Case for Sergeant Beef (7 page)

‘Nobody liked
him.
But that's not to say anyone ‘ud blow his brains out. Course, he was in with the people who live up in the wood-Flipps. That's another one who likes his liquor. But he has it at home. Sends down for bottles when he can get them, and seems to get a bit from London. What there was between him and the Shoulters I don't know.'

‘Ah!'said Beef.

‘Tell you what,' said Mr Bristling. ‘There's young Jack Ribbon who works for Miss Shoulter. He'll know more. It was him found the body, too.'

Out came Beef's enormous note-book, a relic of his days in the Force, and I saw him write in his laborious hand ‘J.Ribbon' and underneath it, ‘J. Bridge'.

‘Then there's the old gent that came to live here about a year ago. He might have heard something. Lives on the outside of the wood. Chickle, his name is.'

‘Initial?'

‘W.'

‘Thanks. That's a start anyway.'

‘Inquest's to-morrow.'

‘Been a long time over it, haven't they?'

‘It's been put off, I understand.'

‘Who's in charge of the police investigation?'

‘An inspector from Ashley. Name of Chatto.'

‘Well, you've been very helpful.'

Mr Bristling had not finished yet.

‘There's the constable here, of course.
He's
not much use, except for hanging round at closing time. Proper spoil-sport he is. Chapel.'

‘What's his name?'

‘Watts-Dunton.'

‘What?'

‘Watts-Dunton. With a hyphen.'

‘Gor'!' said Beef. ‘I don't know what the Force is coming to since I left it. Constables with hyphens. I once had a young constable called Galsworthy under me, and that was bad enough.'

‘There you are,' said Mr Bristling. ‘And he's a misery. Now what about lunch for you gents? I'm afraid there's nothing much in. Still, we'll see what the missus can do.'

It was not until nearly three o'clock that we left the Crown, and I was getting impatient.

‘No sense in hurrying,' said Beef. ‘I've got to think,'

‘Whom do we see first?' I asked.

‘We'll do things correct,' said Beef. ‘And call at the Police Station.'

This turned out to be the semi-detached house in which Constable Watts-Dunton lived. It was marked by a blue plate and a blue lamp. Beef marched up to the door and knocked boldly.

My first view of Constable Watts-Dunton confirmed the description given by Mr Bristling. He was a tall, cadaverous man who would have been in his element with a banner warning us that the Day of Judgement is at hand.

‘Well?'he asked.

‘I should like to see the inspector in charge of the Shoulter Case,' said Beef.

‘Have you got any information for him?' asked the constable with a mixture of gloom and self-importance.

‘Not yet. You tell him Sergeant Beef would like to see him.'

Watts-Dunton disappeared and returned to say that Inspector Chatto would spare him five minutes. We were shown into a little room in which there was a bright fire. At the table Inspector Chatto sat before a stack of papers. He was stout, clean-shaven, rather jovial, but I saw that he had quick, shrewd eyes.

‘You've heard of me?' asked Beef rather anxiously.

‘‘Fraid not,' said the inspector genially.

Beef turned on me almost savagely.

'There you are!' he said. ‘Never heard of me. What did I tell you?' Then, turning again to Inspector Chatto, he said: ‘Now if I was Lord Simon Plimsoll or Monsieur Amer Picon, or Mr Albert Campion, or one of them, you'd know of me quick enough, wouldn't you?'

‘I'm not a great reader,' said Inspector Chatto. ‘But I do know of these. Private detectives in novels, aren't they?'

‘That's right,' said Beef. ‘And that's what I am, or what I ought to be if Mr Townsend here was as good at his job as I am at mine. Five cases I've handled, inspector, and got the answer every time, though Inspector Stute himself will tell you…'

‘I know him, of course.'

I saw that it was time to interrupt.

‘Inspector,' I said firmly, ‘my friend here talks a little impulsively at times. But what he says is substantially true. He is, in fact, a very clever investigator, and Inspector Stute will acknowledge his indebtedness to Beef on more than one occasion. I do trust you won't be put off by my friend's rather rough appearance and manner. I feel sure he can be of assistance to you. He is retained in this case by Miss Shoulter.'

