Murder Adrift (8 page)

‘Let's go and have a nightcap together and get away from this lot. The manager here and me are pals and I'm always welcome in his private room. We'll have a little drink in peace. . . .'

And he linked arms with Hoppy and led him out. As they passed his table Littlejohn gave Hoppy a broad smile. He looked as if he'd had a good session with the mortician whereas Hoppy's was only just beginning and the idea of combining business with more drinks was bothering him.

It was obvious that Dawson was persona grata in the
Trident.
He led the way to a private back-stage sitting-room, which the manager was not using as he was rushing here and there ingratiating himself with the notables or whipping-up the staff to added efforts.

‘We'll not be disturbed here,' said Dawson, and he disappeared and quickly returned with a bottle of whisky and a syphon of soda. He poured a couple of drinks and, indicating an armchair, told Hopkinson to make himself at home, just as though he owned the place.

‘I've enjoyed your company tonight and I thought that, as I'm what you might almost call a member of the family, having worked for them for close on 40 years, I could perhaps
be of some use to the police in the way of information. . . .'

Hopkinson got the idea that Dawson had staged the private meeting for reasons of his own. He sipped his drink cautiously. If Dawson was going to grow garrulous Hopkinson was going to be sober enough to remember it all and form his own opinions.

‘That's very civil of you, sir. This is a difficult case and we're glad of all the help we can get. You must have known Mr. Hector Todd very well?'

‘Better than most people, I can tell you. It was like this, you see. I knew him as a boy playing in the warehouse. He was an intelligent little beggar and seemed to take to me. Always asking questions and, though I say it myself, through having children of my own, I'm patient with youngsters and I understand them. Young Heck was very interested in wine and could well have become a connoisseur. But after he left school and had to earn his living dealing with cheap brands, that didn't suit him at all. His heart wasn't in it. His mother was running the business at that time and I told her more than once she ought to send him to London to a high-class wine merchant to learn the top-ranking trade, and then bring him home to run a branch of the firm dealing in the finest wines. But she wouldn't. . . .'

He paused for breath. He had a hoarse, boozy voice, as though there was an obstruction in his gullet. Every now and then he began to croak and cleared his throat by a noisy cough and a large swig of whisky.

‘I wonder why?'

‘It was obvious. Heck was one who liked the good things of life. Easy come, easy go, including the girls. His mother was afraid to let him off the leash. She thought if he got mixed up with people like himself in London he would
soon forget the business at home. But, of course, he didn't need to go to London to kick up his heels; he managed that all right in Fordinghurst.'

‘Women, wine and song, eh?'

‘Yes. He'd been spoiled and had too much of his own way. After their father's death their mother turned her affection on the boys. You've met Mr. Kenneth?'

‘Not yet. I was introduced to him, but I don't think he even noticed me.'

‘Well, when you've met him you'll understand why she preferred Heck to him. He's a cold fish, immersed in the business and I'd say, on the face of it, incapable of much warmth or reciprocating affection. Heck was his mother's favourite and she didn't conceal the fact. He took full advantage of it.'

Dawson filled up his glass and eyed Hopkinson's.

‘You're not drinking. Fill up. . . .'

‘I was interested in what you were saying.'

Hoppy wondered how much more Dawson had to tell him. Dawson seemed quite unaffected by all he'd drunk. But at this rate Hoppy felt he himself would pass out before the full tale was told.

‘He married a nice girl. I think it was a shotgun wedding, so to speak. Everybody thought she was Ken's girl. But no woman was safe where Heck was concerned. Suddenly the news broke that she and Heck had married at a London registry office. She was the daughter of a Colonel Penderell, of Portwich, a prominent local family and she had two formidable brothers. I calculated at the time that there was a child on the way and the wedding was forced medicine. I was proved right. Nobody knows what went on between the two families behind closed doors. As usual, I guess, Mrs. Todd settled it all. You've met her?'

‘Yes. This morning.'

‘What do you think of her?'

‘A charming old lady.'

Dawson, who was lighting his pipe, made wuffing noises to indicate that he was amused at the naive reply.

