Music to Die For (The Falconer Files Book 6)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Bravado! Sheer bravado! I think you might have something there. It must have been a devastating blow to him to be suspended as the band pianist, then to have the same little weasel worm his way round the vicar and steal his job as church organist. That was his role in the village, and he’s had the rug whipped right out from under his feet. You could see it in his eyes when he was telling us about it yesterday. Scrub what I said earlier. I haven’t an ounce of sympathy for our not-friend, Dashwood.’

  ‘You could be onto something there. I mean, Alexander’s not exactly normal, is he?’

  ‘In what way, Carmichael?’

  ‘He’s not what you could call anywhere near young, anymore. He’s not married, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a girlfriend – I’m sure it would have been mentioned, if such a person had existed, if not by him, then by one of the others. He lives at home with Mums and Pops, and I’d put money on him being an only child.’

  ‘You mean he’s never had to grow up?’

  ‘That’s it in a nutshell. I don’t know if he works, or has ever worked, but his world seems very small to me – just his music and the garden, and his parents, of course.’

  ‘That’s longhand for ‘could be a nutter’, isn’t it Carmichael?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but I think he has to stay in the frame, don’t you?’

  ‘I agree. That Westlake guy who plays the sax, has also got a guilty secret, that he wants to keep from his fellow band members, hasn’t he?’

  ‘What, the fact that he’s a gigolo?’

  ‘Spot on! What would he do to keep that quiet, I wonder? He’s got a big house, a flash car, and, I suppose, a certain amount of respect for his material success, but how would people feel if they knew he was a male escort?’

  ‘That’s just another name for a prostitute, sir. Just because he’s a man with money, what he does is no different to what hard-up women do in alleyways or in the back of cars.’

  ‘Oh, you have got a bee in your bonnet about him, haven’t you, Carmichael?’

  ‘I think what he does is despicable, seedy, and immoral.’

  ‘Actually, I tend to agree with you, but that doesn’t get us any further forward, does it? Who’s left?’

  ‘The Midwynters; Fern Bailey – viola; and Harold Grimes, the bloke with the trumpet.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything to be held against the Bailey woman. She’s just a great big overgrown schoolgirl, still mad about her dog, and although what Dashwood said to her must have been hurtful, in the end, it was probably like water off a duck’s back. She didn’t seem the sort of person to hold a grudge, to me.’

  ‘Me, neither, sir. What about Gayle Potten’s boyfriend?’

  ‘He seemed a perfectly likeable fellow. He knew he had shortcomings, musically, but he’s happy to work at it, he’s happy with his girlfriend. No, I can’t see anyone falling out with him. The only black mark against him is that he did lie to them about locking up the church, but I think that’s just a bit of everyday life that would never have seen the light of day, if Dashwood hadn’t been murdered, and that being the only period when the cello spike could have been taken.’

  ‘That’s not quite true, sir. There was another opportunity.’

  ‘When?’ asked Falconer, perplexed.

  ‘When it was back at The Grange, sir. Who’s to say that one of the Midwynters didn’t remove it? It could’ve been Myles, and after all, it seems to have been those two who were instrumental – sorry, sir – in forming the band. I know they’ve had other Musical Directors, but I bet they were more compliant than Dashwood.’

  ‘You’re right! He could’ve been eaten up with jealousy. I mean, the band rehearsal pattern was completely exploded and everything they’d been doing for the last ten years was just wiped out, almost instantly. He probably loved having the practices at his place, hence no problem with having to pay for the food and wine for them all, and then it was just snatched away from him by this in-comer.’

  ‘He was probably absolutely furious about the way things were going, and the man had a real go at him, about his standard of playing.’

  ‘And that goes for Myrtle, too, Carmichael. She has played lady bountiful for a decade, and now she’s just another member of the band. Add to that the fact that he aimed rather a lot of his criticism at her, and she could easily have taken the spike herself, and then acted absolutely horrified, when she ‘found’ it gone,’ concluded Falconer.

  ‘Or they could even have been in it together, sir. What about that?’ suggested Carmichael, really getting excited now.

