Devious Murder Read online

  ‘How did you know all this?’

  ‘I heard Mrs. Havenith telling Mrs. Morgan several days before she left for the Cotswolds.’

  ‘Did your husband know of these arrangements?’

  ‘Yes. I saw him a few days before his death. The diamonds weren’t his concern, but he was interested in all that went on there.’

  ‘You met your husband from time to time while you were there: where did you meet?’

  ‘At the house in Barnet. I saw more of him while we were working together at Tolham. As a rule, he’d be away for months on a case and I wouldn’t see anything of him.’

  ‘Did you ever see him at Tolham?’

  ‘Not once. I never saw him in his flat or about the village. He was a careful man. He must have been a good detective.’

  Littlejohn and Cromwell kept straight faces, although there was grim humour in some of Mrs. Blunt’s information.

  ‘Had you ever worked with your husband before?’

  ‘No. That was the first time. It was Charles who suggested it. He asked if I’d like a job; it would be good for me, me being alone so much.’

  ‘How did you come to encounter Mr. Binder?’

  ‘The man who was caretaker of Charles’s flat used to talk to him sometimes and had mentioned that they were taking on extra staff at The Limes. He was a friend of Mr. Cairncross, who used to gossip with him now and then, and told him things that happened next door. Charles must have asked him where the staff came from and the man must have told him about the agency. I applied there and asked if I could go to Tolham. Mr. Binder said there was a vacancy and I got the job. I was in service before I married Charles, so I didn’t find it difficult. I had some old references and Charles and some of his friends must have spoken to Mr. Binder about me, because when I called on Mr. Binder he said he’d expected me. A Mr. Fairbrother had spoken to him about me. I never knew anybody of that name, but I didn’t say anything. I thought Charles had arranged it.’

  Everything laid on with care and skill. That was Charles. And all the time he had engineered a massive confidence trick, involving his wife and even his old father in his schemes. Tucked away in Barnet and the old folks’ home, they never met to compare notes or throw spanners in Charles’s enterprises. Littlejohn’s former reluctant admiration of Charles turned to contempt.

  He thought he’d better leave matters for the time being and not question her further, otherwise she might grow suspicious and herself begin to ask questions, the answers to which might come as a terrible shock.

  ‘Well, I think that will be all for the time being. I’m very grateful for the help you’ve given us in our investigations of your husband’s death. We must meet again. I’ll get in touch with you if you can be of further assistance.’

  She shook hands with them both and Littlejohn saw her off in the official car.

  ‘I’m very sorry about all your trouble, Mrs. Blunt,’ said Littlejohn, as they said good-bye again.

  ‘I hope you find out soon who did it. Charles was a good man and didn’t deserve this.…’

  Her voice broke for the first time. Littlejohn just nodded sympathetically, but felt very angry.

  Chapter 11

  Who Killed Charles Blunt?

  Inspector Toft, of the Tolham police, sounded excited as he telephoned Littlejohn.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t get you before, sir. It’s about the taxi on the night of Blunt’s murder. We’ve traced the man who took him from Tolham to Mountjoy, Hampstead.’

  ‘Splendid! What has the man to say about it?’

  Toft laughed nervously.

  ‘You’ll be surprised when I tell you, sir.…’

  He seemed to be holding the climax as long as he could.

  ‘There were three taxis concerned instead of one. There were five of them in the station cab rank that night, which was most unusual. You’ve usually difficulty in finding one. But it was pouring with rain all night which damped all the runabout trade of taxis; people preferred to stay indoors. So the men stood in the cab rank and waited for incoming trains for local passengers wanting a lift home.’

  ‘Yes. Well…?’

  ‘The first cab in the rank was driven by a fellow called Alfie Watt. At about 9.45 – Watt knew the time because the Tolham-London Bridge train had just left the station – at about 9.45 a man hurried out of the darkness and jumped in his cab. He wanted to go to Hampstead, asked Watt to hurry and he’d tell him the exact address when they got there. So away they went. Acting on instructions, he took his fare to what he described as a large house, with Mountjoy on the gate and a For Sale sign hanging over the front garden wall. He dropped his man there after being told to return in about half-an-hour. Watt said his fare told him not to hang about in the road, but to go and get himself a hot drink and then come back. He paid the fare and some more for a drink and then disappeared along the drive up to the house.’

