Murder Adrift (2 page)

They all looked surprised. As far as the crime went, they hadn't got anywhere at all.

‘Where did the crime occur?'

Littlejohn thought he'd better make a start.

‘We don't know exactly. The body was found in Heck Todd's boat. It was discovered drifting out at sea and towed in. The body was in the cabin with a shot in the heart.'

And Bradfield went on to tell Littlejohn all that had happened around noon on the previous day.

‘Was the
Mary Jane
a large boat?'

‘A cabin cruiser. Of its kind, very substantial. Todd was very proud of it. It must have cost him a packet. Where he got the money from nobody seems to know. He's a wastrel and his brother's had to get him out of financial trouble a time or two . . . '

‘Yet his brother kept him on in the firm?'

‘Yes. Heck was one of the directors and still held a job
there. Their father started the business and did well in it. Ken, the elder brother, carried on and built up the business even more. If it had rested with Heck they'd have gone bust long ago. He was a layabout and spent too much time messing about in his boat and chasing women. The old man died when the two sons had hardly grown up, and Mrs. Todd was chairman of the company for several years. Now there's a woman for you!'

‘She made a success of the business?'

‘As good as any man . . . even better. Reminds you of the great Widow who ran the champagne firm in France . . . What's the name . . .? Veuve Clicquot. Head of the family, shrewd, knew the business inside out . . . '

‘Is she still in the firm?'

‘She's eighty! Retired on doctor's orders about a couple of years ago. If you ask me, it was her know-how that made her husband such a success. Her one weak spot seemed to be Heck. It often happens. The mother is fondest of the naughty boy of the family. Ken tolerated him because his mother said so. Otherwise, as I said, Heck would have been out.'

‘The body was on the floor of the cabin?'

‘Face downwards. He was dead and cold. The doctors said he'd probably been dead twelve hours, roughly, and death had been instant. The gun hasn't been found yet. It was probably chucked overboard.'

The Chief Constable, who had been showing signs of impatience, excused himself.

‘I'd better be off, Littlejohn. Lot of work to do in the circumstances. Bradfield will see you settled in.'

He made off and left Bradfield, Littlejohn and Hopkinson together.

‘What about fingerprints in the cabin?'

‘Lots of them. A real field-day of prints. Todd had held a cocktail party on board the previous Sunday and the cabin hadn't been polished up afterwards.'

‘Have you any theories about what happened?'

‘On the face of it, Todd had been killed at sea taking a solitary passenger on a trip. Why they should be sailing about at midnight I can't think. Perhaps they quarrelled and had a fight and Todd got shot. Then the passenger made off in the dinghy which has an outboard motor. The dinghy hasn't been found yet, but will probably turn up later. It could have been left in any of the many coves in these parts.'

‘Any suspects?'

‘Not particularly, so far. It might have been a woman, you know. The crime occurred at night and, as Heck Todd had a reputation for that sort of thing, a luxury boat on a calm night might have been ideal for what he'd got in mind. If we assume that to be true, we'll have a long procession of suspects. Todd must have had a long list of women in his life.'

‘Have any of them been interviewed?'

Bradfield rubbed his chin nervously.

‘That's a bit awkward. Heck Todd was married, but one woman wasn't enough. It's a wonder his wife didn't divorce him long ago. Perhaps she was taking her revenge by not giving him his freedom . . . '

Bradfield hesitated, putting his thoughts in order.

‘Don't get the wrong idea. Todd wasn't running around with a whole flock of women. One at a time, so to speak . . . '

As though there was some sort of virtue in Todd's method!

‘ . . . The girl he's been fancying lately seems to have given him the sack. She eloped with a racing cyclist last
week. So Todd might have been giving a new light o' love a midnight sail with a view to filling the vacant place.'

‘You don't know who the candidate might have been?'

‘No. I guess the first moves were made discreetly. Hence the boat trip after dark. Perhaps she proved a bit difficult when she found what Todd was up to and, as they say, defended her virtue.'