  ‘We certainly can’t rule that out. It seems highly plausible to me. Well done, Carmichael. Have six house-points, and go to the top of the class.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. Do I get a gold star, too?’

  ‘You certainly do! No – make that two! Well, that’s everybody covered. I think we should call it a day, and start looking at the case from the points of view which we’ve just discussed, on the morrow.’

  IV

  Very late – conversation

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you, and why so late?’

  ‘Oh, you know, couldn’t sleep and what not.’

  ‘Come on in, and I’ll get us something to drink.’

  ‘Nothing alcoholic for me, thanks. In fact, I’ve brought some herbal stuff with me, for you to try as well. It’s a little something from my garden that I found the recipe for in an old book. I find it very energising, and I thought it might give you a bit more fizz in this hot weather.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve got a bit of a summer cold, and I can’t taste anything at the moment, but if it’ll perks me up, I’m game. Did you really mean what you said the other day?’

  ‘Oh, let’s not talk about that. I’ll slip into the kitchen and get this made, and I’ll bring it through, shall I?’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll go and sit and wait then, shall I?’

  ‘Yes. You just relax. It won’t take a minute.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday, 19th July

  I

  The morrow started a little earlier than either of them had suspected, with a call to Falconer at home at a little after half-past seven. The caller was Dr Christmas, and he sounded very grave. ‘Harry, I think we’ve got another murder on our hands in Swinbury Abbot. I’m at The Old Manor in Dark Lane; family by the name of Palfreyman: mother, father, and grown-up daughter.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you mean. What’s happened?’

  ‘Well, apparently the daughter always brings her parents a cup of tea in bed at half-past seven every morning. This morning she failed to show, so Mrs Palfreyman went to her daughter’s bedroom and found that her bed hadn’t been slept in. She went on downstairs to see if she could find Vanessa, and she did – but not up and about.’

  ‘She found her in an armchair in the sitting room, dead – been dead for hours, in my opinion. But in front of her was a cup and saucer, with some liquid dregs left in the cup. I don’t think this is suicide: there’s no trace of a note, but I am very suspicious of what’s in the bottom of that cup. I’d like you over here as soon as possible, if you can manage it.’

  ‘I’ll ring Carmichael, and alert a SOCO team, and I’ll be there in about ten or fifteen minutes. Don’t let anyone touch anything in that room. That applies to the kitchen too, if it’s not already too late for that, but whatever you do, don’t let them touch the kettle. And it was only the one cup and saucer, was it?’ asked Falconer.

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean that there hadn’t been another one that had been rinsed out and put away.’

  ‘I’m on my way. You ring Carmichael, and get him to summon a SOCO team; that’ll save me a minute or two. See you very shortly.’

  II

  Falconer and Carmichael’s cars arrived virtually simultaneously in Dark Lane, but nothing was said about the speed at which Carmichael must have driven to complete a longer journey than Falconer’s in such a short time, and they approached the house togethe
r, pointedly not saying anything about speeding, or reckless driving. ‘Well, this is a bit of a turn up for the books, isn’t it, sir?’ asked Carmichael.

  ‘It certainly is. I’ve been cudgelling my brains all the way here, and I can’t think who might have a grudge against Miss Palfreyman. She seemed to get on with everyone in the band, and she doesn’t seem to have much of a social life, outside its members. Why would anyone want to kill her?

  ‘I mean, if it had been Gayle Potten, I might have been able to justify it. She had Caroline Warwick on her case, both about breaking up her marriage, and the mucky photographs with Myles, and I’d have had a list of suspects to back that up; but Vanessa Palfreyman? It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘There must be something we’ve missed, sir. Nobody would commit murder for nothing!’ stated Carmichael, logically and emphatically.

  ‘But what is it we’ve missed?’ asked Falconer, similarly bewildered at the identity of the victim. ‘We’re going to have to re-interview everyone involved, but this time from a different angle. Which of them wanted both Dashwood and the bass player dead? Still, best get inside first, and see what’s what.’

