A Country Way of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 4)

by R. A. Bentley

  'Apart from that I was pretty lucky as it turned out – got away hiding in a bullock cart and all the rest of it – but never more so than when I met my first wife. I'd like to tell you the whole story but there isn't time. Loveliest girl you ever saw. Her family put me up for a while, then helped me back to barracks where I got myself invalided out. I think they were glad to be rid of me, frankly. Then home we came Blighty. I saw her people all right of course. We still correspond.'

  'And now I suppose this Travis has turned up and wants his share of the loot?' said Miles.

  Sir Rupert nodded. 'I bumped into him in the village, not an hour ago. Nearly died of shock.'

  'Tall, thin chap with a plump little pal?'

  'That's the one. I tried to fob him off but he's coming here tomorrow, he says. Won't take no for an answer. I might as well tell you I'm frightened. Not so much of him – he's old now, like me, and ill too, by the look of him – but he seems to have people behind him and he was making some pretty unpleasant threats. I don't know how I'm going to get out of this, Felix, not on my own anyway.'

  'How come it's taken him so long to find you?'

  'I'm guessing he's been in prison. Also, he never knew my real name. I used a nom de guerre – as did he, probably – and never gave him a clue as to my background. It can't have been easy.'

  'Can't you come to terms with him?'

  Sir Rupert shook his head mournfully. 'If I was worth twice as much it wouldn't cover that damned tiara. If I still had it I'd give it to him and good riddance. He's not likely to settle for less.'

  'Where is it then, if you haven't got it?' asked Miles, half-guessing the answer.

  Sir Rupert sighed. 'Young Linsey pinched it. Or at any rate, it disappeared when he did. I could hardly tell the police, could I? I didn't know where I stood legally. Still don't, come to that. I was relieved in a way to see it gone. I did worry a bit about this happening, but as the years went by it seemed less and less likely. I should have thought it would have turned up by now, frankly, but it never has.'

  'How would you know?'

  'Had it come on the market, everyone would know. Like I said, it's fabulously valuable. The necklace alone was enough to set me up in the insurance business and that was worth a fraction of it. After we pinched it, it was all over the papers out there. I was so frightened of the darned thing I felt like throwing it away or sending it back, but there was always a chance that Travis had survived and would come after me, so I hung onto it. When we moved here, I put it in a strongbox in the attic and tried to forget about it. I'm not greedy and didn't need the money by then.'

  'How did Baverstock get to know about it?'

  Sir Rupert hesitated for a moment. 'We got drunk one night and I told him. I was quite fond of him really. He is, or was, my only living relative and he reminded me of my young self a little. Have you got anywhere with finding him? I take it you haven't.'

  Miles, glanced at Rattigan. 'We're pretty sure he's dead, I'm afraid, and died here, in the village. What we don't know is why or how.'

  'Murdered for the tiara?'

  'Well, it's a theory, isn't it? I suppose now you want police protection. We saw Lady Willoughby leaving. Have you sent her away?'

  'It seemed best,' said Sir Rupert, again staring out of the window. 'She's gone to the Trenchards for a few days. Ah! Here's Jackson back.' He sounded relieved. 'We'd be better able to look after ourselves, Inspector, if we had your permission to use force, if necessary.'

  Miles smiled. 'You can't expect me to sanction that. I'll give you Buckett for a day or two. If Travis comes calling, telephone to me. Tell me one thing. What do you know about Bill Rowesell's murder?'

  'Absolutely nothing. I'm as shocked as anyone. Do you think there's some connection?'

  'If there isn't, I'll be very surprised. When did your pal pitch up?'

  'I think it must have been today.'

  'Do you believe all that?' asked Rattigan, when they got outside. 'It's like something out of Kipling.'

  'Who can say? You ought to be pleased anyway. What was it? "Stole a ruby from the brow of a heathen idol"?'

  'Rattigan chuckled. 'Well I was warm. What happens now?'

  'I don't see that we can arrest the fellow at the moment,' said Miles. 'If we come across him I'll warn him off, but that's about all I can do. However, we'll visit Archie and get his impressions, and then put a call through to Polly. Might be worth checking on this tiara too. If he's telling the truth there must be some record of it.'

