Murder Adrift (9 page)

Then he turned his attention to Littlejohn.

‘You'll excuse me, but I'm not well and have to take my
medicine before a meal. I really ought not to have come to an affair like this. I always suffer after it. But when you're in business you often have to do things you don't want, don't you? My liver's bad. You're Chief Superintendent Littlejohn, aren't you? Pleased to meet you. My name's Lever. I'm with Todds', the wine merchants. Nasty business about Mr. Hector, isn't it . . .?'

He thereupon switched his attention to the food the waitress placed in front of him. The scallops, described on the menu as
Coquilles Saint Jaques,
had arrived.

‘Not for me! I've arranged for some cold chicken with the head waiter. And after that, just cheese and biscuits. Cottage cheese, not the hard stuff. . . .'

Mr. Lever had to wait until the rest of the guests had almost eaten their fill before his special diet arrived.

‘I wish I hadn't come. The room's stuffy and they'll be smoking cigars as soon as they've finished. It gets on my chest.'

Littlejohn was beginning to wish he'd chosen a different companion. Preoccupied with his ailments and diet, it looked as if Mr. Lever wasn't going to have much time for murder. To his surprise, however, Mr. Lever opened up after two glasses of Vichy, as though the medicinal water had somehow affected his liver and changed his outlook on life.

‘It's a wonder somebody didn't murder Mr. Hector long before this.'

It may have been Littlejohn wrestling with his steak which stimulated this outburst. Littlejohn quickly turned his attention from his plate to Mr. Lever's bilious face.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘I've been with the firm 40 years and during that time I've watched Mr. Hector grow from a child into a
thoroughgoing scoundrel. It was a scandal. He was a spoiled child from the start. Brought up in luxury and given everything he wanted. Drink, women, debts. What he needed was a damn good hiding. Instead, because the family are big noises in this locality people treated his antics with tolerance, one might almost say amusement. A jolly good fellow. While his brother, Mr. Kenneth, did all the work in the firm and got Hector out of all the scrapes his perverted appetite got him into. . . .'

He began to pick at the chicken which had arrived and finding the flesh difficult to dissect from the bones seized the wing in his fingers and began to chew it. Finally, he abandoned his efforts and pushed his plate away.

‘It makes me sick to think of what a man he could have made with all the opportunities he had, and the type he became. Too fond of what to him were the good things in life. Have you met Mr. Kenneth?'

‘Yes. I thought him a very decent, hardworking sort. Very different from his brother.'

‘You're right there. Although judging from the old lady's treatment of the pair of them you'd have thought the sun shone out of Heck and that Ken was the rascal. I bet Mrs. Hector wishes she'd married Mr. Kenneth. She could have had either of them and chose the wrong 'un. She should have divorced Heck long ago. She'd plenty of grounds. I guess she was fond of the old lady and living under the same roof made it difficult.'

Lever kneaded his cottage cheese with his knife, carefully examined the mess he'd made on his plate as though it might be contaminated, and spread it on the brown toast he'd ordered. He disposed of a mouthful and then addressed Littlejohn again.

‘They're saying in the town that it was a crime of
passion. That somebody killed Heck because of a girl. Or else, a girl herself that Heck had wronged killed him. That's Victorian melodrama. People don't do that sort of thing nowadays. Now, if they'd said blackmail that would have been nearer the mark.'

‘You mean Mr. Hector was blackmailing someone?'

‘Why not? Where, otherwise, did he get his money? He lived like a lord, in spite of the fact that his brother and his mother had stopped his expenses account with the firm and reduced him almost to the status of a remittance man by cutting down his salary and fees. I know they have. Although I'm not supposed to have anything to do with the accounting side of the work, Badger, the cashier, is a pal of mine and I've access to the books through him.'

All around the talk was flowing. Sometimes it rose to a shout, and it was difficult to hear what Lever was saying.

‘How else could Heck have spent thousands on a new cabin cruiser? He must have had another source of income.'

‘How long has he had the boat?'

