The Odds On Murder: an Inspector Constable murder mystery (The Inspector Constable murder mysteries Book 6)

by Roger Keevil

  “He came back at about half past four, sir.”

  “On his own?”

  “Certainly, sir. Mrs. Baverstock had left by then – at least, her car was gone, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you when. But just as Sir Richard was coming in through the front door, Mr. Worcester drove up.”

  “Mr. Worcester?” Constable looked to Copper for elucidation.

  “The business partner of Sir Richard, sir, I believe. We’ve got him on our list.”

  “Good. So, you were saying that this Mr. Worcester arrived …?”

  “Indeed, sir. It was one of those days for comings and goings. But it isn’t as if he wasn’t expected. You see, Sir Richard had asked me to call Mr. Worcester that morning and ask him to come over. And then when Mr. Worcester arrived, Sir Richard said something like ‘Ah, I want to see you – there’s something we’ve got to sort out’, and the two gentlemen went through to the library.”

  “Leaving you to take care of the dog and so on?” smiled Constable.

  “Well, no sir, not on this occasion,” said Pelham “I usually manage to keep an eye cocked for Sir Richard’s return, and he would normally hand me his stick and the dog’s lead, and I would take Sheba through to the kitchen for a drink and a little treat. Not strictly according to the rules, I know, but Sheba’s no trouble, and Mrs. Carruthers doesn’t really mind, although she pretends to. But there are always a few titbits put aside from lunch.” A fond smile.

  “But you say that yesterday was different?”

  “Yes, sir. And now I come to think of it, it’s a little odd. Because Sir Richard went on through, still with Sheba and carrying his stick, instead of giving it to me to replace in the hall stand. And yet that is where it was found after the murder.”

  “Probably put it back himself later,” put in Copper reasonably.

  “Well, anything odd is the sort of thing that’s worth pursuing, Mr. Pelham,” said Constable, “so thank you for that. So, that’s two callers to the house so far. Any others?”

  “Well, sir.” Pelham looked slightly uneasy. “There was a telephone call from Mrs. Wadsworth at about five past seven. I took it here in the hall, and I put it though to Sir Richard in the library. Oh, and that was just after the call from Mr. Elliott. I almost forgot to mention that.”

  “Did either of them say why they wanted to speak to Sir Richard?”

  “No, sir, and of course, it would not be proper for me to enquire.”

  “So you would have no idea what would be the nature of these telephone calls? You didn’t happen to overhear anything as you put them through?” Constable was hoping against hope that natural human curiosity might have played a part.

  “Certainly not, sir.” Pelham’s tone was highly disapproving of the suggestion.

  “Well, then,” said the inspector, feeling slightly chastened, “we’ll move on. What can you tell us about visitors to the house?”

  The unease returned. “Mrs. Wadsworth did in fact come to the house a little later, sir. I let her in at five past eight and took her through to the library.”

  “Was Sir Richard still there?”

  “No, sir. That was the time when the family had gathered in the drawing room for drinks prior to dinner, and Sir Richard was there. But I thought it best to show Mrs. Wadsworth through to the library.”

  “Indeed?” Constable waited, eyebrows raised invitingly, for an explanation.

  “Yes, sir.” Pelham kept his face completely impassive. “Mrs. Wadsworth didn’t usually come to the house when Lady Olivia was at home, but of course, it wouldn’t be up to me to say why. But then I went to the drawing room to tell Sir Richard that he had a visitor.”

  “Did you tell him who it was?”

  “I thought it wisest not to, sir.”

  “And you then continued serving drinks, I presume?”

  “Oh no, sir. I never had anything to do with the drinks before dinner.”

  “So you didn’t remain in the drawing room?”

  “No, sir. I returned here to my pantry.”

  “And what about the period after Mrs. Wadsworth arrived?”

  “I answered the bell at the front door about five minutes later – that was Mrs. Baverstock, who I understood had been invited to join the family for dinner.”

  “Had you been aware of that, Mr. Pelham?”

