Mad Hatter

CHAPTER 9

‘It’s a curious thing, Sarge,’ Constable Thackeray observed.

‘What is?’

‘Why, that anyone should think of putting an end to one of his fellow beings at the seaside. A most peculiar thing. I’ve always thought of a holiday as a pleasurable experience. Not that I know a lot about it. The only days I’ve had by the sea have been the “M” Division excursions to Southend, and I don’t usually have much recollection of them. But it stands to reason, Sarge. Murder’s got nothing to do with donkey-rides and sand-castles and-er-‘

‘Punch and Judy?’ suggested Sergeant Cribb. ‘You’re talking through your hat, Thackeray. Murder’s got everything to do with the seaside. All that’s curious is that there isn’t more of it.’ The argument demolished, he returned to his Brighton and Sussex Daily Post, thoughtfully purchased at London Bridge. The two detectives were seated in a second-class carriage of the Brighton Express. Five tunnels and numerous long stretches of chalk embankment tended to keep observation of the countryside to a minimum. Cribb, fox-faced and short of small-talk, had his newspaper. Thackeray, rhino-hided and implacable, was bent on conversation.

‘The whole atmosphere’s against it, Sarge. Sunshine. Promenading. Concert parties.’ Seeing that Cribb was not preparing to respond, he extended the list indefinitely. ‘A plate of winkles. Trips on the Skylark. Minstrel shows. A sniff of the briny from the pier-head. . s›. . !s›. . !s›.’

Cribb put down his newspaper. ‘When we get to Brighton, Constable, there won’t be much time for sight-seeing, but I want you to make sure you get a look at that pier you’re talking about. There’s two of ’em where we’re going, paper-doily things, with fancy iron-work all white and smelling of fresh paint. When you’ve had your eyeful of the scrubbed decks and the dapper little buildings, take a look underneath, right under the pier. I’ll tell you what you’ll see. Girders festering with barnacles. Slime and weed and water black as pitch lurching and heaving round the under-structure fit to turn your stomach. That’s part of your pier, too. Just as slums and alleys and back-streets lie behind the nobby hotels along the sea-front. Some can close their eyes to ’em. Not you and me, Thackeray. We ain’t going to Brighton for a paddle, you know.’

Thackeray calmly stroked the underside of his beard with the back of his hand and studied the cocoa-advertisement a foot above Cribb’s bowler hat. He was too experienced to be baited by sarcasm of that sort. Cribb, denied satisfaction, found it impossible to return to his reading.

‘Nothing to do with the seaside? That’s one of the best I’ve heard-even from you. If you’d only widen your reading, Constable, you’d know there’s hardly a street in Brighton without its murderous associations.’ He began counting off the fingers on his left hand. ‘The King’s Road. Charles Bravo met his wife there. Portland Street, where Christiana Edmunds took her poisoned chocolates to be sold. Queen’s Square, where Constance Kent confessed to murdering her stepbrother. Lover’s Walk, Preston, where John William Holloway wheeled the pieces of his wife on a barrow and buried ’em. He was a painter on the Chain Pier, smartening it up for the likes of you to sniff the briny from. I could go on.’

‘Don’t, Sarge. I shall never enjoy another “M” Division outing. What makes ’em choose the seaside, do you think?’

‘Obvious reasons. Place is full of strangers right through the summer. Irregular behaviour isn’t noticed. People tend to be more conversational on holiday, too. Chance of making casual acquaintances.’

‘You’re right, now I come to think about it. You couldn’t find a better place for a spot of murdering.’

‘Accidental deaths are happening all the time,’ said Cribb, warming to his theme. ‘There’s one reported in the paper here. Woman of fifty-five found drowned. Non-swimmer. Seems she took a dip on the last day of her holiday. Ashamed to take a dry costume back to London, so she went for an early morning bathe, when not many people were about. Now who’s to know whether someone didn’t hold her head under?’

‘Blimey, Sarge, you’ve got a suspicious mind.’

‘I don’t say it happened, but it could have. And if she wasn’t murdered, what about the cove that falls off the pier next week, or the one that swims out too far the week after? It’s Lombard Street to a china orange that sooner or later some evil-minded person will see it as a neat way of dispatching a victim.’

‘Well, you have, Sarge.’

‘Exactly. You’ve got to learn to think as they do, Constable. We wouldn’t be much help to the Brighton force if we couldn’t. They’re looking to you and me for something special in the way of detective-work. It’s not like them to call in the Yard unless they’re driven to it. Put the winkles out of your mind, Thackeray, and use the rest of the journey to set your thoughts in order for a piece of smart investigating.’

