The Body in the Dumb River Page 14

  ‘I understand.’

  He did, too. He’d once attended such a service himself when a criminal had sought refuge there and he’d sat and waited until it was over.

  ‘I wanted you to know that on that night there were some strange coming and goings at the Scott-Harris house, which is almost opposite the Citadel.’

  ‘Just tell me exactly what happened, then, and my colleague will take it down in his notebook.’

  Littlejohn offered him his cigarette case, but the man shook his head.

  ‘Thank you. I don’t smoke. Well, first of all, just after seven, the Teasdales arrived there in their car. I’d recognise it anywhere. They called at that time every Sunday as a matter of habit. I’ve often seen them when it’s been my turn on duty. He brought his wife to see her father, saw her indoors and then, as a rule, he’d leave about ten minutes later, presumably to go to wherever he was travelling for the week. He was a commercial traveller, you know.’

  Obviously the whole scandal—the fairground saga and Martha Gomm—wasn’t yet public property. Harry Wood had probably told the truth. He’d kept it dark for his own purposes.

  “This night, however, he stayed indoors longer. Whilst he was inside, there was another visitor. I knew him, too. A man called Harry Wood. He’s a singer and has been singing at the Citadel sometimes. That was about ten minutes after the Teasdales arrived.’

  Through the car window, Littlejohn could see the second funeral ending. Not so elaborate, this time. Probably third-class. There was a mere handful of mourners, who seemed a happy lot. They were parting from one another in a frenzy of handshakes, like a party dancing the lancers.

  ‘Twenty minutes later, about seven-thirty, Wood came out and hurried away. I went inside after that, but my friend, Grimes, who followed me on duty at the door, told me later that about 8.30, Mr. Scott-Harris’s servant… I’ve forgotten his name…’

  ‘Ryder.’

  ‘That’s it. Ryder. He drove Teasdale’s car, which was standing in front of the house, round the street at the side of the house. It’s just a sort of cul-de-sac which leads to the old coach-house. I know that part, because when the Salvation Army first came to Basilden years ago, Mr. Scott-Harris rented the stables to them. They cleaned them out and used them as a citadel for some time, until Mr. Scott-Harris said they made too much noise and told them to leave. They hadn’t much money in those days and the rent was low…’

  ‘And that’s all you have to tell me, sir. Thank you. It’s been most useful…’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. Excuse me if I’m taking up a lot of your time. It’s probably no use at all. You’d find it out yourself, I’m sure. But I thought…’

  ‘Please go on, Mr.…’

  ‘The name’s Smith. John Smith.’

  ‘And your address, sir?’

  Mr. Smith suddenly seemed to realise that Cromwell was there and was surprised.

  ‘Fifteen, Duddle Street. Shall I go on?’

  ‘By all means, sir.’

  ‘At about nine-thirty, as we were finally leaving the Citadel, I saw Teasdale’s car appear from the back and Teasdale drove away.’

  ‘Did you actually see Teasdale?’

  ‘Not really. It was pitch dark outside, except that there’s a lamp in front of Scott-Harris’s front gate and a patch of light made by our windows and doorway just opposite the Citadel.’

  ‘So, if the car was driven, from the back, one couldn’t see who was in it.’

  ‘No. It’s a saloon and there are no lights inside. In fact, I think what made me remember it was the fact that there was something wrong with the rear light. It kept bobbing out and then in again.’

  That was right! It had conked out altogether later in the night.

  ‘And that’s all, sir?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. I don’t suppose it’s of much use, but seeing the matter is one of murder, I had it on my conscience a bit.’

  ‘It’s most useful, sir. And now we’ll take you to town.’

  It was noon when they arrived back. The market was still going it full steam and was now crowded by work people taking their lunch-time break. The dog was there again, seeking another chance to snatch a chicken. The owner of the stall, unaware of its former treachery, was feeding it with pieces of cheese-rind, which it chewed with disdain.

  At the police station there was still no news of Ryder. Trains, taxis, buses had all been subjected to enquiries, but nobody had seen the batman.

