by Roger Keevil
“All a bit gloomy for me, guv,” replied Copper. “Give me a nice bit of Swedish flat-pack any day.”
“And back down to earth with a bump we come,” smiled Constable in resignation. “Well, enough about the rights and wrongs of house design. We have other wrongs to investigate. I take it you now know all there is to know about all the people we’ll need to talk to.”
“Yes, sir.” Copper displayed his notebook, pages filled with cramped writing. “Fistfulls. I think I can make sense of it all.”
“Good. Then we shall begin.”
At that moment, a door covered in maroon baize and dotted with a pattern of brass studs opened next to the foot of the stairs, and the butler appeared, in his hands a tray bearing a silver coffee pot and cream jug together with two cups and saucers.
“Ah, Mr. Pelham,” said Constable. “Just the man I need.”
“How may I help you, sir?”
“We were wondering where we might find Lady Effingham.”
“Her ladyship is in the morning room with Master James, sir. I’m just on my way there now, so if you would like to follow me …” Pelham paused in front of the door next to the billiard room. “By the way, sir, it’s Lady Olivia. As the daughter of an earl, her ladyship has the title in her own right. Before her marriage, she was Lady Olivia Stryde. Forgive me if I seem pedantic, sir, but I know that you police gentlemen like to have everything precisely correct.”
“Indeed we do, Mr. Pelham,” replied Constable, as Copper did his best to stifle a grin. “Thank you for that. And sergeant, instead of just standing there doing nothing with that silly look on your face, perhaps you’d like to get the door for Mr. Pelham.”
“The gentlemen from the police, my lady,” announced Pelham, as he entered the room and placed the coffee tray on a table beside the sofa.
The woman seated on the sofa rose and turned to greet the officers. Striking if not beautiful, she looked to be in her late fifties, with faded blonde hair drawn back into an elegant chignon. She wore black, a day dress relieved with touches of white at the wrist, with a single strand of pearls at her throat, and her almost unlined face bore the barest minimum of foundation and lipstick. She advanced on the inspector with a calm faint smile.
“Good morning, my lady,” said Constable, taking his cue from the butler. “My name is Detective Inspector Constable. I’ve just taken over the conduct of this case from my colleague D.I. Warner, who as you know was unfortunately injured this morning.”
“Ah yes.” The smile took on a hint of apology. “Poor Mr. Warner. I’m afraid I shall have to speak very severely to Punter.”
“Punter, madam?”
“My horse, inspector.”
“Oh. Of course.” Constable stepped aside to reveal Dave Copper, who had been standing behind him. “And I shall be assisted by my colleague here, Detective Sergeant Copper.”
Lady Olivia’s smile broadened. “Then I shall feel that I am in the best of hands. Good morning, Mr. Copper. I think you must have been promoted since we last met.”
Constable was taken aback. “You … you know Copper?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, sir,” protested the sergeant.
“Mr. Copper came to my father’s house to take statements after we’d had a burglary,” explained Lady Olivia. “I’d happened to be there that weekend.”
“Copper …?” Constable turned to his junior for clarification.
“The art thefts from the country houses, sir. I was sent as part of the team to Lord Warke’s place. I’m surprised you remember me, my lady.”
“My father always taught me, never forget a face or a name,” said Lady Olivia. “But do, please, sit down, Mr. Constable.” She waved to another sofa facing her own. “Sheba, move over.” She issued a brisk instruction to the elderly golden retriever lying at her feet, which lazily rose, moved to the rug in front of the fireplace, and slumped back down with a profound sigh. “And I’m sure you would like some coffee. Pelham, would you please bring two further cups for the inspector and the sergeant.”
“That really isn’t necessary, my lady,” said Constable, seating himself. “We don’t wish to intrude any more than we have to at what must be a very difficult time for you. And please, let me offer my condolences on your loss. But I’m afraid I do have to ask you some questions.”
“Of course,” said Lady Olivia, accepting the coffee cup which Pelham handed her. Her face grew solemn. “The whole business is very unfortunate.”
Constable blinked slightly at the choice of words. “I hope you won’t object if Sergeant Copper makes some notes. And I apologise if I’m asking questions which you may have been asked before, but I have to bring myself up-to-date with the situation.” A calm nod of acquiescence was the response. “Sir Richard Effingham was your husband?”
“Yes. We have been married for thirty-six years.”
“And would this be your son?” Constable turned to the dark-haired man in his thirties who sat, hitherto silent, in an armchair in the window recess.
“No. This is James, my nephew. Richard and I had no children.”
“I see. Now, I need to establish some facts concerning yesterday evening. Can you tell me exactly when and where you last saw your husband?”
“It was around five past eight last night, inspector, in the drawing room. That’s the equivalent room to this one, on the other side of the hall,” explained Lady Olivia in reply to Constable’s enquiring look. “Richard and I were having a drink in there as usual with James before dinner. But then Pelham came in to say that my husband had a visitor, so of course Richard excused himself to go out to attend to them.”
“Did Mr. Pelham say who it was?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Constable swivelled in his seat to seek confirmation from the butler, but Pelham, after handing a cup of coffee to James, had faded unobtrusively from the room.