‘Since last summer. He had another until then. An old one he bought second-hand. Then he got a new one, new or almost new. Where did the money come from?'

‘He might have got it on hire purchase. . . . '

‘What! Mr. Hector? Not likely. In any case, it would have got round if he bought it on the H.P. Besides, Heck's name was mud in these parts where borrowing was concerned. No finance company or bank would lend him a cent. It's my view that he got the money in some crooked way or other. . . .'

The mayor was on his feet proposing the Loyal Toast and inviting the company to smoke. An interval was announced and there was a rush for the doors. Lever was inclined to remain at table for a while.

‘I'm not staying for the speeches. They'll all be smoking like chimneys and it'll get on my stomach and make me ill for days.'

Most of the guests on their table had taken advantage of the interval and left the room for the time being. There were only a few remaining here and there. The lack of company seemed to stimulate Lever. He started to talk as though he had a lot to say and little time in which to get it off his chest.

‘Do you believe in horoscopes?'

He was disappointed at Littlejohn's look of surprise.

‘I can see you're not impressed. I had mine done a year or two ago and it's surprising how true it's turned out to be. It says I must watch my liver and that I must take care not to get involved in legal matters. And here I am involved in a crime. That's a legal matter, isn't it?'

He was obviously a crank and eager to turn the conversation to his favourite topics. Littlejohn struggled to change the subject.

‘I wouldn't take it too seriously. You're not involved in the crime. The only thing you need do is to tell us anything you know which might help us to solve it.'

‘I guess you're right. There's nothing I know that would help. If I didn't know Mr. Kenneth so well I'd say he was the likely one to murder his brother, but Mr. Ken isn't that sort. No violence about him. But the things he's had to put up with must have been a great trial to him.'

‘For example?'

‘Well, they both wanted the same girl and Heck won her. And then he ill-treated her right under Mr. Ken's nose. It's a wonder Mr. Ken didn't give him a good thrashing. And then there's the business side. Mr. Heck wasn't interested except in the money. Mr. Kenneth did all the work
and Mr. Heck nearly ruined the firm with his expensive tastes. That sort of thing has been going on all their lives. Even when they were small children. Once, when Heck was about three, Mr. Kenneth tried to throw him through the window. . . .'

‘Indeed!'

‘Yes. They'd been quarrelling about something and Ken lost his temper and tried to push him through the bedroom window. Good job their mother was handy. . . .'

‘So Ken has a violent temper?'

‘Yes. Keeps it under control now, but I've seen him lose his temper a time or two with the workmen. How many family quarrels there have been I can't tell. They usually happen in private.'

The guests were beginning to filter back to the tables and the mayor appeared with his retinue. The sight of Pollitt seemed to annoy Lever.

‘There's that old bore Pollitt. You'd think he was president of the United States instead of mayor of a tinpot little town in a backwater. He has not much to look pleased about. He'll be lucky if he isn't made bankrupt before his term of office expires.'

‘What does he do?'

‘He's a speculative builder. He's no right to be mayor of the town where he's building. It gives him a privileged position and he's as crooked as they make 'em. His money's all out in a building estate on the shore near the Todds' place. Have you seen it?'

‘Yes. The houses don't seem to be going well there at all, do they?'

‘It's a dead-end. Lovely views, but it is windy and the sand blows about. Pollitt ought to have had more sense. Now he's stuck with a lot of houses and can't pay his bills.
Look at him now, with his big cigar. You'd think he was a millionaire.'

Suddenly Lever decided that he had better go before he got trapped in the speechmaking. He drank the last of his Vichy, thanked Littlejohn for his company, and bade him goodnight.

So, after all, Lever, in spite of the fact that he was one of Mrs. Todd's spies, hadn't been much use. Littlejohn hoped that Hoppy was making better headway. Judging from Dawson's chatter and gestures he had properly warmed up on whatever subject he was discussing with the young detective. Poor Hoppy looked quite bewildered.

