Murder Adrift (18 page)

‘We haven't charged them yet. But it seems to us that John James Dawson and John William Lever were members of a gang engaged in the illegal entrance of immigrants. Also, the head of the gang was the late Mr. Hector Todd. His sudden death placed Lever and Dawson in a difficult position. They received news that a fresh batch of immigrants was on its way, in a fishing boat, the
Betsy Gee,
which had brought them from Holland. Instead of leaving them on the fishing boat and making the captain responsible for their return they tried to run the show themselves. It seems to us that in the past Mr. Hector Todd used his boat for picking up the immigrants at sea from the larger boat and brought them here, where they were transported to London by Lever and Dawson in their business vans. . . .'

‘A lot of rubbish,' said Dawson vehemently. ‘We found them on the quayside. . . .'

‘I shan't say a word without the presence of my solicitor,' insisted J. W. Lever.

‘What time did you find them?'

‘Six o'clock in the morning. . . .'

‘What were you doing on the quay at that time?'

Dawson realised that he was trapped in his own verbiage, paused and then, like Lever, said he wasn't saying anything more without his lawyer being present.

The Chief Constable looked furiously at him.

‘I suggest to you that what you have told us is a tissue of lies. You and Lever were a couple of amateurs led by a known rogue, Hector Todd. Todd was murdered and his
boat was adrift at sea. Your contact man on the
Betsy Gee
got a message to you that he had a cargo of immigrants aboard and you'd better meet him at the usual rendezvous and pick them up. We've had our eye on the
Betsy
for some time. Instead of telling him you couldn't cope with the order, you borrowed, let us say, Sam Robinson's boat and picked up the cargo. Unfortunately for you, Robinson had toothache in the night and went out to his boat to get the bottle of rum he kept there. He found the boat missing and at once reported it to the police. When the constable returned to the quayside with him, he found you with your vans loaded up with your cargo and ready for off. Presumably to London. . . .'

‘We want our lawyers. . . .'

‘I can't see that a dozen lawyers could do you both any good. You were caught in the act and we're going to hold you until the next court when you'll be committed.'

Then the sergeant in charge pompously charged the pair of them and the party broke up.

On their way out, Littlejohn and Hopkinson met Robinson, the fishmonger, returning to the police station after finding a substitute to take charge of his shop. Mr. Robinson was very angry.

‘When do I get my boat back? Have they told you that those rogues, Dawson and Lever, stole my boat to bring in a crowd of illegal Pakistanis? I'll sue them for it. It was theft and they've damaged the engine, too. I'll claim damages, not only for what they've done, but for loss of profits because the police have impounded my boat. . . .'

And he made off, still breathing fire and fury, to the police station where he met a procession emerging with the culprits on their way to Portwich gaol. He hurled more abuse at them.

Back at the
Trident
the detectives found a message waiting from Scotland Yard, who already had a telegraphed report for them from the Dutch police.

 

Kroon and Company, of Amsterdam, were diamond merchants of high repute. The Dutch police knew them well and were sure they would never indulge in shady dealings. They were quite frank about their connections with Hector Todd. Their principal director, Philip Kroon, had been a friend of Hector Todd years ago. They had met during Philip's spell in London, gaining experience of the Hatton Garden business. Before sending the diamond ring to Kroon for sale Todd had spoken to him over the telephone. The sale had been arranged that way and also that a friend of Todd's, a ship's captain, would deliver it. During the phone conversation Todd had informed Kroon that he would, very shortly, be visiting Amsterdam himself and would call on Philip Kroon to negotiate the sale of other jewellery on behalf of his mother.

‘Was Heck Todd about to steal and sell his mother's jewellery, sir? I thought that was sold to meet Heck's debts years ago.'

‘I don't know, Hopkinson. They probably raised a loan against it in those days and redeemed it later. Pawned it, in other words. This complicates matters. And someone hasn't told us the truth about what happened on the night of Todd's murder. We'd better call at the Big House again. It will probably be an unpleasant interview. We'll wait until after dinner and then visit them without previous warning. Kenneth may be at home and we'll have him and his mother and Mrs. Hector together.'

