Murder Most Frequent: three more Inspector Constable mysteries (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 5)

by Roger Keevil

  “You reckon Rex Hope's murderer's got the wind up?”

  “With Phyllis Stein's reputation as the village gossip and know-all, it wouldn't be surprising, would it?” Constable sighed. “This is something of a turn-up. Let's not jump to conclusions. We'll wait to see what our medical and forensic people have to say. For the moment, leave everything as it is, lock the door, make us a cup of tea, and we'll go and take another look at what the lady had told us.” He led the way back into the incident room and lowered himself wearily into a chair.

  As the inspector finished his tea and reached for the folder of notes, the sound of approaching sirens could be heard. “Trust uniform to make a song and dance when the excitement's all over,” commented Constable. “You'd better go out and meet them. Get them to tape the whole building off, but you'd better keep them out of the library until the doc and SOCO arrive, just in case the size elevens compromise anything crucial.”

  Copper departed on his errand, but was back in a very short time with a stout middle-aged man in tow.

  “Still determined to keep me busy, I see, Andy,” said the newcomer. “Not content with one body in the case, you give me two.”

  “Sorry about that, doc. I didn't expect to have to call on you so soon.”

  “Ah well, no rest for the wicked. Or by the wicked, apparently,” chuckled the doctor. “Oh, by the way, since I was coming your way, I thought I might as well deliver this in person and save the squeezed police budget a few pence.” He handed over the large manila envelope in his hand. “Post mortem report on your first victim, the late Mr. Hope.”

  “Anything in particular I should look out for?”

  “Depressingly ordinary, I'm afraid,” said the doctor. “Time of death you knew anyway, as near as makes no odds, and cause of death as we suspected – single blow to the vital organs with a knife. Not even a very interesting knife, either – probably the sort you'd find in any domestic kitchen. All the details of dimensions and so on are in there. Otherwise, no other wounds, no unsuspected nasty conditions lurking in the depths. In fact, from my point of view, your corpse was singularly dull.”

  “Evidently somebody thought otherwise, doc,” countered Copper. “Otherwise he wouldn't be a corpse.”

  “Hmmm. True, sergeant. Well, on with the motley. Another day, another dead 'un. So who's gone and got themselves killed this time?”

  “Come and take a look.” The inspector led the way through into the library, and stood back while the doctor tutted in surprise.

  “That, young Andy, is a very nasty case of an excess of heavy literature. Who is she?”

  “A lady by the name of Phyllis Stein. Local librarian, and source of information on all aspects of village life, including those aspects which we think some residents would rather keep under wraps. Which is quite enough to make her death suspicious.”

  “Right. Let me take a look at her.” The doctor threw off his jacket and began to climb into a set of blue overalls. “Which is not going to be easy. I'll start with the bits I can get at, and then perhaps you could rustle up a couple of the beefier plods I passed on my way in, to lift this bookcase off her. Which, if I'm any judge, is going to result in an avalanche of books which will mess things up delightfully for SOCO, but needs must.”

  “Of course. Copper, would you see to that, please? And we'll leave you to it – we'll be next door in the incident room if you need us.”

  A few moments later, Copper joined Constable as he stood viewing the case board. “That picture of Rex Hope came through yesterday just as you were leaving, sir,” he pointed out. “I've pinned it up there with the others.”

  “Which means there's just Mark Lowe to come.”

  “Literally and photographically, sir. Especially since Miss Stein is no longer available as a source of information. But I'll do what I said yesterday and take a mugshot on my phone.”

  “Sir.” One of the uniformed officers from the attending patrol cars looked into the room. “There's a chap out here wants to come in. I've told him it's a closed area, but he says he has an appointment with you. A Mr. Lowe.”

  “He has indeed. You can let him through.”

  In response to a murmured 'It's just in here, sir', Mark Lowe appeared in the doorway. Somewhat unexpectedly, the teacher was dressed in the same running kit he had been wearing on the day of the murder.

  “Come in, Mr. Lowe,” said Constable. “Take a seat.”