  “I believe Mrs. Carruthers had been informed by her ladyship during the course of the afternoon, sir. So naturally I showed Mrs. Baverstock into the drawing room to join her ladyship and Master James.”

  “Tell me, did you notice anything in particular about the manner of any of the visitors to the house?” Pelham looked surprised at the inspector’s question. “I’m trying to gather whether any of them might have given any indication of tension between themselves and Sir Richard.”

  “I really couldn’t say, sir,” replied Pelham. “In any case, it would have been most improper for me to have noticed anything of the kind.”

  Constable sighed inwardly at the traditional reticence of the perfect butler. “And after Mrs. Baverstock’s arrival …?”

  “I came back to the kitchen to advise Mrs. Carruthers that the dinner party was assembled and to see if I could assist her in any way with the final preparations for the meal, sir. And I was just getting ready to announce dinner when I heard the shot.”

  “At what time was that? Can you recall?

  “Oh yes, sir. Precisely. You see, dinner is always served at 8.30 exactly – Sir Richard was always insistent on punctuality – so I always leave the kitchen at 8.27 by the clock there to get to the drawing room at 8.28.”

  “Now, this is extremely important, Mr. Pelham. Can you tell us the exact sequence of events after that?”

  “Yes, inspector. I heard a shot from the library, so I rushed in. The room was in virtual darkness – only the small desk lamp was on – so I turned on the lights, and there was the Master, dead.”

  “Alone? What about Mrs. Wadsworth?”

  “There was no sign of her, sir. And the room was full of the smell of gas …”

  “Gas?” queried Constable in astonishment. “What, you mean some sort of poisonous fumes?”

  “Oh no, sir. Ordinary domestic gas. So of course I switched it off, opened all the windows, and went back out into the hall. Her ladyship and Master James were just coming downstairs, and Mrs. Baverstock was in the drawing room doorway. I explained what I had found – of course, everyone seemed shocked and upset, so I suggested that they stay in the drawing room, and then I went to telephone the police straight away.”

  “That ties in with what Sergeant Fletcher told us, sir,” reported Copper. “He told us the call was logged at 8.29pm.”

  “So after that?” asked Constable.

  “As soon as I put down the phone it rang again, sir. I thought it must be the police calling back to confirm the incident, but actually it was Mr. Worcester. Of course, I told him what had happened, and he said he would come straight over. And in fact, he arrived at the same time as the police car.”

  “At which point I think we can pick up the narrative from our local colleagues,” concluded Constable. “That’s if there’s nothing more you can tell us.”

  “Nothing that is germane to your enquiries, sir.”

  “Hmmm.” The inspector did not sound wholly convinced. He rose to his feet. “Very well, Mr. Pelham. Well, we won’t keep you any longer. I dare say you have a considerable amount to get on with. As have we, Copper, so I suggest we do so.” He led the way out of the service quarters and back into the hall.

  “Any preference, guv?” enquired Copper as the two detectives stood beneath the ornately-branching brass chandelier at the foot of the stairs. He brandished his notebook. “I’m starting to get a ton of stuff in here, but at the moment it seems like more questions than answers.”

  “The only way we shall get answers is to put those questions to the people concerned,” retorted Constable reasonably. “Who’s next on the list?”

  Copper co
nsulted his notes and pondered for a moment. “Hold on a second, guv.” He pulled out his phone and spent several moments tapping at the screen. “Can I make a suggestion, sir?”

  “All helpful suggestions gratefully received.”

  “How about we start with the people who were actually on the scene when the shot was heard, which I’m assuming was the crucial moment, and then work our way outwards?”

  “Sounds sensible. Go on.”

  “There’s this Mrs. Baverstock, sir.” He broke off. “I’m sure I know that name from somewhere. Can’t think where …” He shrugged. “Anyway, she was in the drawing room when the big bang happened, so she’s the obvious next candidate, and I’ve got her address here. She lives in a house up on the downs, which as it happens is sort of on the way to the stables where Sir Richard trained his horses, so I’m guessing we’d be likely to find Mr. Worcester there. He got here just after it all happened, plus we ought to be able to get a lot of useful background on who and what. And then if we came back in a big loop, it would bring us round to Knaggs End village, which is where our mystery woman Mrs. Wadsworth lives. Although, to be honest, guv, I don’t actually think there’s a great deal of mystery about her. Other than where she went last night and when. I bet you’ll be wanting to know that. How does that sound?”