Littlejohn strolled to the window of the bar and looked in the direction of the little port which was livening up at the arrival of another boat.

‘Unless I'm mistaken, here comes the
Betsy Gee.
The police are there, too, ready to give her a warm welcome. Let's go and join them.'

The swing-bridge was open again and Captain Turvey was giving his orders from the quayside. The
Betsy Gee
sailed cheekily into the harbour as though nothing was wrong. A tall gangling man in a shabby suit was standing on the bridge with a pipe clamped between his teeth. He removed it the better to shout to the police. He looked annoyed and grew more and more furious as the conversation progressed. As soon as the boat tied-up at the quayside the police hurried aboard, joined the skipper, and the exchange of unpleasantries was resumed.

Roger Pollitt, who had been watching the arrival of the
Betsy Gee
from his own deck, hurriedly left to join them. Then, when the captain, whose name was Jewell, had completed the port formalities, they all went off, including Roger Pollitt, in the direction of the police station. The mayor, leaning heavily on his stick, was left to himself looking really sick this time.

Littlejohn and Hopkinson followed them, as now that the matter of the jewellery had come to light the two cases seemed linked together.

The sergeant in charge had evidently received his instructions from his superiors.

‘We're all going to Portwich, sir,' he told Littlejohn. Already a police car was waiting ready for the journey.

Inside the police station Captain Jewell was boiling over. He kept demanding to know what all the fuss was about and what right they had to detain him. His ship was full
of fish and he had to attend to that first. Then he'd see about going to Portwich.

‘But surely you usually leave the catches in Holland, don't you, captain? All except what you save for Mr. Robinson, and that's hardly what you'd call a boatload, is it?'

The sergeant said it paternally and persuasively. It didn't seem to pacify Captain Jewell, however.

‘Mind you own business, Horace, and I'll mind mine.'

‘But it is our business, captain. I've instructions to take you along for a few questions at Portwich. Don't make things difficult for us.'

‘What's it all about?'

Roger Pollitt, who had hitherto been quiet, suddenly erupted.

‘What the hell . . .?'

The telephone rang, and the sergeant answered it. Someone at the other end gave peremptory orders. The sergeant laid down the instrument gently, like someone on tiptoe.

‘That's headquarters at Portwich. They wish you to come along to Portwich as well, Mr. Roger.'

‘Tell them to go to hell.'

‘You know I can't do that. It seems that they wish to question you, too. Arisin' out of interviews they've been having with Messrs. Dawson and Lever.'

Both captains seemed to be thinking the same thing at the same time.

‘What are those two doing there?'

‘I can't say, sir. But I think . . . mind you, I only think . . . that it's something to do with illegal immigration. . . .'

‘What are we waiting here for, then? Let's be going,' shouted Jewell and they were loaded in the police car and
were driven off with Littlejohn and Hopkinson following in their own car.

The police at Portwich were having a busy time. Lever, Dawson and the Pakistanis were all there and the illegal immigrants had been provided with an interpreter. Lever, still without his lawyer, had broken silence at last. But it wasn't about their comic effort at crime. He was worrying about his diet. They had offered him a large mug of tea and he had rejected it. The immigrants were refusing their food as well and although almost starving would not eat unless they were allowed to prepare the meal themselves.

‘Never drink tea. You'd better get me some dandelion coffee. And if I'm detained here much longer you'd better see to some lunch for me, too. None of your stew, either. Brown bread, cottage cheese, and some yoghourt. . . .' said Lever.

Bradfield was in a private office with another inspector and seemed to have been left in charge of proceedings. He was elated. He took Littlejohn and Hopkinson aside.

‘It looks very much as if we'll soon have the murder sewn up as well as the immigrants. If Lever and Dawson were in Todd's gang they must have quarrelled and one of them shot him. I'm sure they'll break under further pressure. Dawson's ready to shop Lever, I'm sure, to save his own skin.'

Littlejohn lit his pipe.

