Devious Murder Page 11

  ‘Cairncross? Yes. I remember him,’ said Sir Geoffrey. ‘He was an orderly with me in the Army at Cairo. He was in the police originally but, I seem to remember, he had some domestic trouble. Wife ran away, I think. He wanted to get away from the locality and asked if he could be released to join the Military Police. He served in North Africa and while he was there the big pushes started and we had a busy time in the Medicals. In fact, we were short of staff, specially nursing, and took in as orderlies some of the M.P.s who’d been trained in first-aid. Cairncross was seconded to me. He was a well-trained chap and interested in his work. He was with me for six months in the field and acted as an orderly in the operating theatres. He assisted quite a lot at operations. Not the actual surgery, but all the odd jobs which arise from it.’

  ‘He’d be present at operations and get some knowledge of the techniques, then?’

  ‘Without a doubt. He was a talkative, rather self-opinionated chap. He didn’t hesitate to discuss cases with me. No harm in that. I liked him and took him with me to Cairo in hospital there. Then we remained together during the crossing to Italy, where we parted company when I was called home. Haven’t seen him lately. How is he?’

  ‘He seems quite well and happy. He’s security officer for a millionaire.’

  ‘Good God! I hope he hasn’t been helping himself to his boss’s cash.’

  ‘No, sir. But someone else has robbed the boss’s safe. We are just formally checking up on the staff again.’

  ‘Including Cairncross?’

  ‘Including everyone.’

  ‘Well, Cairncross is all right. Or he was, when I knew him. As a matter of fact, I remember giving him a testimonial when he got a job with a security firm. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes; that’s what gave me the idea of calling to see you about him, sir.’

  ‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’

  ‘No. As I said, just routine.’

  Sir Geoffrey said he’d better be getting along; he couldn’t keep his patients waiting.

  ‘Come and talk to me again some time, Littlejohn. I’m interested in crime in an amateur way and don’t get much chance of talking it over with a professional policeman. I’ve got a good plot for a detective story and when I retire next year I may settle down and write it.’

  They all said that! Littlejohn gave him some words of encouragement and they parted on the best of terms.

  Littlejohn made his way back to Orchard Court. He had spent so much time moving from place to place in the tangle of the Blunt case that he felt he’d lost the atmosphere of the flat. He found Pickup in his cubby-hole talking with a large, young, shaggy, bearded man who made off as Littlejohn appeared.

  ‘That’s not one of the tenants, is it?’

  ‘It certainly is, sir.’

  Pickup looked very proud of the encounter.

  ‘That’s Bosco McBurnie, the pop folk-singer. He spends a lot of time in America. He’s made a fortune there and lives here when he’s at home, in the penthouse flat. He’s off again on tour in the U.S.A. tomorrow. There’ll be a crowd of screaming, fainting women, seeing him off at Heathrow in the morning … How are you getting on with whoever killed poor Mr. Blunt?’

  ‘We’re still pursuing our inquiries. I’d like to see the flat again, if you please. You’ve kept the place locked, I hope, since last we were here.’

  ‘Of course. We’ve had some newspaper men round, but I told them the flat was locked up on police instructions. I hope I did right. They didn’t like it, of course, but I stuck to my guns. I don’t want the place to be a public show and have people tramping about it. The owners wouldn’t like it. The only people I allowed in for a short time were Mr. Cairncross and Mr. Leo Havenith, who came in together, Mr. Leo being curious about where the dead man had lived and him being able to see all that went on in most of the rooms at The Limes. I thought that would be in order. Mr. Cairncross being, so to speak, a detective as well.’

  Pickup kept talking and Littlejohn only heard half of it. He wondered what Cairncross had been up to, bringing Leo to look over the flat, and presumably telling him all about Blunt and his plans.

  ‘Did Cairncross ever interest himself in these flats before the crime was committed?’

  ‘Well, him and me were friends, so to speak. He often came round to have a chat. Time hangs heavy on one’s hands in a place like this. He’d bring a couple of bottles of beer and we’d enjoy one another’s company for a bit.’

  ‘Was he curious about the flats and their owners?’

  ‘In the course of conversation we’d talk about them, of course. You’d expect that, wouldn’t you? It’s my job and I take an interest in what goes on.’

  ‘Did you ever take him over the flats when they were empty?’

  ‘I’ve done that a time or two. You see, it’s part of his profession as detective getting to know all that happens here. After all, he works next door, doesn’t he?’

  Pickup spoke seriously. He didn’t seem to see that Littlejohn was gathering information and not gossip. Or that he was bored by the time it took him to get to the point.

  ‘I suppose you took him to see Blunt’s flat when Blunt was out. Did Cairncross ask to see it?’

  ‘Yes. I’d been telling him how neat and tidy the occupier was and he said he’d like to take a look.’

  ‘You were with him, of course?’

  ‘Of course. I took him up and went in with him.’

  ‘Did he make any comments?’

  ‘Not particularly, that I remember. He said the same as you about the full view, inside and out, of The Limes, that could be seen through the large side window. He asked about Charles Blunt, in the same way that you’ve done. All you detectives are alike.’