Inspector Chatto lit a cigarette. He seemed rather amused.

‘I have no wish at all to discourage amateurs,' he said. ‘And I'm quite prepared to believe that Sergeant Beef may be of assistance to us. But what exactly do you mean when you say that he is “retained” by Miss Shoulter?'

This was awkward. Beef had the sense to keep quiet and leave it to me.

‘Er – Miss Shoulter is under the impression that the police believe her brother's death to be suicide. She is convinced that it is nothing of the sort. She wishes Sergeant Beef to collect any evidence there may be to that effect.'

Inspector Chatto was smiling openly now.

‘And if I tell you that the police are convinced of the same thing?'

‘You mean?'

‘I mean it was murder.'

There was an awkward silence.

‘In that case the only honourable thing for Sergeant Beef to do will be to tell Miss Shoulter that since the police are now convinced, there is no need for her to employ him.'

Inspector Chatto looked at both of us.

‘You were expecting to get a book out of this, Mr, er –'

‘Townsend. Yes, I did rather hope -'

‘Exacdy. Well, frankly I see no reason for the two of you to leave. It
is
an interesting little case. And at present I'll tell you frankly we haven't much in the way of a clue. Since you've come down here you may as well wait for the inquest.'

‘That's very friendly of you, inspector.'

Beef nodded towards the stack of papers.

‘What about telling me what you've got?' he asked crudely.

Inspector Chatto chuckled.

‘I see no objection,' he said. ‘I should rather like to go over the case from the beginning. It might clear my ideas a bit. Watts-Dunton, d'you think your good lady could manage a cup of tea for us?'

Watts-Dunton's face came as near to producing a smile as its gaunt features would allow it.

‘She's got the kettle on now,' he said.

‘Then let's get down to it,' said Chatto.

So in this amiable atmosphere, which Beef really owed to my ready apology for him and my explanation of his abilities, we were taken into the confidence of the police.

‘W
HAT
you want to know, of course,' began Inspector Chatto, ‘is what makes us think it was murder. That's simple enough: The corpse was found with a length of red tape round his foot which was attached to the trigger of the gun. The inference being that he held the gun in an upright position, leaned over it and fired it with his foot. His head in that case could not have been more than eighteen inches at the most away from the gun. Now, if you care to read the medical evidence and the report of the ballistics expert you will find that in point of fact the gun was at least four yards, possibly more, from Shoulter when it was fired.'

Beef nodded knowingly.

‘That makes it murder,' he said. ‘That's good. I do hate suicide. Nasty panicky little crime. What else did the experts have to say?'

‘Not a great deal. The doctor did not see the body until early on Christmas morning. He could not say more than that the man had been dead for anything from nine to sixteen hours, that is to say that Shoulter was killed between one p.m. and eight o'clock on Christmas Eve.'

‘Not very helpful.'

‘The bullet man was better. You can be pretty accurate when it's a shot-gun. The spread of the shot and so on. He believes that Shoulter was coming up the path, that is to say walking from Barnford towards Copling. That would be his quickest way from Barnford to his sister's bungalow. The man who shot him was hidden on the wood side of a little clearing beside the path. You can see the place. There's a fallen tree there which would make excellent cover. When Shoulter was about level with the murderer he probably looked towards him, because he got both barrels in his face. His distance in that case would be just four yards. Then the
murderer must have rigged the thing to look like suicide. He had some red tape in his pocket and tied it round the barrel and made a loop for the man's foot. Then he dragged the corpse across the clearing and dumped it behind the tree. There was evidence of the body being dragged across the wet, sticky ground.'

‘Did you see that yourself?' asked Beef.

‘Yes. Constable Watts-Dunton here had the sense to get me out at once, though it
was
Christmas Day. When I came to have a look at the place I found everything untouched since the crime, except just for the footprints of young Jack Ribbon who found the body at eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve. It was very useful. There was no doubt about the body having been dragged across the clearing, though very determined efforts had been made to destroy the marks of dragging.'

