Dead Water (17 page)

Jenny said quickly: ‘Patrick – yes, of course you are. But –’

‘You must know damned well what I mean.’

‘All right. But surely it’s beside the point. Mr Alleyn can’t think –’

‘Can’t he?’ His eyes slid away from her. ‘She was a poisonous woman,’ he said.

A silence fell between them and suddenly Jenny shivered: unexpectedly as if some invisible hand had shaken her.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said irritably. ‘Are you cold?’

He looked at her miserably and doubtfully.

Jenny thought: ‘I don’t know him. I’m lost.’ And at once was caught up in a wave of compassion.

‘Don’t let’s go on snarling,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home and sort ourselves out. It’s clouded over and I’m getting rather cold.’

He said: ‘I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from this mess. What a party to have let you in for! It’s better you should go to Dunlowman.’

‘Now
that,’
said Jenny, ‘is really unfair and you know it, darling.’

He glowered at her. ‘You don’t say that as a rule. Everyone says “darling” but you don’t.’

‘That’s right. I’m saying it now for a change. Darling.’

He covered her hand with his. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am really sorry. Darling Jenny.’

From his bedroom window Alleyn watched and thought: ‘He’ll lose his oar.’

It slipped through the rowlock. Patrick became active with the other oar. The dinghy bobbed and turned about. They both reached dangerously overboard. Through the open window Alleyn faintly caught the sound of their laughter.

‘That’s done the trick,’ he thought. The telephone rang and he answered it.

‘Fox here, sir,’ said a familiar placid voice. ‘Speaking from Portcarrow station.’

‘You sound like the breath of spring.’

‘I didn’t quite catch what you said.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Have you brought my homicide kit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then come, Birdie, come.’

Mr Fox replaced the receiver and said to Superintendent Coombe and the Yard party: ‘We’re to go over. He’s worried.’

‘He sounded as if he was acting the goat or something,’ said Coombe.

‘That’s right,’ said Fox. ‘Worried. Come on, you chaps.’

Detective-Sergeants Bailey and Thompson, carrying their kit, accompanied him to the Island. Coombe showed them the way, saw them off and returned to his office.

They walked in single file over the causeway. Alleyn saw them from his window, picked up his raincoat and went down the steps to meet them. They had attracted a considerable amount of attention.

‘Quite a picturesque spot,’ said Mr Fox. ‘Popular, too, by the looks of it. What’s the story, Mr Alleyn?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way, Br’er Fox.’

They had their suitcases with them. Alleyn gave a likely-looking boy five shillings to take them up to the hotel. Numbers of small boys had collected and were shaping up to accompany them. ‘Move along,’ said Mr Fox majestically. ‘Shove along, now. Right away. Clear out of it.’

They backed off.

‘You’m Yard men, be’ant you, mister?’said the largest of the boys.

‘That’s right,’ Alleyn said. ‘Push off or we’ll be after you.’

They broke into peals of derisive but gratified laughter and scattered. One of them started a sort of chant but the others told him to shut up.

Alleyn took his own kit from Fox and suggested that they all walked round the arm of Fisherman’s Bay and up by Wally’s route to the enclosure. On the way he gave them a résumé of the case.

‘Complicated,’ Mr Fox remarked when Alleyn had finished. ‘Quite a puzzle.’

‘And that’s throwing roses at it.’

‘Which do you favour, Mr Alleyn? Mistaken identity or dead on the target?’

‘I don’t want to influence you – not that I flatter myself I can – at the outset. The popular theory with Coombe is the first. To support
it this wretched boy says he saw Miss Pride arrive, leave and return. She herself saw
him.
Down on the road we’re coming to in a minute. So did Dr Maine. Now the second figure, of course, must have been Miss Cost not Miss Pride. But between the departure of Miss Pride and the arrival of Miss Cost, Barrimore went to the gates and chucked away the notice. Who replaced it? The murderer? Presumably. And when did Wally let himself into the enclosure? If he did? It must have been before Miss Cost appeared or she would have seen him. So we’ve got to suppose that for some reason Wally
did
go in and
did
hide behind the boulder, after Miss Pride had left, and avoiding Barrimore who didn’t see him. I don’t like it. It may be remotely possible but I don’t like it. And I’m certain he wouldn’t replace the notice. He hasn’t got the gumption. Anyway the timetable barely allows all this.’

‘He’d hardly mistake the deceased for Miss Pride, silly and all as he may be, if he got anything like a fair look at her.’

