A Very English Murder

by Verity Bright

He cursed, flinging the weapon at her head. She ducked, and the pistol clattered harmlessly against the hut wall behind her.

  So when she lifted her head she was somewhat disturbed to find herself staring into the barrel of another gun.

  Seeing her expression, Kingsley smirked. ‘Yes, that’s right, my dear, I brought a spare! Always be prepared. Quite the boy scout, wouldn’t you say?’

  She shrugged, eyeing him warily.

  ‘Now, where is he?’

  ‘He?’

  ‘Don’t be coy, your butler. Let’s hope he’s not stupid enough to think he can outwit me.’ He pointed the gun at her heart. ‘I’ll only ask you once more, where is he?’

  She sighed. ‘He’s at the brewery apologising to a couple of gentlemen for dragging them out for no purpose in the middle of the night. You see, unlike yourself, Mayor Kingsley, neither of them it turns out, are murderers.’

  Kingsley’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you expect me to believe he let you come here alone? Now don’t try my patience, my dear.’

  She raised her hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, he bailed out, would you believe? Really, you can’t get the staff these days.’

  ‘Mr Clifford,’ Kingsley yelled into the darkness. ‘Don’t try my patience either. Show yourself now or you will need to find a new employer.’

  After a short pause, Clifford stepped forward from the shadows, with a shotgun draped in the crook of an arm. ‘My sincere apologies, my lady.’

  Eleanor shrugged.

  Kingsley pointed his pistol at Clifford and waved him to stand next to Eleanor. ‘Without the shotgun, Mr Clifford, if you please.’

  Clifford placed the weapon on the table and joined her.

  Kingsley turned his attention back to Eleanor. ‘Now, my dear, tell me what you know. Or think you know. But a word of advice, if you try any shenanigans, I’ll spoil that pretty dress of yours.’

  ‘How distressing, I’m rather fond of this dress and bloodstains are such a nuisance to remove. And besides, you’ve already tried twice and bungled it both times. Once by having the brakes of the Rolls cut and once by attempting to have me kidnapped.’ Her tone was casual, but her heart and thoughts were racing.

  Kingsley smiled thinly. ‘Third time lucky, then? Now, answer my question.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Where would you like me to start? Let’s see,’ she started, counting on her fingers. ‘There’s the quarry murder, Atkins’ “accidental” death, Cornell’s “supposed” suicide.’ She stopped and looked up at him. ‘You do realise you’re a monster, don’t you?’

  ‘Kind words, my dear.’ Kingsley slicked his hair back. ‘But what leads you to suspect I had anything to do with them?’

  ‘Well, for a start we traced the garnet we found to your mayoral chain. We checked this out and rather coincidentally it seems that the mayoral chain was recently repaired, so we were pretty sure the garnet was dropped by you. Then there was Cornell’s easy acceptance into your Second Chance Programme, which was suspicious given that his crime sheet should have prevented him from ever being considered. Oh, and Cornell’s fake suicide note.’

  Kingsley’s brow furrowed. ‘What makes you think it was fake? Such a miserable specimen of humanity was bound to take the loser’s way out.’

  Eleanor bristled, but forced her voice to stay level. ‘It was obviously fake because Cornell wasn’t being blackmailed by Atkins, I’m sure of that. And I have it on good authority Cornell couldn’t write beyond signing his name, so how could he have written that suicide note? And he didn’t kill Atkins either, so why would he commit suicide?’

  ‘Ah, now that is where you are wrong.’ Kingsley laughed at Eleanor’s obvious surprise. ‘You disappoint me, my dear, I imagined you to be brighter than that. Perhaps Mr Clifford can guess the correct version of events?’

  She looked at Clifford. His eyes flickered for a moment and then he nodded. ‘Of course. Given Mr Atkins’ high profile in government and his connection, however loose it might be, to Mayor Kingsley, I presume Mayor Kingsley realised it would be too risky to personally kill Mr Atkins. So he used Mr Cornell to carry out the killing, but I am sure Mr Cornell did not do it willingly.’ His eyes widened slightly. ‘Of course, you were blackmailing him.’

  Kingsley smiled smugly. ‘The key is to understand what motivates men. Once you do, you can use that knowledge to make the most virtuous of men commit the most vile acts. Initially Cornell had no idea who was blackmailing him, but as you guessed, it was me. I’d been blackmailing him for some time. In fact, I have quite a nice sideline going in blackmail.’