Littlejohn couldn't help feeling that he was being kept on the outskirts of the case. It was obvious from Bradfield's manner that the Todds were big people locally and must be treated with respect. Perhaps that was why the Chief Constable had asked for help and his reasons were only excuses to get an independent man on the job.

There was a pause. Hopkinson, who was in his late twenties, had hitherto been training and this was his first case under a high-ranking officer. He was a university graduate in law, tall, lithe and athletic, and he was proud and eager to make the most of working with Littlejohn. He carried a businesslike brief-case which held a do-it-yourself kit, including fingerprint equipment, magnifying glasses and a small microscope, writing materials, the official manual of instructions, loose-leaf sheets for his notes on the case, and several memoranda on procedure which he had compiled himself during his courses of study.

Up to now Hopkinson had simply sat-in as an observer. Littlejohn thought it time to give him a chance.

‘What do you think about it all, Hopkinson?'

‘Hoppy', a polite and thoughtful young man, wrinkled his forehead studiously.

‘The crime was presumably committed on board. It may have been, however, that it happened on land and the murderer took the body on the boat for disposal. Otherwise the dead man and his companion probably boarded the
Mary Jane
together at her moorings here. I wonder if anybody saw them?'

Bradfield dismissed the idea with a jerk of his hand.

‘We've already made inquiries locally. So far, there seems to have been nobody on the waterfront when the
Mary Jane
left. Don't forget, it was midnight. The harbour master was in his office at 10.30 and the boat was empty and tied-up in the river then.'

Hopkinson nodded modestly and didn't argue. But he scribbled a note in his pocket book to remind him to mention the matter to Littlejohn later. How thorough were the inquiries about casuals being on the waterfront, or even about the town, at the time the
Mary Jane
left? Any constable on patrol at the time? Advertise in local paper?

Hopkinson daren't ask Bradfield direct questions in case the Inspector took it as a slur on the local police. When he raised the points with Littlejohn later, he was told to seek answers to his questions himself and regard himself as responsible for that part of the inquiry.

Meanwhile, Littlejohn thought they had talked enough about the case and was eager to get around the town and familiarise himself with the character and layout of the place. Bradfield was obviously anxious to get to headquarters in Portwich, where, it seemed, the absence of two senior officers had accelerated the rat-race among their juniors.

‘By the way, we've booked you rooms at the
Trident Hotel.
You'll find it very good. A new place built since Fordinghurst became so popular as a yachting centre. It's the best hotel in town. Shall I have your bags sent across?'

‘Hopkinson had better take them and see to things in the hotel. Is it far away?'

‘No. At the end of the waterfront past the swing bridge; a good spot and a nice outlook.'

‘Do that, then, Hopkinson, please, and then put the car in the police garage. I don't suppose we'll need it much. Wait for me in the hotel. I'll take a walk round the town.'

And the party broke up, Bradfield promising to call in the following morning.

The newcomers had already been introduced to the local staff on duty, a sergeant, three constables and a cadet.

‘I feel comfortable with 'im,' said Sergeant Keel talking about Littlejohn when he gathered his men together for a little pep-talk. And he told them he'd have his eye on them until the case was solved and woe betide them if they didn't acquit themselves with credit.

P.C. Gudgeon, who had lived in Fordinghurst all his life and whose father was head gardener at the Big House, as the residence of the widow Todd was locally known, was elected as adviser to the detectives on local matters and personnel.

After he and Bradfield parted, Littlejohn strolled to the main square which was the hub of the town. It all reminded him of those little secluded towns in provincial France. The sun shining warmly, the heat rising from the pavements, the blue sky overhead and the smell of roasting coffee from the grocer's shop hanging on the still air. News of his arrival seemed to have spread round the town and people he'd never seen before greeted him cheerfully, as though he'd lived among them all his life and they were confident that he would quickly solve their local problems and move the cloud of fear from the place.

