Devious Murder (14 page)

Julie Havenith had been a dancer in a cabaret and had met Wilbur K. Havenith at a cocktail party, since when he had married her and given her everything she wanted. Her father had worked in the stockyards and her mother had
left him long ago and run away with a bank teller, who had emptied his till as he went and fled with her to South America. Nothing had been seen or heard of the pair since. Julie, although a gold-digger, was not without aspirations. She had, mainly through her own efforts and with the help of Leo, raised herself to the social level of her husband, which was not a very difficult achievement. It was said in Tantaluza, Texas, that W. K. Havenith was growing bored with Julie and preferred his oil, which yielded profits, and the police there had suggested that in such a case the old man was almost certain to have a private detective on the track of Leo and Julie to confirm his suspicions and, if necessary, produce the proof for yet another divorce. The last item was pure surmise on the part of a very crafty Texan police chief.

The English police made a very thorough job of tracing the backgrounds of everybody even remotely connected with the crime.

The staff of
The Limes
came out of it very well, on paper. Morgan and his wife emerged unsoiled. They had had a clean bill during Morgan's police service. He had been in the force at Swansea, reached the rank of sergeant, and then retired to take up his present job. He and his wife had normal working-class backgrounds; both came from the same village and of very reputable mining stock. They still attended, almost every Sunday, the London Welsh Baptist chapel. The other servants, temporary but mostly the same over the years, all passed muster.

Cairncross came in for more detailed research. In addition to what Scotland Yard already knew about him he had a good war record, having served in the Middle East as a medical orderly. The security company with whom he had worked before his Havenith appointment produced a testimonial he had submitted with his application for
employment. It was signed by Sir Geoffrey Blease, the eminent surgeon, whom Cairncross had assisted in Cairo.

Littlejohn was interested in the consultant's recommendation and rang up Sir Geoffrey's rooms in Harley Street. He was told that Sir Geoffrey was at present holding court at St. Vitus's Hospital and would perhaps see him there. In any case, he could make an appointment for a consultation. Littlejohn explained that he was not a patient, but from Scotland Yard, to which the pert young lady replied that it didn't matter where he was from, Sir Geoffrey was only available by previous arrangement. So Littlejohn took a walk across to St. Vitus's, asked for Sir Geoffrey, was taken to the Out-Patients' Department, told to fill in a form, and asked who was his family doctor, and had he written already to Sir Geoffrey? The inquisition was suddenly cut short by the appearance of a tall, slim, kindly man, past middle-age. He was walking with the help of a stick, for he had been hit by a golf ball on the previous Sunday. The orderly, who seemed put out because Littlejohn rejected the official form, hurried and whispered to Sir Geoffrey, who at once hobbled over to Littlejohn, bade him welcome and took him back with him to the consulting-room, much to the annoyance of the many patients waiting there, who thought Littlejohn was jumping the queue.

‘Cairncross? Yes. I remember him,' said Sir Geoffrey. ‘He was an orderly with me in the Army at Cairo. He was in the police originally but, I seem to remember, he had some domestic trouble. Wife ran away, I think. He wanted to get away from the locality and asked if he could be released to join the Military Police. He served in North Africa and while he was there the big pushes started and we had a busy time in the Medicals. In fact, we were short of staff, specially nursing, and took in as orderlies some of the M.P.s who'd been trained in first-aid. Cairncross was seconded to
me. He was a well-trained chap and interested in his work. He was with me for six months in the field and acted as an orderly in the operating theatres. He assisted quite a lot at operations. Not the actual surgery, but all the odd jobs which arise from it.'

‘He'd be present at operations and get some knowledge of the techniques, then?'

‘Without a doubt. He was a talkative, rather self-opinionated chap. He didn't hesitate to discuss cases with me. No harm in that. I liked him and took him with me to Cairo in hospital there. Then we remained together during the crossing to Italy, where we parted company when I was called home. Haven't seen him lately. How is he?'

‘He seems quite well and happy. He's security officer for a millionaire.'