Two tunnels on, Thackeray caught Cribb’s eye again, in transit from Social Intelligence to In the Magistrates’ Court. ‘Sarge, why did you make that remark about Punch and Judy? I can’t see what connection it has with murder. It’s children’s entertainment after all.’

Cribb was silent, disinclined to relate the criminal career of Mr. Punch for the benefit of his assistant.

‘Part of any seaside holiday,’ Thackeray persisted.

Cribb spoke without looking up. ‘Constable, there was one other murder I should have mentioned earlier. A year ago, on this very line, a Mr. Gold was done to death in the Brighton Express by one Lefroy, whose effigy is now in Madame Tussaud’s. If you ask me one more question I guarantee there’ll soon be a likeness of me standing beside him in the waxworks. Just think that out and let me read my newspaper.’

Grafton Street, where they had been asked to report, proved to be a turning off the Marine Parade, as handsome a setting for a police station as either detective had encountered. Constabulary duties in such surroundings could not be anything but delightful. The cab-drive along the front, besides introducing them to the champagne quality of the sea air, afforded glimpses of a way of life seldom seen anywhere in London but Hyde Park. Society beauties paraded in open carriages, warding off the undesirable effects of the sun with lace parasols, and contriving simultaneously to be seen to advantage from both sides of the road. Others rode on horseback or walked beside young men in blazers and straw hats. In the background the waves lazily unfurled and sent dazzling white foam racing up the shingle. What a beat for some fortunate bobby to pound!

The atmosphere inside the station was just as balmy. ‘A pot of fresh tea, if you please, Constable Murphy,’ called the duty sergeant as they entered. ‘It’s either two gentlemen what’ve come to confess to stealing a pair of boots each, size twelve, or the reinforcements from the Yard are here. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Privileged to meet you. Brown’s my name and Pink’s my Inspector’s. Singular, don’t you think? I’d better take you straight in to him. Murphy will take care of your things.’ Inspector Pink was misnamed. His face bore witness to thirty summers or more of service on the south coast, as brown and creased as one of last season’s potatoes. ‘Uncommon glad to see you, gentlemen. It’s not often that we get a case that we know straight away is quite beyond the skills of our own detectives. Extraordinary affair, this. He damned near got away with it, too. If it hadn’t been for a sharp-eyed young lad, he certainly would have.’

‘There was a witness to the crime, then?’ said Cribb.

‘No, more’s the pity. Don’t know where it happened, or when. This boy was smart enough to spot the evidence, that’s all. He reported it to the manager, who came straight to us this morning. It’s still in place. We couldn’t have moved it if we’d wanted. You’ll see why. If you’re not too tired, we’ll go along as soon as you finish your tea. It’s just a short walk from here.’

The inspector was clearly determined not to spoil the impact of his evidence in situ by saying any more about it, so with respect for his feelings they stirred and sipped and blew on their tea to such effect that they were marching along the Marine Parade in minutes, leaving Sergeant Brown to marvel over the prodigious capacities of the Scotland Yard palate.

‘I’m sure you must have heard of our aquarium,’ said the Inspector as he led them down the granite steps. ‘Designed by Birch, the fellow who built the West Pier. It’s always been a favourite place of mine. There’s something about the atmosphere. This is a deuced unfortunate thing to happen. I only hope it won’t discourage visitors.’

‘The reverse, I should think,’ said Cribb.

They strode importantly through the reading-room and along the main aisle, their substantial tread diverting attention from the tanks. Halfway along, a large, uniformed constable was reinforcing a notice announcing that owing to unforeseen circumstances the Alligator and Crocodile Cavern was temporarily closed. A small man in pince-nez hovered anxiously nearby.

‘This is the manager, Mr. Pym,’ the Inspector explained. ‘Sergeant Cribb and his assistant are from the Criminal Investigation Department, Mr. Pym. They will be conducting this inquiry.’

Mr. Pym advanced a nervous hand. ‘Most gratified. I hope that we shall not need to involve the newspapers. It could have such a discouraging effect on attendances.’

‘Have you done as I asked?’ enquired Inspector Pink.

‘Yes. The big one is well-drugged, and I think the others are asleep too. Shall we go inside?’

‘We shall need more light,’ said the inspector. ‘Where did you put the bull’s-eyes, Constable?’