  'Do we pinch him for it — Sir Rupert? He's admitted to grand larceny.'

  'Lord, no! We've quite enough to do without that. If someone in the village is sitting on it, however, we now have a decent motive for murder.'

  'Of Rowsell?'

  'Yes — the gold and silver. It never made much sense before but now it does. If he was planning to snitch on whoever has it, they probably wouldn't have thought twice about doing him in.'

  'What do you make of the girls' theory? Should we investigate?'

  'Yes, I think we should. There's clearly something not right there, though probably not what they think. They didn't notice one thing though.'

  'There was no diary entry for this week,' said Rattigan. 'The last one was on the twenty-second of December.'

  'And he was buying petrol.'

  'Hello, sir. Thanks for getting back to me. Sam Frampton, jewellery thief. Teddy recognised him . . . Yes, that's the fella . . . Oh you did? . . . Never doubted it, sir! . . . Yes, so we guessed . . . Yes, he is. Booked into here this lunchtime with a pal, asked a lot of questions, then drove off. Frampton signed as Jones and the pal as Travis, although it may not be his real name. Travis is maybe in his late fifties, about five foot ten or eleven. We didn't get a very good look at him earlier but those who did say painfully thin, grey-haired, unwell-looking in cheap blue suit. Doesn't say much. Coughs a lot. Car is a Crossley eighteen-fifty limo, MO 906. Nice motor. We're told he was a thief and mercenary in India twenty-five or so years ago, and may have been incarcerated there until recently. Any ideas?' He listened and nodded. 'Seems likely, doesn't it? . . . Yes, they might try arrivals from there during the last year or so . . . No, but the local bigwig's got the willies about him. Sir Rupert Willoughby. It's he who told us about the Indian connection. He was out there at the same time and had dealings with him. Quite a story, which I'm inclined to believe, fantastical though it is. I won't trouble you with it now except to say there's some very expensive jewellery involved: a diamond tiara and necklace. King's ransom territory. Seems likely to be linked to our case . . . Thanks, sir. Appreciated . . . Slow, I'm afraid; we're not getting much cooperation . . . Well, that's the obvious assumption, of course . . . Yes, or worse . . . No I don't think so. As far as we can tell, they've only just arrived. Whoever did that is probably home-grown . . . Yes, it's a mess, frankly - a suspicious death, a suspicious disappearance, a murder and now this . . . Yes please, sir. You might as well tell them to get down here . . . No, tomorrow will do. It'll give them a chance to research Travis. Tell them to forget Baverstock for now, unless they're already onto something . . . Ah! No, I suppose not. I keep forgetting. All right, let them have their fun and we'll see them next week . . . And a happy new year to you and yours, sir. Yes, she's fine. Not seeing much of each other at the moment, unfortunately . . . Yes, I will, sir. Bye.'

  'Do they know them, then?' said Archie, shamelessly eavesdropping.

  'Only the little fellow. Travis probably won't have form here. Not much we can do about them, unfortunately, until they do something naughty. Got anything worth pinching, Archie? What about the missus?'

  'Humph, they're welcome to try!'

  They contemplated through the windscreen Brook Farm's tumbledown house and outbuildings. The sun was already below the treetops and there was a distinct touch of frost in the air.

  'Doesn't get any prettier, does it?' said Rattigan.

  'Sucks all the joy out of you,' agreed Miles. 'And here come the blasted dogs.'r />
  'Try the horn, sir?'

  But no-one came, and they were reluctantly preparing to do battle when a sturdy, grey-haired woman appeared, drove their tormentors yelping into a stable with her broom and shut the door on them. Impressively corsetted, with the hem of her heavy skirts dragging disregarded in the mud, she would not have looked out of place in one of Cyril Harris's Edwardian photographs.

  'And what be you wantin'?' she demanded. 'Police again I s'pose?'

  Miles admitted that they were. 'We'd like to ask Mr Rowsell a few more questions, if we may. How is he?'

  She shrugged. 'Just sits starin' at the fire. You'd best come in.'

  'And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, madam?'

  'I'm his sister, Mrs King.'

  'Are you looking after him?'