‘Exactly, Br’er Fox. As for the galloping Major: he swims round in an alcoholic trance. Never completely drunk. Hardly ever sober. And reputed, incredibly enough, to have had a brief fling with Miss Cost at about the same time as Wally’s warts vanished. He is thought to have proved fickle and to have aroused her classic fury. She also set her bonnet, unsuccessfully, it seems, at the doctor, the Rector and the Mayor. Barrimore’s got a most beautiful and alluring wife who is said to be bullied by him. She showed signs of acute distress after she heard the news. She’s the original Green Lady. It’s all in the notes: you can have a nice cosy read any time you fancy.’

‘Thanks.’

‘That’s Wally’s Cottage. We are about to climb Wally’s Way and that is Wally’s mama, another alcoholic, by the by, leering over the back fence. His father is ferryman at high-tide and general showman in between. The whole boiling of them, the Barrimores, the parson, the doctor, the Major, the Treherns, Miss Cost herself, with pretty well everybody else in the community, stood to lose by Miss Pride’s operations. Apart from arousing the cornered fury of a hunted male, it’s difficult to discover a motive for Miss Cost’s murder. Good evening, Mrs Trehern,’ Alleyn shouted and lifted his hat.

‘Yoo-hoo!’ Mrs Trehern wildly returned, clinging to her back fence. ‘Lock ‘er up. Bloody murderess.’

‘Who’s she mean?’ asked Fox.

‘Miss Pride.’

‘Bless my soul!
Quelle galère!’
Fox added, cautiously.

‘You must meet Miss Pride, Br’er Fox, she’s a top authority on French as she should be spoke.’

‘Ah!’ said Fox, ‘To be properly taught from the word go! That’s the thing. What does she think of the gramophone method?’

‘Not much.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ said Fox with a heavy sigh.

Mrs Trehern gave a screech, not unlike one of her son’s and tacked into the cottage. Alleyn went over to the fence and looked into the back garden. The clothes-line had been removed.

They climbed up Wally’s Way to the enclosure. One of Coombe’s men was standing a little way along the hotel path.

Alleyn said to Bailey: ‘The whole area was trampled over when the rain came down. From below, up to the boulder, it’s thick broken bracken and you won’t get results, I’m afraid. On the shelf above the pool where the deceased was crouched, leaning forward, you’ll find her prints superimposed over others. Above that, behind the boulder, is the area where our man, woman or child is thought to have hidden. There’s a clear indication of the place where the rock was prised up and signs that some effort was made to scrape out the footprints. All this, on top of the mess left by the crowd. And to add to your joy, Superintendent Coombe and Dr Maine were up there this morning. Their prints ought to be fairly easy to cut out. The Super was wearing his regulation issue and the doctor’s are ripple-soled. Thompson, give us a complete coverage, will you? And we’ll need casts, Bailey. Better take them as soon as possible.’ He looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds were rolling in from the north-west and a fresh wind had sprung up. The sea was no longer calm. ‘Anyone notice the forecast?’

‘Yes,’ said Fox. ‘Gales and heavy rain before morning.’

‘Damn.’

He produced Coombe’s key for the wire cage which had been locked over the slot machine.

‘Notice this, Br’er Fox, would you? It was installed at Miss Cost’s insistence to baffle courting couples after dark, and not often used. I think it might be instructive. Only Coombe and The Boy-and-Lobster
had keys. You can get out of the enclosure by the other gate, which is on a spring and is self-locking on the inside. You could go in by this turnstile and, if you used a length of string, pull the padlock, on the slack of its chain, round to the netting and lock yourself in.’

‘Any reason to think it’s been done?’

‘Only this: there’s a fragment of frayed string, caught in the groove of the wire. Get a shot of it, Thompson, will you, before we take possession.’

Thompson set up his camera. Alleyn unlocked the cage. He gave each of the others a disc and, in turn, they let themselves in. The shelf and the area above it, round the boulder, had been covered with tarpaulins. ‘Laid on by Coombe’s chaps,’ Alleyn said. ‘He’s done a good job, never mind his great boots.’ He stood there for a moment and watched the movement of the welling pool, the sliding lip of water, its glassy fall and perpetual disappearance. Its voices, consulting together, filled the air with their colloquy.

‘Well,’ Alleyn said. ‘Here you are, Bailey. We’ll leave you to it. I’d better have a word with the local PCs. Here are my notes, Fox. Have a look at them for what they’re worth.’