‘Footprints, you said,' prompted Beef.

‘Yes. They were interesting. There were the dead man's coming from Barnford and stopping short on the footpath about half-way across the clearing. There were Jack Ribbon's coming from Barnford and turning off to go to the tree on which he sat down for a smoke that night before he found the corpse. And the only other ones were-guess!'

‘Joe Bridge's,' I said at once, remembering how astutely I had already secured his name as a suspect.

Chatto positively goggled at me.

‘What makes you say that?' he asked.

‘Never mind Mr Townsend,' said Beef rudely. ‘He'd say anything.'

‘I'm interested,' the inspector told him. ‘We
have
heard about this young Joe Bridge. Had a row with Shoulter, didn't he? Know any more?'

I had to admit that at present I did not know any more.

‘Well, there were some of Bridge's. But it looked as though he had simply walked down the path from Copling. There were some more interesting ones than that. The footprints we particularly noticed were those of Miss Shoulter.
the dead man's sister. And your client,' he added with a rather malicious smile.

‘Were they new?' said Beef. ‘When had it rained last?'

‘Night of the twenty-third – twenty-fourth,' said Chatto. ‘These had all been made on Christmas Eve. Of course,' he conceded as though he wanted to be kind. ‘Of course the clearing could have been approached by other ways which would have left no footprints at all. You could come up between the trees and if you were careful and avoided patches of mud you wouldn't need to leave a mark.'

‘I see. Now what about this Shoulter?'

‘The dope on him is coming in every day. Masses of it. No good at all. Goes in for professional punting and has been mixed up with some pretty shady lots on the racecourse. Started as a chemist. Was bookie's clerk for a time. A drunk and a sponger. He was a parents' darling as a child and when the old people died went rotten. Ran through what they left him and did his best to get the little bit left to his sister. One report says that he's not above blackmail. No loss, and anybody's victim.'

‘How long had he been in Barnford?'

‘Arrived that morning from London on a train that gets in at two-fifty. Too late for a drink, but went to the back door of the Feathers and asked the landlord, a man named Brown, if he could have one. Brown says he refused and that Shoulter walked off at once. But of course we can't be sure about that. He may have sat there drinking all the afternoon. We only know for certain that he came off the train at two-fifty. No one except Brown admits to having seen him alive again.'

‘I see,' said Beef. ‘That's all very clear and interesting.'

‘There's a lot more stuff,' said Chatto.

‘Yes. I was just going to ask about the gun.'

‘Your client's again,' smiled Chatto. ‘But she did report to the police about seven days before the crime that she had lost it. Taken from her front hall. Says she had no idea when it went. The last time she had seen it to her knowledge was when her brother had been down a month ago.
He had taken it out one afternoon to try and get a rabbit. She can't be sure that he put it back in its usual place in the hall. She only knows that about a week before Christmas she noticed that it wasn't there. She asked young Ribbon and he said that he hadn't seen it for some days. The last time he positively remembers seeing it was when she told him to clean it once in October. He put it back after that.'

‘What about cartridges?'

‘Potter's Fesantsure were in the gun,' said Chatto. ‘The local firm, Warlock's of Ashley, say that they supplied these to most of the people round here who had licences. That includes Miss Shoulter, a man named Flipp who lives in the wood, a retired watchmaker named Chickle who lives at a bungalow called ‘Labour's End' at the Barnford end of the footpath through the wood, a solicitor named Aston with an office in Ashley and a bungalow at Copling, and your friend Joe Bridge.'

‘Any interesting fingerprints?'

‘None. The gun had been wiped dry and then gripped by the dead man, presumably after death by someone holding his hand round the barrel. None on anything else that we've found. Gloves, of course.'

‘Any idea when the shots were fired?'

‘Pretty contradictory. Both Flipp and a woman named Mrs Pluck who is housekeeper to Chickle, whose first name, by the way, is Wellington -'

‘Wellington?' shouted Beef.

‘Wellington. After the Iron Duke.'