  Constable smiled. “Who needs sat nav when you have an efficient sergeant to do all the hard work of navigation?” he remarked approvingly. “Anyway, that electronic woman’s voice drives me mad. But this sounds very much like one of your cunning plans, and I don’t think I can fault it. As long as you don’t get us lost up these back lanes.”

  “Don’t worry, guv,” grinned Copper. “I’ve got a sat nav app on my phone as well. I’ve worked it all out. No chance of sending us off in the wrong direction.”

  “I shall very conveniently forget some of the blind alleys you’ve tried to lead us up on previous cases!” laughed Constable.

  At that moment, a figure clad in pale blue overalls, face half covered by a surgical mask, emerged from the library. “Oh, good morning, sir. I didn’t know you were involved with this case.” The mask was removed.

  The inspector’s face lit up in a smile of recognition. “Sergeant Singleton! This is an unexpected pleasure. I think the last time we met was at the Queen’s Theatre, wasn’t it? I had no idea you were here working in this neck of the woods.”

  “Transferred across, sir.” The Scene Of Crime Officer pulled back her hood and shook her blonde hair loose. “Not quite a promotion, but the next best thing. And I’m enjoying the change of scenery.”

  “Although not exactly a change of responsibility,” said Constable. “So, do you have anything particularly interesting to report thus far?”

  “Actually, sir, quite a few things, but the team’s still working, so we may well turn up more stuff for you before we’re finished. Would you like a progress report?”

  Constable considered. “On reflection, no. Copper and I … you remember David Copper, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, sir. Very well.” The two sergeants exchanged nods and smiles, Singleton’s appearing to contain just a little extra sparkle.

  “We were just off to pursue other avenues, so why don’t we let you compile your complete dossier and we’ll have it all in one lump instead of piecemeal.”

  “Fine by me, sir.”

  “In which case, Copper, let’s go – out to the car. We’ll see if this cunning plan of yours works in practice.”

  Chapter 5

  “Guv,” said Dave Copper, as the car began the climb up and out of the valley of Knaggs End.

  “Mmm?” responded Andy Constable absently, concentrating on navigating around a tractor and trailer laden with large rolls of fodder.

  “What exactly is a baronet?”

  “I’m surprised at you, sergeant,” replied Constable. “As the man who consorts with earls and their daughters, I should have thought you’d be totally conversant with the ins and outs of the English nobility.”

  “I must have been off school the day they covered that. So I suppose that lets me in for one of my usual instructive seminars, sir,” said Copper resignedly.

  “Don’t complain, sergeant. You ask a question, you have to put up with the answer. Personally, I’d have thought you’d have learnt by now.” A smiling Constable settled to his theme. “A baronetcy is the lowest level of nobility. It’s a sort of hereditary knighthood. Hence the ‘Sir’. But unlike an ordinary knighthood, it carries on down the family. So if, god forbid, the sovereign took it into their head to make you a knight …”

  “Actually, guv, I quite like the sound of that,” grinned the younger man. “‘Sir David Copper’ has got a pretty good ring to it, don’t you reckon?”

  “As I said, god forbid! But in the unlikely event of this lunatic scenario coming about, your ‘Sir’ would expire when you do. A baronet, on the other hand, can pass his title down.”

  “So if I became ‘Sir Dave, Baronet’ …”

  “And if you ever managed to persuade one of these poor girls you keep having these ephemeral relationships with to stick around long enough actually to marry you, and you had a son …”

  “… he’d end up as ‘Sir Dave Junior’ or whatever.”

  Constable sighed. “Quite. Which is why, as soon as we get back to the station, I shall lose no time in firing off an email to the Palace recommending that they never consider doing any such thing! The prospect of an ermine-clad Copper is too appalling to contemplate. Now, enough of these flights of fancy. Let’s concentrate on getting to our next port of call.”