“I thought it might have been Julia Baverstock,” continued Lady Olivia. “She’d been invited to dinner, but she didn’t arrive until about five minutes after that. But Richard did have various people calling on him at various times, often in conjunction with the business, which I don’t concern myself with, so I really thought no more about it. So the last I saw of Richard was when he left the room.”
“And after that? Did you remain in the drawing room?”
“Yes. Well, actually, no. I was there for a little while, but then I went up to my room about a quarter of an hour later because I wanted to fetch a handkerchief.”
“Leaving your guests alone?”
“Julia? Yes. James had already gone up to change. And it was only a little while later that I heard the shot from downstairs, so I came down and was told what had happened.”
“Thank you, my lady. I think that’s all very clear.”
Lady Olivia stood abruptly. “Mr. Constable, would you think me awfully rude if I leave you? I quite suddenly feel rather tired, and I think I’d like to go and lie down.”
The inspector got to his feet. “Of course … by all means. This must have all come as a terrible shock. I’m sure we will be able to find you if there’s anything further we need to ask.”
“Thank you, inspector. Sergeant. Sheba, come along.” With a gracious nod of her head, she walked steadily from the room, the dog ambling at her heels.
Andy Constable, after exchanging brief looks with Dave Copper, moved over to the other occupant of the room. “So, you were also here at the time, Mr. …?”
“Booker-Gresham. James Booker-Gresham.”
Constable took a seat in the armchair alongside the other man. “But do I understand correctly that you don’t actually live in the house?”
“No. I live in London. I work in the City – I’m a trader with Bullings Bank.”
“And you’re Sir Richard and Lady Olivia’s nephew?”
“That’s right.”
“Would that be on her ladyship’s side or Sir Richard’s?”
“Uncle Richard was
my mother’s brother. In fact, I suppose I’m the only relative he had, now that my ma’s gone. There were just the two of them, you see, brother and sister, and I’m an only child.”
A thought struck Constable. “Would that make you Sir Richard’s heir?”
James smiled. “Do you know, I’ve never even thought about that, inspector. I suppose it might. It would all depend on his will, wouldn’t it?”
“And the title. Sir Richard was a baronet, wasn’t he? Will you be inheriting that?”
“That, definitely not. It doesn’t descend through the female line, unfortunately.” James shook his head regretfully. “Shame, really. It might have done me some good. There’s lots of City firms who like to have a title somewhere about the place. Looks good on the letterhead. But no, it’s not going to be ‘Sir James’.”
Constable reflected for a moment. “Can we come back to the details of yesterday evening?” he said. “By the way, how did you come to be in the house if you aren’t resident here?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Uncle Richard had asked me down to stay for a week. He did that once or twice a year after my parents died.”
“And you were in the drawing room before dinner with Lady Olivia …?”
“And that’s the last time I saw my uncle. I didn’t see him after he went to see his visitor just before dinner. In fact, I was up in my room when I heard a bang, so of course I came rushing down straight away, and Aunt Olivia told me what had happened.”
“Tell me, sir – were you and your uncle on good terms?”
James seemed momentarily disconcerted by the question. “Of course. Why not?”
“No reason at all, sir,” said Constable blandly. “But we always like to have a completely clear picture in a case of murder.”
“Oh. I just wondered if somebody had said something, that’s all. I mean, Uncle Richard and I had our ups and downs every so often, but who doesn’t? You know, different generations and all that, but we got on fine. He wouldn’t have asked me down to stay otherwise, would he?”
“I suppose not, sir. And perhaps you can tell me … I didn’t like to ask your aunt this question because I didn’t want to cause her any further upset, but is there anyone you can think of who might wish your uncle harm?”
“No, inspector,” said James. “Not a soul.”
“In which case, sir, I think that will probably be all for the moment.”
“Oh. Good.” James put aside his half-drunk cup of coffee and stood. “Well, then, if you don’t need me any more, I’ll just … I’ll go and … er …” With a nervous smile, he made for the door and vanished into the hall.
“That was practically an escape, wasn’t it, guv?” remarked Copper. “Our Mr. Booker-Gresham seems worried about something. Do we detect the sweaty palms of a murderer?”
“Far too early to start thinking in those terms, sergeant,” replied Constable. “And far too obvious. I’m not leaping to any unwarranted conclusions until I know a great deal more about what happened last night and the people involved. So let us make a start.”
Chapter 4
“Righty-ho, guv. So, where do we begin?”
As if on cue, Pelham materialised in the open doorway. “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen. I wasn’t aware anyone was still here. I’d seen her ladyship and Master James leave, and I came to remove the coffee tray. I can easily come back later.” He turned to leave.
Constable forestalled him. “No, don’t do that, Mr. Pelham. In fact, you are just the person I need to speak to. Come in, close the door, and you can tell us what you know about what happened yesterday evening. Let’s all sit down.”
