The Murder Cabinet: an Inspector Constable murder mystery (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 7)

by Roger Keevil

  The inspector got to his feet abruptly. “In that case, Mr. Daly, we’ll call that it for the present. But if anything else occurs to you, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  “I’ll be sure to do so, inspector. But for now, I think I’ll just take a little snooze.” Jim settled back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

  Exchanging glances with Dave Copper, Constable headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. “Oh, just one thing, Mr. Daly,” he said. “I’m just wondering how you came to be doing this job. You don’t seem entirely the type.”

  “And what type would that be exactly, inspector?” challenged Jim, opening one eye. He sat back up. “Sure, there’s no mystery to it. I fancied a bit of a career change, that’s all,” he explained airily. “I’d done a couple of spells of working in restaurants and bars during my student gap year, and I happened to know someone who knew someone who said there might be a vacancy in the catering staff at Downing Street. Turned out to be right – you wouldn’t believe the turnover of people they have there. You know the saying – ‘you can’t get the staff’. And they were glad to have me. It’s been interesting being close to the heart of things, so to speak. But who knows? With all this that’s happened, I might move on now. Maybe it’s all a little too exciting for an ordinary Irish boy. I might find better ways to spend my time.” He gave a candid grin.

  “Hmmm. Well, for the moment, don’t move on too far,” responded Constable. “I think we might want to speak to you again.”

  “Whenever you like, inspector. I’m not going to be sneaking off, am I? And who knows, I might want to have a long conversation with you at some point. Well, don’t let me keep you.” He settled back down again, eyes closed, the shadow of a grin remaining on his features.

  *

  “What do you make of all that, then, guv?” enquired Dave Copper, as the detectives stood in the centre of the hall.

  “Which do you mean? The person or the evidence?” Andy Constable’s face still wore a slight frown.

  “Both, I suppose, sir.”

  “To be honest, I don’t really know. He’s told us some things which I’m sure are probably relevant, once we’ve had a chance to pick them apart, but I don’t like the fact that our Mr. Daly seems to be enjoying himself far more than he ought to be. Not that I’m worried that he may have been responsible for Mrs. Ronson’s death – we know for a fact that he couldn’t have been involved in any way. But things I can’t put my finger on have a tendency to bother me.”

  “So would it be a good idea to put him on the back burner for now, guv?” suggested Copper with a meaningful glance at his watch. “I mean, time’s getting on, and you wanted to talk to Gideon Porter and his people down at the pub. All the more so, now that we know that the chat over dinner wasn’t quite as chummy as some people have made out.”

  “My thoughts exactly, sergeant. Let’s get straight to it.” Constable headed for the front door, but was forestalled by the sound of footsteps on the staircase. He turned to see Sheila Deare descending the stairs. “Ah, Inspector Deare, just the person. I expect you’ll be wanting an update. I’ve spoken to all your ministers, and Copper and I are just off down to the village now to interview some more potential witnesses. I hope we shan’t be too long. In the meantime, I assume you’ll continue to hold things together here.”

  “Oh, is that what I’m doing?” responded Sheila grimly. “It’s not exactly an easy task. I’ve been round to all of them in your wake, and they seem to have regarded your enquiries as anything between an intrusion and an irrelevance. But they are getting increasingly fractious at being kept under house arrest, as one of them put it.”

  “And I’m afraid that, as things stand, that’s the way things will have to remain,” replied Constable firmly.

  “Fortunately, with the passage of time,” said Sheila with a ghost of a smile, “they’re becoming more concerned about the state of their stomachs. Hunger pangs are beginning to kick in, and I’ve had enquiries about lunch, so I was just on my way down to see Mr. Knightly to see what he can arrange.”

  “Good idea.” Constable nodded approvingly. “Give everybody something to occupy themselves with. But trays in the rooms again, please. And tell Mr. Knightly to attend to everything personally again. Keep Mr. Daly where he is – I don’t want him wandering about the house unsupervised.”

  Sheila looked surprised. “You don’t think that he …”

  “Not for a moment,” Constable cut in. “But until I’ve satisfied myself about one or two things regarding Mr. Daly, we’ll let him stay put.”