  ‘Were the field-glasses there?’

  ‘Yes. He took a look through them and said he wished his own were as good. Are you going up to the flat again?’

  ‘What had Leo to say about it all?’

  ‘Nothing much. He seemed bored with it. I suppose he’s used to luxury and isn’t much interested in a place like this. He was in a hurry to get away.’

  ‘Let’s go upstairs, then,’ said Littlejohn.

  The flat was just the same. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed since last he was there. He looked down through the window at The Limes. There was nobody about. Cromwell’s car was in the forecourt and he wondered how his colleague was getting on inside. The curtains of the windows facing were all drawn and there was nothing to be seen of what was happening in the house. In the garage behind, the door was open and a large expensive car was standing there.

  Suddenly, he became aware that somebody was staring through the window of one of the flats above the garages. It was Morgan, his eyes fixed in the direction of Cromwell’s car as though he were waiting for Cromwell to drive it away.

  Littlejohn thanked Pickup and made an excuse to leave him. Pickup seemed disappointed. There wasn’t much to do and he was grateful for any company. There was a wicket gate in the wall surrounding Orchard Court.

  ‘Is that the way Cairncross comes when he visits you?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a similar side-gate in The Limes. It’s handy, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think I’ll go that way.…’

  Thus avoiding the watcher from the garages, Littlejohn made his way to the door and softly climbed the stairs to the room where Morgan was watching. He tapped and opened the door.

  The room was furnished frugally and the bed was sheeted. It must have been part of the suite which the Morgans occupied when the house was full and they had to sleep elsewhere. The gas-fire was lit and Mrs. Morgan was sitting in front of it reading a magazine. Morgan was at the window. They both jumped to attention when Littlejohn entered, as though they’d been up to some mischief.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Littlejohn.

  They answered with a sulky greeting.

  ‘Were you wanting someone, sir?’ said Mrs. Morgan, the first to recover her aplomb.

  ‘I’ve been s
eeking an opportunity for a quiet talk with you and your husband, Mrs. Morgan, and I took the chance of coming in here when I saw him at the window.…’

  They were both disconcerted and she seemed to think she ought to explain their presence there.

  ‘These are our quarters when we aren’t living in the house, which sometimes happens when there are a lot of guests. We were just looking it over to see that everything was all right.’

  ‘I see that Superintendent Cromwell is paying a visit at the house. Are you sure you won’t be required there?’

  ‘He must have arrived while we were busy here.’

  Morgan chipped in with a lame excuse. They didn’t seem very busy. Either they had thought it wise to hide themselves from the Superintendent, or else they’d been sent there.

  ‘Never mind. It gives me a chance for a few questions. Shall we sit down?’

  Littlejohn squeezed himself into a small bedroom chair and stretched out his legs.

  ‘We must be getting back. They’ll wonder where we are.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We won’t be disturbed here. Do relax and take a seat.’

  They reluctantly drew up two little cane-bottomed bedroom chairs and sat obediently on them.

  Littlejohn lit his pipe. Morgan must have regarded this as unspoken permission to smoke himself and took out a cigarette and lit it.

  ‘You’re both well-established servants of the Havenith family and you, Mr. Morgan, have been in the police force.…’

  Mrs. Morgan, now recovered from the initial shock, began to assert herself.

  ‘I don’t like this. I think we ought to go. Mrs. Havenith wouldn’t like it either. It seems a bit underhand.’

  ‘I think, Mrs. Morgan, you would rather answer my questions quietly here, than in the local police station. This is a murder inquiry and you may be an important witness. Your husband will tell you that it doesn’t do to hinder the police in their duties.’

  ‘We’ve nothing more to tell you. If we had anything to say concerning the murder we’d have said it right away when you were here before.’

  ‘Don’t let’s argue about it. I wish to know whether or not Mrs. Havenith and Mr. Leo are lovers.…’

  Mrs. Morgan looked horrified at the very suggestion, but it was a bit overdone.

  ‘I don’t know. Why should I? They don’t tell me such things.’

  Morgan, hovering uneasily on the fringe of the interview, spoke out, taking care not to meet his wife’s eyes as he did so.

  ‘You better tell the truth, Beulah. It is no use trying to evade a police question. It will catch up with you.’

  He turned to Littlejohn.

  ‘My wife has delicate feelings. She’s a good woman and dislikes such things. It was no business of ours what Mrs. Havenith and Mr. Leo did, but that didn’t prevent our disapproving of it. In the same bed with Mr. Leo, and her a married woman, was indecent to our way of thinking. But if we had left and taken a similar post elsewhere, the same might have happened. It seems to be a commonplace in these wicked days.’

  Mrs. Morgan, now recovered from her husband’s intrusion, nodded approvingly. Littlejohn remembered that they were members of the strict Welsh chapel, and was amused at Morgan’s way of getting round their scruples. Morgan lapsed into Welsh for a brief moment. The only words that Littlejohn understood were Sodom and Gomorrah, from which he gathered that Morgan was prophesying the destruction of The Limes by brimestone and fire.