  “What's going on, inspector?” asked Mark.

  “I'm afraid there's been another death, sir,” replied Constable bluntly. “Miss Phyllis Stein.”

  “What?” Mark appeared utterly nonplussed. “But how … I mean, who …?”

  “Those are questions we're in the process of trying to find answers to, sir.”

  “Phyllis?” There was clear shock in Mark's voice. “Poor woman.”

  “Were you close friends, sir?”

  Mark shifted evasively. “Not exactly, inspector. I mean, I didn't hate her or anything like that, but she … no, we weren't close,” he concluded.

  “And, of course, I'm sure she would have had no reason to hate you, sir, would she?” enquired Constable genially.

  “What? No, of course not,” said Mark hotly. “Why on earth would you say that?”

  “So she seems to have settled for a more moderate general disapproval then, sir, from what we gather from our conversations with her.”

  Mark's eyes took on a wary look. “I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at, inspector.”

  Constable leaned forward, and all traces of warmth vanished. “I think you possibly do, Mr. Lowe. You see, we have been made well aware of Miss Stein's self-appointed role as the chief gossip-monger of the village. And among those pieces of gossip, she showed no reluctance at all in telling us about the rumours that had at one time circulated concerning you and one of your pupils.”

  “But there was never a word of truth in any of that,” protested Mark.

  “Oh, she was careful to sprinkle her tale with all sorts of 'allegedlies', but it was clear that she felt that such a thing wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. And it doesn't take much in the way of rumour to damage a teacher's career. I seem to remember that she also spoke of your friendship with Mrs. Farmer in similarly disapproving tones. So you can see why we might think that you would not be a prominent member of Miss Stein's fan club. Nor she of yours.”

  “That's all you know, inspector,” came the reply.

  “I'm sorry, sir? Could you perhaps explain.”

  Mark sighed. “Oh god. This is embarrassing.”

  “We take embarrassment in our stride, sir,” said Constable implacably. “So please go on.”

  “It was last New Year,” explained Mark. “There was a do at the Three Blind Mice that evening. Half the village was there … that's the half that wasn't down at the Dagger. Anyway, Phyllis was among them, and like everyone else, she'd had a drink or two. And it was quite late on, coming up to midnight. I'd just been out to the loo, and I was coming back to the bar when Phyllis appeared in the corridor. Nobody else in sight. And suddenly, there she was, wrapping herself around me, telling me what a good-looking boy I was and she wasn't so old, was she, and then she was trying to kiss me. I nearly had a fit. I thought, what the hell's brought this on? Anyway, I did my best to stop her and laugh it off, and all of a sudden she turned nasty. Said I obviously thought she wasn't good enough for me, and that I evidently thought far too much of myself, and if I thought I was going to get anywhere with a married woman, I'd soon find out what she could do. When she'd finished snarling, she suddenly burst into tears and rushed into the ladies'. And after that night, it never got mentioned again ...”

  “But no doubt there was a certain coolness.” Constable nodded. “I can see that. And tell me, how far was Miss Stein from the truth? Were you trying to get anywhere with a married woman? Are you still, for that matter?”

  “Penny? Oh for crying out loud!” Mark sounded highly exasperated. “Look, i
nspector, I'm a regular at the Mice, and I like to think that I'm good friends with both Penny and Bob. Okay, like everybody else, I think she's gorgeous, and we have a laugh, but that's as far as it goes. I wouldn't actually do anything. So don't judge me by Rex Hope's standards, please.”

  “But in your opinion, Mr. Hope thought he might have better prospects? Is that what you're telling me?”

  “I honestly couldn't say. But if you're looking at me as a suspect because you think I'd kill Rex with a view to improving my chances with Penny, you're barking up the wrong tree.”

  Constable thought for a moment. “And in any event, it appears you would have had no opportunity to do so. You told us that you saw no more of him after you left the Sword and Dagger after your mid-run rest. And it seems your companions have verified that. So, for now, I've no more questions to ask you.” Mark stood. “Oh, except for one. Can you, just for the sake of form, account for your movements between yesterday evening and nine this morning?”