  ‘What does Harry Wood do for a living apart from singing bass?’

  Inspector Naizbitt looked bewildered.

  ‘How does he come in it?’

  ‘He saw Teasdale at Lowestoft Fair and told Ryder about it. He was also seen entering and leaving the Scott-Harris house last Sunday night whilst Teasdale was there.’

  Naizbitt whistled.

  ‘Was he, now? He always seemed a decent law-abiding citizen to me. However, one never knows. He’s a cashier in a local tannery. We’d better pull him in if you want to question him. You’ll not find it pleasant meeting him at the works. The stench is terrific.’

  ‘Will you send for him, then? We’ll have some lunch at the Swan and be back here at two-thirty. Scott-Harris wasn’t at the funeral.’

  ‘It’s not to be wondered at. He couldn’t stand Teasdale. All the same, you’d have thought, being it’s one of the family, however much he hated him, he’d have put in an appearance. I suppose he thought it infra dig some way. Shall I send round and find out what’s happening at Rangoon?’

  ‘I think not. We’d better go ourselves after we’ve seen Harry Wood. By the way, what state of health is Scott-Harris in?’

  ‘Not bad. For one so heavy, he seems to get about quite well. A bit short of breath and florid; but what can you expect? I guess he’ll drop dead one day, however, in some awkward spot and give us a lot of trouble. I hear he was out of doors at half-past eleven.’

  ‘Whatever was he doing? If he could come to town, surely he was fit enough for the funeral.’

  ‘You might guess. The licensed wine-shops were just open and he was in town buying whisky. With Ryder missing, he’s having to do his own chores. He must have run out of whisky drinking to Teasdale’s safe departure.’

  ‘He drove to the shops, I presume?’

  ‘Yes. That’s how we knew. Parked on the wrong side, as usual, and gave a lot of back-chat to the constable who told him about it. He didn’t get booked, however. Some of his old pals are still on the bench and it’s a bit awkward dragging him in front of them. He drove off quickly with half a dozen bottles, so our man didn’t persist. He said that Scott-Harris seemed much the worse for wear. He was either ill or tight. He could hardly hold himself together.’

  At the Swan, Littlejohn and Cromwell lunched in a small room at the back. The usual dining-room was fully occupied by Teasdale’s mourners. Mrs. Teasdale had been excused on account of her recent collapse, and the rest were enjoying a good meal. Drinks, too, judging from the noise, and, as the two detectives passed the door, they saw one of the elderly relatives making up for his recent compulsive sadness by slapping a buxom waitress on the behind.

  13

  The Witness

  Harry Wood was in his working clothes when Littlejohn found him at the police station. He didn’t look at his best. He wasn’t in a good temper, either.

  ‘I wish you’d confine your enquiries to times when I’m not supposed to be at work. What does it look like, a bobby turning up and saying I’m wanted at the police station? To say nothing of asking off and having to explain what it’s all about. Couldn’t it have waited?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been bothered at all, Mr. Wood, if you’d been a little more forthcoming last time we were together. Where were you last Sunday night?’

  Wood’s little dark eyes grew even more shifty than usual. Littlejohn couldn’t
help associating him with opera and now he thought how well he would look as the hunchback in Pagliacci, first singing the prologue, and then hatching out a double murder.

  ‘That’s easy…’

  Harry Wood’s self-confidence returned and he smiled affably.

  ‘I was singing at the British Legion concert. Anybody’ll tell you that, if you want an alibi.’

  ‘Where did you call on your way to the Legion?’

  ‘Look here; this is a bit thick. I hope you don’t suspect me of… What is it you’re after…? The murderer of Jim Teasdale? I was in Basilden all night on Sunday and half the town can prove it.’

  ‘Where were you between seven and seven-thirty?’

  ‘At home, getting ready to keep my engagement at the Legion.’

  ‘You were not. You were at the Scott-Harris home until seven-thirty. What were you doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whoever told you that is a liar.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell you, then, Mr. Wood. Some time ago, you saw and recognised James Teasdale in Lowestoft. You admitted that.’

