Music to Die For (The Falconer Files Book 6)

by Andrea Frazer

  Try as he might, Falconer couldn’t get anything incriminating out of the man, and after an hour of intense questioning, decided that, should nothing be turned up during the search of the house and garden, he would have to let him go. He could find no holes in what Alexander had said, and he had detected no obvious signs of lying. Of course, it could be that he was just a superb actor, and had fooled him big-time, but he doubted it. It would seem that he, Falconer, had just picked on the wrong man, for the parts of both first, and second murderer.

  IV

  Having left Edmund to sweat it out in a holding cell, both detectives retired to the office for what, in a sporting event, would have been referred to as a half-time team talk.

  ‘Who on earth could have killed them both?’ asked Falconer, taking his place behind his desk. ‘We’ve got an embarrassment of suspects for Dashwood’s murder, but not a soul in place for that of Vanessa Palfreyman. Can you think of anything, Carmichael? Anything at all?’

  ‘Not off-hand, sir. Mrs Palfreyman did say she was friendly with that violinist, Cameron McKnight, and with Mrs Midwynter. Perhaps we’d better go back to the village, and speak to both of them. She might have confided something to them, that no one else knows, not even her parents.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Carmichael.’

  ‘And here’s another, sir. I’d bet my shirt on the Palfreyman woman definitely having had a late visitor on the night of her death. We’re sure it’s not suicide, and if it’s murder, how on earth would you persuade someone to drink something that toxic?’

  ‘You’re definitely cooking with gas today. That dose of collywobbles must have done your brain good, Sergeant. Let’s get going. We won’t phone to warn them in advance: we’ll just turn up out of the blue, and see how they react to that.

  ‘But before we go, I want to send out a couple of officers, to go through Dunspendin with a fine-tooth comb. The warrant for the search is signed, and waiting to be picked up from the desk. Can you ring round and see if Green and Starr are available?’

  They were, and less than five minutes later, the face of PC Merv Green poked itself round the office door, smiling like the cat that had got the cream. ‘What can I do for you, sirs?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s a search warrant, currently in the care of Bob Bryant. It’s for a property in Swinbury Abbot with the unappealing name of Dunspendin. I’d like you and Starr to go out there …’ Here, he gave them an idea of what they were to look for and, when he had finished, noted that Green was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  ‘What’s got into you, Green? You’ve got a definite twinkle in your eye today.’

  ‘I’ve got my eye on a Twinkle, you mean. I’ve only gone and asked PC Starr out for a drink tonight, and she’s agreed!’ he informed them, with glee.

  ‘You want to watch yourself with that one, Green. To my knowledge, she’s done at least two self-defence courses,’ advised Falconer, mirroring the man’s infectious grin.

  ‘I wouldn’t try anything on with her, sir. Not only would that be disrespectful to the lady, but I’ve got the feeling she might be something special.’

  ‘You’d better not try it on. She’s special to me, too, as the most reliable PC I’ve got, so behave yourself!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ And he was gone, the door closed with unusual gentleness.

  V

  Heading first for The Hurst in Falconer’s car, they decided to cut through the Wild Flowers Estate, just to get a feel for how different life was amongst the smaller and more modern dwellings of Swinbury Abbot. Nearly everyone they had spoken to, so far, had lived fairly comfortable and moneyed lives, in large houses with sizeable gardens. Those that were cottage-dwellers still seemed to live well, and have no money worries, and they were interested to see if there was a contrast, not just in size of property, but in the way that the houses and gardens were kept.

  The answer to that one was rather like the curate’s opinion of his egg – excellent in parts. Some houses had owners who obviously prized their homes, and the exteriors were well-kept, the gardens a riot of colour, at this time of year, some with a decorative pond, or the addition of garden gnomes, and other garden ornaments.

  Others were less well-appreciated. There were small clusters of houses with blistering and peeling paintwork, cracked windows, and unkempt gardens, some with a variety of furniture and discarded domestic appliances in them.