The butler shook his head. “Oh no, sir. Not in the drawing room. That wouldn’t be right at all. But if you would like to follow me, I shall be happy to answer your questions in my pantry.” Without waiting for any reply, Pelham collected the coffee cups from around the room, replaced them on the tray and, with an unhurried and stately gait, led the way along the hall and through the baize door through which he had appeared earlier. “If you would care to wait in here, inspector,” he said, indicating the door to a small sitting room on the left as he pushed through a large heavy door which evidently led to the kitchen, returning empty-handed a few moments later. “Please sit down, gentlemen.” The detectives took a seat on a faded brocade sofa while the butler lowered himself into a shabby leather armchair in front of the fireplace. “Now, how may I help you?”
“I’m hoping, Mr. Pelham, …” began Constable.
“Just Pelham, sir,” interrupted the butler.
The inspector smiled. “Since you don’t work for me, Mr. Pelham, I think I’d prefer to err on the side of politeness, if you don’t mind.”
Pelham inclined his head. “As you wish, sir.”
“And I’m sure it’s not just Pelham, is it?” went on Constable. “I’m sure you have further names, which no doubt Sergeant Copper is just about to note down.”
“Of course, sir.” Copper attempted to make the hasty riffle of paper as unobtrusive as possible.
“It’s Edward John Pelham, sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir. And I understand you are resident at Effingham Hall?”
“Yes, sergeant. I have a modest apartment in the old servants’ quarters up in the attics, and of course my small pantry here.”
Constable resumed the questioning. “Would I be right in assuming that you have worked here for some time, Mr. Pelham?”
“Gracious, yes, sir,” replied Pelham. He smiled in fond remembrance. “Probably more years than I care to remember. I’ve been with the family since Sir Richard’s father was alive. A fine old gentleman, Sir Arthur, and a stickler for tradition. I came here as a second footman, in the days when there were such things. All very different in these days, of course.”
“And I would imagine that you would be more familiar than anyone else about events in the house?”
“Indeed, sir. There’s not much that goes on in this house that gets past me.”
“So, tell me about yesterday. We need to build up as complete a picture as we can of what happened. Anything unusual – that sort of thing.”
“You mean, over and above the fact of Sir Richard’s murder, sir?” Pelham sounded quite frosty.
“Quite.” The inspector was apologetic. “I was thinking more of earlier in the day – anything that might have disrupted the normal routine of the house. Anything that might give us an inkling of what led up to later events.”
The butler reflected for a moment. “As far as I recall, sir, the only thing which disrupted my usual routine was the fact that Master James failed to appear for luncheon, without a word to anybody. Not that that isn’t just like him. But I thought it was most discourteous to Mrs. Carruthers, who had taken the trouble to prepare a particularly good cheese soufflé. Which, of course, could have been ruined.”
“Did the family lunch at home most days?”
“Yes, sir. Except when Sir Richard was up at the stables, which hasn’t been so frequent of late, or when he was away for the day at a race meeting, of course. But when Master James comes to stay, the family always lunches at home. And I have to say, Sir Richard was furious at Master James’s absence. He won’t stand for rudeness, you see, especially when it puts the staff out. Quite old-fashioned like that, he was.”
“But obviously Mr. Booker-Gresham reappeared at some point.”
“He did, sir. And if he’d only parked his car in the usual place, he might have avoided some of the unpleasantness.”
The inspector’s attention was alerted. “Unpleasantness? What do you mean, exactly?”
“The confrontation, if you can call it that, with Sir Richard, sir. You see, Master James came back at almost exactly half past two …”
“How can you be so precise, Mr. Pelham?” broke in Copper, busily noting details.
“Because, sergeant, Sir Richard was going out of the front door for his usual afternoon walk, and he came face to face with Master James who had just parked his ca
r at the foot of the steps.”
“And you’re certain of the exact time?” persisted Copper.
“I am, sir, and for two reasons. Firstly, because I happened to be by as the clock in the hall was striking, and secondly, because Sir Richard was very much a creature of habit. He would always go out on the stroke of 2.30, taking his stick and the dog. Now if Master James had only been a little more observant on his visits, he would have known that, but of course, young people pay so little attention to their elders these days.” A sigh of regret.
“You said something about unpleasantness,” resumed Constable. “What happened?”
“Oh, I don’t mean anything in the way of an argument, sir,” said Pelham hastily. “Sir Richard would never have done such a thing with me there. As I say, he was quite old-fashioned – ‘pas devant les domestiques’, and all that. But he did say that he would be speaking to Master James later, and from the look on his face, I don’t think the young man liked the sound of that. Anyway, he went back down the steps to his car and drove it off round the house to park it, I suppose. And Sir Richard stood there for a few moments and then carried on.”
“So Sir Richard was alone when he went for his walk?”
“No, inspector. Because as Master James drove away, Mrs. Baverstock drove up. I could see her through the window by the front door.”
“The lady who came to dinner?” Constable sought to confirm.
“That’s correct, sir, although I wasn’t aware until later that she had been invited. But she was getting out of her car just as Sir Richard was going down the steps towards the west terrace. And they were talking together as they went round the corner of the house.”
“Do you know when Sir Richard returned?”