  Eleanor nodded to Kingsley’s pockets. ‘That explains the bundles of money and the entries in those little red notebooks we found in the box you’d buried here.’

  ‘Exactly. I need to note down my victims’ dirty little secrets. It not only provides a nice side income, it provides me with a useful lever if I need something done. In the case of Cornell I had evidence of an armed robbery he had committed, but was never caught for. The blackmailer, that was me, of course, said unless Cornell paid him a tidy sum, he would make sure he was locked up again, this time for good.’

  Eleanor gasped. She was slowly piecing the puzzle together. ‘You tricked Cornell into thinking Atkins was the man blackmailing him, didn’t you? Atkins was about to find out about your shady dealings ‒ that’s why you wanted him dead, isn’t it?’

  Kingsley waved the gun. ‘Enough, Lady Swift. Atkins was sent from Whitehall to investigate rumours of corruption. He had the authority to offer immunity from prosecution in return for information. Fortunately, everyone in my pay was unwilling to talk, but it was only a matter of time before he discovered some of my alternative business arrangements—’

  Eleanor snorted. ‘Some of your blackmailing, you mean!’

  Kingsley shrugged. ‘So I had to… dispose of him.’

  She frowned. ‘But how could you be sure Cornell would kill him?’

  Kingsley tutted. ‘Simple really, I steadily bled Cornell dry by increasing the amount I was demanding in blackmail payments. Then I sent him a final letter, addressed from the blackmailer, of course, telling him he had twenty-four hours to pay a tidy sum or the evidence would be passed to the police. Of course, I knew he couldn’t pay. Naturally, being in my Second Chance Programme and trusting me, Cornell asked me what to do. I said I’d try and find out who the blackmailer was. Later I rang Cornell and told him I’d found out the blackmailer’s identity and had arranged to meet the blackmailer that night.’

  ‘At the quarry,’ Eleanor and Clifford chorused.

  ‘Exactly. I told Cornell he could go instead of me and appeal to the blackmailer. I made sure Atkins would be there by sending him an anonymous letter saying I had evidence of the corruption he was investigating, but I was too scared to meet anywhere public.’ Kingsley’s lip curled. ‘Atkins was such a devoted and virtuous public servant that he had to go despite any misgivings. And despite Cornell having some fanciful idea of redeeming his past crimes and going straight, once the blackmailer had demanded more than he could pay, he had no choice but to kill Atkins or go back to jail, this time for good. The only thing I didn’t foresee was Cornell trying to cover up the murder by taking Atkins’ body back to his house and making it look like an accident.’

  Eleanor shook her head. That explained it! ‘I couldn’t get it out of my head why Cornell would go to all that trouble to kill a man and make it look like an accident only to confess a few days later. Now I understand. Cornell covered up Atkins’ murder so well, the police were fooled into thinking it was an accident, which is obviously what Cornell hoped. But it messed up your plans, didn’t it? You wanted Atkins’ death to be recorded as murder so when you killed Cornell and left a fake suicide note in which Cornell confessed to killing Atkins, it would be an open-and-shut case. And to that incompetent, though now I realise, not corrupt, Sergeant Wilby, it was.’ Understanding dawned in her eyes. ‘And it was you who tore the quarry murder entries out of the police logbook, not Sergea
nt Wilby.’

  Kingsley shrugged. ‘As you know, it is fairly easy to distract our local police. And I thought of changing my plan, but it seemed best to continue with the original idea. I relied, as you noted, on the police’s ineptitude. And in that respect, I was right.’

  Eleanor frowned trying to follow the whole thread. ‘So you thought it was just a matter of time before Atkins uncovered your blackmailing, so you fooled him into unwittingly meeting Cornell that night at the quarry. Once Cornell killed Atkins you then took Atkins’ papers on the corruption case from his house and destroyed them – that’s why Atkins’ desk was empty when we searched his house. Then you murdered the only person who could incriminate you, Cornell, and faked his suicide note.’ Eleanor looked at Kingsley with a mixture of fear and awe.

