Death in Cold Print Read online

  The Key brothers kept looking towards them. They were a course ahead of the police at the meal, and when Roger was pushing half of his steak away, Peter came over, his brother by his side. At closer quarters, Paul Key had an even more dissipated look, but his dark eyes were clear enough, and there was an air about him, a kind of rakishness, as if he didn’t give a damn for anyone else’s opinion. The three policemen stood up, and Peter Key said: ‘Don’t get up, we’re just off to Corby. Can’t do anything more here, and Rose’s out of danger. I just wanted to introduce my brother, Mr West.’

  Roger said formally: ‘How are you?’

  ‘Always the better for meeting a hero,’ said Paul Key, and there was a sardonic twist to his lips, a derisive glint in his eyes. ‘My brother tells me that when everyone else would have jumped for safety, you stood by. Sorry the poor chap died in spite of it.’

  ‘Yes. Most unfortunate,’ Roger said, still stiffly.

  ‘One word for it.’ Paul had very white teeth and showed a lot of them when he smiled. ‘How long will it be before you’ve put an end to this trouble, Superintendent?’

  ‘Not long, I hope,’ Roger said.

  ‘May my friends and relations believe that, or are you simply being optimistic?’

  Roger said: ‘Supposing we wait and see what happens, Mr Key?’

  Paul laughed.

  ‘I know, I know, I’m asking far too many questions and you don’t intend to be pumped. A man must always do his duty, mustn’t he?’

  ‘It will be a hell of a load off all our minds when we do know the truth of it,’ said Peter Key. ‘Mind if I ask you a straight question?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know how long someone’s been trying to sabotage the works?’

  ‘Have you any idea yourself?’ asked Roger swiftly.

  ‘No, but you—’

  ‘Peter, you’re wasting your time,’ his brother said.

  ‘Dry up, Paul,’ said Peter. ‘What I mean is, we had the guillotine trouble, and looking back we’ve had a lot more machine breakdowns lately than I can remember before. We put it down to a sequence of mishaps, but obviously it could be part of a pattern. Charlie Blake’s never been so busy, and I expect you know just how many breakdowns there’ve been.’

  ‘The paper-back binding machine, three stitching machines, two of the flat-beds, one of the rotaries, five Monotype machines, and the new Linotype,’ Roger said.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Paul. It was almost a jeer.

  ‘Some of them might have been ordinary breakdowns, but some might have been fixed,’ said Peter earnestly. ‘No one’s going to argue about the Monotype spools, that was deliberate damage. There’s another thing which you may have missed, Mr West.’

  ‘Never let it be thought,’ jeered Paul.

  Clark was looking annoyed. Tenterden seemed to know what to expect from the older Key, and Peter Key took it all so much for granted that obviously he was thoroughly used to his older brother’s manner. He was still very earnest as he went on: ‘I mean about Mr Richardson.’

  ‘Eh?’ asked Tenterden, as if startled.

  ‘I think I know what Mr Key’s getting at,’ said Roger, ‘and I half suggested it myself when I tried to make Richardson talk. The best way to sabotage the works would be to destroy the good relations which exist between the management and the workers. The easy way to spoil the relationship would be through Mr Richardson – by getting on his nerves, frightening him, and producing this near hysteria,’ Roger said.

  ‘Well, well,’ murmured Paul Key. ‘My brother has been saying almost that identical thing while we’ve been sitting at our table. Either this is a new kind of telepathy, or my estimation of politzia intelligentsia has been far too low.’ The note in his voice was almost one of admiration. ‘Yes. I have often wondered what would be the best way of bringing the old and ancient firm of Richardson and Key tumbling to its knees, so to speak—’

  ‘Paul, dry up!’ Peter interjected.

