Dead Man’s Shoes (6 page)

“You say these payments to Larkin started soon after Gregory Willick had met Mrs Sweeny? You didn't connect the two?”

“No, it never occurred to me. I'm not an inquisitive man. My wife is always telling me that I should notice things more. But I like to mind my own business.”

“You never saw any letter from Larkin?”

“I did not see Gregory's personal letters. He dealt with them all himself and invariably destroyed them.”

“That's interesting.”

“It was one of his little fads. He burnt every document except business things, which he handed to me. On the fire when there was one, in the empty grate of his study when
there wasn't. When they came to go through his papers there was nothing of a personal nature at all.”

“What about his Will?”

“No surprises. He had about a quarter of a million to leave. He had already made a settlement for Marylin in the hope of avoiding death duties, but I'm afraid they won't succeed in that. There are very generous bequests to me, to Ridge the chauffeur, who had been with him for a good many years, and to Socker, his gamekeeper on the estate here, whose family have had the job for generations. There were a number of smaller, but still very acceptable bequests to the other servants and to the Vicar of the parish. The residue goes to Lance. It will be a very large sum indeed.”

“Nothing whatever for Larkin?”

“No. As I say, he was cut out about a month ago. Otherwise he was to have had the same as I get.”

“I see. Now may we come to the murder itself?”

“Certainly. It's a very simple matter. Gregory as he got older became very much a creature of habit. He would start doing a thing—some quite ordinary thing like coming across here for a cup of tea in the afternoon—then continue it daily for years, perhaps. That is exactly what happened. He came in here one afternoon to see me about something, and the wife asked him if he would like a cup of tea. She always says that other people's bread and butter taste better than your own. He accepted, and after that day took to coming here as regularly as clockwork for his char and wad, as we used to say in the army. He came by a rather roundabout way, through a wood called Burghley's Wood and across the big meadow. He always brought Copper, his old spaniel, with him. He could be relied on to stick to his schedule and time-table.”

“Who would know about this habit of Willick's?”

“Everyone up at the Place. Marylin Sweeny, the servants, Ridge, Socker and of course the wife and I.”

“But probably not anyone down in the village?”

“Unlikely. They're not very bright in the village. Could be, of course, but I doubt it.”

“What I'm getting at, Packinlay, is this. Whoever murdered Gregory Willick must have known of this habit of his. If you are so sure it was Larkin, how do you account for his knowing?”

“Never thought of that, I must say.”

“He was staying at the local hotel. Where is that?”

“Out on the main road. About a mile away.”

“How long had he been there?”

“He only arrived on the night before the murder.”

“Then presumably he must have questioned one of the household?”

“I don't think so. I don't think he went out till the afternoon of the murder.”

“If he had no opportunity to learn about Willick's daily walk it will go a long way towards clearing Larkin. In my mind, at any rate. However, do go on with the story.”

Ethel Packinlay had gathered up the tea-things and with a warm smile left the room. She returned to join them now, taking her previous seat without speaking.

“That afternoon Gregory Willick did not turn up, I need scarcely say. The wife waited half an hour, then made the tea.”

“You didn't look to see if he was coming across the meadow?”

“Well, as a matter of fact I was not in myself that afternoon. I had to go to one of the estate cottages to see about an old man who doesn't want to give up his tenancy. He's over eighty and on his own. His son's quite willing to have him. A difficult case.”

“Did you resolve it that day?”

“No. I didn't see him. Whether he was asleep or had toddled off somewhere, I don't know. He's very deaf. But I'm wandering from the point. When I got home I was surprised to hear from the wife that Gregory had not been that
afternoon. She said she supposed that meant he wouldn't come again. He'd form a habit of not coming, in other words. Poor old Gregory. Of course, he never did come again.”

“Well, no,” said Rupert Priggley.

“It wasn't until about eight o'clock that evening that anyone grew anxious at all. Then Marylin phoned me to know if he was here, and I said he hadn't been here that day. She said he had left the Place at about three as usual with Copper at his heels. The wife suggested that he might have met someone he knew and gone off with them somewhere. Marylin said that was scarcely likely, as he did not have to cross a road at all. What acquaintance could he meet on his own grounds? She wondered if he had fallen or was ill or anything.”

Packinlay paused to light a large pipe.

“You mustn't think of Gregory as a dodderer,” he warned. “He was only sixty-four and very hale and active. It seemed improbable to me that anything like illness was causing his delay in reaching home, and I said so. I told Marylin he would almost certainly be in before long and that there would be some quite ordinary explanation. She said she would wait another half-hour or so.”

“But if you all knew his route, couldn't you have sent someone to look for him?”

“We did, presently. Or rather Marylin did. She sent Socker. But it was dark by then. Even Socker, who can see in the dark I believe, found nothing that night.”

“What about the dog?”

“That barked in the night? It didn't. It was dead. The murderer shot it after he had shot Gregory.”

“I
THINK IT'S
time we had a drink,” announced Packinlay then. “Would you like to see about them, darling?”

His wife smiled to indicate her willingness, then wheeled in a dinner-waggon on which there was a generous collection of bottles.

Soon everybody had a drink, including Rupert Priggley, who somewhat startled Packinlay by saying, “I'll take mine straight, if you don't mind,” after he had asked for a Scotch. As they held up their glasses, Mrs Packinlay made her first speech.

“Cheerio!” she said.

But Packinlay was anxious to get back to his story.

“By ten o'clock we really were getting anxious and Marylin phoned the police. But there was nothing much to be done until the morning, when Socker went over the ground again and found Gregory's body. It had been pulled a little way into the undergrowth beside the path Gregory always took through Burghley Wood. The old dog's corpse was beside it.

“Gregory had been shot twice, once in the chest and once through the head. The experts seem to think that the first shot was the one through the chest and the other was fired after he had fallen, to make sure he was dead.”