  Sheila shrugged. “Whatever you wish. It’s your investigation. Well, I’ll set the wheels in motion for the lunches.” She moved towards the door leading to the kitchen corridor.

  “And when we come back, there’s something I want to ask you about,” said Constable, continuing towards the front door. “But I think it will keep for now. We both have to get on.” A thought struck him. “Oh, and while we’re away, you may well get one of our other colleagues turning up here.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Sergeant Una Singleton from my SOCO team.”

  Sheila turned, annoyance plain on her features. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t allow that, inspector. You know perfectly well what my instructions are, and that means they’re your instructions as well. No further outsiders.”

  Constable stood firm. “Frankly, Ms. Deare, I don’t give a damn. As you pointed out just now, this is my investigation, and nobody, not even the topmost of your top brass, is going to stop me carrying it out the best way I know how. And Una Singleton is not exactly an outsider – she is a very talented officer and extremely discreet. My sergeant here can vouch for that, can’t you, Copper?”

  “Er … that’s right, sir. I told her what you said. She says no problem.”

  “So, if you’ll give her every courtesy, inspector, I shall be grateful,” said Constable with finality. “And now, if you will excuse us, we are off to the pub.” The front door closed behind the detectives.

  Chapter 8

  The Dammett Well Inn stood, as it had done for many centuries, as a prominent feature of the High Street of Dammett Worthy. A long low timber-framed building, its traditional black-and-white frontage was enlivened with a profusion of hanging baskets which provided bright multi-coloured splashes of foliage and flowers. The Inspector drew his car to a halt at the edge of the village green next to the church, and the two police officers climbed out and surveyed the scene.

  “Not changed a lot, has it guv?” remarked Dave Copper.

  “Since the last time we were here?” replied Andy Constable. “No, I don’t suppose it has, in appearance. Although I don’t think you’d really expect it to. Life in these English country villages tends to move at a rather less frenetic pace than we’re used to in town. I don’t think they’re necessarily too fond of a great deal of excitement.”

  “Seems to me they’re getting more than their fair share, in that case, guv,” said Copper with a grin. “What with the business last time at the fête, and now all this with the Prime Minister, this place probably doesn’t qualify as a typical English village any more.”

  Constable smiled faintly. “And actually, the closer you look, the more you notice. For example, look at the sign outside the tea-rooms down there. That’s not called ‘The Copper Kettle’ any more. And I’d be surprised if there hadn’t been some changes at the solicitors’ offices. And, of course, with the Hall itself changing hands, I wouldn’t be astonished if there have been more alterations to life around here than are visible on the surface.”

  “I wonder who’s living in Horace Cope’s cottage these days,” mused Copper.

  “Fortunately,” said Constable briskly, “we don’t have to trouble ourselves with pointless speculation about irrelevancies. Let’s get on with the job in hand.” He crossed the road to the Dammett Well Inn and pushed open the door of the saloon bar.

  “Blow me down!” came the instant greeting, in to
nes of cheery surprise. “If it ain’t Mr. Constable! And Sergeant Copper too, if I ain’t mistook. Well, it’s been a fair old while since I saw you two gents.” An arm was extended across the bar, and vigorous handshakes were exchanged.

  Gideon Porter provided a reassuringly familiar presence, whatever changes might have been taking place in the village around him. The round face of the Dammett Well’s landlord was perhaps a little redder than when the detectives had first encountered him, the head a little balder, the spectacular mutton-chop whiskers a little more sprinkled with grey, but there was no change to the robust welcoming demeanour and ringing country burr which had been extending the hospitality of his house to his customers for longer than most people could remember.

  “What’ll it be then, gentlemen?” enquired Gideon. “I hope you’ve got time for a little drop of something, on the house, and we can have a bit of a chin-wag about that time you were here before. Did me no end of good, that business did, what with all the extra custom I got from people turning up to see where it all happened after the case was in all the papers. Ghouls, some people, I know, but it’s an ill wind, as they say. So, what’s your pleasure?”

