by Roger Keevil
“I hope, inspector, before we go any further, that you’ll provide some sort of explanation of this extraordinary situation I find myself in,” was the frosty reply. “I am not accustomed to being held in virtual solitary confinement, and I’m not at all sure as to the authority under which these measures are being taken.”
“My apologies, madam.” Constable’s tones were at their most emollient. “But we are all acting under orders which have come from the most senior authority, namely the Deputy Prime Minister. I believe Inspector Deare will have told you what has occurred.”
“That the Prime Minister is dead? Yes.”
“Not just dead, madam. Murdered.”
“You’re certain? There’s no possible doubt?” was the sharp response.
“None whatever,” said Constable. “I have seen the body, as has our police doctor. There is no other explanation. And so I have to ask some questions of those people who were in this house at the relevant time.”
“You believe that this was done by one of the people in the house last night? One of my colleagues?” The disbelief was plain to hear in the minister’s voice.
“I’m afraid that the evidence is pointing in that direction, madam.”
“Hmmm. I shall be interested to hear your evidence, inspector. We’ll see how it might play in court.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I used to be a barrister before I came into this business of politics, inspector.” A dry smile. “That was when the criminals were neatly on the other side of the bar. And now you seem to be telling me that I’ve fallen into their company.”
Constable cleared his throat. “I think we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves. At the moment I’m more anxious to establish details of the people and the events of yesterday which led up to the killing of Mrs. Ronson. So if we may start with some of the basics …”
“Of course.” The woman subsided into her chair and waved towards a small matching sofa at the foot of the bed, on to which the detectives squeezed with some difficulty.
“My sergeant will take notes, if you have no objection,” said Constable. “So for his benefit, if you could give your name.”
The woman raised her eyebrows slightly. “Deborah Nye,” she replied. “Mrs., if you need to know. And also for your benefit, sergeant, you might like to note that I am Secretary of State for Justice, and Lord Chancellor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nye. I suppose that makes you my boss,” ventured Copper with a tentative smile.
“No. That pleasure falls to the Home Secretary.”
“Oh. Sorry for the interruption.” In response to a sideways look from his superior, Copper buried his nose in his notebook.
“And you are all here for this meeting at the instigation of the late Prime Minister, I gather,” resumed Constable. “Would you have any insight as to how this came about?”
“None in particular,” said Deborah. “There were some mutterings beforehand that she might be considering a reshuffle, which all seemed rather premature as we haven’t really been in office that long. But the official word was that she wanted to have private conversations with each of us – I assumed that it would all be with a view to finding out how each of us was settling into our portfolios and whether we had any insights yet as to how things might be improved.”
“But yet, as I understand it, only some of the Cabinet were involved. Not the whole group.” Constable essayed a small smile. “Not, for instance, Copper’s boss the Home Secretary.”
“Who is off in the United States delivering a speech on border security. It’s the sort of thing that happens at a time like this when Parliament isn’t sitting. We tend to take the opportunity to carry out some overseas trips, like the one Mandy’s just come back from.”
“Mandy?”
“Sorry. Amanda Laye, the Foreign Secretary.”
“We’ve not met her yet.”
“She spends half her life on the road, it seems to me. Or in the air. However, she’s here, as am I, and we seem to be diverging from the point somewhat.”
“Which was your conversation with the Prime Minister, I think. And had that already taken place?”
“We’d talked, yes. Of course, there was general conversation as people were arriving, and then there was some sort of get-together for drinks before we went off for dinner, but it wasn’t until after we’d come back from the village that Doris started calling people in for their private chats in the library. I suppose that must have been some time after nine o’clock.”
“Of course, during this ‘get-together’ you mention, you’d already had some sort of a ‘private chat’, as you put it, with one of your colleagues, hadn’t you?” said Constable smoothly. “Only the manager Mr. Knightly mentioned something. With Mrs. Hayste, I think, wasn’t it?”
“Marion?” Deborah seemed slightly disconcerted. “Oh yes, that. Marion and the drugs business.” The minister stopped short. “Sorry, inspector – please forget I said that. It’s … it’s a policy matter. I shouldn’t have spoken of it. It was just a thought that popped up regarding part of her responsibilities. She’s my Number Two in my Department, of course, so there’s always something. In fact, we’d come down together in my car.”
“Plenty of time there for a little chat, I would have thought,” murmured Constable, but then continued swiftly before the minister could react. “So, re-capping, you arrived, had drinks, went to the Dammett Well Inn for a private dinner, and went to talk with the Prime Minister after you returned. Do you by any chance remember what sequence people were seen?”
“I’m not really sure. I know Mandy was first in, and then it was Lew. That’s Lewis Stalker, the Culture Secretary,” she added in response to Copper’s querying look. “I was third, and then Milo Grade was after me. After that, I’m afraid I really can’t tell you, because I then came up to my room because I wanted to read. There’s a limit to the amount of time one can tolerate one’s colleagues in what is supposed to pass as a social situation.” A bleak smile.
“And did you leave this room after that?” asked the inspector.
“No. I still haven’t. Which is why you must forgive me, Mr. Constable, if I reacted a little like a caged tiger when you first arrived.”