  ‘Finally, my dear, you catch up!’ Kingsley took a step backwards. ‘However, unfortunately, for you and Mr Clifford, too late.’ He raised the gun. ‘Being a busy man, you understand, I normally have underlings to do this kind of thing ‒ people like Cornell. However, I rather enjoyed killing him. You see, I’m tied to a desk most of the time, so it’s good to be hands on sometimes. For you and your loyal butler, I’m also going to make time to personally pull the trigger. And I’m going to enjoy it even more than I did with Cornell.’ His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Forty

  The hut door flew open. Half a dozen armed constables surrounded them. DCI Seldon stepped forward. ‘Drop the gun, Kingsley! You’re under arrest.’

  To Eleanor’s grudging admiration – and horror – the mayor didn’t even look around. Instead, he kept his eye, and gun, firmly trained on her.

  ‘A little surprise for me, my dear?’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’ He raised his voice. ‘Inspector, much as you think you’ve got me over a barrel, I’d say it was the other way around. I have no qualms about putting a bullet in this interfering witch’s head, so I suggest you call your men off or I’ll shoot her in a heartbeat.’ He shrugged. ‘Your choice.’

  DCI Seldon swallowed hard. Keeping his eyes on Kingsley, he motioned to his men. ‘Lower your weapons.’

  ‘Good decision.’ Kingsley grabbed Eleanor around the neck. The hard barrel of his gun drilled into her temple. ‘All of you, line up over there. Hands over your heads. You too, Mr Clifford.’

  DCI Seldon gestured to his men to do as Kingsley instructed.

  Kingsley crooned in her ear, ‘Now, be a good girl and you might make it through this.’

  Her feet stumbled over each other as he dragged her out to his car. Things weren’t going quite according to plan, she thought ruefully. Just keep cool, Ellie! He opened the driver’s door and shoved her in roughly.

  ‘Drive! And remember what I said ‒ I will shoot you in a heartbeat.’

  She thought of trying to disarm him, but knew she’d never reach the gun in time. Briefly she also wondered about confessing that she couldn’t really drive, but one look at his face told her he’d just believe she was stalling. Instead she graunched the gears, put her foot down and skidded the car out onto the road.

  But then, her heart skipped… was that? Yes! Above the roar of the car’s engine, came the unmistakable drone of a plane. Florence! Lancelot was there, just as they had planned. She stared straight ahead, praying Kingsley wouldn’t notice.

  Her elation was short-lived as it dawned on her they hadn’t counted on the killer taking her hostage. DCI Seldon was supposed to wait until whoever turned up had confessed and then jump out with his men and arrest him. In case the killer got away, Lancelot was to be patrolling the skies, ready to intercept.

  The plane banked sharply, dive-bombing the car. Kingsley looked up, confused by the noise. A dull whoomph sounded on the road ahead. He peered through the window at the patch of blue on the road surface. ‘What the—?’

  THUD! A second paint bomb hit the bonnet and splattered over the windscreen. Kingsley swore as Eleanor tried to clear the screen with the wipers.

  The plane came in for a second run. This time she glimpsed Lancelot leaning out of the plane, clutching a handful of the paint bombs Alfie and his troops had manufactured under Clifford’s guidance that afternoon at the fort.

  THUD! A direct hit this time. Their view turned red as the bomb exploded against the windscreen.

  THUD! THUD! THUD! Red morphed with green, then blue as a barrage of bombs rained down. The windscreen wipers gave up the fight and jammed across the screen.

  ‘I… I can’t see anything!’ she shouted to Kingsley.

  ‘Keep driving!’ Kingsley commanded, peering up at the sky. ‘I’ve had enough of this clown!’ Taking his gun from her temple, he aimed at Lancelot hanging out of Florence, another clutch of paint bombs in hand.

  No way! She wrenched the wheel away from the plane. Kingsley rocked backwards, the sound of the shot ringing in her ears.

  Then everything slowed down. She saw Lancelot’s plane dive bomb towards the ground as the paint bombs he’d been holding exploded around the car. The last clear patch of screen disappeared in a kaleidoscope of colours.

  Then they hit something very hard indeed.

  Kingsley was out of the car first. He stumbled around to the driver’s door. ‘Get out!’

  ‘Give me a moment… my ribs.’ The impact of the crash had jerked her onto the gear stick. She wondered if her ribs were broken, or just bruised.

  He stepped forward, his face purple. ‘Get out or I’ll kill you right here!’

  She let go of her shoulder. ‘Okay, I’ll get out right…’ The driver’s door slammed into Kingsley’s wrist, sending the pistol flying. ‘… now!’