‘All milk and roses, eh? She's iron underneath. What she's had to put up with since she married Todd would have killed most women, or else put 'em in an asylum. She was the daughter of the Dean of Portwich, daddy's darling, everybody's darling, including the bishop. Then she married Ephraim Todd, known as Teddy. They met for the first time – you won't believe it, but it's true – they met when Teddy called at the deanery in an effort to sell communion wine. It was a love match. By God, it was! They fought like cat and dog. Teddy was merchanting cheap wine in an old brewery on the site where their big warehouse is now. He took his new wife to live in the lodge at the brewery gates, a little dark two-up and two-down place. He was hardly making enough to live on, but she soon pulled it round. He drank a fair amount of his own stuff and once, when he was drunk, he hit her. She hit him back with a rolling-pin and they had to take him to hospital. After that, she was the boss, with a capital B. Funnily enough, with all her troubles and struggles, her appearance changed very little. She was always a handsome woman, smallish, graceful, but resolute and iron inside. She had to be or else she'd have gone under.'

He paused to light his pipe again. He smoked strong tobacco and Hopkinson, to counteract it, lit the cigar which, earlier in the evening, a convivial fellow guest had thrust in his pocket.

‘I guess you're wondering how I know all this. It was family history before my time. But there was an old chap
called Finch, who was book-keeper and general factotum to Teddy Todd, who went through it all. He spent his time between the Big House and the office and all this went on around him. There used to be a little club in Fordinghurst until it went bust with the arrival of the motor-car, which made the members able to get down to Portwich for their entertainment. Ben Fitch used to tell me things after he'd had a few drinks at the club. One night, after he'd had one too many, he walked in the harbour; and that was the end of poor Ben.'

‘You mentioned the family arrangements after Hector married his brother's fiancée. Do you mean to tell me that Kenneth remained under the same roof as the married couple when they returned to Fordinghurst?'

‘Not at first. Heck and his wife took a flat in the town and lived there for a time. Then the widow Todd took ill and had a very serious operation. She must have effected what, on the surface, was a complete reconciliation between her sons. When she returned home from hospital Heck and his wife took up residence in a flat in the Big House and Heck's wife, who'd been a nurse, looked after her mother-in-law, who was bedridden for almost a year after the operation. Kenneth never married. He took complete control of the firm. Heck drifted back into his old ways. Before his marriage there was a scandal in the family, which they couldn't hush up. He got involved with a London actress, there was a divorce case, and Heck had heavy damages to pay. It came at a bad time in the company's history, too. An epidemic among the foreign wines had caused their sources of supply in the way of wines to dry up, there was a shortage of money in the firm, and Mrs. Todd, senior, had to straighten out Heck's finances from her private means. I believe she had to sell some of her
jewellery. After his marriage he had several affairs, some local, others farther afield. I know because in the course of my rounds of duty I come across in restaurants, hotels and other places I visit all the gossip of the district. . . .'

‘Did his wife know of this?'

‘She knew a lot of it. She refused to divorce him. She had grown very fond of her mother-in-law and then, of course, there were the children, two boys. If Heck hadn't died he would have found himself in queer street with the family. His mother and brother were heartily sick of his line of conduct, and there was talk of him being dismissed from the firm and made into a sort of remittance-man.'

Hopkinson felt it time to terminate the interview. The place was thick with smoke and he had drunk quite enough whisky. He wondered what Littlejohn would say when he met him in his present unsteady condition. Dawson, on the other hand, seemed settled for the night.

‘Where do you live, Mr. Dawson?'

‘Between here and Portwich. A little place called Cullin-brook.'

‘Married, sir?'

‘I'm a widower. Wife died five years ago. My youngest daughter looks after me. I've two more daughters, both married. One lives in Cheltenham and the other married a soldier and lives in America.'