‘Good God! I hope he hasn't been helping himself to his boss's cash.'

‘No, sir. But someone else has robbed the boss's safe. We are just formally checking up on the staff again.'

‘Including Cairncross?'

‘Including everyone.'

‘Well, Cairncross is all right. Or he was, when I knew him. As a matter of fact, I remember giving him a testimonial when he got a job with a security firm. Is that right?'

‘Yes; that's what gave me the idea of calling to see you about him, sir.'

‘He's not in trouble, is he?'

‘No. As I said, just routine.'

Sir Geoffrey said he'd better be getting along; he couldn't keep his patients waiting.

‘Come and talk to me again some time, Littlejohn. I'm interested in crime in an amateur way and don't get much chance of talking it over with a professional policeman. I've
got a good plot for a detective story and when I retire next year I may settle down and write it.'

They all said that! Littlejohn gave him some words of encouragement and they parted on the best of terms.

Littlejohn made his way back to
Orchard Court
. He had spent so much time moving from place to place in the tangle of the Blunt case that he felt he'd lost the atmosphere of the flat. He found Pickup in his cubby-hole talking with a large, young, shaggy, bearded man who made off as Littlejohn appeared.

‘That's not one of the tenants, is it?'

‘It certainly is, sir.'

Pickup looked very proud of the encounter.

‘That's Bosco McBurnie, the pop folk-singer. He spends a lot of time in America. He's made a fortune there and lives here when he's at home, in the penthouse flat. He's off again on tour in the U.S.A. tomorrow. There'll be a crowd of screaming, fainting women, seeing him off at Heathrow in the morning … How are you getting on with whoever killed poor Mr. Blunt?'

‘We're still pursuing our inquiries. I'd like to see the flat again, if you please. You've kept the place locked, I hope, since last we were here.'

‘Of course. We've had some newspaper men round, but I told them the flat was locked up on police instructions. I hope I did right. They didn't like it, of course, but I stuck to my guns. I don't want the place to be a public show and have people tramping about it. The owners wouldn't like it. The only people I allowed in for a short time were Mr. Cairncross and Mr. Leo Havenith, who came in together, Mr. Leo being curious about where the dead man had lived and him being able to see all that went on in most of the rooms at
The Limes
. I thought that would be in order. Mr. Cairncross being, so to speak, a detective as well.'

Pickup kept talking and Littlejohn only heard half of it. He wondered what Cairncross had been up to, bringing Leo to look over the flat, and presumably telling him all about Blunt and his plans.

‘Did Cairncross ever interest himself in these flats before the crime was committed?'

‘Well, him and me were friends, so to speak. He often came round to have a chat. Time hangs heavy on one's hands in a place like this. He'd bring a couple of bottles of beer and we'd enjoy one another's company for a bit.'

‘Was he curious about the flats and their owners?'

‘In the course of conversation we'd talk about them, of course. You'd expect that, wouldn't you? It's my job and I take an interest in what goes on.'

‘Did you ever take him over the flats when they were empty?'

‘I've done that a time or two. You see, it's part of his profession as detective getting to know all that happens here. After all, he works next door, doesn't he?'

Pickup spoke seriously. He didn't seem to see that Littlejohn was gathering information and not gossip. Or that he was bored by the time it took him to get to the point.

‘I suppose you took him to see Blunt's flat when Blunt was out. Did Cairncross ask to see it?'

‘Yes. I'd been telling him how neat and tidy the occupier was and he said he'd like to take a look.'

‘You were with him, of course?'

‘Of course. I took him up and went in with him.'

‘Did he make any comments?'

‘Not particularly, that I remember. He said the same as you about the full view, inside and out, of
The Limes
, that could be seen through the large side window. He asked about Charles Blunt, in the same way that you've done. All you detectives are alike.'

‘Were the field-glasses there?'

‘Yes. He took a look through them and said he wished his own were as good. Are you going up to the flat again?'

‘What had Leo to say about it all?'