‘Just inside the door, sir, on your left.’

Even with lanterns lit and probing the interior, the shape and size of the cavern were disconcertingly difficult to make out. ‘Your eyes will get accustomed shortly,’ Mr. Pym assured them. ‘It’s perfectly safe to step forward. The specimens are all on the other side of the glass.’

‘This is the tank,’ said the inspector. ‘Crocodylus Niloticus. D’you see them gentlemen? The ugliest beasts alive. Now, bring your lantern nearer, Sergeant, will you? It won’t disturb the crocs. That one with its jaws agape will stay like that for hours.’

‘In their natural state they let the tick-birds clear their teeth of leeches,’ volunteered Mr. Pym.

‘Now take a look at this,’ said the inspector. ‘Wedged down between the rock and the glass. What do you think of that, gentlemen?’

The lantern beams converged on a section at the base of the tank normally in shadow, the arrangement of the rocks ensuring that the reptiles were kept a yard or so away from the glass. There, in a crevice formed between rock and glass, was a human hand, severed above the wrist and resting on its stump, palm facing outwards.

‘The devil of it is,’ said Inspector Pink, ‘that this is all we’ve got to go on. Where the rest of the body is you may well conjecture, gentlemen.’

The wicked yellow eyes of the largest inmate of the tank continued to glitter unwinkingly in the artificial light.

‘He must have been a sharp lad to spot it down here,’ said Cribb. ‘Could have lain here a long time. What time was it he saw you, Mr. Pym?’

‘Half past nine, I should think. I closed the cavern to visitors and went straight to the police station.’

‘And I decided to send a cable to the Yard at once,’ added the inspector. ‘It was too much for my chaps to tackle-or not enough, rather. What do you propose, Sergeant?’

‘I shall need to get the evidence out, take a closer look at it.’

‘I thought of that,’ the inspector said proudly. ‘Mr. Pym has drugged the crocodiles.’

‘Fish soaked in morphia,’ explained Mr. Pym.

‘Have they all eaten some?’

‘The big fellow has,’ said Mr. Pym, ‘and he’s the one that matters. The others are docile enough. I’ll get a keeper to retrieve the hand at once.’

‘No you won’t,’ said Cribb. ‘That’s all the evidence I’ve got. I’m not having it snatched out like a piece of rejected meat. It’s got to be handled delicate-by a professional. Thackeray. . s›. . !s›. . !s›.’

‘Sergeant?’

‘Have you got your gloves with you?’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Good. All you’ll want is a large brown envelope and a lamp to see you don’t put your foot on anything. Here’s a bull’s-eye for you. Can you supply the stationery, Mr. Pym?’

‘Why yes, but do you think-‘ ‘Think? Thackeray’s a man of action, trained to do his thinking afterwards. You’re game, Constable, ain’t you?’ He’s coped with worse than this in his time, gentlemen. Round the back you go with Mr. Pym, Thackeray. You don’t have to climb in from here, you know. Careful how you handle the evidence, mind.’

It was probably a distortion caused by the uneven lighting, but momentarily Thackeray appeared to regard his superior with the same disaffected stare that was present in the eyes of the creatures he was about to join. Then he followed Mr. Pym through a door which he unlocked beside the entrance.

Presently there was the sound of unbolting at the rear of the tank.

‘Hold it, Thackeray!’ called Cribb. ‘One of ’em’s on the move. Give him a moment to settle down.’

It was a long minute before the lanterns discerned a larger than average foot being lowered from a hinged flap on to the moss-covered rock. Thackeray’s stooping figure followed, envelope in one hand, lantern in the other.

‘There’s nothing in your way,’ Cribb quietly advised him, ‘but I shouldn’t be too long about it. Drugs can wear off, you know.’

A small crocodile, probably frightened, lowered itself into the water to the left with a splash and Thackeray completed the journey to the rocks at the front in two quick strides.

‘Splendid,’ said Cribb. ‘The big one ain’t moved a muscle yet. Now hook the hand up careful, man. Put your lantern down a moment, and get your envelope ready or you’ll be all fingers and thumbs, if you’ll forgive the expression in the circumstances. Careful, now. Ah! Neatly done! There’s Scotland Yard training for you, gentlemen. Back you go then, Thackeray. Remember the lantern and don’t get cocky now. The tails can be just as vicious as the teeth.’