  “No pleasure at all, I’m afraid, Mr. Porter,” replied Constable. “Unfortunately it’s business once again.”

  Gideon’s face fell. “Oh, don’t tell me. Don’t say they’ve gone and found someone else dead.”

  “That’s exactly what has happened, Mr. Porter,” said Constable. “And you were so helpful to us last time that I’m hoping you’ll be able to do the same again this time. Particularly given the circumstances.”

  “Why, who’s dead? It’s not one of my customers, is it?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Porter. Look, is there somewhere we can have a discreet talk? The bar of a pub isn’t the most private place for what we have to discuss.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly run off my feet with customers at the moment, inspector, as you can see, so we should be all right here. Tell you what, we’ll go round the corner into the old snug, and then we won’t be overheard, even if someone does come in. Hold on just a sec.” Gideon turned, opened a door at the back of the bar, and bellowed ‘Jerry!’ in stentorian tones. After a few moments, a virtual carbon copy of the landlord, some thirty-five years younger and with flaming red hair but with the same sturdy build and ruddy face, appeared in the doorway. “Jerry, take over the bar for me for a bit, would you? I’ve got to go and have a word with these two gentlemen.”

  “Okay, dad, will do.”

  “My oldest, Jeremiah,” explained Gideon over his shoulder, as he led the detectives round the corner to a comfortable seating area next to an inglenook fireplace. “He’s my chef. A good one, too.” The three settled themselves, and Gideon gave an enquiring look.

  “So, inspector, what’s up?”

  Constable drew a long breath. “Mr. Porter, what I’m about to tell you has to be treated in the strictest confidence.”

  Gideon chuckled. “Oh, that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about with me, inspector. I know how to keep my mouth shut. I tell you, some of the things I get to hear across the bar don’t bear repeating.” He tapped his forehead. “I got more secrets tucked away in my noggin than you could shake a stick at. In fact, you might say that, round here, I pretty much know where all the bodies are buried.” He gave a broad smile, which slowly faded at the inspector’s unwavering countenance. “Sorry. I s’pose, after that business up at the Hall fête, that ain’t a very tasteful thing to say. But why all the long faces now? ‘Ere, that old case ain’t reared its ugly head again, has it?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Porter. No, on this occasion, it’s the Prime Minister.”

  “She ain’t complained, has she?” said Gideon in worried tones. “‘Cos she seemed such a nice woman when we was talking last night when she got here, and I thought it all went pretty well, and she seemed quite happy when they left. Why, what’s she said to you?”

  “Nothing at all, unfortunately. She hasn’t exactly been in a position to do so, I’m afraid. In fact, I’m sorry to have to tell you that it’s Mrs. Ronson who is dead.”

  “What?” Gideon was aghast. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s food poisoning. No, it couldn’t be, ‘cos everyone had the same last night. Unless they’ve all come down with it. They haven’t, have they? No, they can’t have, because there was food left over after we’d served all the meals, and my people and me, we all finished it off for our supper, and we’re all okay. See, it was a Caesar salad to start off with, ‘cos that’s pretty simple and it don’t take a lot of fiddling about to serve, and then we done them a Moroccan lamb tadjine, and that’s all done in the one big pot, and there was couscous to go with that, and after that it was fruit, so I don’t see how …”

  With no little difficulty, Constable succeeded in stemming Gideon’s increasingly panicky babble. “Mr. Porter … Mr. Porter … slow down.” Against his will, he gave a hint of a smile. “You don’t have to worry about the reputation of your kitchen, or your son. There was nothing at all wrong with the food you served. As far as I’m aware, everyone is in the best of health.”

  “Except Mrs. Ronson, of course, guv,” remarked Copper under his breath.

  “Yes, thank you, sergeant.” Constable rounded on his junior with some asperity. “I’m not at all sure that levity is going to serve us best in this situation.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Copper dipped his head into his notebook and prepared to take notes.

  “So, inspector, what has happened?” enquired Gideon. He caught his breath. “‘Ere, it’s not another murder, is it?”

  “I’m afraid that’s exactly what it is, Mr. Porter.”