‘Nothing much. He seemed bored with it. I suppose he's used to luxury and isn't much interested in a place like this. He was in a hurry to get away.'

‘Let's go upstairs, then,' said Littlejohn.

The flat was just the same. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed since last he was there. He looked down through the window at
The Limes
. There was nobody about. Cromwell's car was in the forecourt and he wondered how his colleague was getting on inside. The curtains of the windows facing were all drawn and there was nothing to be seen of what was happening in the house. In the garage behind, the door was open and a large expensive car was standing there.

Suddenly, he became aware that somebody was staring through the window of one of the flats above the garages. It was Morgan, his eyes fixed in the direction of Cromwell's car as though he were waiting for Cromwell to drive it away.

Littlejohn thanked Pickup and made an excuse to leave him. Pickup seemed disappointed. There wasn't much to do and he was grateful for any company. There was a wicket gate in the wall surrounding
Orchard Court
.

‘Is that the way Cairncross comes when he visits you?'

‘Yes. There's a similar side-gate in
The Limes
. It's handy, isn't it?'

‘I think I'll go that way.…'

Thus avoiding the watcher from the garages, Littlejohn made his way to the door and softly climbed the stairs to the room where Morgan was watching. He tapped and opened the door.

The room was furnished frugally and the bed was sheeted.
It must have been part of the suite which the Morgans occupied when the house was full and they had to sleep elsewhere. The gas-fire was lit and Mrs. Morgan was sitting in front of it reading a magazine. Morgan was at the window. They both jumped to attention when Littlejohn entered, as though they'd been up to some mischief.

‘Good afternoon,' said Littlejohn.

They answered with a sulky greeting.

‘Were you wanting someone, sir?' said Mrs. Morgan, the first to recover her aplomb.

‘I've been seeking an opportunity for a quiet talk with you and your husband, Mrs. Morgan, and I took the chance of coming in here when I saw him at the window.…'

They were both disconcerted and she seemed to think she ought to explain their presence there.

‘These are our quarters when we aren't living in the house, which sometimes happens when there are a lot of guests. We were just looking it over to see that everything was all right.'

‘I see that Superintendent Cromwell is paying a visit at the house. Are you sure you won't be required there?'

‘He must have arrived while we were busy here.'

Morgan chipped in with a lame excuse. They didn't seem very busy. Either they had thought it wise to hide themselves from the Superintendent, or else they'd been sent there.

‘Never mind. It gives me a chance for a few questions. Shall we sit down?'

Littlejohn squeezed himself into a small bedroom chair and stretched out his legs.

‘We must be getting back. They'll wonder where we are.'

‘It doesn't matter. We won't be disturbed here. Do relax and take a seat.'

They reluctantly drew up two little cane-bottomed bedroom chairs and sat obediently on them.

Littlejohn lit his pipe. Morgan must have regarded this as unspoken permission to smoke himself and took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘You're both well-established servants of the Havenith family and you, Mr. Morgan, have been in the police force.…'

Mrs. Morgan, now recovered from the initial shock, began to assert herself.

‘I don't like this. I think we ought to go. Mrs. Havenith wouldn't like it either. It seems a bit underhand.'

‘I think, Mrs. Morgan, you would rather answer my questions quietly here, than in the local police station. This is a murder inquiry and you may be an important witness. Your husband will tell you that it doesn't do to hinder the police in their duties.'

‘We've nothing more to tell you. If we had anything to say concerning the murder we'd have said it right away when you were here before.'

‘Don't let's argue about it. I wish to know whether or not Mrs. Havenith and Mr. Leo are lovers.…'

Mrs. Morgan looked horrified at the very suggestion, but it was a bit overdone.

‘I don't know. Why should I? They don't tell me such things.'

Morgan, hovering uneasily on the fringe of the interview, spoke out, taking care not to meet his wife's eyes as he did so.

‘You better tell the truth, Beulah. It is no use trying to evade a police question. It will catch up with you.'

He turned to Littlejohn.