  Taking in this contrast, Falconer said, ‘It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?’ just for the sake of something to say. Carmichael, however, spoke with a more direct subject in mind.

  ‘Did you see that ice-cream van, just a few houses back, sir?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Just see if you can turn round in one of the side-roads. Look as if you’re lost, or something. Anyone would believe that, with the sort of car you’re driving, on this estate.’

  Falconer did as he had been requested, and executed what, in the old days, used to be called ‘a three-point-turn’, but is graced with the description of ‘a turn in the road’ now.

  Driving very slowly, as if looking for a road name, or a house number, he eyed the ice-cream van surreptitiously, as did Carmichael. ‘There are so many adults in the queue. Not parents or anything – more adolescents,’ was Falconer’s first comment. ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘I’ve taken down the registration number, sir. I think he’s selling something other than ice-cream, and that’s why the kids aren’t there. I heard a whisper from Merv Green that there’s an ice-cream van operating locally, who’s known as ‘Mr Spliffy’, and it’s nothing to do with the frozen products that he peddles. Of course, he keeps a few lollies and ice-creams in the freezer compartment, just in case he gets some innocent customers, but that’s not his intention at all.’

  ‘Can you make a call to the station, and get someone out here? Maybe there’s a patrol in the area that can pick up his trail. We might as well do what we can, while we can actually see him, but you’ve got the registration number, and we can’t really leave our own investigation, to go chasing after some suspected drug peddler,’ said Falconer, of the opinion that a murder investigation beats a drug dealer, hands down.

  ‘Will do, sir. If there’s no one to pick up his trail, his number can always be traced through the computer, and then we’ll have him.’

  Speeding up, as if he’d found his way at last, Falconer drove straight to The Hurst and parked in the drive.

  There was a terrible noise coming from the house. Its origin might have been musical, but there was so much wavering of tone, and so many out of tune notes, that it sounded more like a cat in pain than a tune. A front window had been left ajar, unleashing this dreadful cacophony, out, into an unsuspecting world, and Falconer was pleased to think that their surprise visit would be the means of making it cease.

  Cameron McKnight answered the door still clutching his instrument and bow, the two objects expertly held in one hand. ‘Oh, good morning, Inspector, Sergeant. What a surprise! I’m sorry I can’t shake hands, as I still seem to be carrying my instrument. Do come in and tell me how I can help you,’ McKnight welcomed them, not seeming an iota put out by their appearance.

  They spent the best part of half an hour asking him about his acquaintanceship with Vanessa Palfreyman, but, apart from the fact that they both played a stringed instrument and had a shared love of crime novels, he said there was nothing else they had in common, and that he really couldn’t help them.

  One of the cats strolled in at that moment so that the shifty look in his eyes, when he had given this last answer, was masked, as he turned away his face, to call to her. ‘Come along, my pretty little Butterfly, and let Uncle Cam give you a lovely stroke,’ he cooed, still keeping his face averted, until he could recover control of his expression.

  ‘No Mr Littlechild today?’ Falconer asked, the entrance of the cat reminding him of McKnight’s secret lodger.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. He’s off on another tour. Won’t be back f
or a few weeks yet. Ah, the trials of a musical life, but one must not let one’s public down, must one?’ he asked, a wistful look in his eye, now. Oscar was evidently living the sort of life that Cameron would have liked to live, but lacked the talent to break into.

  ‘Before we go, sir, I’ve got one final question to ask you. Did you by any chance, make a very late visit to Miss Palfreyman, either on Sunday night, or in the early hours of Monday morning?’

  ‘What an extraordinary question,’ exclaimed McKnight, lifting the cat on to his lap. ‘Of course I didn’t. I mean, what for? What reason could I possibly have, for doing something like that?’

  ‘Because she was going to spill the beans about darling Oscar and your sexuality,’ thought Falconer as they were leaving, but that would mean that Vanessa Palfreyman had killed Dashwood, and it just didn’t seem to add up.