  Copper checked his phone. “In which case, guv, you’d better turn left here.”

  Julia Baverstock’s house lay behind high sheltering hedges on the windswept fringe of the downs. As Constable’s car crunched to a halt on the gravel sweep in front of the door, he reflected that there appeared to be no shortage of money here. A fountain played in the centre of a tiny immaculate knot garden in the centre of the drive, while manicured lawns ran on either side up to a house which, although clearly of modern construction and modest in size, was a flawless evocation of the Georgian style.

  “Worth a pretty penny, guv, this place,” remarked Copper as the detectives climbed from the car. “Whatever Mrs. Baverstock does, I reckon it pays well.” He paused. “You know, I swear that name rings a bell.”

  “Well, instead of standing there scratching your head, why don’t you ring the bell in practice?” replied Constable. “Then we shall have to wonder no longer.”

  The woman who answered the door was elegant and well-groomed and, Constable estimated, somewhere in her late forties. A sage-green long-sleeved silk blouse was teamed with a slim tailored black skirt and black patent court shoes. Her glossy dark hair just brushed her shoulders. A ring set with what appeared to be a significant emerald was her only jewellery.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Julia Baverstock? I’m Detective Inspector Constable – this is Detective Sergeant Copper.” The two officers showed their credentials. “We’re making enquiries into the death of Sir Richard Effingham. May we come in?”

  “Of course.” Julia stepped back to allow the detectives to enter, and then led the way across the hall towards the back of the house. “I’ve been expecting somebody. The inspector who came to Richard’s house last night told me that he would be in touch,” she said over her shoulder, as she entered a large and comfortable sitting room with spectacular views over rolling countryside. “Do please sit down.” She waved to a large chintz-covered sofa and seated herself in an armchair alongside the fireplace. “Actually, I expected it would be the same gentleman.”

  “I’m afraid Inspector Warner is no longer available to handle the case,” said Constable. “He had something of a contretemps with Lady Effingham’s horse, so I’ve had to take over.”

  “Oh dear.” Julia attempted to stifle a smile. “No, it’s not really funny. But Punter can be somewhat temperamental if you don’t treat him with the righ
t degree of respect. Some hunters can be like that. But I suspect you probably have other matters you’d rather ask me about.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Baverstock,” agreed Constable. “We haven’t really come here to talk about horses.”

  “I’m afraid you may have to,” said Julia. “However …” She took a breath. “How can I help you?”

  “I suppose we had better start with the basics. You are Julia Baverstock. Mrs.” A nod in confirmation. “Is there a Mr. Baverstock?”

  “Not for several years, inspector. My late husband died in an industrial accident. He was crushed to death by a roll of paper.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Constable sounded bewildered.

  “At the printing works he owned,” explained Julia. “Some of the machinery malfunctioned, and a roll of paper fell where he happened to be standing. He died immediately.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “There’s no reason why you should, inspector. And, as I say, it’s some years ago now, and I think you’re probably more concerned with more recent events.”

  “Indeed.” Constable accepted the gentle hint to return to the matter in hand. “And I’m hoping you may be able to give us some information, as you were on the scene yesterday at the time of the unfortunate death of Sir Richard Effingham.”

  “I think you mean ‘murder’, don’t you, inspector?” Julia was obviously not a woman to beat about the bush.

  “I do, Mrs. Baverstock. So perhaps we can begin by asking how you knew Sir Richard?”

  “Oh, in many ways. We’d known each other for years. He was a great friend of my husband’s. They were at school together. My husband was some years older than me,” she added in response to the inspector’s enquiring glance. “And then there were the books, naturally.”

  “I don’t follow. Which books would these be?”

  “Richard’s books, of course.” The uncomprehending look on Constable’s face encouraged Julia to continue. “I’m sorry, inspector – I thought you would have known.”

  “I’m beginning to realise that, having come into this case part-way through, I’m rather playing catch-up with some of the background, Mrs. Baverstock,” said Constable ruefully. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to fill me in.”