  'Not to stop here. King's doin' the milkin' but he can't keep that up for long; he's got his own work ter do.'

  'No other relatives?'

  'We got another sister but they ent talkin'. Neither was we, come to that, but I casn't let the beggar starve can I?'

  'Well I can't promise anything but I'll have a word with Doctor Felix about him if you like. He's my father.'

  Pausing in the dark corridor, Mrs King produced a pair of spectacles and gazed into his face. 'Ah, I sees the resemblance. That be kind of you.' She ushered them into the kitchen. 'Eli, it's Mr Felix ter see you.'

  'Ent goin' in no workhouse,' said Mr Rowsell, who had clearly heard the exchange.

  'No-one is suggesting that you do, sir,' said Miles. 'Who did the cooking, you or your son?'

  'Took it in turns.'

  'Would you be able to manage it? I expect we can arrange for someone to drop off your groceries.'

  'Suppose so,' said Mr Rowsell grudgingly. 'What d'yer want?'

  Miles explained about the diary.

  'Didn't know he had one until you taked un.'

  'It seems to have been little-used,' said Miles. 'But he did make a note quite often to buy petrol. Every week or two, in fact. Did he really get through that much?'

  'Not that I knows of. I'd soon have pulled him up if he had.'

  'You paid for it, you said. How much would that be a month? Can you hazard a guess?'

  Mr Rowsell shrugged. 'Five bob maybe.'

  'But he used the car regularly?'

  'Stopped un seizin' up, so he reckoned.'

  'And how long was he gone usually, when he took it for a run?'

  'Dunno really. He done it after church mostly.'

  'And when did he last do that? Can you remember?

  'Sunday before Christmas. He took un ter the dance too.'

  'Yes, I suppose he would,' said Miles. 'That was the night of the snow. Did he get back all right?'

  'Had ter leave un in lane an' walk a mile, silly bugger.'

  'Is it possible he sometimes bought his own petrol?' persisted Miles. A thought occurred to him. 'You did pay him, presumably?'

  The farmer gave him an old fashioned look. 'He got what he needed. I ent made o' money.'

  'Check the mileage, sir?' suggested Rattigan.

  'Yes, I think we should. May we have a look at the car, Mr Rowsell?'

  'Do what yer like wi un. Ent no use ter me now.' Quite suddenly he began to sob, burying his face in his hands.

  Miles placed a hand on the old man's shoulder.

  The car had been left in a corner of the barn.

  'One of those bolt-on ones,' said Rattigan, peering at the odometer. 'He could have altered it easily enough. However, if he didn't, it's rather low.'

  'And the general condition of the car seems to confirm that.'

  'If you ignore the mud, anyway. Five bob a month, that's about seventy miles. Less round here probably. Knock off a trip to the flicks or some such and it can only have been local motoring.'

  'Well he must have gone somewhere. Could it be a woman, but someone in the village?'

  Miles looked doubtful. 'I suppose it's possible. It'd be a bit of a giveaway leaving an unattended milk cart outside, wouldn't it?'

  Rattigan chuckled. 'Sounds like a music-hall joke. It'd be nice to know he got some fun out of life, poor devil. Who would it be though? Minnie Adams?'

  Miles shook his head. 'I don't believe that story for a moment. Apart from anything else, I don't see how they'd have had the opportunity. If there was someone, that would mean another potential murder suspect, and we wouldn't have a clue where to look for him.'

  'The husband, do you mean? It shouldn't be all that difficult in a place this size, surely? We could start with the regulars at the Bell.'

  Miles laughed. '"Now then, gentlemen, we need to know if one of you was being cuckolded by the milkman." We'll toss for that, I think.'

  'Not with that penny we don't.'

  'Are you accusing me of fraud, Sergeant?'

  'Found what you were looking for?' asked Mrs King, sidling in.

  'Did you have much to do with your nephew, Mrs King?' asked Miles.

  'Bill? He called on us once in a while. I didn't encourage it.'

  'Very religious, we're told.'

  'Humph! God-botherer I calls it.' She looked down, embarrassed. 'Not as he did any harm to anyone, that I know of, and he were good to his dad. Have you found who done it yet?'

  'We're making progress. A keen churchman, then?'