  *……*……*

  VI

  It was Myrtle Midwynter herself who answered the door of The Grange to them, and bade them go into the back garden, and take a seat. ‘Don’t worry, Inspector, I’ll make sure that you’re not ambushed by Acker. As far as I know, he’s asleep under the old apple tree, making the most of the shade.’

  Myles was out on some sort of errand, but this didn’t matter, as it was his wife to whom they wanted to speak.

  ‘We’re making enquiries about the death of Vanessa Palfreyman, and her mother has suggested to us, that you and her daughter were particular friends: that you’d even holidayed together, in the past. Is that correct?’

  ‘As far as it goes, Inspector. I suppose I could be referred to as a ‘particular’ friend, because Vanessa didn’t really have any friends, as such.’

  ‘How do you mean, didn’t have any friends “as such”?’ asked Falconer, somewhat confused by the way she had worded her answer to his question.

  ‘Apart from the band, Vanessa was a loner. She’s – sorry, wrong tense – she was always shy, and didn’t seem to know how to get on with other people. She had no social skills, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘And yet you went on holiday with her? Now, why would you do a thing like that?’

  ‘Pity, more than anything else, if you want the absolute truth. We only went three times – walking in Austria and Switzerland – and only ever for a week at a time. I wouldn’t exactly call us bosom buddies, but I like walking, and I felt sorry for her, cooped up in that house with those parents of hers who always talk at the same time so that you can’t possibly have a sensible conversation with them.’

  ‘I’ve met them. Say no more,’ Falconer sympathised.

  As Carmichael made notes, he also took the opportunity to look at the garden, admiring the jewel-like colours of the flowers in the sunlight, and taking pleasure from the sight of the dog, asleep under the tree, occasionally twitching in his sleep, as he dreamt of chasing rabbits, or some other doggy activity that excited him.

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of, that Miss Palfreyman may have fallen out with, recently?’ he asked, hoping for a positive response, but she disappointed him in just a few words.

  ‘I don’t think Vanessa would have the guts to say ‘boo’ to a goose.’

  ‘But she definitely had a grudge against Mr Dashwood?’

  At this point, Myrtle burst into peals of disbelieving laughter. ‘She didn’t like him, of course, because he criticised her playing. But as for doing anything about it, and then topping herself, forget it, Inspector. She just wasn’t that sort of gal.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to get at, Mrs Midwynter. What sort of ‘gal’ was she?’

  ‘She was a non-entity. I think that’s the kindest way of putting it. And that’s it!’

  ‘One more question before we go, Mrs Midwynter. Did you have occasion to pay a call on Miss Palfreyman, either very late on Sunday night, or in the early hours of Monday morning?’

  ‘What a weird question, Inspector, but no, I didn’t. I don’t go visiting in the middle of the night, and I’m sure no one else round here does, either.’

  ‘Excuse me for saying this, but you seem rather cheerful, for one who has just lost a “sort of” friend and musical colleague. Is there any particular reason for that, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Of course not, Inspector, and, as it happens, there is a particular reason for it. I’ll explain as briefly as I can, because I don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time than I have to.

  ‘Myles and I decided, when we got married, that we didn’t want any children. He was much older than I, and already had grown-up children from a previous marriage. Well, I’m getting on a bit now, and my biological clock has turned itself into a veritable Big Ben.

  ‘We spent months discussing it – sometimes into the early hours of the morning, and we’ve finally come to the decision that we’d like to try for a family, which now seems to be the most important thing in the world to me.

  ‘Of course, there’s a bit of plumbing work that Myles has had to have sorted out first, having had a vasectomy before he and his first wife separated, but that’s all done and dusted, now, and the doctor doesn’t think we should have much of a problem. I’m so excited, I’m sure I could fly, if I only tried!’

  ‘Well, congratulations in advance, Mrs Midwynter, and thank you for your time. We’ll leave you now, to enjoy the day. Don’t worry about seeing us out. We can cope on our own. Goodbye.’

  Falconer entered the house via the French windows, and had a good look around, then went into the other downstairs rooms swiftly, raking each one with his eyes, in search of houseplants, but he found none, and they left The Grange, no further forward than they had been, when they arrived.

