Death of a Commuter (15 page)

“There's a pair for you,” said Mr. Flood. “Tramping down all that way to save paying for parking. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?”

“No,” said Carolus. “They want the exercise, perhaps”

“Exercise! They wouldn't want exercise if it cost money. Here's Mr. Rumble coming. He'll park in here near you. Or always has done.”

Rumble drove in without seeing Carolus, then catching sight of him, came across.

“I owe you an apology, Deene,” he said hurriedly.” You were quite right Elspeth was glad you looked in. I can't wait now but I had to just tell you.”

“That's all right” said Carolus cordially.

The pedestrians were beginning to hurry as they entered the station now. How did women manage to walk fast in stiletto heels, he wondered idly. Then he saw Dogman who parked quite near him.

Dogman took trouble to see his car was locked and all the windows up.

“If anyone comes for it” he told Flood, “say it's broken down. Won't start”

“You've locked it anyway.”

“I know, but there might be a duplicate key. I don't think there is but there might be. It's not to leave here, anyway.”

“OK,” said Flood, and Carolus shuddered.

The train left on time. Carolus gave Flood a couple of half-crowns and drove away. He had seen all he needed.

He reached the Great Ring well before ten o'clock but Priggley was already there.

“Why choose this God-forsaken place?” he asked. “There isn't a soul about.”

“That's what I hoped,” said Carolus. “Now we will proceed to Operation Smash-up.”

“What d'you mean?” asked Priggley anxiously.

“Don't be alarmed.”

Carolus instead of putting the Bentley as Mr. Flood would have liked it at right-angles to the edge of the tarmac to form the first of a line of parked cars, had stopped it well out in the open space.

“Now let me try that thing.”

“I don't like this a bit,” said Rupert “I don't know what you're up to but I don't like it”

“Just repeat the
Arab's Farewell To His Steed,
then. ‘My beautiful, my beautiful, that standeth proudly by …'”

Carolus mounted the Criterion and examined it critically.

“Shan't be a moment” he said and rode out of the car park. Rupert could hear him accelerating up the road, then changing down, then returning. He entered the car park apparently in complete control but as he approached the Bentley quite slowly he seemed to lose his head, and coming up on its right side too close, badly gashed its wing and nearly went over.

“Are you mad, sir?” shouted Priggley running forward. “Look what you've done! And what about my bike?”

“Examine it,” said Carolus curtly.

“And the Bentley. What on earth happened to you?”

“It
is
a bit of a dent isn't it?” said Carolus complacently.

“Dent! My God! It will never be the same again.”

“You'd be surprised what can be done by a good bodybuilder. But I think it's convincing, don't you?”

“I suppose you're going to ask me to believe you did that on purpose?”

“I don't ask you to believe anything. In fact the less you believe the better. What I ask you to do is keep your mouth shut If I couldn't trust you to do that I wouldn't have brought you here.”

“It's the last time I get mixed up with one of your lunacies, sir. I really think your mental age must be sixteen or so.”

“Now I want you to go back to Newminster. I'll follow you as soon as I can. I'll have your things packed and bring them with me. But don't go back through Brenstead. You can take that to Wayland's garage and get them to check up on it at my expense, but I don't think it's come to any harm.”

Rupert stared at him.

“What
is
all this?”

“Tell the Sticks I'll be over as soon as I can.”

“I shall be delighted, sir. To tell you the truth I feel as though I'm escaping from a dangerous lunatic.”

“I'm not altogether sure you're not. Off you go.”

Carolus watched him ride away then started to drive back to Brenstead. It was half past eleven when he reached the police station.

He found Police Officer Brophy behind the counter, looking important.

“Can I see the sergeant in charge?”

Carolus spoke politely enough but his words found no favour with Police Officer Brophy.

“I am the Police Officer in charge,” said Police Officer Brophy.

“So I see. But as this is rather a serious matter?”

“The plain clothes lot's all out,” said Police Officer Brophy, with not very well concealed disgust. “If that's what you want”

“No, I don't think I need trouble them.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to report an accident”

“Traffic?”

“You could call it that”

Police Officer Brophy picked up some papers beside him and prepared to take notes.

“Your full name and address, please,” he said severely.

“What time will the sergeant be back?”

Police Officer Brophy took this as a challenge.

“If you wish to report an accident I shall be glad to take particulars,” he said.

“Thank you, but…”

“Perhaps you want to see the Chief Superintendent? Or the Chief Constable?” he suggested sarcastically. “You don't think yours is the only accident on the roads, do you? Now please give me your name and address and we won't waste any more time.”

Carolus was about to do so when the door opened behind him and a tall man with a sergeant's insignia and sharp, narrow eyes in a pale blue-chinned face entered.

“What's this, Brophy?” he asked sharply.

“Traffic accident, sir,” said Police Officer Brophy.

“Anything serious?” the sergeant asked Carolus.

“Yes. The other party failed to stop,” said Carolus.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked Brophy. “I'll take particulars.” He passed behind the counter and Brophy disappeared. “Now then, sir. Is that your car outside?”

“Yes.”

“I made a cursory examination of the damage as I came in,” said Sergeant Beckett. “What happened?”

Carolus decided to enter into the spirit of the thing.

“I was proceeding along the Buttsfield road …”

Sergeant Beckett nodded as though delighted with the word.

“Time?”

Carolus became vague.

“It must have been about ten,” he said. “Or it may have been earlier.”

“You didn't notice the exact time?” said Sergeant Beckett with some disappointment.

“No, not exactly.”

“Should have done, sir. It's always helpful to have the exact time in these cases. What was your speed?”

“About thirty miles an hour,” said Carolus.

Sergeant Beckett sighed.