  ‘Nonsense. I have decided that the proper thing is to give the police all the information within my power,’ said Paul. ‘I came to the conclusion that the lynch-pin of R. & K. was Sydney Richardson. My father keeps the sales up high and looks after the technical developments, and my faithful brother acts as a kind of liaison between customers and the works, oiling the wheels, so to speak, and making sure that deliveries are bang on the nail, but take Sydney R. away and the whole works would fall to pieces. My method would have been to murder Sydney R., but someone with a more subtle mind than mine might have decided that it would be much more fun to let him watch everything breaking up. An exquisite refinement of torture. If I were in your position, Super, I would find out who enjoys watching Sydney R. writhing. Then you’ll have your man, men, or women.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Statement

  ‘I know what I would do to that chap if I had my way,’ said Clark gruffly. He watched the two brothers leaving the palatial dining-room, neither of them glancing round. From the back, they looked almost like father and son.

  ‘How sour was Paul about getting out of the firm?’ asked Roger.

  Tenterden answered quietly: ‘I couldn’t be sure, Handsome, but I think it was a mutual arrangement. He was the chief sales representative at one time, and started playing the fool with buyers—and buyers’ wives. He let himself be bribed into giving priority orders, and generally let the firm down. It came to a head when he persuaded the secretary of one of the customers to go off with him for a few weekends – she was a daughter of a director of the firm. They didn’t get any more business from that source. Sir Lancelot Key went to find out why, and got the answer. So Paul was bought out.’

  ‘How much would that mean to him?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that the settlement was about a hundred and fifty thousand.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘So he should have plenty of money left.’

  ‘No reason to think he hasn’t,’ answered Tenterden.

  ‘Any reason to think that he hates the firm because he was thrown out?’

  ‘No. He’s the type who would find that a joke.’

  Roger went on thoughtfully: ‘But he would take inducements to give buyers the delivery they wanted in a big enough way to make it unethical.’

  ‘That’s as I understand it.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘Well, it’s hard to say where these things come from,’ said Tenterden, ‘but there was a confidential secretary to Sydney Richardson – the girl who was doing most of the work that Rose is doing now. This girl died. Natural causes – cancer – no need to think that it was the start of a chain of events,’ went on Tenterden. ‘She was a close friend of my wife.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Roger. ‘What it is to be a native of Corby. Well, if Paul has that kind of unethical approach, if he was prepared to sell advantages in the trusted position he had, now that he’s thrown out he might be open to take bribes from the firm’s competitors, too.’

  Tenterden looked very bleak.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said Clark.

  ‘And as he knows the works so well, he could sell information about its most vulnerable workers and most vulnerable machines,’ Roger went on. ‘I think I’ll telephone the Yard before we set out for Corby. I’ll get them to make a closer check on Paul and his brother – on all the Keys, for that matter. Can I call from your office, Mr Clark?’

  ‘You certainly can,’ Clark said. ‘As a matter of fact, Mr West, there’s another thing you might think worth mentioning to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I had two of my chaps at at Bracken Head,’ volunteered Clark, and now he looked more uncertain of himself than ever. ‘I was talking to one of them a while ago, and he said he saw a man named Tate at the Head while all the trouble was going on. He didn’t see Tate do anything he shouldn’t, mind you, but he’s a man with a record.’

  ‘Tate is?’

 
‘Yes,’ said Clark. ‘You won’t remember, Mr West, and there’s no reason why you should, but we had some trouble at Kemble a year or two back. Racecourse trouble. Some of the London racecourse touts tried to shoulder the local people out, and there was a lot of ill-feeling. One or two men were badly hurt in a fight on the racecourse, too. This Tate got six months for his part in it, and it wouldn’t have been a miscarriage of justice if he’d had three years. He—’

  Roger broke in softly: ‘He worked with an older man, named Ragg.’

  ‘So you do remember!’

  ‘Ragg’s employed at the R. & K. works,’ Roger said, with rising tension. ‘Tate isn’t, but a man named Carter is. Tate, Ragg, and Carter made things too hot for themselves near the London racecourses, and worked the provinces for a few years until you caught Tate. Is your man sure it was Tate at Bracken Head?’

  ‘He ought to be,’ said Clark simply. ‘He arrested him. He’s a little fellow, with a very small head and short dark hair. I don’t know this Carter, I only heard about him.’