  The rest of the working day was spent doing a round of all the other band members, to see if any of them would admit to making a late call on Vanessa, but it was a lost cause. The person who had actually paid an unexpectedly late visit would be the murderer, and they were hardly likely to spill the beans, now were they?

  VII

  Invitations

  ‘Hello, Geraldine, Myles here. Look, I won’t keep you, but there’s to be a band rehearsal at ours on Friday. Usual time, usual timetable.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a tad disrespectful, to have it so soon after all that’s happened?’

  ‘Not at all, Geraldine. Life must go on, you know. See you on Friday, if not before.’

  ‘Hello Lester, Myles here. Band at ours, on Friday. Back to normal, at last.’

  ‘Sorry, Myles. I’ve got to work, so I can’t make it.’

  ‘Can’t you rearrange work, for our first proper meeting since we were invaded by that ghastly little man?’

  ‘’Fraid not, old chap. I’ll just have to leave it till the next one. Sorry’

  ‘That you, Cameron? Myles Midwynter here. Shoulders to the wheel again, on Friday – band, round at our place. That OK with you?’

  ‘Only if you can sort out this distressful business of me being demoted to ‘second violin’.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. See you Friday.’

  ‘Hello Wendy. Myles here. Are you up for band on Friday evening? At our place?’

  ‘So soon, Myles? We’ve just lost our Musical Director, and our double bass player. Shouldn’t we wait just a little longer?’

  ‘And what good would that do us, with the concert still to prepare for? We’ve got to take care of the living. The dead can take care of themselves.’

  ‘Well, it seems very cold-hearted to me, but if everyone else is in agreement, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Thank you Wendy, my little poppet. I knew you wouldn’t let Uncle Myles down.’

  Myles continued with his telephone marathon, contacting all the remaining members of the band, with the exception of Edmund Alexander, who was still in custody. To Grace, he had assured her, ‘He’ll be home very soon. You say they’ve searched the house? Did they take anything away with them? No? Well, there you are then. He’ll probably be home within the hour. Just pass the message on when he gets bac
k, and we’ll expect him as normal. Chin up, Grace, and just keep faith.’

  After his final call he turned to Myrtle, who had been hovering in the background. ‘That’s the lot, except for Edmund, but he’s sure to be home tonight or tomorrow.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ asked his wife.

  ‘Well, you can’t honestly think that that milksop had the guts to drive a cello spike into old Dashwood’s chest, can you?’

  ‘I suppose not. But you never can tell what someone will do if they’re desperate,’ and with this final pronouncement, she left the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wednesday 21st July – morning

  I

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ asked Falconer, as Carmichael entered the office.

  ‘Could be better. It seems to be worst in the mornings, and whatever it is, Kerry seems to be going down with it too.’

  ‘Well, you’d better keep it to yourself. I don’t want it.’

  ‘No kissing then, until I’m better?’ asked Carmichael, with a smirk.

  Immediately catching the joke that had been so subtly thrown, Falconer replied, ‘Well, no tongues, at any rate,’ and grinned back at his sergeant. ‘Let’s get straight down to a proper evaluation of the situation. We need to decide who had a motive to kill both Dashwood and Palfreyman.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, sir …’

  ‘Don’t strain yourself. I don’t want you walking round with me with your head in a bandage because you’ve sprained your brain.’

  ‘Stop messing about, sir. I’m serious. What if nobody had a motive to kill them both?’

  ‘That seems highly unlikely to me, Carmichael.’

  ‘I know, but what if the murders aren’t connected in any way?’

  ‘They must be! It’s too unlikely, that two people would be murdered within such a small group, and for that group to contain two people with murderous intentions.’

  ‘Unlikely, but possible, sir. If we can establish a solid motive for Vanessa Palfreyman’s murder, it might indicate a totally different person from the one we think responsible for Dashwood’s murder. And the methods had nothing in common. What links being stabbed with a cello spike and being poisoned? Nothing that I can see.’