At the Grafton Street police station they took a closer look at the evidence, which Thackeray had carried along the Marine Parade in its brown envelope like an excursionist clutching his packet of sandwiches. Cribb spread several sheets of white paper across Inspector Pink’s desk and they took the severed member out and placed it palm downwards for examination.

‘What’s your opinion, Thackeray?’

‘Blimey, Sarge, the cases don’t get no easier, do they? We’ve had our troubles trying to identify headless corpses, but I think this is the least we’ve ever had to go on.’ He leaned over it speculatively. ‘It’s a woman’s or a boy’s, I reckon. Too narrow for a man’s. And the nails look as though they was polished.’

‘Good. Anything else?’

There was a pause as Thackeray secretly studied the arrangement of his own fingers and thumbs. ‘It’s a right hand, Sarge.’

‘I’m bound to agree. Pity it wasn’t the left, or we might have found the mark of a wedding ring. What about the state of the fingers?’

Thackeray turned the hand over. ‘Well, there’s no blisters or hard skin here. I don’t think it’s done a lot of manual work. This don’t look like the hand of a seamstress or a factory girl. It could belong to a lady.’

‘Possibly,’ said Cribb. ‘What are your feelings on the matter, sir?’

Inspector Pink cleared his throat. ‘Lady? Yes, a lady. That’s good thinking, Constable. A lady. Yes, I’m bound to agree with you there. I think you’ve summed it up.’

‘You don’t think the hand can tell us anything else?’ said Cribb.

‘Ah! That’s another matter. I didn’t say that, did I? Oh no, not at all.’

‘What did you have in mind then, sir?’

‘In mind?’ Inspector Pink frowned. ‘You tell me what’s in your mind first, Sergeant. I wouldn’t want to steal the thunder of a Scotland Yard man.’

‘Well, sir, let’s take a look at the point where the wrist was severed.’

Thackeray and the inspector approached as closely as they felt able to.

‘Devilish powerful jaws these crocodiles have,’ the inspector remarked.

‘Now that’s just the point, sir,’ said Cribb. ‘I don’t believe this was done by a crocodile. It’s far too neat for that. I’m no authority on the species, but I’d expect a crocodile’s teeth to leave their shape on something they cut through, not a sur- face as clean as this. There ought to be some fluting in the cut, don’t you see-rather like the mark your teeth would leave on a crisp apple. I think the job was done with a sharp blade, a cleaver or something similar.’

‘By Jove, but that means-‘ ‘You’re right, sir-that the hand was cut from the body somewhere else and brought here to be thrown to the reptiles. And if you’ll give me ten minutes, your paper-knife and a good magnifying glass, I may be able to tell you where the cutting was done.’

In seconds the room took on the appearance of an operating theatre, with Thackeray in charge of the instruments- to which Cribb added a pair of tweezers from his pocket and a clean handkerchief-and Inspector Pink in attendance as a somewhat apprehensive onlooker.

‘I’ll need more light,’ Cribb said. ‘The table-lamp, if you please, Inspector. Spread the handkerchief here, Thackeray. Now, gentlemen, I propose scraping the undersides of the finger-nails. The paper-knife, please.’

After several minutes’ careful work a small deposit lay on the white linen.

‘Magnifying-glass. Thank you. Would you care to see for yourselves?’

‘Sand, by George!’ said the inspector. ‘She must have been on the beach.’

‘Probably,’ said Cribb. ‘But that ain’t much help, is it? Half the people in Brighton must have sand in their fingernails.’

‘Ah!’ said the inspector, in a significant tone. ‘Not your pure-bred ladies, though. They never go nearer the sea than the pier and the esplanade. The sand disposes of your theory that the hand belonged to a lady, Constable Thackeray.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Cribb, working at the point of severance with tweezers and magnifying glass. ‘There’s sand here too, adhering to the blood. I think the dismembering was done on the beach. The body-if we assume there was one-could have been dragged down there. Now look at these.’ He placed four or five tiny opalescent spheres on the handkerchief.

‘Fish scales, by Jupiter!’

‘I think so, sir. Now, am I right in assuming that the food given to the crocodiles-which included fish, I believe-is passed to them through the hatch at the rear of the tank?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

‘So it is most unlikely that these scales were picked up in the tank, remembering that the hand was at the front, in a place inaccessible to the crocodiles.’

‘Indeed, yes.’

‘There is a fish market somewhere along the beach, I seem to remember.’

‘That is so. Not ten minutes away from here.’

‘Capital! Thackeray and I will take another walk, then. I’m curious to see what implements they use for cutting the fish.’