  They found Philip Christmas sitting on a dining chair, keeping well clear of both the sitting room and the kitchen. The deceased’s elderly parents he had escorted round to The Parsonage for tea and sympathy, allowing them only time to fetch their dressing gowns before they left.

  ‘I thought it was best that way,’ he explained. ‘That way, the vicar and his wife can see to cups of tea, and any breakfast, if they can face it, and do the old pastoral care bit, leaving us a free rein here. I’ve phoned the station as well, to let them know what’s going on, and they’ve confirmed that there is a SOCO team on the way. She’s in there, if you want to see her,’ he said, rising from his uncomfortable perch, and leading the way.

  Vanessa Palfreyman was slumped down in an armchair, on one side of a coffee table, a nearly-empty cup on the table, just in front of her. A small trickle of vomit had made its way down her chin from the left hand corner of her mouth, and made a small pool on her pyjamas, implying that she had got ready for bed before ingesting whatever it was in the cup. There were also other visible signs of the body having finally let go of life. These were unpleasant, but quite normal, and need not be gone into in the interests of this narrative.

  ‘Why on earth would she get ready for bed if she intended to take her own life?’ asked Falconer.

  ‘And if she wanted to die in bed, why did she drink whatever was in that cup down here, and not take it to bed with her?’ This question was added by Dr Christmas, to be followed by a comment from Carmichael.

  ‘If she was intending to do away with herself, wouldn’t she at least have left a note? You said you didn’t find anything, Dr Christmas?’

  ‘I didn’t, but that’s not to say that there isn’t one, lying about somewhere else in the house. I haven’t conducted a search because I didn’t want to contaminate any of the other rooms, but there certainly isn’t one downstairs.’

  ‘And I don’t think anyone will find one,’ Falconer opined. If she meant to die in bed, she’d have taken her potion upstairs, and left a note by her bed. If she wanted to die downstairs, she’d have left the note down here – probably on that coffee table. No, I think this is definitely a suspicious death, and I suggest we treat it as such from the word go. Philip, get the post mortem results to us as soon as you can, and we need some of that liquid for analysis.’

  Looking out of the window, Carmichael announced, ‘SOCO’s just arrived, and so has the mortuary van.’

  ‘Right, we’d better let them get on with their jobs, and make ourselves scarce for a while. I wonder if it’s possible for Mr and Mrs Palfreyman to stay at The Parsonage until tomorrow. They certainly can’t come back today with it being a crime scene.’

  ‘I’ll go round there when I’ve finished here,’ Christmas offered.

  ‘No, you’re all right. I’ve got to speak to her parents anyway, and there’s no ‘good’ time to do it, so it might as well be now. I’ll ask while we’re round there questioning them,’ said Falconer, fielding this kind offer for the sake of procedure.

  ‘Well, as far as I can see,’ concluded the doctor, ‘she suffocated on her own vomit, but I’d say it was poisoning for definite. I don’t know what with, but the toxicology chaps will be able to give us an answer as soon as they’ve analysed what’s in these dregs, which I hope will match up with the contents of the stomach. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve got any news.’

  III

  They found Vanessa’s parents in the drawing room of The Parsonage, the vicar sitting with them, comforting them in low tones, his wife in the kitchen making a fresh pot of tea.

  ‘They’re awfully shocked, poor things,’ Olivia informed them. ‘Chris is trying to convince them that their daughter is ‘safe in the arms of Jesus’, and all that stuff, but I don’t think they’re taking in a word.’

  ‘I won’t take up any more of their time than is absolutely necessary, at this point,’ Falconer assured her, and the two detectives made their presence known.

  The Palfreymans looked up with blank expressions, their eyes shocked and red with weeping. It was Mrs Palfreyman who broke the awkward silence. ‘I know who you are, and I know we’ve got to speak to you now. All we want to know is who could do such a terrible thing to our little girl?

  ‘We looked everywhere, you know, when we’d summoned help and realised there was nothing we could do. There’s absolutely no sign of a note anywhere. Someone did this to our daughter, and I realise, now, that I’m furious that they abolished hanging. Whoever did this should be hanged by the neck until they’re dead: prison’s too good for them. An eye for an eye, it says in the Bible, doesn’t it, Vicar?’