  He doubled over, clutching his wrist, his face white. ‘You… you’ve broken my wrist, you stupid woman!’

  ‘Stupid?’ Eleanor pointed the pistol she’d scooped up at him. ‘Who’s the one holding the gun and who’s the one holding their wrist? I thought so.’

  He lunged at her. She sidestepped him, bringing the gun down on the back of his head. His body slumped to the ground. Taking a step back, she kept the weapon trained on him, but he seemed to be out cold.

  A police car skidded to a halt behind her and DCI Seldon and his men jumped out. On seeing the unconscious body at her feet, he stopped and looked at her with respect.

  ‘Lady Swift, it seems that once again, I’m not needed.’

  Eleanor grinned. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You could take this gun, my ribs are aching a tad.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure.’

  Relieved of guard duty, she turned to find Clifford standing at her side.

  ‘Clifford, I’ve told you about creeping up on me like that. Especially when my nerves are a little… frayed.’

  ‘Apologies, my lady, but I had to thank you.’

  Eleanor was puzzled. ‘Thank me, Clifford, for catching the killer? Most of it, if I’m honest, was your idea.’

  He coughed. ‘No, my lady, although I must congratulate you on keeping your head when our plan went a little… awry. I meant thank you for saving me the inconvenience of finding a new employer.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, you were the one who told me I was hard to kill.’ She started. Lancelot! Where was Lancelot?

  Just then a familiar voice rang out. ‘I say gang, what a wheeze!’ The voice came from the adjoining field. ‘Didn’t Florence do a spiffing job?’

  ‘Goggles!’

  ‘Sherlock! A chap could do with a hand over here, you know.’

  Forty-One

  ‘Come in, Mrs Butters. I’m awake.’

  Stepping into Eleanor’s bedroom, the housekeeper gasped. ‘Out of bed, m’lady! Doctor Browning was very insistent. Proper bed rest, he said, and he stressed the “proper” bit too, mind. What would Mr Clifford say if he found you halfway up on your feet?’

  ‘The great thing about reaching a certain age, my dear Mrs Butters, is that one is too old to be told off.’ Eleanor giggled and instantly clutched her ribs. ‘Okay, bad idea, ouch!’

  ‘Forgive me, m’lady
, but I don’t believe a young’un like you has quite reached that magic age yet. Now, back into bed with you.’ Mrs Butters yanked on the top blanket. ‘And I’m not sure the good doctor would approve of a great, lummocking bulldog lying alongside you. Suppose he rolls over and lands on your ribs?’

  Before Eleanor could reply the housekeeper slapped her forehead. ‘Oh, the visitor! I really am all over the place this morning.’

  ‘Visitor?’ Eleanor groaned and then glanced up. ‘Is it Lancelot… er Lord Fenwick-Langham?’

  ‘No.’ Mrs Butters gave a wry smile at Eleanor’s crestfallen face. ‘It’s the Detective Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Seldon? Of course, he needs my statement.’ Eleanor peered at her grey silk pyjamas and then at the housekeeper.

  Mrs Butters opened the wardrobe. ‘How about that beautiful wool shawl of your mother’s, secured with a brooch? I’ll brush your hair and you’ll pass for a lady who is supposed to be convalescing.’

  Ten minutes later, Eleanor had negotiated the stairs with the support of Mrs Butters’ arm. In the drawing room, she held a finger to her lips before her guest could speak.

  ‘Inspector, how good to see you. Forgive my appearance and hushed tone but I’m hiding from Clifford.’

  ‘Hiding from your butler? Is he still trying to kill you?’ DCI Seldon laughed and then leaned forward as Eleanor clutched her side. ‘Oh gracious, shall I call someone?’

  ‘No, I just can’t laugh. Really, it’s nothing, merely a scratch.’

  ‘I spoke with Doctor Browning as we passed in the town earlier and he described your injuries as anything but a scratch. He also said…’ DCI Seldon looked down at his hat. ‘That an independent spirit heals twice as quickly in his professional opinion.’

  ‘I imagine he said something closer to a “stubborn-minded spirit”, but I appreciate your delicacy in recounting his words. You’re here for my statement, of course?’

  ‘Actually, no, that can wait a day or two. I’m here to collect your… er, “guest”.’