The speeches came and went. The guests were, by now, mostly half or entirely drunk and gave them a good reception, although they were banal; even that of the bishop, who seemed to think he was addressing a rowing club instead of yachtsmen. The chief guest of the club made a few rabelaisian cracks which suited the atmosphere better and kept the company in good temper.

After the principal guests had gone the party slowly broke up. Hoppy and Dawson were still hard at it and departing together with Dawson's arm through Hoppy's like a couple of old pals. Littlejohn was greeted from all sides with a cordiality that seemed to express public confidence in his powers to lay the local murderer by the heels. He refused several offers of drinks. He felt he'd had enough for one night and that the fresh air would do him more good. He strolled through the door and along the quay.

The place was agog with guests shouting their good-byes and shunting their cars here and there. Beyond the harbour the old part of the town was quiet and asleep. The High Street was deserted, as a by-pass road from Portwich skirted the town and relieved it of most of the traffic.
In the distance departing cars kept up a continuous roar.

The night was now clear and chilly and the air smelled of seaweed. Without hat and coat Littlejohn walked briskly, his pipe between his teeth. He went as far as Pollitt's building plots and then turned about. Through the trees which surrounded the Big House the lights still shone from upper windows. All the estate opposite was in complete darkness, but Pollitt's sign was visible.
Sunshine Court Estate, Ltd.
in large letters was just legible. In the distance a dog was yapping and far out at sea was the light of a passing ship.

As soon as he turned into the High Street again Littlejohn knew that something was up. There were running feet and shouting voices; one louder than the rest was that of the local police sergeant telling them to keep back.

Littlejohn hurried to the group gathered round the doorway of one of the large Georgian houses at the corner where the High Street opened into the square.

One of the London reporters was already on the job. He button-holed Littlejohn.

‘It's the mayor. Somebody's tried to murder him on his own doorstep. It was a good thing there were people about. He shouted for help and the chap ran away through the square.'

The man who had come to the rescue was busy telling the sergeant, who had just dashed up, what had happened.

‘If I'd been a minute sooner I'd have caught him red-handed. I guess it's the same one who murdered Mr. Todd. If you ask me, he's a homicidal maniac.'

‘Calm down and begin at the beginning.'

‘There's not much to tell. I'm an under-chef at the
Trident
and I was going home to my lodgings in Sheep Street and I heard groans coming from here. . . . '

‘What's your name?'

‘Wilfred Brabham. I lodge with Mrs. Corris, 23 Sheep Street. . . .'

‘Go on. . . .'

‘Well I just found him lying here at the gate all crumpled up. At first I thought he was a drunk, but when I got out my torch and took a look at him I could see he'd been bashed on the head and face and was bleeding badly from his nose.'

‘Did you see anybody about?'

‘Not a soul at first. By the time I'd found my torch and seen what had happened, the man must have got away through the square and into the dark beyond.'

‘He might have gone the other way. You say you didn't see him. Did you hear him?'

‘I wasn't listening. I was so surprised at what I'd found.'

The man sniffed and blew his nose in his handkerchief.

Littlejohn edged his way through the crowd which had grown considerably. The mayor was lying where they'd found him, on his back his eyes fixed ahead. Now and then he uttered a groan, but didn't speak.

‘Where does he live?' said Littlejohn to the sergeant, who looked at him by the light of his lamp and almost crumpled up when he recognised him.

‘I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. . . . He lives here.'

He indicated the house behind. There was a wrought iron gate set in a row of old railings with a small garden.

‘Hadn't we better move him, sergeant?'

‘I thought we'd better leave him for the doctor. I've sent for Dr. Macmannus. With his having a head injury. . . . The skull might be fractured.'

Littlejohn borrowed the sergeant's torch and examined
Mr. Pollitt's face and head. As the light fell on him, the mayor closed his eyes, but didn't speak. Only another groan.

The blow was across the forehead as though the mayor's assailant hadn't quite known where he was hitting him. There were abrasions on the nose and chin, too, as if he'd damaged himself as he fell. There was a trickle of blood from the nostrils.

‘What was his position when you found him?'