  Gideon slumped. “‘Course it is. That’s why you two gents are here. Couldn’t be anything else, I reckon. Who’d have thought it? Our little village in the middle of a murder case. Again.” He sighed deeply, but then straightened and visibly appeared to pull himself together. “So, inspector, how can I help? You obviously ain’t here on a social call.”

  “Very much not, Mr. Porter. The fact that the Prime Minister and her colleagues were dining here last night is quite possibly very relevant to our investigations.”

  “How’s that, then?”

  “You told us yourself, sir. I understand from Mrs. Ronson’s security officer that you and a couple of other people were engaged in serving the meal. That would have given you an opportunity to hear anything that may have been said between those present which might give us an inkling as to who could have had some sort of motivation to harm the Prime Minister.” Constable grimaced at all the convoluted conditionals. “So, my question is, did you or any of the other staff hear anything of the sort?”

  “You’ll have to ask them about that, inspector. I can only answer for meself.”

  “We have already spoken to the waiter who came with the government party, Mr. Porter. He’s told us a few very interesting things. Now I’m hoping you can add to them.” Constable leaned forward expectantly. “So please … can you help me out?”

  Gideon puffed his cheeks out. “I don’t know as I can, Mr. Constable. I was mostly concerned with making sure that everything got served properly. See, you got to admit, it was a bit intimidating, having the Prime Minister and half the Cabinet sat round the table.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” agreed Constable. “But you said Mrs. Ronson seemed a nice woman when she arrived, and if I’ve been informed correctly, I think you were serving her yourself for at least some of the time. So surely,” he coaxed, “you would have caught something of the conversation.”

  “Well, maybe. But far as I can recall, it was mostly about nothing much.”

  “No hasty words?” persisted the inspector. “No hints of any differences of opinion.”

  Gideon furrowed his brow. “‘Ere, hang on. You might be on to something there. You just reminded me of something.”

  “And that would be …?”

  “Well, it was all a bit funny, really. It was when we were serving up
the main course – you know, that Moroccan lamb thing. And in fact, I wasn’t by Mrs. Ronson at all – I was over the other side of the table serving one of the other ladies … Mandy something … she’s the Foreign Secretary, I think …”

  “Miss Laye? Amanda Laye?”

  “That’s the one, inspector,” nodded Gideon. “Anyway, I was giving her her food, and she said it smelled good and she asked what it was, so I told her, and then Mrs. Ronson must have overheard, because she leaned across and said ‘I’m surprised you didn’t recognise it, Mandy. I’d have thought you’d be pretty familiar with all things Middle Eastern’, and then Miss Laye gave a sort of mumble and a smile, and Mrs. Ronson went on saying something about her ‘having acquired a taste for Arab food, and quite a lot of other things, back when she was a student’. Shame she didn’t study law like Mrs. Nye while she was at it, she said. And Miss Laye was starting to look a bit pink, and she said she didn’t know what the Prime Minister was getting at, and Mrs. Ronson said something about it being no big deal, no need to get up in arms about it, or something of the sort. But then I got on with serving other people, so I don’t know if it went any further.”

  Constable paused for a moment in consideration. “Hmmm. On the face of it, you wouldn’t think an exchange of words over the contents of a dinner plate ought to be major cause for concern. But you never know. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Chew it over later, eh, guv?” suggested Copper brightly, but then subsided under his superior’s stony gaze.

  “So was there anything else that caught your ear, Mr. Porter?” said Constable, turning back to the publican. “Anything out of kilter with ordinary social conversation?”

  “Not at the table, inspector, no, but there was something afterwards, when everybody was leaving.”

  “Oh yes? And what was that?”

  “Well, they were starting to get into their cars, and I was holding the car door for Mrs. Ronson and saying goodbye, and she was saying how much she’d enjoyed the meal, one way and another, and then one of the other ministers was just going past, you know, to get into the other car, ‘cos they’d only come in just the two, which seemed to me to be a bit of a squash, what with them all being important people, cabinet ministers and suchlike …” Gideon broke off, conscious of having lost his train of thought. “Now, where was I?”