Detective Watters Mysteries

Chapter 2-2

Shaw glanced at the list. “There are hundreds of items here,” he said. “How will I identify them all?”

“You won’t,” Watters said. “Read the list and find the most distinctive, then look for them. You’ll never identify one white shirt from a score or a pewter mug from a shelf-full, but if something has distinctive markings or a watch is engraved, then you have a chance. Selective detecting, Shaw; concentrate on what you can do, rather than wasting time on the impossible.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Shaw wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Duff read through the list again. “A lot of this property is high value, Sergeant. Will the thief find a pawnshop able to sell it?”

Watters shook his head. “That’s the property the thieves took from the Royal Hotel and the shop break-ins. I doubt any Dundee pawn would touch the expensive jewellery that’s easily identifiable. It is more likely the cracksman will sell it in Edinburgh or Glasgow, but keep your eyes open anyway.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Duff said.

“Here’s Scuddamore. Take him with you. You’d both better all learn the area.”

“Take me where?” Scuddamore poured himself a mug of tea. “It’s cold out there today. Playing golf later, Sergeant?”

Watters glowered at him. “I played this morning, Scuddamore, when you were still lazing in bed.”

* * *

Muirhead’s Greenland Whaling Company’s office fronted onto Dock Street, with a splendid view of the packed shipping in King William the Fourth Dock. Watters stepped into the reception area and stopped at the ornamental brass railing between him and the two busy clerks. He held a leather case in his left hand and his lead-weighted cane in his right.

“I’m here to see Mr Muirhead!” Watters rapped his cane on the counter.

The first clerk was about eighteen, with thin shoulders and slicked-back hair. He eyed Watters up and down. “Mr Muirhead doesn’t see anybody without an appointment,” he said.

“I am Sergeant George Watters of the Dundee Police. Pray, tell Mr Muirhead that I am here.” Watters held the clerk’s gaze until he scurried away to fetch his master.

Muirhead greeted Watters with a smile and an outstretched hand, which was unusual for a man that Watters had recently accused of scuttling a ship. “Come in, Sergeant Watters, and we’ll get this nonsense cleared up.”

Muirhead’s office was large and plain, with oak-panelled walls and two tall windows overlooking the docks. Muirhead ushered Watters to a comfortable leather chair on one side of his desk, seated himself on the other and rang a small brass bell. “Tea, Sergeant? Or coffee? I feel it is too early yet for anything stronger.”

“Tea would be most welcome, Mr Muirhead,” Watters said, looking around the office. Save for the desk, two chairs, and a single glass-fronted bookcase, the only items in the room were ship models, a clock, an old-fashioned harpoon, and a barometer.

“Are these your ships, sir?”

Muirhead’s eyes brightened. “Yes, they are, Sergeant.” He stepped across the room to the ship models. “The steam paddle-steamers are Toiler and Travail, the sail-powered coasters are Teresa and Tamerlane, and the whaling vessels are Guinevere, Arthur and Lancelot.” He paused beside the largest of the models. “This beauty is Lancelot, only launched last month, a steam-whaling ship and the pride of my fleet.”

Toiler TravailTeresaTamerlane,Guinevere, ArthurLancelot.Lancelot“She’s a beauty,” Watters caught Muirhead’s enthusiasm. “You must have invested a great deal of money in building her.”

“I have,” Muirhead agreed. “Hunting the whales is a very chancy business, Sergeant. One good voyage can make a man, and one unsuccessful trip can break him. That is why I spread my money around in different ventures, although whaling is my primary concern.”

With her three masts and sturdy construction, Watters could only admire Lancelot’s lines while Muirhead explained his situation. “Some of the smaller, one-man or one-ship whaling companies live on the edge of disaster with every voyage,” Muirhead said. “For them, even the capture of a single whale can make the difference between profit and loss, success or failure, the continuance of business or bankruptcy. I am in the fortunate position of being able to spread the risk between my different vessels and various business interests.”

Lancelot’s lines“I see, sir,” Watters said. “I am afraid I must return to the reason I am here, Mr Muirhead.”

“Oh, yes, this insurance nonsense,” Muirhead reluctantly left his ship models and returned to his seat. “Let’s get that cleared up.” He looked up as a smart, young man entered the room. “Could you fetch us a pot of tea, please, Killen?”

“Yes, sir.” Killen gave a small bow and withdrew.

“I called around at the Dundee Maritime after our golf this morning to pick up the original documentation,” Muirhead said, “but it seems you beat me to it.”

“I have the documents with me,” Watters said. “I believe you have the copies?”