  ‘We want to hear more about him,’ Roger said grimly. ‘I’ll have the Yard send out for Tate and Carter and pick ’em up, too. We want to know if they’ve a small car, if they have some overshoes hidden away, where they were last night, and on the night of Jensen’s murder.’

  He lifted a telephone and put in a call to the Yard.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when Roger and Tenterden entered Tenterden’s office in Corby. There was a grim look about all of the policemen on duty, and it was obvious that the death of Salmon had struck them very hard. In the office, Brown was working with his coat off, his tie hanging loose, and a pile of cigarette stubs in an ashtray by his side. One of his eyes was watering, and there was a brown stain of nicotine at the left side of his lips.

  ‘Better be born lucky than rich,’ he greeted, and although his voice was rough, there was relief in his eyes. ‘Got any other suicide attempts up your sleeves, Handsome?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger promptly. ‘I want the handle of the handbrake in Soley’s car all in one piece, including any fingerprints on it.’

  ‘Anyone up on that headland today would be wearing gloves. You haven’t got an earthly,’ Brown said. ‘Anyhow, the steering-wheel, the brake and the gear lever, as well as the windscreen wiper switch, are all coming up. They’ve rigged up a conveyer system, and are working under flood lights. Lucky thing that car didn’t fall below sea-level. What’s this about wanting the Key family checked?’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I was talking to the Yard,’ Brown said. ‘Wanted more dope from Records about Ragg, Carter, and Tate—can’t trace that car we’re after, by the way. When I heard you’d been after the trio, I sent round to Ragg’s digs. Lives at a house in Park Terrace. He’s skipped, and the Yard says Carter and Tate have, too. Well, I talked to Scotty, asked him to put out a general call, and Scotty wanted to know what we were after the Keys for. It would be a help if I knew what was going on around here,’ added Brown complainingly.

  ‘Just keep your eyes and ears open, and one of these days you might be a detective!’ Roger told Brown about Tate being at Bracken Head, and went on: ‘If these three are our men they’re doing the job for someone else, that’s quite obvious. Paul Key might be our nigger-in-the-wood-pile, after all, if he’s bearing a grudge. Arthur, there’s another angle we haven’t worked on enough: this might be a campaign against Richardson and Key, and it could also be a kind of personal vendetta possibly against Sydney Richardson himself. We ought to find out who has cause to hate him – or who might have. Didn’t you say that he wouldn’t consent to Paul Key marrying Rose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could that mean something?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Tenterden slowly. ‘I shouldn’t have thought—but oh, lor! I wouldn’t have thought that any of this could have happened.’ He eyed Roger broodingly and then went on: ‘You’ve got someone in mind, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got everyone in mind.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What’s the history of the Farmer Soley and Sydney Richardson, or the Soley and Richardson and Key relationship?’ inquired Roger.

  Brown said: ‘Soley?’ as if he were thinking very hard.

  ‘Just because Soley’s car—’ Tenterden began.

  ‘It’s much more than that,’ Roger broke in. ‘The girl’s body was found in Soley’s silo. Ever pause to think how difficult it would be to climb to the top of that silo carrying a dead body? A fireman could do it, or a steeplejack, a sailor, anyone used to climbing up iron ladders which rise almost perpendicularly, but no one else would find it easy – unless they were used to that particular silo.’

  Tenterden didn’t speak.

  ‘Soley was on the spot as soon as we discovered the body,’ Roger went on. ‘And if the circumstantial evidence is right, Doris Blake was killed or at least attacked near the works gates, only a short distance from the back of Soley’s Farm. Rose Richardson was attacked near the drive leading to the front of the farm. It’s a kind of focal point. Add the fact that Soley’s car was left in a position where it would be easy to fall over that particular piece of cliff, and it adds up to a lot of questions to ask Farmer Soley.’

  ‘What the heck do I do with my mind?’ Brown asked, almost humbly. ‘That’s all been in front of my nose, too.’

  Tenterden stood up, pushed the hair back from his forehead, and smiled with his lips; his eyes still had the bleak look in them. It was a long time before he spoke, and then it was very slowly, ruminatively.