  ‘I did. I was honest with you and this is what I get. You’re trying to mix me up with this murder.’

  ‘You told Ryder, who, in turn, told Major Scott-Harris. The old man could never resist a chance of taking Teasdale down, of humiliating him. Here was just what he wanted. A big row with Teasdale. He’d been ashamed of his son-in-law ever since he married his daughter and he was eager to get a cheap revenge on him. He wasn’t content with denouncing him on the mere information given by Ryder. He had to go the whole hog and face Teasdale with the man who’d seen him at Lowestoft, with his hoop-la stall and his other woman. He arranged with Ryder for you to be there when Teasdale and his wife made their usual Sunday evening call.’

  Harry Wood looked round the room as though seeking someone to witness the rubbish Littlejohn was talking. Instead, he met the cold eyes of Cromwell and Inspector Naizbitt.

  ‘Where did you get that tale? Has Scott-Harris told you?’

  ‘If you wish to be faced by those who saw you, I can arrange it. But it will be the worse for you. I believe that during or after that meeting, James Teasdale met his death. If you don’t want to be mixed up in a murder case, Mr. Wood, you’d better co-operate quickly.’

  Wood licked his lips. He hadn’t had a shave for the day and he was beginning to sweat with fear. He looked a bit like a thug, now.

  ‘I was only there for a few minutes. I was asked by Ryder to call and confirm the story he’d told Mr. Scott-Harris. The major half thought Ryder had made it up. He thought that if I turned up unexpectedly it would give Jimmie Teasdale the surprise of his life. And, by gad, it did!’

  ‘Tell us exactly what happened.’

  Wood looked more at his ease now. He fished in his pocket and took out a soiled packet of cigarettes.

  ‘No smoking in here,’ said Naizbitt.

  ‘You’ve a nerve! Here I am helping the police and…’

  ‘Get on with it, man.’

  ‘I think I’d better. The sooner I get away from this oppressive atmosphere, the better I’ll feel. As you said, Super., Ryder asked me to call. Teasdale and his missus were there.’

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘Mrs. T. was sitting in a chair by the fire. Jimmie was standing up as if they hadn’t asked him to take a seat. There’d evidently been some high words, because when I got inside, Jimmie was looking very annoyed and red about the gills. Mrs. T. was snivelling. The major never even said good evening to me. All he said was, “And here’s the man who saw you. It’s no use denying it.” From which I gathered the whole thing was out and they were having a row about it.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, I was a bit puzzled. It didn’t appear to me that Teasdale was even trying to deny it. He didn’t seem surprised when he saw me. Old Scott-Harris’s little plot had fallen flat. The only thing my calling there brought out was that Jimmie must have been trying to find out how Scott-Harris got to know about his double life, and when I turned up, he knew, you see, because of our meeting in Lowestoft.’

  ‘So, you left right away.’

  ‘The old man gave me a drink…’

  ‘And the rest…’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You aren’t trying to tell me, Mr. Wood, that you took all that trouble just for a drink. Let’s say, as you would when you’re out singing, that you got your fee.’

  ‘You suggesting that I was doing a bit of blackmail?’

  ‘Exactly… Ryder was a snivelling little wretch. It’s my opinion that he could hardly wait to see James Teasdale on his next return to Basilden. He thought Teasdale would probably pay anything to keep his double life dark. Instead, he found the opposite. Teasdale didn’t care. He told Ryder to make the whole thing public. That was just what he wanted. He actually wanted his wife to divorce him. Ryder, the little sadist, hatched a neat revenge on James when he was shown the door. He told Scott-Harris and added that if he didn’t believe him, he’d bring the man who’d actually seen Teasdale leading his other life and face him with you in front of his wife. Scott-Harris evidently jumped at the idea. And that’s why you were called in.’

  ‘Well? That’s what I’ve told you. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  Littlejohn didn’t seem to hear what Wood was saying.

  ‘If you were in any way involved in blackmail, Mr. Wood, you will tell me right away. I intend to get to the bottom of the whole affair, every detail of it. I won’t let go until I do. If you, later, appear in the case again as a blackmailer, I assure you that you’ll be charged with that offence, which won’t mean a fine, but gaol. Now; what have you to say?’

