Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple and the Kelby Affair

Charlie Vosper had driven like a stunt man in a silent film to reach Ted Mortimer’s farm. He had telephoned for two constables to conduct a search of the premises. The constables arrived from the opposite direction at the same time as Charlie Vosper swung into Galloway Farm and narrowly missed three hens out for a walk. They drove in convoy past the barn and cattle sheds alongside a field of sheep to the rambling farmhouse. By the time the two cars had skidded to a halt Ted Mortimer was already in the doorway.

‘Do you realise it’s dangerous to drive at that speed?’ he demanded.

He was a big man with a red, weather-beaten face. His arms were tattooed with swords and snakes. An aggressive man who was none too pleased to see the police.

‘What’s all the panic?’ he asked.

Charlie Vosper showed his identification. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of Mr Alfred Kelby. I believe you knew him. He’s been missing since Monday morning, and I wondered whether you could help us to locate him.’

Mortimer shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. Kelby and I weren’t really on visiting terms.’

‘He was coming over here on Monday afternoon.’

‘That’s right. But he never arrived.’

Charlie Vosper stared at the farmer, deciding whether he was ‘straight’ or not. It was a careful examination and Paul could see why the man should glare so aggressively back.

‘Do you mind if we look over your farm?’

Mortimer was ungracious. ‘Go ahead if you must, but don’t disturb my livestock. They aren’t used to policemen.’

The farm was obviously run down. Ted Mortimer himself bore a grudge against the world, and his men bore a grudge against Ted Mortimer. The animals obviously didn’t give a damn for anyone. It was something to do with the weather, Paul decided as he wandered round in the wake of the police. The weather was always bad for farmers.

‘Bad weather for the crops,’ he said conversationally to Ted Mortimer as they came out of the tractor shed.

‘We’re mainly livestock here,’ he said. ‘Dairy farm.’

Paul nodded. ‘Shocking weather.’

The two constables had been through the rooms and attic and cellars of the house, without success. Of course a body could have been buried in the fields. But they went through the outhouses and ramshackle cattle sheds systematically. They found Kelby when they reached the barn.

The barn was built on two levels. The ground level was scattered with sacks of fertiliser and a set of disc harrows. On the upper level a rusty old bath kept company with an abandoned sewing machine, a child’s rocking horse and an odd assortment of junk. One of the constables on the top level was leaning out of the loading bay as Charlie Vosper and Paul Temple reached the doors.

‘He’s down there,’ the man called. ‘The rain butt by the corner.’

Paul and the inspector ran to the back of the barn. The rain butt was very large, and unless you were deliberately searching you wouldn’t have seen the hand resting over the edge by the drainpipe.

A police ambulance and a doctor were sent for, as well as the photographer and a fingerprint man from the lab. Paul Temple watched in fascination as the whole organisation moved smoothly into action. A constable stayed on duty by the body and the other took statements from the farm hands. It was such a routine operation for them that a man’s violent death became almost an irrelevance.

‘Nobody’s been near this bloody barn for ten days. You can see it’s hardly used at this time of year.’

Paul Temple realised that the farmer was still standing next to him. As the only other man without a part to play he had stayed helplessly by Paul’s side, watching and feeling sorry for himself.

‘When did you last see Mr Kelby alive?’ Paul asked him.

‘I saw him in the village about a week ago. But I didn’t speak to him.’

‘Why not?’

‘I saw him first.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘What do you think it means? It means I avoided him.’ Ted Mortimer stepped aside to allow the doctor to pass. They were about to move the body. It was a bloated, blue-hued impersonal thing, nothing more to do with Alfred Kelby. ‘Wouldn’t you avoid someone if you owed him two thousand quid, and you were up to your bloody ears in debt?’

Paul smiled thoughtfully. ‘That’s a good question. I think I probably would, Mr Mortimer.’

The farmer looked at him for a moment, not quite sure what to make of Paul’s attitude. Then he turned away to stare at the ambulance. The stray hand was visible again, hanging below the white sheet.

‘Did you know that Mr Kelby was coming to see you on Monday afternoon?’

‘That stuck-up secretary of his telephoned; it was like announcing a royal visit. But Kelby didn’t turn up.’

‘Were you at home Monday afternoon and evening?’

‘Yes,’ Mortimer said angrily. ‘And I didn’t see anybody putting him in the rain butt. I would have sent them both packing if I had!’

‘What time do your men go home?’

‘At this time of the year about six o’clock. Now do you mind if I get some work done? I’ve a livelihood to earn.’

Ted Mortimer strode away to the house. Paul smiled to himself and went across to join Charlie Vosper. The ambulance was just departing, and Charlie was watching it go as he lit his pipe.

‘Well?’ asked Paul.

The inspector growled and carried on lighting his pipe. ‘He’s been in that water some time. Probably since Monday.’

‘Was he drowned?’ Paul asked.

‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’ He threw a match into the ground level of the barn and watched to see whether it carried on burning. ‘From the look of him I’d say that his neck was broken, but there’s bound to have been a struggle. I’d like to know which happened first.’

Paul nodded. ‘It would make quite a difference.’

‘If he died of a broken neck he could have been killed elsewhere and then brought here later. That would be easier.’

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