  “What, you think I've got something to do with Phyllis's death? Oh, this is ridiculous!” Constable continued to regard him in silence. “Okay. I had a parents' evening last night … finished about half past nine … picked up a curry on my way home … ate it … watched some television, went to bed, got up, and came here. And, apart from about a hundred parents and the guy at the Mughal Palace, no witnesses. Sorry. Can I go now?”

  “Of course, Mr. Lowe,” responded Constable mildly, rising. “Off for another run, are you?”

  “Yes, inspector, bizarre as it may seem, I am. You might have forgotten that there's a village race coming up, but I haven't. And I don't intend to let Bob and Penny down. So if you would like to know my further movements, just in case anything else suspicious occurs around here, I'm planning on looking in at the Mice to check Penny's all right and to tell her that I'm still on for the weekend, and then I'm going for a couple of turns round the course to try to get my head back in the right place. If that's all right by you?”

  “By all means, sir,” said Constable. “Exorcise the demons, as it were.”

  “Or exercise them, sir,” put in Copper over his shoulder.

  “Thank you, sergeant. That will do. There is a time for linguistic gymnastics, and this isn't it. Mr. Lowe, thank you for coming in. We'll be in touch if we need to.” He nodded and turned away from Mark, who made his way out of the room with an uncertain expression on his face.

  “Bit of a turn-up for the books, that, isn't it, guv?” remarked Copper. “Phyllis Stein going all cougar on the teacher. I bet that was a bit of gossip she was careful not to spread. Damn!”

  “What?”

  “I forgot to take that mugshot for the board.”

  “Well, you could always chase him down the road and get it,” suggested Constable. “Alternatively, you could check next door on Miss Stein's desk to see if she'd found it by the time the bookcase landed on her. Actually, I'll come with you. We might as well see if the doc's turned up anything helpful yet.”

  The doctor was sat back on his haunches surveying the body of Phyllis Stein, which had been turned over to lie on its face in a cleared spot amidst the welter of fallen books which surrounded it.

  “Any progress, doc?”

  “A little, Andy. More a case of ruling possibilities out than ruling them in.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “As far as I can tell from a superficial examination, it's pretty clear that she died from crush injuries. Some time over twelve hours ago would be my best guess. Whether the impact itself was fatal, or whether it was a combination of that and asphyxiation from the weight on top of her, is something I can't tell you categorically until I've got her on my slab and opened her up. Not, I suppose, that the difference is that crucial as far as you're concerned.”

  “You've turned her over. Any special reason?”

  “Well, apart from the fact that the face took a certain amount of direct damage which has not improved the lady's looks, I just wanted to check whether there was any sort of similarity with your other body, for instance by way of a stab wound to the back. But as you can see, not a thing. No other obvious injuries that I can detect, but I'm just about to go over things in rather more detail. Let's see if I can find some nice helpful tell-tale blood or skin under her fingernails from defending herself against an attacker. Once I've done that I'll have her hauled away for closer examination, and then I think it's over to you.”

  As the doctor began issuing orders on his mobile, the two detectives returned to the other room. “So far, so unhelpful, guv,” remarked Copper. “That bookcase – it's heavy, but it's tall. Do you reckon it would have needed a man to push it over, or do you think a woman could have done it?”

  Constable snapped his fingers. “Thank you, Copper. Suddenly, a light's just come on.”

  “I'm pleased about that, sir. What kind of a light?”

  “We want somebody with a motive to kill Phyllis Stein. Okay, we know about the possibilities surrounding Mark Lowe. But what's just come into focus is what she told us when she was talking about Adelaide Knight.”

  “What, that business about the lock-ins, sir? But you yourself said that there was nothing illegal about that.”

  “Nor is there. But in my wanderings yesterday, I paid a little visit to Miss Knight, included in which was a look at her brewing facilities. And I noticed some other equipment in the next room. She passed it off as just spare odds and sods, but I've just realised why it rang a bell. I was stupid not to realise it straight away. The things I saw were some of the elements of a still. No wonder Phyllis Stein was dropping heavy hints about the local authorities taking an interest. Adelaide Knight is making illicit moonshine!”