  Wood was sweating again. Drops of perspiration ran down the sides of his face and lost themselves in the stubble of his dark beard.

  ‘I tell you, I didn’t have anything to do with blackmail. I can’t say any more than that. Teasdale’s dead and Ryder’s vanished. You’ve only my word. If you won’t believe me, you can ruddy well charge me with blackmail.’

  But he’d have wanted anything but that, judging from the looks of him. In the words of Naizbitt later, Wood was scared stiff.

  ‘Did Ryder tell you he’d blackmail Teasdale?’

  Relief for Harry Wood. The subject was moving from himself to someone else.

  ‘Come to think of it, he suggested that Teasdale would be anxious to keep it quiet.’

  ‘What was that if not blackmail?’

  ‘I didn’t see it that way at the time.’

  ‘When you left Scott-Harris’s house, what was happening?’

  ‘As far as confronting Teasdale with me went, the whole shooting-match had fallen flat. I stood there looking silly while Teasdale gave old Scott-Harris and Ryder the length of his tongue. I always thought Jimmie was a mild sort of chap, scared to death of the old man. But not this time. He started to tear strips off old Scott-Harris.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘He called him a damned old bully. Them’s the words he used. He told him he’d had enough of him and his nonsense and he wasn’t standing for any more of it. The old chap nearly had a fit. Then Teasdale turned to his wife and said he was sorry; and he looked it. It seemed to distress him to have to tell her the truth. But I didn’t hear any more. Old Scott-Harris turned on me. “What are you hanging about for? This is a private and family matter. You’ve caused enough trouble. Clear out.” Something like that. I was so surprised that I hadn’t a word to say. I just went. But I like his damned cheek, after I’d taken the trouble, at his request, to call and confirm what I’d seen.’

  ‘Didn’t Teasdale say anything to you at all?’

  ‘He was just going to, I think, when Scott-Harris opened the door and told me to go. He was starting to say to me… “And as for you…” I wish he
’d said it. If he’d insulted me, too, I’d have knocked his block off. I didn’t want to have a row with the old man. He’s nearly twice my age and might have had a stroke if I’d turned on him. But Jimmie Teasdale… I wouldn’t have stood any lip from him.’

  ‘Was he going to say something about blackmail to you?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I never had a thought of blackmail. It was Ryder.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad we know that. And that’ll be all for the present, Mr. Wood. We’ll probably meet again.’

  ‘I hope not. I’ve had enough.’

  He put on his cap and made off as fast as his legs would carry him. As he passed through the square, people turned to wonder what all the hurry was about.

  Littlejohn lit his pipe and strolled round the room idly, seeing nothing, lost in thought. Then he glanced through the window which overlooked the square.

  The workpeople had returned to their factories and offices, and the market was almost deserted now. All the bargains had gone. The man with the cheese and chickens had sold up and was packing up his belongings and dismantling his stall. Fruit salesmen were altering their prices, chalked up on brown paper bags and stuck among the fruit on the end of a stick. Oranges at 4d. each in the morning were now four for a shilling. A man who sold curtains was holding an auction sale. He was drunk already and now and then gave away a length of material for nothing.

  The funeral party was leaving the Swan and breaking up until another member of the family, near or distant, turned up his toes. There was a lot of handshaking and half-hearted kissing and most of the relatives scattered in all directions, some to the ’bus depot; others to the railway station. Two old men were going off in a taxi. In the end, only the close relations of the dead man remained, uncertain what to do next. Sam Geddes, the corn-chandler, and his wife looked out of place and disdainful. They were both almost teetotal and had resented the goings-on in the main pub of the town. Cornford, the registrar, and Chloe, the olde-tyme dancers, were with them, and Teasdale’s brother, Bertram from the Water Board, who seemed more at a loose end than anybody else. Bertram’s wife, a sufferer from migraine, had had one of her headaches at the graveside and had gone home to a darkened room and vinegar-and-water compresses.