  ‘I always knew that once things started to stir up in Corby the mud would get deeper and deeper. Handsome. And I knew I couldn’t trust Arthur Tenterden to keep a detached point of view. I see everything from the Corby point of view. I get irritated when friends of mine are suspected of murder and violence. I know I shouldn’t, but there it is – I don’t like the idea of it at all. Browny wants to know what he does with his mind. I can tell you what I do with mine – I shut it tight, because I’m afraid of finding out a lot of things I don’t want to find out. That’s the truth about it, and if either of you find me covering up for anyone, for God’s sake kick my pants off me.’

  Roger was smiling, much easier in his mind than he had been since the news of Rose’s disappearance. ‘I will,’ he promised.

  ‘Now, about Soley and Richardson,’ Tenterden went on, and frowned in concentration. ‘Well, perhaps I’d better say Soley and the firm. He happened to clash with Richardson, but it was the firm which made the decision. It’s nearly ten years ago, now.’ Tenterden was looking very straight at Roger. ‘The works wanted a new extension, and the obvious way was eastwards, into Soley’s land. The Soleys have farmed that land for six generations, and Soley didn’t want to part with it, so it had to be decided by the Corby Urban District Council. Everyone in Corby tried to get them to come to terms about it, but it wasn’t any good. The works wanted the land, because in any other direction it would have meant building bridges, probably doing a lot of reclaiming, and always being in danger of floods. Soley said it was the richest part of his farm. Anyhow, the firm made a formal application to the Council, and of course the firm won. The firm always wins in Corby. It was referred to the Ministry, and the Council’s order was confirmed. Soley gave way; he had to. They patched things up a bit, but they haven’t been on the same good terms they used to be. All the same—’

  He broke off.

  ‘Motive one, Paul Key,’ said Brown. ‘Motive two, Sam Soley. What else have you got tucked away?’

  ‘Handsome got on to that one earlier,’ said Tenterden. ‘Richardson and Key get a lot of big orders, and they’re not the most popular firm in the trade. They’ve always stood out from the Federation of Master Printers, that’s why Richardson hoped he could keep his men working. A lot of people in the trade dislike them, and would cash in if they were running at half cock. They’ve a very big output. This big export order for Bantu language text-books is worth half a million
a year if they maintain delivery, and it’s fabulous. Another firm might want it badly, so this could be some kind of business competitor, using either Paul or Soley or—no, dammit, I don’t believe that—!’ Tenterden exclaimed, breaking off in mid-stream. His eyes flashed angrily. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

  He broke off.

  ‘When you feel like kicking yourself, you remember that the moment this job fell about your ears you got in touch with the Yard,’ Roger said. ‘You didn’t even trust the county police to handle it, and you’ve got nothing to reproach yourself with. Coming with me?’

  Tenterden looked startled. ‘Where to?’

  ‘First to see Soley, and then to see Richardson,’ Roger said. ‘Perhaps I ought to tackle Richardson on his own for a start.’

  ‘I’ll come with you to see Soley, anyhow,’ Tenterden said slowly. ‘What angle are you going to take?’

  ‘Why did he release the brake of his car?’ said Roger drily.

  It was pitch dark when they passed the silo, but the lights at Soley’s Farm showed up brightly; so Soley was still up. One of Tenterden’s men was near the gate which led into the farm buildings, and reported that nothing unusual had happened. Roger and Tenterden approached the front door on foot, and Tenterden banged heavily on it. Almost at once footsteps sounded, and Sam Soley himself appeared. He looked a little odd, because he wore large hornrimmed glasses. He glanced from one man to the other, and then said testily: ‘Couldn’t this wait until morning?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Soley, but we need to ask you one or two questions at once,’ Roger said. ‘May we come in?’ They followed Soley into a big, untidy room, and it was easy to believe that Soley was a bachelor who did for himself. ‘We needn’t keep you long,’ Roger added, and asked bluntly: ‘Did you lean inside the door of your car and release the brake this afternoon?’