Death of a Commuter (12 page)

“Not in the least. I wish I could be more helpful.”

“So you see why I keep a supply of sleeping tablets for my sister.”

“She is quite willing to take one when you recommend it?”

“Oh yes. She has been a hospital nurse, you see. She knows the value of these things, used with caution. But my brother would never understand.”

“Would you mind telling me how you got them? Was it with a doctor's prescription?”

“No. My sister won't see a doctor if she can help it.”

“Then how?”

“I must ask you to treat this in confidence. An employee of ours, I need not mention his name, has some source of supply into which I did not enquire too deeply.”

“Is this the first tube he has obtained for you?”

“No. The second.”

“Those in the first tube were all used by your sister?”

“I must confess I do occasionally take one myself. But very rarely.”

“None were ever missing?”

“None. I keep the key of that cupboard myself.”

“Neither you nor your sister ever takes more than one capsule at a time?”

“Never. One is all that is necessary.”

Carolus hesitated.

“You know why I ask all these seemingly impertinent questions?” he asked.

“I understand you are connected in some way with an insurance company.”

“You don't mind my asking one or two more?”

“It depends on their nature, of course. But I know of nothing I might wish to conceal.”

“Your brother and you are the sole proprietors of Placketts, the famous gunshop in Cheapside, I believe?”

“That is so. Our business is not merely in firearms though.
Sporting equipment of every kind. It has become more all-embracing with modern conditions.”

“I see. And you are thinking of selling it?”

“Oh no. We are thinking of amalgamating. Ski-Tent, the largest firm in the British Isles are anxious… well, it is a highly complicated transaction and I really cannot see that it can be relevant to your enquiries.”

“Only in so far as it is relevant to Felix Parador's death,” said Carolus.

Edward stared.

“I don't understand you.”

“I have reason to think that Parador had acquired some interest in your business.”

“Technically, yes. At a certain point we were under-capitalised. If the amalgamation I have mentioned took place he was in a position to realise a very large profit on a comparatively small investment. That is all I can say on that subject, Mr. Deene.”

“Thank you for being so frank. You have given me some valuable information.”

As they reached the door Nora came in with a laden basket. She scarcely greeted Carolus but passed on, only saying to her brother, “Potatoes have gone up tuppence.”

This news seemed to concern Edward more closely than anything he had heard from Carolus.

C
AROLUS
F
OUND
R
UPERT
P
RIGGLEY IN THE
S
ALOON
B
AR OF THE
Royal Oak. His expression was of extreme disgust if not open fury.

“How did you get on?” asked Carolus brightly.

“A most revolting experience,” said Rupert. “Langley Wood was lousy with children.”

“Many?”

“Hundreds. Some half-wit had told the vicar's brood he'd give them sixpence a bunch for primroses, and they'd pulled in all the undersized, snotty-nosed, mewling children from miles around. The whole wood was yellow with primroses when we got there. Now it's stripped. It'll cost the moron who set it going a quid or two. That's one consolation. But it wrecked my morning.

“I'm sorry. I thought Elspeth's niece was very nice.”

“I haven't had a chance to find out yet with those blasted children.” He was staring out of the window. “God! They're coming here.”

Carolus looked out and saw an intimidating spectacle. Priggley
fortunately had exaggerated numbers somewhat but the vicar's children had been joined by half a dozen friends and every one of them was laden with primroses.

One came to the door.

“We want the man that was at the vicarage this morning,” came a stern if treble voice.

Rupert Priggley looked at Carolus.

“So you did that dirty act, did you, sir? You'd better pay them now. I should say they've got about a fiver's worth, offhand.”

Carolus paled.

“How many children are there?” he said. “Never mind the primroses.”

“They're increasing every moment” Then moved to pity, he said, “You're safe enough while you stay in here. Gray-Somerset will never allow them on the premises. But you've got to go out some time and they'll tear you in strips.”

Carolus went through to the public bar where fortunately he found Boggett, who listened while Carolus explained the situation.

“You leave it to me,” said Boggett. Then calculating from the window, he added, “I reckon it'll take a tenner to get you out of this. Safe and sound, I mean. I wouldn't answer for it if they was to catch sight of you.”

Carolus handed over the money and was relieved when he saw Boggett like the Pied Piper, lead the avid crowd a few yards away.

“All those with ten bunches or more over here,” he heard.

“What are you going to do with the primroses?” asked Rupert mercilessly.

“Give them to the hosp … No? Miss Limp … You don't think so? Burn them, then.”

“You can't do that, sir. Despoiling the countryside.”

“Boggett will think of something,” said Carolus.

He was right. After lunch the primroses had disappeared. So had Boggett with the change from ten pounds.

That afternoon Carolus went to see a man he regarded as
potentially his most important witness. This was William Flood, the car park attendant at the station. He had sought instructions from the barman at the Royal Oak.

“Old Billy Flood? Yes, you'll find him there. You'd think he'd take the time off between the morning trains and when they come down in the evening, wouldn't you? Not him. He's a crafty old sort, is Billy. He doesn't like one of them to get away without paying. See, he gets so much a ticket. He's no fool, either. It's no good their trying to dodge him. He can get across that car park quicker on his one leg than you could do on your two.”

“I want to ask him a few questions.”

“He'll tell you all right, so long as there's something for him in it.”

This, Carolus found, was true. Mr. Flood was small with a puckered face and a look both greedy and cunning. For the first few minutes, while Carolus was explaining what he wanted to know he kept him under keen observation, saying little. Then he took over.

“Let's understand one another,” he said. “You want some information from me. Right?”

Carolus nodded.

“And it's information only I can give you. Right. Referring to the day before Mr. Parador was found dead. Right?”

“And the day after,” Carolus inserted.

