Devious Murder (3 page)

Orchard Court
was a small, very select block of flats, converted from a Victorian mansion on Tolham Common. It had been tastefully done and the flats had sold at high prices without delay. Littlejohn and Cromwell found the janitor, who appeared eagerly from somewhere in the well-kept grounds, somehow scenting that the visitors were from the police and anxious to become involved in the investigation.

Cromwell introduced Littlejohn and himself.

The man said his name was Pickup and he was handyman, janitor and security guard and whatever else they liked to call him in the flats. He had a long face with hollow cheeks, a large nose and a heavy projecting chin.

‘I saw all about the murder in the morning papers. Why anybody should want to kill pore Mr. Blunt I can't for the life of me imagine. A nice civil gentleman who everybody liked. It's no use trying to discover why people kill one another nowadays. I think they just do it for kicks, as they call it. This couldn't have been anything but a hooligan job.…'

Pickup was an ex-soldier, with a leg wound which made him limp. He walked with a rhythmic jerk as he accompanied
the detectives from the main gate to his small office in the building.

‘Are you in charge here, Mr. Pickup?'

‘Sort of. Mr. Goshawk, the estate agent, is really the boss, but I'm the man on the spot. See? If there's anything you'd like to know I'll do my best to be of service.'

‘How long has Mr. Blunt been living here?'

‘Roughly, three months. He was lucky. You see, the Millers, who own the flat, went off to South Africa to see relatives. They'll be away for six months. She's a South African and the flat was let to Mr. Blunt for the time they was away. He was the first to arrive and ask for a flat here after the Millers put it on the books to let.'

‘Did you deal with the letting?'

‘Yes. Mr. Goshawk was away on a job and left me in charge. Mr. Blunt was a gentleman who knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted a flat overlooking the Common. As I said, he was lucky there. The Millers' flat did that, and at the same time you get a fine view of the gardens of the house next door, a place called
The Limes
, owned by Mr. Havenith, an oil millionaire.'

‘We'd better take a look at the flat. Have you the key, Mr. Pickup?'

Mr. Pickup said he had and would they please follow him.

The hall was large and no expense had been spared by the developers. Marble floor, heavy mahogany doors, a double marble staircase with a gilded balustrade. Family portraits on the walls and a large illuminated aquarium in one corner with exotic fish sailing about in it. There was a lift discreetly tucked away, although there were only three storeys in all to the place. The whole had an opulent, sumptuous atmosphere and was as quiet as a tomb.

‘Is everybody out?' asked Littlejohn.

‘No, sir. There's nine flats in all. Each one h'insultated
and soundproof. You'd expect that for flats costing forty or fifty thousand apiece, wouldn't you? There's plenty of money about in this establishment.'

‘What rent was Mr. Blunt paying?'

‘Fifteen hundred for the six months, in advance.'

Littlejohn and Cromwell exchanged glances. Charles Blunt was getting on in the world. He must have been on something much bigger than whisky salesmanship before he died!

They took the lift to the second floor.

‘Here we are.…'

A broad thickly carpeted corridor with a heavy door on each side of it. Pickup produced a huge bunch of keys and sorted one out as he halted at one of them.

‘This is the late Mr. Blunt's place. Of course, he rented it furnished. The furniture, fittings, etcetera belong to the Millers. Mr. Blunt must have got fond of this flat. He rarely went out.'

‘What was he doing all the time?'

‘Reading, smoking, enjoying the view from the balcony and windows.'

‘What sort of stuff did he read?'

‘Paperbacks and magazines. He seemed to like westerns. He used to throw them in the wastepaper basket when he'd read them and I took them to the local old people's home.'

‘What kind of magazines?'

‘I've seen him reading them, but he never left those lying around. He must have taken them away with him to give to friends.'

‘You never saw what kind they were?'

‘I got a brief sight of them once or twice when I brought up his morning coffee. We've no restaurant here, but I make coffee in the middle of the morning and serve one or two of the flats with it.…'

‘And you got a glance at the magazines?'

‘They were the expensive, glossy, sort. The ones that deal with country matters, large houses in the country for sale, fashionable weddings, county shows and the comings and goings of the upper ten, you might say. You get the sort I mean, sir?'