“You'd be surprised how often cars are travelling at about thirty miles an hour,” he said. “Whenever we have to investigate an accident it's always about thirty miles an hour they're travelling. Sure you weren't going faster?”

“If I had been the fellow would have been killed.”

“We'll come to that” said Sergeant Beckett ambiguously. “You were proceeding along the Buttsfield road at approximately thirty miles an hour. Yes?”

“I became aware that a man on a motor-cycle was anxious to pass me …”

“Steady now. Steady.
How
did you become aware?”

“In my driving mirror.”

“I see. Did you take any note of his appearance or manner of dress?”

“None at all, I'm afraid.”

“Pity that. You should always note the appearance and manner of dress.”

“But I didn't know…”

“Never mind then, sir,” said Sergeant Beckett forgivingly.

“He came up…”

“On your off side?”

“Naturally. And in passing me scraped my offside wing…”

“Whoa. Whoa. What made him do that? Anything coming in the opposite direction?”

“Nothing. He just misjudged the distance, I suppose.”

“Very unusual that Unless …” The sergeant's eyes brightened. “Unless he was driving under the influence of alcohol.”

“I should scarcely think so, at ten o'clock in the morning. But of course I have no means of judging. The impact with my car seemed to be slight, but I could feel it and saw the motor-cyclist swerve and nearly overturn.”

“What do you mean by ‘nearly overturn'?”

“He looked as though he was going to. But he righted himself and rode on.”

“Ah.”

“I sounded my horn …”

“Sufficiently, you think?”

“Quite sufficiently. I made the hell of a noise. But the motorcyclist seemed only to accelerate.”

“You took his number, of course?”

The sergeant looked anxiously at Carolus.

“I tried to. I took a number. But he was moving fast now.”

“So you can't swear to the number you took being accurate?”

“Not absolutely for certain.”

The sergeant looked superior.

“It's no good taking a number when you're not absolutely certain,” he said loftily.

“I'm pretty certain. I said I couldn't swear to it. I regard an oath a serious thing.”

“So we all do,” said the sergeant unctuously. “Anyway, you took
a
number. Did you write it down?”

“Yes. I stopped immediately and wrote it down. Here it is.”

The sergeant studied it carefully.

“BYY 018,” he said. “I suppose we shall have to do the best
we can with this. Now, were there any witnesses of the accident?”

“None that I know of.”

“No passing vehicles?”

“Not for some minutes, I think.”

“No one who might be able to identify this motor-cyclist? No? That's unfortunate. It's always best to have the testimony of a third party.”

“I'm sorry,” said Carolus, who was getting tired of this game. “I'll try to arrange it another time.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic, sir. I was only saying that a case like this is easier to deal with when you are able to name one or more independent witnesses. Now may I see your driving licence and insurance certificate?”

Carolus produced them.

“Thank you, sir. What steps did you take to report the accident at the first possible moment?”

“I reversed at the road running up to the Great Ring, which was about a hundred yards ahead of where the accident happened, and came here to report it.”

“Quite right. There is no other information you are able to give us?”

“None, I'm afraid.”

“It's not very satisfactory, is it? We shall have to trace this number and ascertain if possible whether this motor-cycle could have been in the vicinity at the time stated.”

“Exactly. Will that take long, do you think?”

“It doesn't depend on us,” said Sergeant Beckett. “It has to go through the proper channels. We've had cases like this before where the complainant has not been able to give us satisfactory details. But the matter will receive immediate attention. Have you an address in this neighbourhood?”

“I'm staying at The Royal Oak.”

“I see. You expect to be there for some days?”

“Till this has been settled, yes.”

“Very good, sir. We will take the necessary steps and let you know at the first moment possible.”

“Good. Mind telling me your name so that I may know who is in charge of the investigation?”

“It's not usual but I see no reason against my telling you. Sergeant Beckett is my name.”

Carolus rose to go but the sergeant raised a restraining hand.

“We haven't quite finished yet,” he said. “I must ask you to indicate the supposed site of the accident.”

“But there were no marks or anything,” said Carolus.

“Better let Us judge of that, don't you think, sir? We are not without experience in these cases. We shall wish to take measurements.”

“Of what?” asked Carolus innocently.

“It's a matter of procedure. Now if you will accompany me in the police car?”

“I'd prefer to drive my own. I was on my way to Buttsfield when this happened.”

“Very well, sir. There is no objection to that. It would be best if you preceded us and stopped just short of where you calculate the accident took place.”

Carolus led the way to his car and Sergeant Beckett with another man prepared to follow him in a police car.

“Take it easy now, sir,” the sergeant warned. “We don't want to pinch
you
for speeding in a built-up area.”

He passed the Three Thistles and about three hundred yards from the turning which led to the Great Ring Carolus pulled up and waited.

“Must have been about here,” he told Sergeant Beckett when he arrived.

“This is where the incident occurred is it? How near would you say you were from the kerb?”

“Oh, the usual distance. A yard or four feet.”

“And from the crown of the road?”

“Perhaps another yard,”

“This is all very unsatisfactory, isn't it? Now exactly to what point had you arrived when the motor-cyclist attempted to pass you?”

“I've no idea. When I stopped I was a couple of hundred yards or so short of the turning.”

The sergeant shook his head sadly and turned to his assistant.

“No skid marks?” he said.

“Nothing visible to the naked eye,” said the man in the same jargon.

“You say the motor-cyclist nearly overturned. Where would you say he was in relation to the kerb when that took place?”

“Some way out, I should say. It seemed to send him out across the road.”

“Fortunate there was nothing coming in the other direction,” commented the sergeant.

“I thought you said that was unfortunate because we needed a witness?”