  'She looked blank.'

  'A regular at church?'

  'Oh yes. Every Sunday. Not to say we don't.'

  'Did you sit together?'

  'No-one didn't sit with him. Sat by hisself.'

  'Friendly with the vicar, presumably?'

  'Dunno about that. I seen him go in the church a few times, weekdays. Ter pray, I s'pose.'

  'Really? Ah! You're related to King the butcher?'

  'Brother-in-law. I helps out there occasional.'

  'Do you happen to know if Mr Rowsell had a lady friend?'

  Mrs King opened her mouth to speak, then appeared to think better of it. 'Not that I know of.'

  'You know who she is but you're not eager to tell me. Is that it?'

  'I don't know nothin' about no lady friend. Sorry.'

  They drove slowly back to the village.

  'I do believe we're getting somewhere,' said Miles, relieved to leave the place behind. 'Next stop Josie Clement. Then we'd best compare notes.'

  'How about if I do Bert, as you don't get on with him?'

  'That's a very good idea.'

  'Josie, I need to talk to you privately. Is there anyone else at home?'

  Josie looked quickly into the next room. 'If Bert comes in, you're after some eggs. What is it now?'

  'I'll come straight to the point. I've reason to believe that you and Linsey Baverstock were once lovers. That ought not to be my business, but unfortunately it is. You knew I was investigating his disappearance and you deliberately concealed that information from me. That wasn't very helpful.'

  Josie glowered at him. 'It was that Eustace Peartree, I suppose. Dirty old Peeping Tom. Just you wait till I see him!'

  'I can't comment on who it was, I'm afraid. And you'd be well advised not to mention it to Mr Peartree, or to anyone else.'

  She sighed resignedly. 'Miles, this has gone on too long. Sit down.' She sat down opposite him, resting her folded arms on the kitchen table. 'Please believe me; there was nothing like that between me and Linsey. We weren't lovers, as you put it. We were together a few times, that's all. And for goodness sake don't tell Bert. We were already walking out then.'

  'Over what period, were those few times?'

  'From when he arrived, more or less. Six months or so. He had Irene as well.'

  'He seduced you, do you mean?'

  'No, we seduced him. He was a good looking boy.' Suddenly she smiled. 'Goodness me, Miles, I do believe you're shocked!'

  Miles gave a bewildered sigh. 'I suppose I am a little, though I don't know why I should be. Goodness knows, I've heard enough tales of what went on in those days.'

  'And what makes you thin
k it's any different now?' said Josie archly. Then she laughed. 'Your face! It's all right. From what Marjory tells me, I rather doubt it. The young ones today seem quite straightlaced compared with us.' She looked contemplative. 'You do what the others do, don't you, when you're young? Especially if there's only a dozen or so of you. No-one wants to be odd one out. It all changed, though, after —'

  'After?'

  'After Ellen died.'

  'That's not what you were going to say.'

  Josie regarded him for a while, biting her lower lip. 'Miles, listen. I've lived in this village all my life. I don't know much about life outside it, but I know everything about what goes on in Bettishaw, and so does everyone else who grew up here. There are no secrets. Not about the big things anyway.'

  'Except from me.'

  'From outsiders, yes. I'm sorry if that sounds unkind. It's not meant to be. We all love your family, but you're not like us. You can never be.'

  'That's more or less what Bulloch said.'

  'Then you should have listened to him.'

  'So you know what happened to Linsey Baverstock?'

  'Yes, of course I do. But I'm not going to tell you. You're a clever man, and you'll no doubt find out, but it won't be from me.'

  'Was he murdered?'

  'No he wasn't. That's all I'm going to say.'

  'If I called it an act of God?'

  'I wouldn't argue with that.'

  'What about Rowsell?'

  'No, I don't know about that, but it'll come out soon enough. It's bound to.'

  'But you can guess?'

  She firmly shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Miles. There's nothing else I can tell you.' She stood up and saw him to the new front door.

  'Very nice,' said Miles, 'especially the stained glass.'

  'Thank you. Where is your sergeant today?'

  'Interviewing Bert.'

  Josie stared at him with undiluted horror. 'Oh Miles, how could you!'