“Can you tell me anything about your conversation with Mrs. Ronson? Or between her and any of your colleagues?” Constable did not hold out much hope of an informative answer. He was to be proved correct.
“I’m afraid I have to invoke cabinet confidentiality, inspector. I really can’t be expected to reveal anything concerning what was discussed, and of course I would have no idea what was said between the Prime Minister and the others.”
“She didn’t, for example, mention why this particular group was called together rather than any of your other ministerial colleagues?”
“She did not.”
“So you would have no inkling why anyone from the party might wish to kill her?”
“No, inspector.” Deborah looked Constable straight in the eye. “Not the slightest idea.”
*
“That was helpful, guv,” murmured Dave Copper in discreetly lowered tones as the two detectives found themselves back in the corridor. “Three wise monkeys rolled into one – saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil.”
“Not the first time we’ve ever encountered that situation,” replied Andy Constable. “But, early days. Let’s see if we can crowbar any more out of the others. Starting with the occupant of the …” He consulted the plaque on the bedroom door. “… the Yellow Bedroom.”
After a cheery ‘Come in!’ from within the room, the detectives entered to find the occupant seated propped up on the bed, busily demolishing a marmalade-laden croissant. In his forties, with a stocky frame, dark hair and eyes, and a blunt nose, he wore jeans and an open-necked shirt above bare feet.
“Sorry to interrupt you, sir.” Constable performed the introductions. “But you’ll be aware of the situation, so we are beginning to make enquiries.”
> “Of course. Go right ahead. Only you won’t mind if I carry on having breakfast, will you? I’m absolutely starving, not having had a thing since last night. Take a seat.” The man waved to a pair of tub chairs flanking the fireplace. “Would you like some coffee? I’m sure there’s plenty, if you can find some cups.”
“We won’t, thank you, sir,” declined Constable. “We have a number of people to see, so we’d best begin. My colleague here will note down some details.”
“Okay, fine. Right – name, rank, and serial number, I suppose? Milo Grade. I’m the Secretary of State for Education, and as for serial number, please don’t ask me where I fit into the cabinet hierarchy because I haven’t the faintest idea. Somewhere undistinguished in the middle, I dare say.” He dunked his croissant into his coffee cup. “God, that’s a life-saver. Thank goodness that chap brought the tray up just now.”
“Oh, Mr. Knightly, the manager? Yes, we asked him to arrange some breakfasts. But … forgive me, but I got the impression that you knew him already.”
“Him?” Milo furrowed his brow. “No, I don’t think so. Where from?”
“He mentioned something about you having been to the same educational establishment as him.”
Milo shrugged. “Sorry. Means nothing. I probably don’t have to tell you how many people are undergoing education in this country at any one time.” A grin. “Actually, I probably couldn’t tell you. But that’s what civil servants are for, isn’t it?” He grew serious. “But that’s not what you’re here about, is it? You’ll have to forgive me. I tend to get flippant when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous, sir?”
“Who wouldn’t be? The Prime Minister gets killed, and after what happened yesterday you’re bound to be looking at people in something of a suspicious light.”
“After what happened yesterday, sir?” echoed Constable, his attention sharpened. “So you think that yesterday’s events have a direct bearing on Mrs. Ronson’s death? I don’t suppose you’d care to be a little more specific?”
Milo wriggled slightly. “I don’t think I would, inspector,” he said evasively. “What I mean is, with the P.M. having private conversations with everybody, and there being talk of a reshuffle in the air, I think everyone was justified in looking a bit nervous last night.”
“Including yourself, sir?”
“Doubly so now.” Milo attempted a smile, which did not wholly convince. “There’ll be a new P.M. with their own ideas as to who should be doing what. It’s a rough old game, politics. But nobody goes into it with the intention of getting the sack.”
“And how did you get into it, sir, just as a matter of interest?” Constable’s enquiry sounded blandly conversational.
“Oh, the usual route,” replied Milo. “Studied PPE – that’s Politics, Philosophy and Economics if you want the whole mouthful, sergeant,” he added in response to Copper’s frown. “Got a First, actually. And then I applied for a job as a research assistant to an M.P., and when I told them about the degree, they gave it to me straight off. After that I eventually got offered a parliamentary seat, which I won first go. In fact, I’m probably one of those politicians people talk about who’ve never had a proper job.” He gave a slightly uneasy laugh.
“So although you’re in charge of education, you’ve never been a teacher? Mightn’t that be a little awkward sometimes, sir?”
“Well, you know what they say, inspector – those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach. But I think it’s better to tell the teachers what to do.”
“Which, I assume, is why Mrs. Ronson put you into your post, sir. So, let’s come back to the events of yesterday. Now, we’ve been told that most people arrived here at the Hall at more or less the same time late yesterday afternoon, and then there was something of an informal gathering before you all left to have the private dinner at the inn in Dammett Worthy. And then everyone returned here and a series of meetings began. May I take it that all this applies to yourself?”
“That’s pretty much it, inspector.”
“Can you think of anything that occurred that might have a bearing on the case, sir? Any noticeable tensions between Mrs. Ronson and any of your colleagues? Any overt hostility? Anything that anyone might have let slip?”