  Littlejohn was growing a bit impatient, with the telephone screwed in his ear and Toft at the other end apparently thoroughly enjoying himself by prolonging his dramatic story.

  ‘Can you be a little more brief, Toft? It looks as though we will have to interview the taxi drivers in person and I’m anxious to do it as soon as possible.…’

  ‘Sorry, sir. It amounts to this. Two other men, next in the rank, Gus Treadwell and Victor Monk, said that they also got fares at the same time. As Alfie Watt’s cab moved out of the forecourt, another man came out of the dark, jumped in Treadwell’s taxi and told him to follow Watt’s taxi and not, if possible, let them know they were being followed. And exactly the same happened with Monk. A man cautiously appeared, jumped in the cab and said the same thing about Treadwell’s journey. Follow, but don’t be seen, so to speak. So the lot went to Hampstead, presumably in a procession without knowing it. The men in the last two cabs got out, paid up, one of them ordering Treadwell to wait in the next road and the other telling Monk he wouldn’t be long, not to wait at the gate, but go and park a good way down the road.’

  ‘And then …?’

  ‘None of the three men who’d engaged the taxis came back. The taxi men were left in the lurch.…’

  Littlejohn was listening but he would have found it hard to write an account of what he heard. He was concentrating on the procession of cabs from Tolham to Hampstead. Blunt, Cairncross and Leo.… Who else could it be? Then another procession as, one by one, the three of them vanished in the rain at Mountjoy and left the cabbies in the lurch.

  ‘Collect the three taxi men, Toft. I want to hear what they have to say about that night’s events. I’ll be with you in half-an-hour.…’

  ‘On his way Littlejohn called on Cromwell.

  ‘You ought to be in on this, Bob. Instead of finding one taxi driver involved on the night Blunt died, Toft found there were three. He rang me up and seemed a bit excited, as though wondering how many more he was going to find.’

  Toft was waiting with his three cabbies when they arrived. They were an assorted lot, all typical London characters. They weren’t put out at all by the arrival of a pair of Scotland Yard officers. In the course of their trade they were used to all sorts. Alfie Watt started to talk almost before Littlejohn and Cromwell were in the room. He was a small chubby man with a round red face and he wore an assortment of clothes; a grey polo pullover, flannel trousers and an old jacket. He was obviously the leader of the disgruntled trio now sitting there drinking police station tea. He was a left wing politician and the self-appointed shop steward of the cab rank.

  ‘Have you two come to investigate the crooks who ditched us the other night?’

  Littlejohn left them to Cromwell who was used to handling such characters.

  Toft intervened to introduce the cab men. Gus Treadwell was a thin man and tall with it. He wore a perpetual stoop through bending over people who were smaller than himself, and through folding himself in his driver’s seat which was too small for him. He was neatly dressed in a worn sporty suit and he wore a hat with a feather in the ban
d.

  ‘Take your hat off, Gus,’ said Watt.

  Treadwell meekly obeyed.

  Monk was a little grey man; grey suit; grey complexion; grey washed-out eyes. He was very polite and a cut above the other two, for he owned his own cab and the others worked on commission for a company. Monk had an ulcer which deprived him of energy and enterprise. Watt took Monk under his wing, saying of him ‘he’d do away with himself if he hadn’t got somebody to cheer him up now and then’.

  Watt repeated his greeting.

  ‘Have you come to investigate the crooks …?’

  ‘Why didn’t you report it earlier to Inspector Toft?’

  ‘What are we here for? We’ve already reported it.’

  ‘Yes, but you gave him the trouble of seeking you out from all the other taximen of the neighbourhood.’

