The Laws of Murder

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Helmer hadn’t been able to tell them the answer to this question.

They went almost straightaway to his little stall, which was now, predictably, empty, the women who had occupied it before evidently not caring to make the acquaintance of the members of the Metropolitan Police force. Helmer, perhaps aware of his uneasy position, was now eager to help, though the prospect of a payout had gone. To Lenox’s surprise, he kept excellent records. Unfortunately even his precise ledger didn’t tell him who had let storage space AFT119.

“That’s one of the captain’s spaces,” he said.

“The captain rented it?” asked Dallington.

“No, no. It only means that it’s a standing order — that the same person ships out in that space every time the Gunner goes to India. We call those the captain’s spaces, always have. See, look here. I have a list of spaces available for the next run right here.” There was a little diagram of the ship’s hold. “The squares that are cross-hatched are the ones I’ve rented. The ones that are blacked out altogether — those are the Gunner’s standing orders, the captain’s spaces. Four dozen, say. One of them belongs to Admiral Benson, I happen to know, because I stow it up for him.”

“What does he ship?”

“Scotch whisky, crates of the stuff. Don’t know if he’s selling it or drinking it.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate your discretion,” said Dallington.

Helmer looked indignant. “Which you’re the police, ain’t you?”

Lenox didn’t answer the question, since it put him rather in a false position. “Who stows up the spaces if not you?”

“The owners.”

Dallington and Lenox exchanged looks. “We’d better ask Captain Dyer, then,” said Lenox.

“I think it’s a capital idea,” said Helmer. He was at constant pains to prove he had nothing to hide, was even willing to let them take his ledger away with them, as long as he could make a copy first. Who knew where the ledgers for his secondary, less salutary business were kept. One problem at a time. “Though he’ll be wanting to set sail. The Gunner’s nothing without she’s on schedule.”

Lenox and Dallington went back out from Helmer’s stall into the open air of the docklands. Dyer was standing on the forecastle of his ship, arms crossed, observing the constables on their business. He looked out of countenance. This was a severe disruption to his plans, of course. Lenox knew from his time on the Lucy that the forecastle was the preserve of the common sailor, but the quarterdeck of the Gunner, which the officers alone were permitted to use, was at the moment dominated by the trunk with Wakefield’s body. Its lid was open, the ivory relief of the corpse just visible above its edge.

They crossed the gangway and went to him. “You’ve brought me a pretty peck of trouble, gentlemen,” he said, smiling grimly. “Though I’m glad the responsibility is out of my hands before we ship.”

“Captain Dyer, I understand that the hold space with the trunk in it, 119 aft, is a captain’s space? Held by the same person for all of your trips.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Who?” asked Lenox.

Dyer looked surprised. “Why, Wakefield!”

Dallington and Lenox glanced at each other. “You mean to say that Wakefield let that space from you?” asked Lenox.

“From the ship’s owner, yes.”

“Is that you?”

“I wish it were. No, the Gunner belongs to the Asiatic Limited Corporation. They have nineteen ships in all.”

“I’ve heard of them,” said Dallington.

“How long has Lord Wakefield had that space?” asked Lenox.

“Six or seven voyages, so it must be a couple of years,” said Dyer. “He once or twice came aboard the ship himself to stow his cargo.”

“What did he ship?”

“I never would have presumed to ask him.”

“You didn’t feel obliged to check the contents of the trunk?” asked Dallington. “For the sake of the ship’s safety? What if it had been … I don’t know, explosives?”

Dyer looked at him oddly. “The thought never occurred to me. Anyway, I imagine he usually sent liquor, European liquor. Nine-tenths of our hold is filled with it, either for sale or use.”

“Aren’t the men tempted to steal it?” asked Lenox.

“I know the drunkenness of the our navy is a national joke, but I have a crew I can trust — a crack crew. I turn hands away. They’d drop any man who tried overboard before I could do it myself. We share out the earnings, you see. All of us are here for the money. Anything that gets in the way of it is a nuisance. Like this, for instance, with all respect to the lord.”

“The trunk came aboard this morning?” asked Lenox.

“Yes,” said Dyer.

“At what time?”

“I wasn’t here.” He spotted a passing officer. “Lieutenant Lawton, what time did AFT119 come aboard this morning?”

Lawton thought for a moment. “Fairly early, not after eight o’clock.”

“I take it Wakefield didn’t bring aboard the trunk himself,” said Lenox.

“No,” said Dyer dryly.

“Who did?”

“Lieutenant, who brought the trunk aboard?”

“Two dockhands, sir.”

“Did you know them?”

“Not by sight, sir. The usual sort.”

“There are a thousand stevedores on these docks,” said Dyer, turning back to Lenox and Dallington. “Any of them would have brought the trunk on board for a few coins. They had the correct tickets?”

“Oh, yes,” said Lawton. “We always check twice, as you know, Captain.”

How had Jenkins come by Wakefield’s claim ticket, Lenox wondered? And had he known what it was? Of course, it might have been a ticket from a past voyage, too.

“Who took the contents of Wakefield’s hold from you in Calcutta?” asked Lenox.

Dyer shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea. We’re often many leagues homeward by the time anyone collects what we’ve left, of course.”

Dallington frowned. “What do you mean? Don’t they have to come on the ship and gather their things?”

“In the Asiatic warehouse at Calcutta there’s a room the exact dimensions of our hold, and with all the same markings, too. The men simply transfer every box’s contents into its replica, and we set sail. India is a slow-moving country. They have several months — until we’re back again, in fact — before their things must be out.”

“But who would have been permitted to take away the contents of Wakefield’s box?” asked Lenox, puzzled.

“He would have had an arrangement with one of the local companies, almost certainly. The Asiatic office can likely tell you. I’d be happy to give you their address.” His eyes scanned the decks of the ship critically. “Perhaps it might persuade the Yard to let our ship leave port sooner.”

Lenox made a note on his pad to consult with them. It was slightly maddening, this whole thing — they knew more than they could have hoped when they came to the docks and also less. Was Wakefield still a suspect in Jenkins’s murder? Or had the same person killed both men? It was critical in cases like this, Lenox had learned, not to let the second murder seem more important than the first.

After they had finished speaking to Dyer and getting descriptions from Lieutenant Lawton of the two stevedores who had brought the trunk on board — which were singularly unhelpful, since nearly every man on the dock wore the same navy or black woolen jersey, and most were also “dark-haired, I think”—Dallington and Lenox went back down to the docks, where Nicholson was ordering people about.

“Are you going to hold the Gunner in London?” asked Dallington.

“For a day or two at least. This is a disaster, you know. Parliament will scream bloody murder. They don’t think the Yard monitors the shipyards well enough as it is.”

Dallington looked around at the dozens of ships nearby. “It would take more men than are in London to monitor every hold of every ship.”

“You and I know that,” said Nicholson. “This Wakefield — you know he owned a house on the street where Jenkins died?”

Lenox nodded. “Yes.”

“Did you suspect him?”

Lenox decided that it was time to tell Nicholson what he knew, and he relayed it now: Charity Boyd, what Dyer had just told them, the mystery of Jenkins holding Wakefield’s claim ticket. “I think they must be linked,” he said.

“Certainly it would seem so,” said Nicholson. He didn’t look pleased to be hearing of Lenox’s suspicions a day late. “What now?”

“I think before the city gets hold of the news, Dallington and I had better go speak to the people at Wakefield’s house. Will you come with us?”

Nicholson looked around. “Yes, why not,” he said.

“Please tell whomever you leave in charge that McConnell is coming shortly. He can tell us at any rate how Wakefield died, if not why.”