If Bradfield could have seen Littlejohn he'd have been surprised. The Chief Superintendent was looking casually in the shop windows as he passed along the main streets.
He called in a tobacco shop which sold fishing tackle as well, and bought some tobacco. The owner asked him politely if he were the detective from London on the Todd case and Littlejohn told him that was right. The man wished him luck and gave him a souvenir box of matches. Then he told him that Heck Todd had been one of his customers and that he'd smoked a brand of cigarettes which were a special order.

‘Expensive brand. I guess I'll be left with them now and have to smoke them myself. Heck was a man of taste who liked expensive living. A bit of a card, too, especially where the ladies were concerned. But everybody seemed to like him. Nobody wished him dead.'

He finished mixing Littlejohn's order, two ounces of light and one of dark tobacco, and handed it over. Later, he told quite a number of his regular customers of the purchase and some of them tried and approved of it. After that, he called it ‘Littlejohn's Mixture', and sold quite a lot of it.

When Littlejohn entered the
Trident,
Hopkinson was in the bar in earnest conversation with a man of about his own age, tall and gangling, wearing strong glasses and dressed in soiled flannel trousers and a sports coat, with leather repairs at the elbows and cuffs. They were drinking beer.

There were several bars about the place, but this one was got up to resemble the wardroom of a ship and trimmed accordingly. It all looked a bit overdone. It was a wonder they didn't dress up the waiters as sailors, but it hadn't, as yet, been carried that far.

The
Trident
was new and still smelt of fresh paint. It had been built mainly to accommodate the flood of amateur yachtsmen from miles around who found the once-neglected port excellent for their needs. The hotel was full to capacity with visitors all summer and even in winter when the good weather held.

It was now within an hour of dinner time and all the bars were full of hearty shouting crowds of men dressed in all kinds of nautical wear, from brass buttons and white
shoes to jerseys and gumboots. It was a place where the landsmen were mildly patronised or snubbed by the seagoing fraternity. The sensational news of murder and the arrival of Scotland Yard seemed to have brought most of the group ashore and for a fine sunny evening more boats than usual remained tied-up in the port.

Littlejohn felt the need of a drink after the hot afternoon and made for the first bar. Hopkinson spotted him and brought his companion to meet him.

‘This is Rob Feltham, sir. We were at school together. He's a reporter on the
Portwich Observer
. . . '

‘It's a small world, isn't it?' said Feltham, as he shook hands.

‘I've just been arranging the notice in the paper about anyone who was in the neighbourhood of the port late on the night of the crime, sir'.

Hopkinson was sparkling with enthusiasm for his job. He'd obviously told Feltham he was assisting the Chief Superintendent and looked as if he'd already quite a lot to tell Littlejohn when they were alone together.

Feltham was out for a scoop before the ‘London lot', as he called his Fleet Street competitors, arrived. As representative of several London and provincial papers he had already made his report to them, but the case was now important enough to bring the staff men down to Fordinghurst.

‘Any progress so far, sir?'

‘We haven't started on the case yet.'

Hopkinson looked a bit crestfallen. He had been singing Littlejohn's praises to his friend and his chief's empty-handed return was disappointing.

Feltham looked round at the milling throng of drinking men.

‘This is the obvious place for meeting the characters in the case. Everybody who's anybody in the social scale or the sailing lot comes here sooner or later.'

‘The characters . . .?'

Littlejohn was obviously in the public eye and the news had got round where he was drinking. The customers surrounding the bar kept watching him, sizing him up and wondering whether or not to offer him a drink. Now and then a new face would peer into the room and then join the crowd.

‘I mean the characters connected with Heck Todd and his friends. Suspects, if you like to call them that.'

Feltham was self-consciously aware that everybody was eyeing him, too. He almost told them to read all about it in his column in the next morning's
Observer.
He took his courage in both hands.

‘I wonder, Chief Superintendent, if you and Hoppy would care to take dinner here with me tonight?'

Littlejohn didn't relish the idea at all. Feltham was the limpet type and, once familiar, might need a lot of getting rid of. All the same, he was a pal of Hopkinson who would be gratified if he agreed.