Dawson seemed very communicative. The whisky bottle was half empty and it gave Hopkinson a shock when he saw it. He certainly hadn't drunk so much! And Dawson, who must have been tippling as he went along, was no worse for his share. It had only made him more matey. At this rate they'd be there until morning. Then it suddenly dawned on Hopkinson that as he was a guest at the
Trident
he could drink after hours and entertain his guest as well. Dawson
was using him to have his little binge within the law!

‘Was there anything else you wanted to know?'

‘I suppose you know all the details about Mr. Hector and his many peccadillos?'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘You and Mr. Lever keep Mr. Kenneth posted with all the gossip and news you hear in your rounds, don't you?'

‘I thought you said you didn't know Mr. Kenneth? Who's been talking to you?'

‘Never mind. It's true, isn't it?'

‘I don't like the hint that I might have been spying on Mr. Heck and telling tales. But somebody had to do it. You never knew what he'd be up to next. After all, I'm almost one of the family after being with them all this time. It's up to me to protect their interests. . . .'

Dawson had grown sulky as though Hopkinson had rebuked him and he needed to justify himself.

‘For instance, it was me who overheard in one of the pubs I visit on my rounds that Heck was thinking of selling his shares in the firm to a company who wanted to make a takeover. I told Mr. Kenneth and he made Heck sell his shares to him.'

‘I suppose by the same token you heard of all Heck's love affairs as well. In the course of gathering this information, Mr. Dawson, did you ever get the impression that Heck had enemies, people he'd affronted who might wish him ill? Hated him enough to murder him?'

Dawson took so long answering that Hopkinson thought he had fallen asleep.

‘I was just thinking. As far as I know, he never got mixed up with any more married women. Not after his expensive escapade with the divorce case. Besides, nowadays illicit love affairs aren't talked about as much. They're
commonplace. Now, when I was young, every little whore in the neighbourhood had a reputation, everybody knew it and the respectable ones avoided her. Now it doesn't matter. So, you see, Heck could do as he liked without shocking anyone.'

‘Yes, but people would talk. They enjoy talking about other folks' amours. . . .'

‘Oh, for God's sake, don't try to make Heck's death a crime of passion! If it was that, he'd have been murdered long ago. Has it never struck you or your Chief that there are other motives than that? What about illicit imports of drugs? The coast round here is ideal for such business. Heck wouldn't hesitate to dabble in it if there was money in it. It wouldn't surprise me if he took drugs himself now and then. He was that sort, Heck. Has it not struck you that Heck must have had a bigger source of income than his allowance from the family? Where did the cash come from to buy his expensive new cabin cruiser and his nippy little car? If you get mixed up in Heck's sex life you'll miss the obvious. He was in some racket or other which brought him a good income and something went wrong. That's why, in my opinion, he got himself killed.'

‘Thanks for the tip. We'll follow it up. . . .'

The manager of the hotel suddenly entered and brought the session to a rapid close.

‘You still here, Mr. Dawson? Everyone else has gone. And I'm needing this room now. It's past midnight and I still have some bookwork to do. I want to work in here where I won't be disturbed. . . .'

He held the door open for them politely and the party broke up. Dawson took the almost empty whisky bottle with him. Later, Hopkinson found that it had been charged on his bill.

Littlejohn had left a message with the night porter that he had gone for a walk and Hopkinson needn't wait up. This suited Hoppy, for he didn't feel in a fit condition to meet his Chief that night.

‘Bring Me a bottle of Vichy water. . . .'

The wine waiter stared blankly at Mr. Lever.

‘Vichy?'

‘Yes. Anything wrong with that?'

Littlejohn wondered why Lever had come to the dinner at all. He was obviously a man who took little pleasure in junketing. In fact, a hypochondriac. You could imagine him always on the lookout for symptoms in various parts of his body, rushing to a medical dictionary to identify them and then stuffing himself from a stock of pills and powders of all shapes and sizes. He had hardly seated himself beside Littlejohn before he started on his self-medication. He fished in his pocket and pulled out three pill boxes, selected two red capsules from one of them, and placed them on the tablecloth in front of him. Then he looked round for something with which to wash them down. He had to wait until the Vichy arrived and then he took the dose with much agitation of his adam's apple.