‘We do. The sort of magazines that advertise jewellery, antiques and other expensive items?'

‘That's it. Mr. Blunt must have come of a good family and been used to that sort of life. He must have been well off, to say the least of it, if he could afford even the rent of this place.'

‘Where did Mr. Blunt eat while he was here?'

‘Each of the flats has an excellent modern kitchen for those who prefer to dine at home. There's one in this flat if you care to see it. Mr. B went mostly to nearby hotels. He asked me to recommend one or two and I was able to oblige. Sometimes he'd bring in some cold fare or even sandwiches and eat them here. He never used the kitchen for cooking. Just the fridge to hold milk and an odd bit of cold food. He never had any alcohol about the place.'

They were then able to turn their attentions to the flat itself. It consisted of a large lounge with a dining alcove, two bedrooms, each with a dressing-room, a modern kitchen and a smaller box-room. Everything was of the de-luxe category. Nothing lacking for comfort, thick carpets, large comfortable modern furniture, antique tables and cabinets filled with expensive china. Hardly the home for a whisky salesman, as Cromwell remarked.

Cromwell turned to Pickup.

‘Could you leave us here for a little time? We'd like to browse around and see if we can find anything that might help us in the case we're on.'

Pickup rubbed his chin.

‘You'll bear in mind, sir, that I'm in a way responsible for the flat, Mr. Blunt having died and the place belonging to Mr. Miller …?'

‘I see your point. But I think you'll agree that it is better, in the circumstances, for the Chief Superintendent and I to go quietly over everything, instead of a number of our men with a search warrant upsetting the place. We'll hold ourselves responsible and will see that everything is left as we find it. Should anything turn up that we wish to take with us we'll tell you and give you a receipt.'

‘Thank you, sir. That will suit me. I'll be in my office and will see you on your way out.'

And with that he went about his business.

Left to themselves, the two men calmly examined the room and its contents.

‘You wouldn't think it was occupied by anyone, would you?'

Cromwell was right. All was neat and tidy, the cushions of the chairs undisturbed, everything was in its place. Just as Gentleman Charles would have liked it. A man with a mania for tidiness who left things exactly as he found them.

Blunt seemed to have brought a minimum of luggage with him. Littlejohn and Cromwell examined all the drawers and cabinets. In the wardrobe of the bedroom Charles had used there were hanging two suits, almost new, and on the bottom three pairs of black shoes meticulously polished. Black leather travelling slippers. In the drawers, socks, handkerchiefs, half a dozen neatly-folded white shirts, two pairs of clean pyjamas. The laundry must have been despatched by the linen chute in the wall of the room, as there was none about, not even a soiled handkerchief

There were two beds of the modern expensive brass variety in the room. Both were neatly made and ready. The whole place looked as if the Millers had gone and left it for
sheeting until their return. There was no trace of active occupancy except the personal articles of clothing.

There was an internal telephone on a bedside table along with the outside instrument. Cromwell lifted the internal one.

‘Hullo.'

Pickup answered it.

‘Mr. Pickup, who looked after the cleaning of the rooms up here?'

‘Mrs. Whaley, sir. She does for a number of the owners. And a Mrs. Widdup does for the others. Why, isn't it clean?'

‘Spotless. A really good job.'

‘She's very good, sir. But she told me that she didn't need to spend much time on Mr. Blunt. He never left any mess. In fact, she said, sometimes you wouldn't think the flat was occupied. He seemed to tidy up himself as he went along. Very unusual, sir. Very unusual.'

‘That was Charles,' said Cromwell to Littlejohn. ‘And that's why we never caught him, although we often thought he was guilty. Charles could burgle a room and leave it looking exactly as he found it. His entry, the job, and his exit remind you of the invisible man.'

‘What was he doing here, though? Was he hiding from someone who was out to kill him?'

‘Why make it so expensive, though. This flat. Fifteen hundred in advance.…'

Littlejohn lit his pipe. It seemed a pity to smoke it in Charles's neat and tidy flat, but he felt he needed it.

