Such Is Death (16 page)

“Could it?”

“Oh yes. My father did not leave such a vast sum and my mother died after Ernest was presumed dead and never mentioned him in her will at all. I suppose that to get rid of Ernest we should all have been willing to contribute. We could have satisfied him, I think, and sent him back to Australia.”

“You don't think he would have demanded more later?”

“No. He couldn't blackmail us. We should not have paid. After all, it would have been dangerous for him to reveal who he was and not by any means a matter of life and death for us. That is what we should have done if he had lived to approach us.”

“I see your point though,” said Carolus. “So far from having a motive for murdering Ernest you all had a very good motive for
not
murdering him, since his murder would do exactly what you did not want—call attention to him.”

Bertrand smiled.

“I don't think we need take it so seriously,” he said.
“It's so plain that we had nothing to do with it and did not even know he was alive. But I wish you could make the police see that.”

“What do you think was the murderer's motive?” asked Carolus.

“Oh theft, probably. That seems to be the motive of most murders. Some thug who went out that night determined to rob the first person he saw.”

“But the police do not think Ernest was robbed.”

“Why not?”

“He had a pocket-case with seven pounds in it in his hip pocket and his wristwatch hadn't been taken.”

“Seven pounds. A wristwatch. Modern thieves don't bother with such things. Ernest was probably robbed of a good sum.”

“You think so?”

“Certainly. Find out what he had on him that night and you'll have your motive. Surely you or the police can do that.”

“You may be right. Of course, the motive might have been revenge.”

“You're thinking of this man Lobbin, who claims to have known him in Burma. Most unlikely I should have thought.”

“Everything's most unlikely,” said Carolus.

“I know Lobbin,” said Bertrand. “A good fellow, I think. I hear he's in the bar of the Queen Victoria every night from opening to closing to escape from his wife, who nags him. Not at all the type for a murderer.”

They were interrupted by the entrance of Molly French. She was an extremely attractive young woman with a frank cheerful face and good movements. Carolus was glad to see that Bertrand Rafter made no attempt to conceal their relationship, which seemed a very happy one.

“Deene is working on the murder,” Bertrand explained, ‘and we've been trying to find a motive. He has not yet asked where you were on the night of the crime.”

“In London,” she said. “Staying with my sister. It's a
pity, really, or I could have supplied Bertrand with an alibi. I've always wanted to be someone's alibi. It sounds so intimate.”

“He doesn't think he needs one,” said Carolus.

“But it's a good thing I didn't go down to the promenade that night as I sometimes do,” said Bertrand. “Then I would have been suspect number one in this Alice-in-Wonderland affair.”

They had a drink together and chatted rather aimlessly about the case for a while.

“I've only got three more interviews,” Carolus said. “Then I think I've exhausted all I can do. If ever there was a case for the police, with all their resources, and for no one else, this is it. I'm sorry in a way that I started.”

“Who are your interviews with?” asked Molly.

“Mr Locksley Rafter …”

“Oh
no
!” said Bertrand. “You can't suppose my poor brother had anything to do with it!

“He might have some information,” said Carolus. “Perhaps without knowing it. At all events, in the interests of thoroughness I can't leave him out. Then there's a man called Stringer.”

“I don't know him,” Bertrand said.

“You wouldn't. He's an assistant in an ironmonger's shop.”

“You are going to find out who bought the coal-hammer?”

“No. Not that. But this man was among those on the promenade that night.”

“I see. Suspect by propinquity, not by consanguinity?” said Bertrand, rather pleased with his remark.

“I don't know what to consider a suspect at all,” admitted Carolus. “The whole town's suspect, so far as I'm concerned.”

“Why limit it to the town?” asked Bertrand. “There is transport, you know. Why not the whole country?”

“One must prod about somewhere. Thanks for what you've told me—and the drink. I'll let you know if I get any farther.”

“You haven't told us who the third interview is with,” said Molly French as they came to the front door.

“Oh, Lobbin, I suppose,” said Carolus.

“Is he seriously suspected?”

“I don't know, but I should think so. He knew Ernest in Burma and probably suffered by his collaboration. He is thought to have recognized him that evening. And he was on the promenade at the relevant time. He is the only person known to fulfil all the three conditions.”

“He has always seemed a very decent fellow to me,” said Bertrand.

“Oh, by the way,” said Carolus, “there is one routine question I must ask. Have you got a coal-hammer similar to the one used by the murderer?”

“We don't use coal,” said Bertrand. “We're all-electric. And we're not very handy with tools in this house. I doubt if we've a hammer at all but we can look in what is euphemistically known as the tool-chest, if you like.”

He led them to a small cold room at the back of the house and opened a drawer there which held the usual miscellany of household ironmongery. Among the blunt chisels and rusted screwdrivers was a fairly heavy hammer.

“We're better off than I thought,” said Bertrand. “But the one used was surely heavier than this?”

“I haven't seen it but I should think so,” said Carolus.

Before he left they had asked him to lunch with them on Christmas day, an invitation which Carolus readily accepted. The thought of roast turkey at the Queen Victoria hotel was not very attractive.

He went to his car and drove off in the direction of Bawdon. He had decided to make his visit to Locksley Rafter unannounced and take the chance of not being able to see him.

Bawdon, he found, was just nine miles away. It was the county town and Carolus passed the Sessions House on his way to the offices of Rafter and Mohawk. These were on the ground floor of a large Georgian house.

Rather to his surprise he was shown in to Locksley
Rafter's room at once. It was large and comfortable, refreshingly free from files and documents.