Milo considered for a few seconds. “Nothing that I can put my finger on. We’re politicians, inspector – we’re used to keeping our cards pretty close to our chests.” He stopped abruptly. “Oh.”
“You’ve thought of something, sir?”
“I don’t suppose it means anything.”
“Well, let’s hear it anyway, sir,” encouraged Constable.
“I was in the back of the P.M.‘s car with her and Benny – sorry, sergeant, that’s the Social Security Secretary, Benjamin Fitt. I can see that you’re scribbling frantically, trying to keep up with me.”
“I’m doing fine, sir,” said Copper, whose expression belied his words. “You carry on.”
“Okay. Anyway, we were on our way down to the village, and she leant across to Benny and said something about wanting to have a good long talk about family policy. She said there were some specifics she wanted to sort out. I wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but I think she was trying to keep her voice down, and it’s only natural human curiosity to earwig, isn’t it? And he muttered something which I didn’t catch, and she said something like ‘It’s dealing with close family relationships that I’m most bothered about. And we all have to be completely above reproach in everything we do, don’t we?’”
“Did you get any inkling of what they were referring to?”
“Not my department, inspector. I’ve got quite enough to do without worrying about policy decisions in somebody else’s ministry. And anyway, we were just arriving at the village pub, so we all got out, and that was the end of that. And of course, there was a total ban on shop talk over dinner.”
“But you yourself had talks with the Prime Minister when you returned here later. Which I dare say you aren’t prepared to discuss with me.”
“Got it in one, I’m afraid, inspector.”
“Can you offhand recall the order of these discussions, sir? You never know, it may be relevant.”
“Some of them, certainly. I know Mandy and Lew were early on, and then Dee was before me, and I was asked to send Erica Mayall after me. I didn’t really notice what happened after that – I just had a couple more drinks and a bit of a chat with Perry, and then went off to bed, where I slept the sleep of the just until Inspector Deare came knocking this morning.”
“You saw and heard nothing further? You weren’t about the house at any point after that?”
“Sorry, inspector.” A bland smile. “Can’t help you.”
Chapter 4
“I don’t know about you, guv, but I got next to nothing out of that,” commented Dave Copper as the bedroom door closed behind the pair. “Except maybe a touch of writer’s cramp.”
“You may be in for rather more of that by the time we’ve finished, sergeant,” answered Andy Constable. “As for your other point, I’m not so sure. Those two have both been pretty tight-lipped over the whole situation, but I’ve noticed one or two little moments that made me wonder what’s bubbling under the surface. I’m sure there’s something.”
“Other than the fact that it looks as if people were jumpy about losing their jobs? You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Ah, but why?” Constable squared his shoulders. “Well, let’s carry on trying to find out.” He examined the plaque on the next door. “‘Her Ladyship’s Room’, eh? This sounds extremely grand. I wonder which of our band of politicos qualified for that honour.” He tapped at the door.
“Yes?” The door was thrown open almost immediately by a mature woman wearing an emerald green two-piece suit of evidently, even to Constable’s untutored eye, designer origin. Her dark blonde hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, and her grey eyes, even shielded by the severe heavy-framed glasses she wore, were piercing. She was tall, almos
t tall enough to look Constable straight in the eye. Her tone changed to one of disappointment. “Oh.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad moment, madam.” The inspector offered his identification. Copper followed suit. “I wonder if we might come in.”
The woman held back the door wordlessly and gestured the detectives into the room. “Sit,” she ordered brusquely, but continued to pace restlessly in front of the fireplace as Constable and Copper took seats on a chaise longue at the foot of the curtained four-poster bed.
“You are of course aware of the situation, I’m sure,” began Constable. “I imagine Inspector Deare will have filled you in on the basic facts.”
“She has. She has also taken it under her own authority to place me, and I assume all my colleagues, under what I can only describe as a form of house arrest. Which I am certain exceeds her remit. I shall be asking some very pertinent questions when all this is over.”
“I believe her authority comes from the very top, madam,” pointed out Constable in an attempt to calm the obviously irritated minister. “She is simply following her orders. As am I, which means that I need to ask you some questions about the events of the past twenty-four hours.”
The woman consulted her watch. “Or in my case, inspector, eighteen hours, since my plane didn’t touch down until yesterday afternoon. I hope you won’t be expecting me to account for my movements at thirty-five thousand feet.”
“Of course not, madam.” A small smile. “Which leads me to suppose that you would be the Foreign Secretary.” The woman raised her eyebrows. “Forgive me, but the demands of my job don’t leave me much time to keep up with the minutiae of politics or foreign affairs.”
A self-deprecating half-laugh. The woman’s mood became markedly less confrontational. “Thank you for the small and timely reality check, inspector. I’m afraid that those of us who live in ivory towers among the international great and good tend to forget that, to most ordinary people, we’re supremely unimportant. So yes, your assumption is correct – I’m Amanda Laye, Her Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs.” Copper’s pen hovered uncertainly. “Sergeant, feel free to abbreviate that to ‘Foreign Secretary’.”