“How do you know what the experts think?”

“The detective inspector on this job is a pleasant sort of chap. He doesn't mind telling me things occasionally.”

“Did he tell you what time Gregory Willick was believed to have died?”

“Yes. But they can't be absolutely accurate. Sometime that afternoon between three and five is as near as they can go. What else do you want me to tell you?”

“About Larkin's movements.”

“Oh yes. Of course. I'm forgetting the most important thing. He arrived at the Barton Bridge Hotel on the afternoon before Gregory was murdered and booked in under the name of Leech. He had dinner in the dining-room that night, then went straight to bed. On the day of the murder he did not get up till mid-day, went to the bar, had lunch at one sharp and went out immediately after it. He was carrying a brown-paper parcel.”

“He went on foot?”

“Yes. Wearing a pair of workman's boots which he had bought in Northleach on the way to his hotel on the previous day. I daresay, like all townsmen, he had exaggerated ideas about the damage done to your footwear by walking across country. He returned to the hotel at four, packed and left for London within half an hour.”

“Was he seen while he was out?”

Packinlay's manner grew a trifle lofty.

“Yes. A man called Smite, an official of some kind from the County Court who is employed to serve summonses or something of the sort, I believe, saw him coming through a gate from Gregory's land to the main road at about a quarter to four. Can you wonder I say it's an easy case to solve?”

“Just one or two things I don't understand. If he booked under the name of Leech, how did they come to know it was Larkin?”

“Because while he was out that afternoon the woman who cleaned his room saw his passport. Besides, from all accounts he was not a man you could make much mistake about. I gather he was a pretty noticeable man.”

“You've never seen him, then?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“And as I understand it, no one from the Place saw him at all? He did not get in touch with anyone?”

“No.”

“Yet Willick had described him as an old family friend?”

“Yes.”

“And he left by air for Tangier that same night?”

“Yes. Pretty obvious, isn't it?”

“Not quite to me. How, for instance, do you know that he wore these boots that afternoon?”

“Oh, I forgot that. It's one of the main clues. They were hobnailed and left a certain highly distinctive pattern. They found that pattern in footprints near the corpse.”

“Couldn't anyone else have been wearing boots of that pattern?”

“Yes, but they wouldn't have been new, as these were. The footprints looked as though they had been modelled in clay. Surely you can't have much doubt about it now? Larkin, I mean.”

“On the contrary, I have the most serious doubts. The thing is wildly illogical.”

“But how else do you explain his presence near the corpse? His flight abroad that same night?”

“He could have wanted merely to see Gregory Willick without his visit being known to anyone. He could have gone to wait for him and found him dead. Then he might well have panicked, left the hotel and got on a plane back.”

“In that case, whom do you suspect?”

“I haven't said it is impossible for Larkin to have done it. Or even unlikely. I'm merely pointing out that it is by no means certain that he did. As for suspecting anyone else, I haven't got as far as that, of course. Where was everyone that afternoon?”

“Who do you mean by everyone?”

“Well, of the household.”

“Marylin ran into Cheltenham, I believe. She has a Frazer Nash and flies about at a great speed. The servants, a married couple, did not leave the house. Ridge took the car into Northleach for a minor repair. Socker was out on the estate somewhere.”

“You mentioned another beneficiary under the Will. The Vicar, I think you said.”

Packinlay showed his long teeth in a hearty laugh.

“Now you're going
too
far,” he said. “Gus wouldn't hurt a fly. My wife chips me about my friendship with him. She says I'm becoming quite religious in my old age. But I like Gus.”

“Is that his name?”

“No, it's a nickname. The Reverend Thomas Gusset is his full name. Excellent fellow.”

“Good. Where was he that afternoon?”

“He went up to the Place, as a matter of fact. To see Gregory about something. Mrs Hoppy opened the door to him.”

“At what time?”

“About a quarter past three, I think. It may have been later.”

“But didn't he know of Gregory's habit of coming to your house to tea?”

“Apparently not. She told him where he would find Gregory, and he arrived here about four. He was disappointed at not finding Gregory, my wife says, but he stayed to tea with her. She told him how unusual it was for Gregory not to be here. He left about five.”

“Thanks very much, Packinlay. I think that's really all I need pester you for, at any rate for the present. You've been most helpful.”

“Mind you, I don't think you'll do much good in this case by playing round with any fancy theories. Nobody here has any doubt but that it was Larkin.”

“Thanks. I wonder why you wanted me to look into it?”

“I thought it might interest you. I've read of one or two of your cases, and, remembering you in Buzzard's house, I thought I'd invite you down. What about your luggage, by the way?”

“Oh that. I do hope you'll understand, but I feel that we shall have to stay at the Barton Bridge Hotel. I want to
check on details of Larkin's stay there without announcing myself formally. It was most awfully kind of you to ask me, but several things have happened since I accepted your invitation. Priggley has joined me, for one. Then I didn't realize that I could stay just where Larkin did.”

“We shall be most disappointed, of course. But we wouldn't think of standing in your way. You must do whatever suits you best. But have another drink before you go.”

This time, when the drinks were poured, Mrs Packinlay made her second eruption into speech.

“Cheers,” she said.

“They haven't found the weapon, I suppose?” Carolus asked Packinlay.

“No. I think not. But they know it was a '38 revolver. The ballistics men can tell that much. Also that the person who fired it stood pretty close to Gregory.”

“I see. Well, I think we had better go and book our rooms at the hotel. Thank you so much for your kindness and information.” Carolus turned to Mrs Packinlay. “Thank you so much for our nice tea and drinks,” he said.

Mrs Packinlay smiled. She may have thought it was a pleasure to entertain Carolus, she certainly did not say so—or anything else.