No family likeness was noticeable in Locksley, though in the few words he spoke Carolus could hear the rich and plummy accent he had noted in the voices of Emma, Bertrand and Isobel Dalbinney. He wondered whether Ernest had spoken like this, too.

“You know why I've come to see you, Mr Rafter?”

The spare, thin-lipped solicitor said, “I do.”

“I may say at once that I am having a very difficult time with this case, which your sister asked me to investigate. May I ask you a number of questions?”

“You may.”

“They will probably seem absurd to you as they have seemed to your brother and sisters. But if I am to get anywhere at all I must know what were the movements of each member of the family on the day of the murder. I understand you called on Mrs Dalbinney that day?”

“I did.”

“Do you remember when you reached Selby?”

“At four.”

“And your sister's flat?”

“At four-five.”

“You remained until?”

“Approximately six.”

“You had your car?”

“I had.”

“And after you left your sister you drove straight home?”

“I did not.”

“Perhaps you called on some other members of your family?”

“No.'

“Where did you go, Mr Rafter?”

“To the Hydro.”

“You dined there?”

“I did.”

“And then?”

“A film.”

“At the Palatine?”

“No. The Regalia.”

“At what time did you come out?”

“At ten-fifteen.”

“Then what?”

“Home.”

“So you were in before eleven?”

“No, a puncture.”

“You stopped to change a wheel?”

“I did.”

“And reached home?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Was Mrs Rafter at home at the time?”

“In bed.”

“You woke her?”

“I did not.”

“Can you provide any sort of evidence of all this?”

“None.”

“This is most unfortunate. It means that, however farfetched it may seem to you, it was possible, so far as can be shown, for you to have committed the murder. I was hoping you would have a clear alibi.”

“Unnecessary,” said Locksley Rafter without the least emotion.

“It may seem so to you. But you and your family are almost the only people who are considered to have any motive for killing this man.”

Locksley astonished Carolus by asking a question.

“What motive?”

“I don't think I need go into that. His return could not have been welcome to you. Did you know he was still alive?”

“I did not.”

“Did you go on the promenade at Selby that night?”

“No.”

“Or anywhere near it?”

“Yes.”

“Where was that?”

“The car park.”

“Which car park was it?”

“Near the Hydro.”

“That is the one by the little garden which divides the road from the promenade? A minute's walk, in fact, from the shelter in which your brother was found murdered?”

“Exactly.”

“Did you see anyone about when you went to get your car?”

“No.”

“That would have been when you left the Regalia Cinema at a quarter past ten?”

“Approximately.”

“You realize that somewhere round this time your brother was being murdered?”

“I do.”

“You heard and saw nothing that could be connected with this?”

“Nothing.”

“I see you have electric heating here. Do you use coal at home?”

“We do not.”

“You have never had a hammer such as the one used?”

“Never.”

“Mr Rafter,” said Carolus desperately. “You have answered every question I have put to you and your answers may have been quite accurate. But have you nothing to tell me which may be of assistance?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you any opinion about this murder?”

“None.”

“What did you think of your brother Ernest?”

“A louse.”

“Have you always thought that? Or was it his reported behaviour as a prisoner of war which makes you say it?”

“From childhood.”

“You felt no sorrow at all at his death?”

“Sorrow? None.”

“But it was an inconvenience. The publicity and so on. Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Lobbin.”

“Really?” said Carolus, delighted to come on anything as human as suspicion. “On what grounds?”

“Motive. Ability. Opportunity.”

“I see what you mean. But doesn't it, all the same, seem rather improbable to you?”

“No.”

Carolus rose to go.

“Thank you for all your co-operation,” he said ironically.

“Delighted,” replied Locksley Rafter and with a curt nod to Carolus picked up and began to study some papers.

There remained Stringer and on his way back to Selby Carolus decided that he would see him today, so that with the exception of Lobbin his interrogatees would all be disposed of.

He found Stringer's home—a council house on the outskirts of the town. The door was opened by three jam-stained children who fixed him with the cold insolent stare of creatures hypnotized by curiosity.

“Is your father in?” asked Carolus.

Their eyes did not leave him. There was no motion among them. They seemed not even to blink. One raised his voice.

“Dad!” he said and continued to watch Carolus.

“What is it? “came a male voice from within.

“A man,” said the child.

“Coming,” said the voice, and all became still.

Mr Stringer when he presented himself was in shirtsleeves. He looked what Mr Morsell had called him ‘a good quiet little man, fond of reading'.

“Yes?” he said peering myopically at Carolus over the heads of his children.

“Could I have a few words with you alone?”

“Are you the gentleman the Reverend Morsell told me about?”

“I shouldn't be surprised.”

“Enquiring into something we won't mention before the children?”

“Well …”

“If so, I'm sorry but there's nothing I can tell you.”

“But there is. I understand you were on the promenade that night.”

“Ush,” said Mr Stringer sibilantly. “I don't want them to know anything about it.”

“Then send them away,” said Carolus growing, for once, a little irritated.

“It wouldn't do any good. I'm not to discuss it.”

“Who said not?”

“Mr Morsell for one. And there's nothing to tell you for another.”

“But you were down there, weren't you?”

“Down where? I've nothing to say and that's my last word.”

“I shall have to inform the detective inspector investigating the case that you decline to give information.”

“You inform him,” challenged Mr Stringer. “I've nothing to hide.”

“Then why not answer a couple of questions?”

“Because not,” said Mr Stringer.

One of the motionless children uttered again.