  ‘Shall we continue in English, Mr. Morgan … now please tell me exactly what happened on the night before Mrs. Havenith left for the country.’

  Morgan looked to his wife for support. She seemed glad to take over as dominant partner.

  ‘They went off to the theatre, but did not stay. Mrs. Havenith had one of her headaches and they turned back and came home.’

  ‘Arriving back about nine o’clock?’

  ‘That is right. It was just after nine by the wireless to which we were listening when the door-bell rang and there they were.’

  ‘And then …?’

  ‘They had supper and retired.’

  ‘What did they eat for supper?’

  ‘It was a light one. Chicken sandwiches and champagne.’

  ‘In spite of Mrs. Havenith’s headache?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps the headache was an excuse for getting rid of their friends and having the rest of the night to themselves.’

  ‘Perhaps it was.’

  ‘Did Mrs. Havenith wear her diamonds for the evening?’

  ‘No. She only wore them for special occasions. They were in the safe. Much of her valuable jewellery had gone to the bank as she had left for the country, but she was going to Deauville shortly and wanted the diamonds there. So they were put in the safe.’

  ‘And were the pair of them in Mrs. Havenith’s bedroom that night?’

  The Morgans looked questioningly at each other as though wondering which was going to give the fatal answer.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Morgan.

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘About nine-thirty. I served the supper in her room. We retired after that.…’

  Littlejohn could imagine them in their quarters on the floor above, watching and listening along the corridors, and whispering.

  ‘Where was Cairncross while all this was going on?’

  ‘He made his rounds at nine o’clock, checked the alarms and then returned to his own flat.’

  ‘Was that his last routine of the day?’

  ‘No. He made another at midnight and then retired for the night.’

  ‘On the night in question, did he adhere strictly to his routine?’

  ‘Yes. We saw him at nine o’clock and bade him good night.’

  ‘If there is any traffic, say someone coming to or going from The Limes, you would, of course, overhear it?’

  ‘In a way, yes. The cars have to pass across the yard to the garages. Sometimes, however, it’s difficult making out if traffic is entering or leaving our garages or those of Orchard Court next door. The Orchard Court garages are built close to the dividing wall between the two properties and with there being a number of flats serviced by them there is sometimes coming and going in the small hours.’

  ‘I suppose there was the usual traffic on the night in which we are interested?’

  ‘I really can’t tell you. We were both asleep shortly after midnight and have grown used to the traffic, which rarely disturbs us.’

  ‘You saw Mrs. Havenith to bed that night, Mrs. Morgan?’

  ‘Yes. I always help her to undress when she’s in residence here. I helped her that night and left her in her negligée and then Mr. Leo came and I served the supper.’

  ‘Wasn’t it rather a risky business for her indulging in such blatant behaviour in front of you? She rather placed herself at your mercy. If her husband got to know.…’

  Mrs. Morgan stiffened.

  ‘She trusted me absolutely. I am not one to talk about such matters. As I said, such behaviour seems commonplace now and I have grown used to it. I am only telling you because, from what I have learned of the police from my husband’s experience, this information will not be made public. You understand that? You will not divulge to Mrs. Havenith or anyone else what I have told you?’

  ‘You may depend on us. Did Mrs. Havenith seem herself that night?’

  ‘She was a bit excited, as she was leaving for the Cotswolds early the following morning. She always looked forward to that.’

  ‘And while she was away, you kept her informed of what was going on here?’

  ‘I particularly did so on this occasion. After all, it is not usual for the police to be about the house on a murder case. I thought it my duty to let her know.’

  ‘I believe Mrs. Havenith always retired with the alarm turned off.…’

  ‘She says she can’t sleep when it is turned on; she keeps wondering when it will start ringing.’

  ‘And with the window open?’

 
‘Yes. She can’t sleep when it’s closed.’

  Morgan, who had been listening patiently, suddenly boiled over. He sounded really annoyed.

  ‘It’s a wonder she ever sleeps at all, the fuss she makes. You could write a book about what goes on in that bedroom!’

  Littlejohn almost laughed outright at the look of amazed bewilderment his wife gave him.

  Chapter 10

  Littlejohn is Angry

  ‘We’re getting near the truth, I think. We’ve got a jumbled lot of information. It’s simply a matter of sorting it out.…’

  Littlejohn thought Cromwell was being a bit optimistic, but Cromwell was that way. He often turned out to be right.

  They were sitting in Littlejohn’s room at Scotland Yard, drinking coffee. So many things had happened since Charles Blunt’s death that the two detectives hadn’t much time for anything else. This morning they had both stayed indoors to clear up routine work.

  Littlejohn was going with Blunt’s father to the crematorium at noon. He wore a dark suit and a black tie. It seemed a bit strange for a policeman to wear mourning for a crook, but he thought it would please the old man. Charles Blunt was going to be more comfortably disposed of than his associate Kaltbad, of whom no relatives had been traced and whose body was in the official refrigerators waiting for something to turn up.

  ‘Let’s just go through the case,’ said Cromwell, ‘and see if we can get things in order.…’