they got back to the
Trident
Littlejohn told Hopkinson to telephone the Yard and get them to ring up the Dutch police for as much information as they could about Kroon and Company and their dealings with Heck Todd.

No sooner had Hopkinson departed on his mission than the manager of the
Trident
appeared to say that the local
police had been asking urgently for Littlejohn and left a message that they'd be obliged if he would call at the police station as soon as he returned. He therefore asked the man to tell Hopkinson to follow him there and set off as requested.

Outside the police station there seemed to be a car rally of sorts going on. There were, standing in the car park, two police cars, a police van, two private cars and, strangest of all, the two natty little vans used by the representatives of Todd Brothers and Fish Ltd., for seeking and delivering orders.

One of the local constables met Littlejohn at the door and asked him to follow him. On the way to his destination the bobby paused and whispered to Littlejohn, ‘We've got the illegal immigration gang.' And in his excitement he took the liberty of giving the Chief Superintendent a contorted wink. Then he opened a door labelled
Waiting Room
and displayed half-a-dozen disconsolate Pakistanis blankly awaiting events, in charge of two constables and a police dog. Then he led the way to the main office which was agog with uniforms. The Chief Constable, Inspector Bradfield, four policemen and another dog, with handler, were crowded there.

‘Ah! There you are, Chief Superintendent,' shouted the Chief Constable triumphantly, and all the constables straightened themselves and saluted. ‘We've collared the illegal immigrant gang red-handed. We're just waiting for more transport and then we'll haul them off to headquarters.'

The attendant bobbies looked ready to cheer!

Then Littlejohn noticed two figures in mufti, seated despondently by the empty grate.

J. J. Dawson and J. W. Lever!

‘Now that you're here, Littlejohn, let's adjourn to Bradfield's room,' said the Chief Constable, and he and Bradfield hustled Littlejohn off for a little privacy.

‘Better bring in Dawson and Lever. . . .'

Dawson, who seemed to be bursting to explain, followed hurriedly, but Lever remained seated.

‘I shan't say a thing without my lawyer.'

Two burly bobbies almost carried him to Bradfield's room and dumped him in a chair.

Lever sat looking reproachfully at Littlejohn as though he were responsible for his present discomfiture and he was surprised at such treatment after their companionship at the recent dinner.

Dawson was indignant at finding himself in such a pickle and his word being doubted and his motives misunderstood.

‘I tell you, we found them wandering about on the quayside and gave them a lift. We couldn't leave them there, could we?'

‘Where were you taking them?'

‘I've told you twice already. One of them has a brother-in-law who runs a restaurant in Chelmsford. We were taking them there for a meal and then we'd have told the police. That's right, isn't it, Lever?'

J. W. Lever seemed astonished at Dawson's flow of information.

‘I'm saying nothing without my lawyer,' he intoned.

The Chief Constable waved Dawson aside in disgust and turned to Bradfield.

‘Tell the Chief Superintendent what we think happened, Bradfield.'

They all sat down and Bradfield cleared his throat. As he did so, Hopkinson entered, looked around in bewilderment and bade them all a cheerful good morning, including
Lever and Dawson in his friendly greeting. Dawson looked at him and shrugged his shoulders as if the police were in the wrong and wouldn't be told.

‘Go on, Bradfield. . . . '