  Before the vicar could chip in with the difference between the Old Testament and the New Testament, Falconer made his bid for control. ‘We’re all so sorry for what has happened, and DS Carmichael and I are as anxious as you are to apprehend the person responsible for this appalling destruction of life.

  ‘I need to ask you if your daughter had any enemies. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but perhaps you could just have a think, and tell me if your daughter had fallen out with anyone recently? Nothing is too trivial to consider at this point of the investigation.’

  ‘The only person she had any words with was that Dashwood individual, and he’s already dead,’ stated Mrs Palfreyman, picking at the threads on her old-fashioned candlewick dressing gown, unaware of her hands’ independent activity, in her distress.

  ‘That damned old bully of a Musical Director had got right up her nose,’ Mr Palfreyman said, but it was all a bit of a muddle, as they spoke simultaneously.

  Falconer cocked an eyebrow at the vicar, and he nodded, to confirm that this was a habit of theirs. ‘Jolly good luck to Carmichael,’ thought Falconer, wondering how he would manage to take note of two simultaneous answers to every question.

  ‘Did she have any friends outside the band, in the village or elsewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘None that we’re aware of. She always was a bit of a loner.’ (Mrs Palfreyman)

  ‘A shy little thing, she used to be, and didn’t make friends easily.’ (Mr Palfreyman)

  ‘That’s a ‘no’ then, I take it?’ asked Falconer, just to confirm that he had un-jumbled the two answers correctly. ‘And did she have any particular friends in the band?’

  ‘She got on well with Myrtle Midwynter. They used to go on walking holidays once a year.’ (Mrs Palfreyman)

  ‘She wasn’t much of a one for mixing, but she hit it off with that woman who plays the cello.’ (Mr Palfreyman)

  ‘Anyone else?’ Falconer was finding this ‘talking at the same time’ very hard work.

  ‘That chap up at The Hurst, who played the violin.’ (Mrs Palfreyman)

  ‘Mr McKnight, up on Chopping Knife Lane.’ (Mr Palfreyman)

  ‘I think we’ll leave it there, for today. Thank you very m
uch for your time, Mr and Mrs Palfreyman,’ said Falconer, beginning to feel his head spin.

  ‘There wasn’t anyone would want to hurt our little girl. She was as nice a person as you could wish to meet.’ (Mr Palfreyman)

  ‘No one would want to harm our Vanessa. She was such a sweet natured girl, if a bit solitary.’ (Mrs Palfreyman)

  A final couple of questions occurred to Falconer, and he asked it, as he rose from his seat. ‘On the night before you found your daughter in such tragic circumstances, did either of you hear the sound of someone arriving for a late visit – the doorbell, for instance, or a knock on the door?’ he asked, hoping that they might have heard something, old people being notoriously bad sleepers.

  ‘Nothing, Inspector. We don’t sleep well in this hot weather, so we usually take a tablet before we turn the light off, then we don’t know another thing until our Vanessa wakes – used to wake …’ Mrs Palfreyman’s voice cracked here, and she couldn’t go one, sinking her head into her hands, and beginning to sob again.

  ‘We always take a sleeping tablet when the weather gets hot. Nothing short of the Crack of Doom would wake us after we’ve taken one of those things,’ stated Mr Palfreyman, simultaneously with this wife’s reply, then clammed up, his face white and drawn, his eyes staring into the middle distance, blank and uncomprehending.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to question you so soon after this terrible thing, but I only have one other question, and this one is for Mrs Palfreyman only. I’m sure you didn’t give this a thought earlier, but when you get back home, I wonder if you would be so good as to look in your crockery cupboards for us, to see if anything is slightly out of place.

  ‘I ask this because we are convinced that someone visited your daughter, very late last night, and brought whatever was used to poison her with them. It’s very likely that, to avert any suspicion, they had a drink themselves. That vessel would probably have been rinsed out and put away, to infer that whatever your daughter drank, she drank on her own, and had made the decision to taken her own life.