‘Not so fast, Bradfield. You're taking too much for granted. Take it easy.'

‘Well, sir. That's my view and we'll see who's right. I'm just going to have another session with Lever, who's in a hurry now, because he's hungry and thinks hunger will give him ulcers. He's probably willing to swop information for a good feed.'

‘I very much doubt that.'

There was plenty of space in the new Portwich headquarters and the four suspects were given a room each and interviewed separately. Then they were all assembled together and there was almost a riot. Pollitt and Jewell joined forces to defend one another and Dawson fought a running battle on behalf of himself and Lever, who had lapsed into silence again because his solicitor was in court and likely to be there for some time. The Pakistanis, all six of them, vociferously, and through their interpreter, identified Jewell as the captain of the first leg of their sea journey from Holland. Then they identified Dawson and Lever. Pollitt, as owner of the vessel, was incriminated and Jewell finding him a broken reed in support, ‘shopped' him. Finally, Lever, filled with contempt for the motley crowd in which he was involved, ‘shopped' the lot of them, himself included.

He said the business had been going on quietly and casually for more than a year. Heck Todd had been in charge of arrangements. One or the other of the
Gee
boats had picked up the human cargo in Holland and brought them to a rendezvous just out of sight of the English shore. There they had been transferred to Todd's boat and ferried back to Slee Creek, a silent and deserted cove three miles north of Fordinghurst. There Lever and Dawson had been waiting with their vans and taken them to London. Nobody questioned the contents of the vans; they were accustomed to seeing them about the roads on their regular rounds. When a cargo was ready for shipment a telephone message from Holland was sent to Dawson at the warehouse. ‘Send six dozen red wine on your next delivery here. Jack Jones.' That code was translated: ‘Six men on the way. Meet at 3.0.' The name ‘Jack Jones' contained the time of meeting.

Lever, loquacious from disgust, explained that as Todd was dead and the cargo on the way, he and Dawson had discussed the position and decided to go it alone. Todd's boat having been impounded, they helped themselves to Robinson's ramshackle craft and successfully took their men aboard. But they then discovered they couldn't make Slee Creek. They had lost their bearings and as Slee carried no lights they had, after twice almost grounding in search of the creek, decided to make for Fordinghurst, the port of which was illuminated. There they had run into trouble entirely due to Robinson's toothache.

All this was communicated to Littlejohn and Hopkinson at the
Trident
where they were enjoying a very late lunch.

Bradfield, who spoke to Littlejohn over the telephone, was a bit deflated.

‘That, sir, more or less folds up the immigrants case. We've charged them and they've asked for bail. I wouldn't be surprised if it were granted. Lever's lawyer turned up and played hell. He said we'd leaned too heavily on all of them. Can you beat that, sir? Nothing was said about the murder. The seamen were out at sea when it occurred and can prove it. Dawson and Lever say they were both in bed and fast asleep when it occurred and we've nothing to base a charge on. . . .'

‘Don't worry about that, Bradfield,' said Littlejohn. ‘Leave that to us.'

And he went back to his lunch.

It was raining when Littlejohn and Hopkinson set out for the Big House. Fine, sticky, depressing rain, which hung like a fog over everything. It was quite dark and the lamps of the quay flung down a diffused light on the shiny wet pavements. There was nobody about. The shops were all shut and the lights were on in the cottages and pubs on the way. The river and the port were only just visible in the gloom and the ships tied up there were quiet. In one of the pubs someone was playing an accordion. From the direction of Slee Head they could hear the foghorn bellowing.

They took the way familiar to them. Past the mayor's house, with lights on in the front rooms upstairs and downstairs. Presumably the mayoress was suffering another nervous crisis after the news of their son's arrest. There were cars parked in front of the doctor's house and through the window, the curtains of which were not drawn, they could see a small party of guests. Hopkinson paused to light a cigarette to give him time to see if the receptionist was among them. He felt guilty for taking his thoughts from his duty, jealous of the men who had easy access to
the doctor's house and company, and anxious about his own chances and future.