The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (25 page)

Constable Howard had been patrolling his beat, which runs through a development of those new buildings euphemistically called villas, when a cry caught his attention. Looking around he saw a middle-aged man shouting and waving a stick to attract his attention.

The constable walked over to the man who told him that he had just come home and had called for his wife. She had not replied and the cook said that she hadn’t seen her all afternoon. A quick search of the villa had revealed that the bathroom door was locked and there were no sounds from within. As he was somewhat lame, the man implored Constable Howard to open the door.

Howard tried the door and confirmed that it was locked. Crouching down he determined that there was no key in the lock and noticed that some water had trickled under the door. There was also a strong smell of blood. Deciding that the matter was urgent he applied himself to the door and with three hefty kicks managed to break the lock.

He entered the room and saw that the bath was full of a red liquid some of which had slopped over the sides wetting most of the floor. Constable Howard also observed that the window was slightly ajar and that there were bloodstains on the wall and sill that were starting to darken as they dried.

There was no sign of a body. The colour of the water led constable Howard to assume that the victim had bled to death in the bath before the, nearly completely exsanguinated, corpse was pushed through the window. A dressing gown and some other clothes were piled neatly on a chair confirming that someone had been bathing.

The constable ushered the man and an elderly woman, whom he thought was the cook, out of the room, observing as he did so that the bathroom key was hanging from a piece of string from the inside door knob.

The cook was in a state of near collapse so the two men helped her to a seat in the hall before the constable went to the front door and blew his whistle. When another policeman arrived, Howard left him in charge of the villa and returned to the station to summon assistance.

Constable Howard informed us that the man who attracted his attention was a Mr Arthur Beresford, a respected local ironmonger, who lived at the villa with his wife Mary, one maid and a cook.

All things considered, the young constable had done very well indeed having taken the time to note most of the important details of the crime scene, to my master’s satisfaction and Mr Johnstone’s obvious vexation.

The next step was obviously to go to the villa and inspect the crime scene in person so we all trooped down in two four wheelers; Inspector Graves with Constable Howard to do the investigating, Mr Johnstone and Sergeant Harris to criticise and your uncle to glare at Mr Johnstone. I also attended to support my master and to do any necessary barking.

I will not bore you by recounting in detail our visit to the villa but will summarise the initial investigation. It suffices to say that at times the conflicting interests of the attending parties threatened to turn a serious process into a burlesque farce.

Outside the bathroom window was a small border containing lavender bushes and some climbing roses. Some of the bushes were flattened and the ground around them had been disturbed. There were some traces of blood on the plants and it was easy to conclude that a body had been pushed through the window. I sniffed the disturbed ground but all I could smell was a heavy lavender scent, which later transpired to have come from bath oil rather than the plants. This odour was so over powering that it masked any other scents that might have been left by the killer.

A path ran alongside this border down towards a back gate that opened onto a small mews. There were some physical signs, such as lavender leaves and small splashes of blood to suggest that the body had been carried down the path. At the back gate, the trail went cold leading the detectives to presume that the corpse had been loaded onto some type of vehicle. Local enquiries uncovered no eyewitnesses although a domestic in one of the neighbouring villas remembered hearing a van leaving the mews at about three o’clock.

A careful search of the premises revealed no body and no obvious murder weapon. On being questioned, none of the villa's occupants could see anything missing, which ruled out a successful burglary.

Mr Beresford said that he had left for work at his normal time of seven thirty that morning and had been in the shop until about two o’clock when he had left to make a few deliveries. He had returned soon after five to help his assistant shut up. The van, which is shared between several of the local businesses, is kept in a shed behind the shop where there is also stabling for the horse. The assistant, Tom Waring, lives over the shop.

The cook, a Mrs Edith Morris, told us that Mrs Beresford had come to her in the kitchen just after lunch and told her that Mr Beresford wanted to have fish that evening; which exasperated Mrs Morris who had purchased chops when shopping that morning. 

As a result of this request the cook had had to go back to the shops and had left the house at about two. She said that she had called into a teashop for a drink and a gossip with a friend who she chanced upon. She returned to the villa some time around half past four and hearing no sound assumed that Mrs Beresford had gone for an afternoon walk. The first she had known of any trouble was when she heard Mr Beresford calling for his wife.

The maid, a pert young woman called Jane Prentice, told us that she had prepared a bath for Mrs Beresford before she had left for her afternoon off. She left the house just before two and returned at about six thirty.  It was Mrs Beresford’s regular habit to have a long bath on Jane’s afternoons off as she said she liked the sense of peace and tranquillity.

When asked, Jane said that she had spent the whole afternoon at her mother’s house nearby. She also wanted to know when she could clean the bathroom, as she had to do it before she went to bed so that it was clean for her master in the morning.

In short, we had a fascinating mystery that was obviously going to need a lot more investigating as we had no body, no murder weapon, no motive, no witnesses and no immediately obvious suspect. It looked like it was going to be one of our more interesting cases.

It was approaching ten before we all left the house.  Mr Johnstone and the odious Harris took their leave with the demand that we all assembled by eight the following morning. With the departure of the bureaucrat and his toady, the two inspectors decided to go for a late supper.

While they were eating, they discussed the case and came to the conclusion that there were two reasonably likely explanations for the disappearance of Mrs Beresford. Firstly she might have been murdered by her husband and the body had been removed to frustrate the investigation. Alternatively, some unknown villain had seen the cook leave and spotting an open window had entered the property looking for something to steal but had been surprised by Mrs Beresford’s presence and killed her.