  ‘We thought the police wouldn’t be able to do much. It was in the dark and raining cats and dogs. We was all wet through with trying to find out where they’d gone. Monk there isn’t strong. It’s a wonder he didn’t get his death of cold.’

  To confirm this Monk started to cough hoarsely.

  ‘Take a drink of your tea, Vic. Get the phlegm off your chest.’

  Watt then turned to Cromwell again and resumed business.

  ‘I’ve been asking Inspector Toft if there’ll be any expenses in connection with this interview. We’re missing fares in the cab rank, you know.’

  ‘Never mind that now. Let’s get on with your affair of the other night.’

  ‘Have we to tell it all over again? This makes the third time.’

  ‘Let’s have it again, then.’

  ‘Well, it was like this.…’

  And out came the rigmarole once more. Now and then his companions chimed in supplementing Mr. Watt’s narrative, or else correcting some point in it, which irritated him.

  Finally, Littlejohn produced a photograph of Blunt, taken after his death. It gave Watt quite a turn.

  ‘Cor blimey! Is he dead?’

  ‘Do you never read the paper, Mr. Watt?’

  ‘From one end to another, while waiting for fares.’

  ‘Well, didn’t you read about the crime at Mountjoy, Hampstead?’

  ‘Was that my bloke? The one who vanished?’

  He put on an act of being staggered by the news but it wasn’t very convincing. The truth was that, like many others, he didn’t want to be involved in a police case. The expressions on the faces of Treadwell and Monk told the same tale. They had probably discussed it between them and decided to keep out of it.

  ‘Was that your man?’

  Littlejohn pointed to the photograph.

  ‘It could be. But, as I said, it was dark and raining like ’ell, and he was in and out of my cab in a real hurry. Was he a crook?’

  ‘You know he was. He lived in Tolham and fetched up in Hampstead where he was murdered. You took him to Hampstead.’

  ‘Are you insinuatin’ that I did him in?’

  ‘Not at all.…’

  ‘Because Gus and Vic was just behind me all the way and they’ll support me.’

  ‘Never mind that. We’ll assume that was the man.’

  ‘I never swore that it was. As I was saying.…’

  ‘Mr. Treadwell next. Did you get a look at your man?’

  ‘I didn’t get a proper look either.…’

  ‘Listen to me, the three of you. If we find your fares of the other night you’ll get paid for the time they wasted and you, Mr. Watt, even if your fare was killed, will get your pay from the police if nobody else pays you. So just co-operate and stop hedging. You’re not under suspicion. Now, Mr. Treadwell.…’

  ‘I said I didn’t see his face proper. He was a burly sort of man, with a moustache and he had a West Country accent.…’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘My sister lives at Cheddar. They speak like him there. I go to see my sister for holidays.…’

  ‘He’s not married,’ Watt said by way of explanation.

  ‘Anything else …?’

  ‘He’d a moustache, I think.’

  ‘Was that all?’

  ‘He wore a hat.…’

  ‘What sort of a hat?’

  ‘All I know it was a hat.’

  ‘And your man, Mr. Monk?’

  Monk had been sitting quietly, apparently unmoved by his part in the affair. He looked as though he were in the grip of one of the moods in which he considered doing away with himself.

  ‘You wot?’ he said to Cromwell.

  ‘What was your fare like the other night? The one who left you in the lurch.’

  ‘Oh, that one. He didn’t wear a hat.’

  ‘Not again!’

  ‘Give me a chance. He didn’t wear a coat, either. He had on a dinner jacket, and he sounded, from his breathing, as if he’d been running. He just dived in the cab, said “follow that taxi and don’t let them see you doin’ it” and off we went. Then when we got to the house in Hampstead.…’

  ‘Mountjoy,’ interjected Mr. Watt.

  ‘You wot? When we got to the house he told me to wait, but not in front of the house, and he’d be back. He never came.’

  ‘We know that. But what did he look like?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was dark, you see, and raining hard. There’s no light in the cab and what with keeping following Gus’s cab I was fully occupied. And when we all got there, well … he didn’t stand about in the rain. Just gave the instructions and off.’