  *

  “So do you really think Adelaide Knight is a serious contender, guv?” enquired Dave Copper as he negotiated the car down the main street of Blaston Dammett and around the local bus as it took on its load of elderly pensioners, bus passes in hand and wheeled trolleys in tow, heading for the weekly farmers' market in Dammett Worthy.

  “Look at what we know,” replied Andy Constable. “She's a woman who, by her own admission, knows how to deal with opponents. She's certainly no stranger to weapons with shiny sharp edges. And we know that she was quite prepared to resort to violence. It's quite possible that Rex Hope went a step too far, on some occasion we don't know about, and she decided to put a stop to him once and for all. Plus, if she suspected that Phyllis Stein was intent on causing trouble for her, she's certainly got the physical strength to tip over that bookcase. I think a few more questions are in order.”

  The car pulled into the deserted car park of the Sword and Dagger, which showed no signs of life. Curtains were still closed, and the door was firmly shut.

  “Bit early in the day for a pub, sir,” pointed out Copper. “Mostly they don't open till eleven. Maybe she's having a lie-in.”

  “We won't let that stop us,” said Constable determinedly. “I haven't got time to fiddle about. Roust her out.”

  Persistent banging on the sturdy ancient oak door of the inn eventually produced a slightly bleary Adelaide Knight, still wrapping a dressing-gown around herself. “Inspector?” she blinked. “What's the problem?”

  “Sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, Miss Knight.” Irony dripped from the inspector's words. “May we come in?” Without waiting for a reply, he stepped through the low doorway into the darkened bar, as Addy turned and fumbled with light switches. “I did say I might well be back later, didn't I? Well, later is now. And I would like to know if you can account for your movements yesterday evening from around six o'clock onwards.”

  “Yes, of course I can. I was here.”

  “Doing what, exactly?”

  “Doing what I always do, inspector,” retorted Addy with some asperity. “Getting the pub ready for the evening, and then serving my customers.”

  “You have witnesses?”

  “Yes. Anna was here all the time. Plus a pub-full of customers.”


  “And this was the entire evening?”

  “Yes, until we closed at something after eleven.”

  “You were alone after that?”

  A look. “As it happens, no. A few of my friends stayed on after closing time. Probably until about one – could even have been later. We sat and talked. They may have had a top-up or two, but on the house. No harm in that, I suppose?”

  “You didn't leave the premises at all during that time?”

  “No, inspector, I did not,” insisted Addy. “Look, what is this all about?”

  “I have to tell you, Miss Knight, that Phyllis Stein was found dead this morning under suspicious circumstances.”

  “What, and you think I've got something to do with it? You're mad!” snorted Addy.

  “Mad or not, the questions had to be asked. And while I'm here, I have another question for you. Do you mind if I show my colleague here your brewing facilities out the back?”

  “Why on earth …?”

  “Well, I did tell you he had something of an interest in beer, didn't I? So I wonder if you could possibly indulge me.”

  Addy sighed. “If you must. Look, I'm not coming out dressed like this.” She reached behind the bar for a bunch of keys. “It's this one. I'm sure you can find your way round by yourselves while I go upstairs and get some clothes on.” She turned and disappeared through the door behind the bar.

  The door of the brewhouse demonstrated its age by creaking slightly as it opened, but the fluorescent lights which sprang into life at the flick of a switch flooded the room with modern light.

  “This is all quite impressive, guv,” commented Copper admiringly, surveying the installation. “Every home should have one.”

  “It's not this I wanted you to see, sergeant. Get your phone out – there are some interesting things which I'd like you to photograph, just through here.” Constable pushed open the door to the adjoining room, and stood nonplussed. Apart from a bench and a couple of old ladders propped against the wall, the room was empty. “Oh, for … damn!” The inspector's fury, though muted, was plain to hear.