“And
the day after,” conceded Mr. Flood. “Depending on what I remember. Right?”

“Yes. But what
do
you remember?”

“We're coming to that If I was to tell you I remember everything, every blessed thing, about those two days, who put their cars in and what time and when they took them out what would you say then?”

“I'd say it was a miracle.”

“Ah!” chuckled Mr. Flood. “I know you would. But you'd be wrong. There's no miracle about it. I know my job. And as soon as Mr. Parador didn't come that morning I knew it was Something and took particular note.”

“You mean you wrote it down?”

“No. In my head I mean. All the times and everything. What do you say to that?”

“I say a fiver,” said Carolus.

“And
I
say a tenner,” said Mr. Flood triumphantly. “Seeing as you come from the insurance company. I say a tenner or nothing.”

Twice in one day, thought Carolus, but agreed.

“Only,” went on Mr. Flood, “there's another question here. Are you going to trust me or am I going to trust you? We can't have it both ways.”

“I'll give you a fiver first and the rest when you've answered my questions.”

“Half and half, eh? I'd sooner you'd said, ‘I'll trust you, Flood. I know you wouldn't take money on false pretences, not after you've been in charge of this car park for all these years'. I'd sooner you'd have said that. It would have shown more confidence, like.” His little eyes were watching Carolus but when he saw nothing responsive in his face he agreed. “All right,” he said. “We'll do it that way.”

The five-pound note which Carolus handed him disappeared.

“Now, what's the first?”

“It's about Mr. Parador himself. He went up to town every day at the same time?”

“Very seldom he missed. Very seldom. I can't remember him missing a day since the summer when him and his wife went abroad.”

“He drove in from his house alone?”

“That's it. If she went up to town it was later in the day.”

“And he arrived about the same time every morning?”

“Always gave himself about ten minutes for the train.”

“What about coming down at night?”

“Ah, that you never could say. One day it would be on the train that gets in at four six, another day he might come on the last train at night. But his usual time was on the train arriving at 6.45. Say four times a week he was on that.”

“What about on his last night?”

“That's what he came on. The 6.45.”

“You spoke to him?”

“He spoke to me. ‘ ‘Evening, Flood', he said, quite cheerful he sounded.”

“You could see him clearly?”

“The lights were on. They keep the car park lit at night See him? I could see him as plain as I see you now.”

“Was he carrying anything?”

For the first time Billy Flood hesitated. Then his eye went down to the brief-case in Carolus's hand.

“So that's it, is it? Trying to catch me out! You won't do that so easy. That's what he was carrying. That very case you've got there. He never went up to town without it.”

“You're sure he had it on that particular night?”

“Certainly I am. He handed it to me to hold while he unlocked the door of his car.”

“Was the train on time that night?”

“No. About twenty minutes behind. By the time he'd got away from the car park I daresay it was seven o'clock.”

“Was anyone with him?”

“No. Mr. Rumble came down on the same train but I didn't see them together. Mr. Rumble's car was at the other end of the park. I went over to him after I'd seen Mr. Parador. There wasn't many more on that train. None of what I call the old Brenstead crowd.”

“Not Mr. Thriver?”

“No. He was on the five twelve that evening. His daughter came and took the car out in the morning after he'd gone, and brought it back before his train got in. Whether he was to know or not I couldn't say.”

“What about the Limpoles?”

Billy Flood looked disgusted.

“I know who you mean, but I don't have nothing to do with them. They don't bring their car to the station. They walk down every day like a couple of mumpers in case it would cost them a few pence in petrol. But Dogman very often leaves his car here. Only She's the danger.”

“What d'you mean?”

“That day, for instance, she drove him down in the morning, then off she goes in the car and when he got down on the five twelve (same as Thriver), there was no car for him. I suppose she was on the bottle somewhere. Thriver gave him a lift.”

“So that's all you saw of any of them that evening?”

“That's it. I went home after the nine fifteen got in, as I always do, and there was nothing left in the park except those in the corner over there whose owners are away.”

“So you'd seen everyone off and the park was empty. An evening like any other.”

“That's about it I never noticed anything different till next morning.”

“Then?”

“Then, there it was. Mr. Parador didn't arrive. If he'd said anything to me on the previous night I'd have understood it. He knew I always kept his place for him—over in the corner. You'd have thought he'd have said, ‘Shan't be going up in the morning', or something of that.”

“But Mr. Flood, this park must hold sixty cars.”

“Not quite, it doesn't. Forty-two, the way I have them put.”

“How can you possibly remember all of them?”

“I don't. Not all of them. There's some miserable effers don't speak to you at all. One's been parking here five years and never said a word to me even at Christmas time. But you get to know them in a job like this, specially those from what we call Old Brenstead.”

“If someone new appears then you would notice it.”

“Not always. I can't say that. There's a few you've never seen before and never see again. But very often I do. Why?”

“There was a man on the morning after Mr. Parador's death …”

“Yes. I've heard about him. Lot of talk about him there's been. Knew all about it didn't he? Told them in the compartment where the body was and all that.”

“The story has become exaggerated, of course. But a man got into the compartment in which Mr. Parador usually travelled and said he wouldn't be coming.”

“Yes, that's what I heard.”

“Did you see him that morning?”

Mr. Flood looked even more furtive.

“You want to know a lot, don't you? I can see you're a gentleman that likes his money's worth. Still, fair's fair. I said I'd answer your questions and I will. Yes, I saw him.”

“You did?”

“Certainly I did. Came up on a motor-bike about five minutes before the train. Seemed in a bit of a hurry. ‘Can I leave it here?' he asked me. I couldn't see what he was like because he had these dark glasses. I showed him where to put his bike and he ran over to the booking office.”