“My secretary looked them out for me,” Muirhead indicated the papers on his desk.

When Killen brought the tea, Muirhead had him pour two cups and then handed over the insurance documents to Watters. “There you are, Sergeant, all in order.”

Watters compared the copies with the originals. “Exactly the same, sir,” he said. “I notice you sign as K. L. Muirhead.”

“Always,” Muirhead said. “My middle name is Lancelot. When I was younger, it embarrassed me to have such an unusual name, but now I use it as an extra form of security. Not many people know what the L stands for, you see.” He nodded to his ship models. “That’s why my whaling ships have Arthurian names, and I plan a Gawain in the near future.”

“May I see some of your recent correspondence?” Watters asked.

“Of course,” Muirhead sounded slightly irritated. He rang the bell again and ordered Killen to bring him his secretary.

“This is Mr Forbes, my secretary,” Muirhead said.

Forbes was a tall, thin man who looked down at Watters from a long nose.

“And this is Sergeant George Watters of the Dundee Police,” Muirhead completed the introductions. “The sergeant wishes to see a selection of my signatures, Mr Forbes. Could you fetch some, please?”

“No, no,” Watters said. “Just show me, Mr Forbes. I’ll come with you.” He was quite aware that Forbes could bring a selection of innocent signatures. He accompanied Forbes to an adjacent office.

“I’ll look myself,” Watters said. “Where do you store copies of Mr Muirhead’s correspondence?”

Muirhead was a prolific letter writer, with everything duplicated and neatly filed. Watters selected twenty letters at random over the past five years and found the same signature on each sheet of paper. “K. L. Muirhead.”

“Thank you, Mr Forbes,” Watters said. “I may call on you again.”

“Yes, sir,” Forbes gave a small bow.

“Well, Mr Muirhead,” Watters returned to his previous chair and half-finished cup of tea. “I do not doubt that the Dundee Maritime Insurance documents are genuine, as is your signature.”

“I am glad to hear it, Sergeant,” Muirhead said dryly.

“That leaves us with these,” Watters produced the documents from the Scottish and English Mutual. “Which are for your vessels and bear your signature.”

“Let me see these!” Muirhead held out his hand. He glanced at each document. “These are certainly for my vessels,” he said, “but that is not my signature.”

“That’s what we thought, sir,” Watters said.

Muirhead looked up. “Well, who the devil would wish to double insure my ships?”

“That’s what we hope to find out, Mr Muirhead. Do you recognise the signature? The style of writing, sir?”

“Devil a bit of it!” Muirhead said. “What possible profit can anybody make from such a scheme? The money would come to the company.” He looked up.

“When the insurance companies pay the money,” Watters said. “Would they pay it directly to this office? To Mr Forbes, perhaps?”

“No, sergeant,” Muirhead said. “Any monies are sent to my accountant, Mr Mackenzie.”

Watters wrote the name in his notebook. “And what should Mr Mackenzie do with the money, Mr Muirhead?”

“Why, he should pay it into my account, of course.” It was evident that the barrage of questions was irritating Muirhead.

“Are there any circumstances where he could open another account?” Watters asked.

“No,” Muirhead said. “Although I give him a free hand. I have known Bill – Mr Mackenzie – since we were at the High School together.”

Watters nodded. “Thank you. Could you supply me with the logbook and the Articles of Agreement – the crew list - for Toiler?”

Toiler“The logbook went down with the ship,” Muirhead said. “But I am sure that Mr Forbes has a copy of the Articles. He keeps one to pay the wages.” Muirhead rang his brass bell again and ordered Killen to fetch the list from Forbes.

Watters checked to ensure the crew’s addresses were added and tucked the sheet safely inside his case.

“Thank you, Mr Muirhead,” Watters decided he had asked sufficient questions for a friendly interview. “I appreciate your co-operation.” He packed away the insurance documents in his case and reached for his hat and cane.

“I have a question to ask, Sergeant Watters,” Muirhead said. “This extra insurance affair. Did the money come from my accounts? Have I been charged with these unnecessary expenses?”

“I am afraid I don’t know the answer to that, sir,” Watters said. “You’d better ask Mr Mackenzie.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Muirhead gave a small smile. “Am I off the hook, Sergeant? Do you believe I am scuttling my vessels?”

Watters jammed his hat on his head. “No, sir, I do not believe that you scuttled Toiler.”

Toiler“Then tell me, Sergeant, why somebody is insuring my vessels, sometimes for more than they are worth?”

“That, sir, remains a mystery,” Watters said.