In the first case, we knew that Mr Beresford had been away from the shop at the presumed time of the murder. What we had to do was to discover a motive and then secure any evidence against him. An examination of the van was clearly in order as well as painstakingly tracing his delivery round to see if he actually did have the opportunity.

The second hypothesis looked rather weak because the removal of the body seemed to have been carefully planned and the inspectors could not see any logical reason why a sneak thief who had killed in the heat of the moment should court the gallows by burdening himself with a corpse.

‘The idiot, the unspeakably arrogant fool,’ shouted your uncle the following morning waking me from a short nap under the breakfast table.

‘Who, Sir?’ my master’s man, Short, enquired as he deftly served breakfast, ‘and what has he done?’

‘Johnstone, that egotistical lackey of the Home Secretary has not only made an arrest but has also got newspapers to report it. Listen to this.’

There was a pause while your uncle flattened the paper then he began to read.

‘Missing body murderer arrested. It is indeed a rare thing for this newspaper to be able to report the arrest of a murderer before our readers are even sensible of the fact that a sensational murder has been committed. Which of our great detectives managed this feat of investigation? The answer shockingly is none of them. While Thompson, acknowledged by some as our best detective, was still flummoxed, Mr Johnstone, the high-ranking civil servant who has been reviewing the state of the detective force, solved the case in just eight hours. When asked why he had taken this somewhat melodramatic step, Mr Johnstone replied that he had to do something dramatic to “demonstrate the muddle and apathy that plague the police force” he went on to say that “although Thompson has a reputation for brilliance he is in fact a lucky amateur with no real talent for consistent logical thinking.”

‘This paper can reveal that Mr Arthur Beresford, of
57 Broadstairs Road, has been arrested for the murder of his wife Mary who was foully struck down while she was bathing.’

My master threw the newspaper down and muttered a few choice Anglo-Saxon epithets. It was obvious that he was not in a very good mood and it occurred to me that the day was going to be very interesting.

We arrived at the station in good time and found it seething like a disturbed anthill. Inspector Graves was, if it were possible, even angrier than your uncle. He ushered us into his office called abruptly for tea and then slammed the door before seating himself.

‘Richard, I’ve been here since four.’ He growled, ‘three and a half hours of good sleep lost because that arrogant bastard wants to show off.’

‘What exactly happened, Charles?’ my master said in a soothing tone.

‘Last night when they left the house, Johnstone sent a wire to several of the papers asking them if they wanted to witness the arrest of a murderer. They then sat in the Red Lion and waited for the hyenas of the press to arrive.

‘I heard from one of my constables who was drinking in the public bar that Mr Johnstone gave a short but inspired speech about the problems with our service before leading the whole pack of them to the villa. The odious Harris then arrested Mr Beresford and brought him back here.

‘By the time anyone thought to summon me, Johnstone and Harris were well into an interrogation of the poor man. I tried to intervene but was promptly ordered to search Beresford’s van and check his alibi.’

‘Ordered?’ my master asked, cutting into Graves’ tirade. ‘Ordered, by whom?’

‘Inspector Harris, if you’d credit it.’ He waved my master to silence before continuing, ‘Johnstone also wired the Home Secretary, claimed that we were being obstructive, and asked that his “good assistant” be instantly promoted and placed in charge of the case. As a result we both answer to that louse on this one.’

‘What did you find when you checked out the van?’ My master asked after a few moments quiet introspection.

‘The van was clean, with no traces of anything untoward. I woke the assistant and had him show me a list of the deliveries made by Mr Beresford. There were only three of them and they wouldn’t have taken him more that half an hour. I asked about the length of time he had been out of the shop and was told that Mr Beresford often used the pretence of deliveries to leave the shop for a few hours.

‘Mr Beresford refused to tell us where he was but hinted that he had seen someone. His alibi is, therefore, in complete tatters and he goes before a Magistrate this morning who will remand him in custody pending trial in the high court.’

‘Be that as it may, Charles,’ my master said, rising with sudden energy to his feet. ‘I’m not convinced that Beresford is a killer. While Johnstone and Harris are enjoying themselves at the Magistrates’ Court I think I will go and interview the domestic staff again.’

‘What can I do?’

‘It might be prudent to interview the other traders, especially those who share the van with Beresford. It might possibly throw some light on this case.’

‘Johnstone will be furious when he finds out,’ Inspector Graves astutely observed as my master opened the office door.

‘I do hope so,’ my master replied with a smile. ‘Angry men often make silly mistakes.’

We walked to the villa and I could tell from my master’s demeanour that his bad temper of that morning was a thing of the past. He kept whistling small snatches of his old regimental march, a sure sign that he was rather pleased by something.

A police constable was standing by the front gate of the villa glaring at the small crowd of ne’er do wells, loiterers and children who had gathered in the road hoping for some further sensation. He straightened up on seeing your uncle and held the gate open.

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he said proffering a small key. ‘That Mr Johnstone had the bath drained last night to see if there was anything under the water. Apart from that, nothing has been touched and the door has been kept locked.’

My master took the key and having thanked the constable rang the doorbell. After a few minutes, Jane Prentice opened the door. No longer was she the pert and pretty young woman of the day before. Her cheeks were white and her eyes were red from crying. For a moment, I didn’t understand her grief but then I realised that the death of her mistress and her master’s arrest probably meant that she had lost her position in such a way that neither of her employers could give her a character.

‘Good Morning, Jane,’ my master said gently. ‘Could you tell Mrs Morris that I’ve arrived and I will be along to see her in a few minutes?’