Mr Fox drew out his spectacle case and seated himself in the lee of the hillside. Bailey, a man of few words, at once began work and in a minute or two, Thompson joined him. Alleyn returned to the gates and let himself out. He stood with his back to the enclosure where Miss Emily had hung her notice. He looked down Wally’s Way to the spot where Wally himself had waved and shouted at her and, beyond that, to the back of the Treherns’ cottage and the jetty in Fisherman’s Bay. He was very still for a moment. Then he called to Fox who joined him.

‘Do you see what I see?’ he asked.

Fox placidly related what he saw.

‘Thank you,’ Alleyn said. ‘Bear it in mind, Br’er Fox, when you digest those notes. I’m going along to that blasted outcrop.’ He did so and was met by the constable on duty. The wind was now very strong and much colder. Clouds, inky dark and blown ragged at their edges, drove swiftly in from the sea which had turned steely and was whipped into broken corrugations. The pleasure boats, all heading inshore, danced and bucketed as they came. Portcarrow front was deserted and a procession of cars crawled up the road to the downlands. The hotel launch was discharging a load of people for whom
a bus waited by the village jetty. ‘There goes the Major’s drinkcheque,’ thought Alleyn.

‘ ‘Evening,’ he said to the constable. ‘This doesn’t look too promising, does it? What are we in for?’

‘A dirty spell, sir, by all tokens. When she bears in sudden and hard like this from the nor’west there’s only one way of it. Rain, high seas and a gale.’

‘Keep the trippers off, at least. Have you had much trouble?’

‘A lot of foolish inquiries, sir, and swarms of they nippers from down along.’

‘Where’s your mate? Round the point there?’

‘Yes, sir. Nobody’s come past the point, though there was plenty that tried. Sick ones and all.’

‘Anyone you knew?’

‘Two of the maids from The Boy-and-Lobster, sir, giggling and screeching after their silly fashion. The Major came. One of his visitors had dropped a ring, they reckoned, behind that rock, and he wanted to search for it. Us two chaps took a look but it warn’t thereabouts. We kept off the ground, sir. So did he, though not best pleased to be said by us.’

‘Good for you. Sergeant Bailey will deal with it in a minute and we’ll get some pictures. Did Major Barrimore leave any prints, did you notice?’

‘So he did, then, and us reckons they’m the dead spit-identicals for the ones that’s there already.’

‘You use your eyes, I see, in this division. What’s your name?’

‘Carey, sir.’

‘I’ll come along with you.’

They went to the outcrop where Carey’s mate, PC Pomeroy, kept a chilly watch. Alleyn was shown the Major’s footprints where he had pushed forward to the soft verge. He measured them and made a detailed comparison with those behind the outcrop.

‘Good as gold,’ he said. ‘We’ll get casts. You’ve done well, both of you.’

They said: ‘Thank you, sir,’ in unison and glanced at each other. Alleyn asked if they could raise another tarpaulin for the area and Pomeroy said he’d go down to Fisherman’s Bay and borrow one.

They returned with him to the enclosure and found Fox in argument with James Trehern who was wearing an oilskin coat and looked like a lifeboat hero who had run off the rails. His face was scarlet and his manner both cringing and truculent.

‘I left my launch in charge of my mate,’ he was saying, ‘to come up yurr and get a fair answer to a fair question which is what the hell’s going on in these parts? I got my good name to stand by, mister, and my good name’s being called in question. Now.’

Fox, who had his notebook in his palm said: ‘We’ll just get this good name and your address, if you please, and then find out what seems to be the trouble.’

‘Well, Mr Trehern,’ Alleyn said, ‘what
is
the trouble?’

Pomeroy gave Trehern a disfavouring look and set off down the road. Trehern pulled at the peak of his cap and adopted a whining tone. ‘Not to say, sir,’ he said to Alleyn, ‘as how I’m out to interfere with the deadly powers of the law. Us be lawful chaps in this locality and never a breath of anything to the contrary has blowed in our direction. Deny that if you’ve got the face to, Bill Carey!’ he added turning on that officer.

‘Address yourself,’ Carey said stuffily, ‘to them that’s axing you. Shall I return to my point, sir?’

‘Yes, do, thank you, Carey,’ Alleyn said and received a salute followed by a smart turn. Carey tramped off along the path.

‘Now,’ Alleyn said to Trehern. ‘Give Inspector Fox your name and address and we’ll hear what you’ve got to say.’

He complied with an ill grace. ‘I’ve no call to be took down in writing,’ he said.