‘Charles liked it that way. My guess is that he enjoyed the good and comfortable things of life and as his money ran out he did another of his invisible-man jobs and lived on the proceeds for another spell.'

‘But why waste time and energy on meticulously tidying-up wherever he lived?'

‘Discipline. His living and his freedom depended on leaving no trace. He kept up his method of work even when he was playing or resting, because one slip and we'd have had him.'

‘He seems to have destroyed or removed everything which might have given the police an inkling of what was on his mind. He's left none of the glossy magazines behind and there are no books about.'

Cromwell looked around the room and shrugged his shoulders.

‘It's like an hotel suite, where one stays the night, gathers everything up, packs it and departs.'

‘Yes. But there must have been some place where he left his papers, his spare cash, his passport, if any, his driving licence and perhaps some provision for his father. He was fond of the old man and, as he himself was living on a tightrope, not sure of when the police might catch up with him eventually, he might have hidden his papers away in some safe place. We'll call on his father again and see if old Blunt can throw any light on it.'

There were broad windows in the front and gable-end of the flat and Littlejohn went and studied the views from them. The main scene was a wide one across the Common and the flat lands of Kent; the side one overlooked the mansion which Pickup had told them was occupied by the millionaire called Havenith.

‘Look here, Bob,' he said and Cromwell joined him.

On the window-sill lay a powerful pair of field-glasses in a leather case.

‘Blunt had somebody or something under observation from the looks of things.'

From the window itself there was a good view of
The Limes
. The name was most inappropriate and had probably not been that of the original place, which had been copied from a
pavilion
in Aix-en-Provence by an eccentric refugee nobleman. It was small as such places go, but exquisite. It stood four-square in the centre of a large oblong lawn and was surrounded by a high wall and grand old trees. An avenue of lime trees led from the main wrought-iron gates and in front of the house was a lily pool with a fountain spraying in the middle. The house had once fallen into neglect and, in keeping with present practice, had been bought as a novelty and renovated regardless of cost by Havenith, who had married a young wife who had taken a fancy to it.

The mansion was three-storeyed and the large plain oblong windows were surrounded by delicate mouldings. There were wrought-iron balconies on the first floor frontage and the centre-piece, with an urn on each side, was supported by large caryatides.

Littlejohn swung the binoculars in a wide arc covering the façade, the building line of which was well behind that of the flats. From where he stood all the rooms of the frontage were plainly visible.

‘It looks as if our friend Charles was keeping the house next door under observation. An easy matter from here in view of their relative positions. The two end rooms are lighted by windows on two sides and from where we are now one can see most of what goes on in them. No wonder Charles insisted on the position of the flat he hired. He was lucky to find the Millers' place vacant if he wanted to study the comings and goings of the occupants of
The Limes
, which was presumably where he intended pulling off his next job.'

Through the glasses Littlejohn could see the nearest corner room, its layout and most of the contents. A woman was busy cleaning up the place and pushing a vacuum cleaner about. She paused, took a cigarette from a box on the
dressing-table, lit it with a lighter and went on with her work, puffing contentedly.

‘We'd better get to know as much as we can about the Haveniths. Pickup can perhaps help us.…'

They spoke to Pickup on the way out.

‘I must confess I've never seen Mr. Havenith,' he said, ‘it's his wife who lives in
The Limes
. He's mainly wrapped up in business in Texas, from what I'm told, and as far as I can reckon has only been over here twice since they bought the place and then only for a day or two. It must have cost a fortune to put it right. It was in the hands of an old lady who'd inherited it and couldn't afford to keep it up. She let it nearly fall down about her ears. When she died about two years ago it stood empty for a long time and then Mrs. Havenith took a fancy to it. I've never been inside, but from what they tell me, it's marvellous. Her bedroom's the corner one nearest this place. I'm not a peeping Tom, but what I've seen going on there when about my rounds made me blush for shame. And it takes a lot to shake me up that way. She spends a lot of time there wandering around without a stitch of clothing on. She never bothers to draw the curtains when she's in that state. Now and then, when she holds one of her wild parties, the blinds is drawn and I often wonder what goes on on such occasions.…'