Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Possibly,” Alec agreed cautiously. “More likely coincidence. He couldn’t possibly know that the bodies would be found so soon after a fresh burial.
” Remembering the stench of Halliday’s corpse, he amended his words, “Comparatively fresh. The dog might not have found it till a couple of weeks or even months later, long after the ship had sailed.”
Tom nodded. “True.”
“Still, with no alternative we’ll have to concentrate on Harwich.
I’d like to be there, but I’m going to have to return to the Yard to pacify the super and to make sure the photo gets to the papers pronto.
I’ve a mind to send the two of you. You know everything there is to know.
You can brief the Harbour Master, the Customs and Excise people, and the local police. ”
“You’re not expecting us to take charge, Chief!” Tom protested.
“Great Scott, no! Neither of you has the rank. But that might be better—if any of them are touchy, I might get tied up in jurisdictional disputes. You two are more likely to be easily accepted in a purely advisory capacity. You’ll take our car. You know how to get to Harwich, Ernie?”
Ernie had studied a road-map of Essex when they were first called in to the triple murder.
With an abstracted air, he now consulted the map in his head.
“Bishop’s Stortford, Braintree, Colchester, I should think, Chief.
It won’t take a moment to check the map in the car.
Sixty miles or so, I reckon, and good roads.
Shouldn’t be much traffic, so a couple of hours at most.”
“Excellent. I’ll ask Superintendent Starke to telephone ahead to tell them you’re on your way with photos. He’ll get me back to town as quickly as possible, I’m sure. Thank goodness he’s cooperative, and seems able to cope with his CC.”
The telephone bell rang. Ernie picked up the receiver. “DC Piper.” He listened. “That was quick! Yes, please, Mr. Copeland, right away. The photos have come, Chief.”
Copeland came in with a large manila envelope.
Handing it over, he said, “The photographer’s my cousin.
He was in his dark-room printing up some christening photos from this morning, so he got onto it right away.
He’s put the negative in, in case you need more copies, but he’d like it back, please.
And the print—he thought you might need the names. ”
“You have useful relatives, Sergeant.” Alec took out the wad of prints and set it in the middle of the desk, face up. They all crowded round.
It was a good, clear photo, there was no denying that.
Nor was it possible to deny the accuracy of Shadd’s description: darkish hair and nondescript features.
The grim expression did not make the thin face more distinctive.
Since the disastrous failure of the General Strike the previous month, the faces of many working-men bore the same look.
Alec sighed. “By the time that’s been reproduced in the papers, it could be any one of millions. Might help in Harwich. Here you are, Tom.” He returned half the pile to the envelope and handed it over. “Off you go, the two of you. If he’s there, you’ll find him.”
Copeland wished them luck, then turned back to Alec. “What’s next, sir?”
“I’ve got to get back to London as fast as possible, if not faster. Tell me how to find your super and the CC, and put these in an envelope for me, please. I’ll pick it up at your desk as I leave.”
As Alec took the stairs two at a time, a bold idea came to him. He knocked on the door Copeland had directed him to and went straight in. With Starke was a balding man in evening dress, sitting bolt upright and looking irritable.
“Here’s DCI Fletcher now, Sir George,” said the superintendent with relief.
“Chief Inspector, I really cannot put up with being kept in ignorance of what’s going on in my county!”
“I’ve no desire or intention of keeping you in ignorance, sir. However, the investigation has moved out of your county for the present. My men are on their way to Harwich.”
“That’s no—”
“If you’ll pardon me, sir, it’s of the utmost urgency that I return to the Yard with the greatest possible speed. I wondered whether perhaps the motor-car you came here in would be able to get me there quickly. If you can spare the time, I could brief you on the way.”
Sir George looked flabbergasted. “In my car?”
“My chaps have taken mine. Is yours a powerful vehicle?”
“Good God, yes, man. It’s the latest Lancia. And my chauffeur is an excellent driver. No nonsense about speed limits, eh? with you aboard on an urgent errand. What are we waiting for?”
The road from Hertford to Westminster passed in a blur.
If any traffic policeman had the temerity to attempt to hold them up, Alec didn’t see him.
Sir George wanted every detail of the case to date.
His enthusiasm made Alec suspect he was not as a rule provided with much information about what was going on in his county.
When the chauffeur pulled up at the Embankment entrance to New Scotland Yard, Sir George said wistfully, “I’d love to come in and look round, but my wife will be worrying.”
“Another time, sir,” said Alec, already half out of the car. “My thanks for the lift.”
Hurrying in, he arranged with the sergeant on duty to have the photos sent immediately by motorcycle to the morning papers with the highest circulations.
“Clement Rosworth, wanted for questioning in connection with … etc.” The negative would go straight to the photography department for more enlargements to be made.
The most pressing business taken care of, Alec slowed down. He was in no rush to talk to the super, but at least his recital of the facts to Sir George had got everything straight in his mind.
“I don’t suppose Mr. Crane is still in?”
“’Smatter of fact, he is, sir. In his office or in the Epping Executioner room.” Smirking at Alec’s wince, the sergeant reached for his phone. “You want me to find out—?”
“No, I’ll find him. Get those photos moving.”
“Yessir.” The man glanced at the clock. “Too late for first edition, but most of those go to the North and Scotland anyway.”
Alec hoped Rosworth had not taken off for the North or Scotland. Though his roots were in London and the Southeast, with his skills he wouldn’t find it hard to get a licence to drive and a job under an assumed name anywhere in Britain. The Continent would be much more difficult.
Was it a mistake to concentrate on Harwich? No, the port was the only direct indication they had of Rosworth’s possible movements. And Alec wasn’t disregarding the rest of the country.
He entered the Epping Executioner room, as it had apparently been dubbed in his absence. He found Superintendent Crane presiding, and Mackinnon missing.
“Fletcher! At last! I’ve been expecting to hear from you.”
“I’ll tell you all about it, sir, but DS Mackinnon ought to hear this as well. Where is he?”
“He’d set everything going as you requested.
I sent him to find a corner for a couple of hours sleep.
Better if he’s fresh tomorrow. I’ve taken over for the present, so get on with the story.
” With a raised finger, he summoned a stenographer.
“We’ll have it taken down and typed so that you can go home for a kip, too, instead of writing up your report. ”
Alec was sure his mind was too busy for sleep, but a rest wouldn’t come amiss.
He tried—and failed—to remember at what point in the saga he had last brought the super up to date.
Crane had been extremely forbearing, not pestering him for constant reports.
Though in part, no doubt, he had the weekend and his dashing hither and yon to thank for that small mercy.
He started at the beginning, skipping quickly over the bits that had turned out to be irrelevant, but mentioning the common opinion of the characters of the three victims. From the second visit to the Barley Mow onward, he went into more detail.
Finally, he explained the urgency of his rush back to town, which had prevented his ringing Crane earlier.
“Good work, Fletcher. I can’t see how you could have done better. Let’s hope the man falls into your chaps’ hands in Harwich, but if not, you’ll tackle the job better tomorrow if you take a break now.”
“You’ll ring if I’m needed, though, sir?”
“Can you doubt it? One more thing: Mrs. Fletcher, she’s not anywhere near Harwich, is she? You said she’s somewhere in Essex.”
“She was in north Essex, sir. Harwich is in the east. But in any case she’ll be safe back at home by now.”
“I hope so, Fletcher, I hope so.”