  ‘What did he speak like?’

  ‘He didn’t say much, but what he did say sounded foreign to me. American. That’s it. American. But not too much. Not like they do on the telly. Sort of just a trace, as though he’d been away from America for a while and got out of it a bit.’

  There they were. Blunt, Cairncross and Leo. What had they all been up to on the night of the crime?

  ‘And now, Mr. Watt,’ said Littlejohn, ‘we’ve got as far as the gates of Mountjoy and your fare has left you to wait for him. What did you do then?’

  ‘As I said, I hung about for over an hour and then I went up to the house and it was in darkness.’

  ‘What time would that be?’

  ‘About half-past twelve. I looked at my watch.’

  ‘So, you decided to go back to Tolham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see Treadwell and Monk in the course of your hanging about?’

  ‘Yes. After I left the bloke at Mountjoy, I went to find where I could get a drink. There was a pub two roads away, the King William, I think it was. I got a quick nip of rum and then on my way back to the house I met Gus, waiting round the corner too. Then we both went back to Mountjoy. And a hundred yards or so down the road we comes across Victor, also with a fare to Mountjoy. I asked Victor if any more from our cab rank was in the district.’

  There was something uneasy in the trio. They seemed to be waiting for a question they were afraid to answer and Watt was beginning to perspire.

  ‘Let us get these times more exactly. The three of you left Tolham at 9.45.…’

  All three of them said ‘Right’, as though relieved by the simple question.

  ‘What time did you reach Hampstead?’

  ‘I got to Mountjoy at just after 10.15. I had a fast run as the bloke in the back was in a hurry and being such a bad night there was hardly any traffic on the way.’

  ‘And that applied to the other two, I suppose. You, Mr. Watt, were setting the pace.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And one by one you all deposited your fares at the gates of Mountjoy and then scattered yourselves in the immediate locality?’

  They all said they did.

  ‘You, Mr. Watt, went for a drink and then returned. Did you meet Gus Treadwell right away as you returned?’

  ‘Yes. I left him while I went to see if anything was happening at Mountjoy. There was no sign of the man, so I went back to where Gus was and found Vic was with him.…’

  Littlejohn raised his ha
nd.

  ‘Just a minute, Watt. Suppose you tell me the truth about what happened after your client left you and went in Mountjoy.…’

  Watt pretended to be affronted.

  ‘Don’t you believe me? Are you callin’ me a liar?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know whether or not you and your two friends here have concocted your tale between you, but it isn’t true. Is it?’

  ‘If that’s the way you’re taking it, there’s nothing more to be said.…’

  ‘Very well. We’ll deal with the matter officially. You’ll all be charged with obstructing the police in the discharge of their duties.…’

  ‘You can’t do that. There was nobody about that night we went to Mountjoy, except us and our fares. You couldn’t know.…’

  ‘It may surprise you, Watt, to know that I was there shortly after 11.00 and there wasn’t a sight of any of you.’

  Littlejohn looked from one to another of the trio. Only Victor was unmoved. He seemed to be living in a little world of his own. Watt was sweating profusely and Treadwell seemed to have shrunk in size.

  ‘Well, you’re the spokesman, Watt. What is it to be? The truth won’t do you any harm. It isn’t likely that you murdered your fare. What happened?’

  Watt clutched at a straw to get him out of the mess in which his tale had landed him.

  ‘I got confused in what I was telling you, sir. It’s simple really. When the three of us met and compared notes we decided that we were on the same job, more or less. So we parked ourselves together and all sat in my cab and talked and smoked, meanwhile keeping an eye on the gates at Mountjoy. Suddenly, we see a police car arrive there and a squad of men.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About 11.30?’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘We reckoned there was no good our joining in with the police. There were enough of them. We’d seen nothing unusual going on at Mountjoy. If we told the police we’d been there all the time, we’d have been up all night, making statements about nothing at all. We decided to clear off and we went back to Tolham right away.’