Music to Die For (The Falconer Files Book 6)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Go on,’ urged Falconer.

  ‘I know we’ve got an embarrassment of suspects for the first death, but maybe we can whittle that down, and take a really close look at the deceased young lady’s life. There must be a clue there.’

  ‘I’ll tell you who we haven’t talked to properly yet, Carmichael.’

  ‘Who’s that, sir?’

  ‘The vicar – Rev. Church. We’ve been told that Vanessa didn’t attend church, and, if my memory serves me correctly, that she was of the opinion that the vicar didn’t approve of her. Now, why was that, I wonder? And why did whatever the vicar thought about Vanessa, not affect her parents? They were taken straight round to The Rectory after they found their daughter dead, and they seemed perfectly at ease there – or as at ease as you could expect anyone to be, after finding their only child dead.’

  ‘Brainwave, sir! Vicars know a lot more than they let on,’ Carmichael agreed.

  They both stood to leave and collect their jackets from the coat stand, for the weather, this being England in July, had turned in the night, thick cloud rolling in from the west, and the rain had begun to fall in great gobbets, immediately soaking anyone who had the misfortune to be outside.

  This morning, the sky was sullen, with iron-grey clouds drooping pregnantly towards the land, their bellies swollen with unshed water. The temperature had also dropped like the proverbial stone, and the wind was beginning to rise, promising a squall in the very near future. Oh, to be not in England, now that’s summer’s here! The British summer could easily borrow its description from that of St Petersburg’s – nine months of anticipation, followed by three months of disappointment.

  Before they could leave the office, the phone rang, and Falconer sighed, and returned to his desk to answer it. ‘Good morning. Detective Inspector Falconer speaking. How may I help you? Oh, hello Mrs Palfreyman.’ He had automatically put out his hand, to put the phone on to speaker, so that Carmichael could share in any triumph or defeat.

  ‘I did what you said, Inspector, and took a look in my crockery cupboard.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Palfreyman?’ Falconer found that he was holding his breath with the suspense.

  ‘And you were right! A cup and saucer were slightly out of place, and when I looked in the cup, there was the tiniest bit of water in it, as if it had only been briefly rinsed out and replaced, because whoever had done that, hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in our house than was necessary.’ Mr Palfreyman could be heard muttering away in the background, adding his own two-penn’orth to the conversation.

  The old bird was more astute than Falconer had thought, and this definitely proved it was murder. ‘Thank you very much indeed Mrs Palfreyman, for your sharp eyes and good memory. We shall now be able to bring the person responsible for your daughter’s death to justice,’ he assured her, but with his fingers crossed behind his back, because at the moment, the possibility of that ever happening seemed very slim indeed.

  II

  The journey to Swinbury Abbot was through driving rain, visibility greatly reduced due to spray from the road, and a mist rising from the previously sun-warmed ground. Two consecutive days could not have had more contrasting weather, in the absence of a blizzard.

  In the sun’s absence, The Rectory appeared a bleak pile of a building, with its shroud of ancient trees, a leftover from when the ground that it was built on was part of the old churchyard.

  They were greeted at the door by Olivia Church, who was enough of a vicar’s wife to let no dismay or surprise show on her face as she led them to her husband’s study, quickly confining Chalice to the dining room by the simple action of kicking the door shut as she passed, having seen him in there, asleep under the table.

  ‘Chris, you have visitors,’ she announced, opening the study door, after a discreet knock, to announce their presence. ‘It’s Inspector … Falconer, and Sergeant Cartwright.’

  ‘Carmichael,’ Falconer corrected her in an undertone.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry. Sergeant Carmichael.’

  ‘Good day to you, gentlemen. How may I be of assistance? Are you any further forward with those two dreadful cases of murder yet?’ asked Rev. Church, rising from the seat behind his desk, and coming over to shake hands.

  ‘Nothing definite so far, Vicar, but we would like to ask you a couple of questions that may provide us with useful information,’ replied Falconer, accepting the man’s firm handshake.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what I could possibly tell you that would be of any use, but take a seat and fire away,’ invited Rev. Church, re-taking his own seat behind the desk, the room not being large enough to accommodate any more seating than it already had.

  ‘What we would like to know, Vicar, concerns Vanessa Palfreyman. We understand that she did not attend church services, although her parents did. Is that something that has been so for some time?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it long term. Vanessa used to attend, but she stopped about three years ago, if my memory serves me correctly.’

  ‘She was also of the opinion that you disapproved of her. Are these two things connected in any way, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think …’ replied the vicar, his brow furrowing with sorrow and concern.

  ‘Can you tell us how they were connected?’ Falconer pushed on, ignoring the man’s expression of distress.

  ‘I don’t know if I should,’ he answered finally, letting a silence settle around the three of them.

  ‘Yours is not a Catholic church, so I presume there is no complication of the confidentiality of confession?’ asked Falconer, hoping against hope that St Back-to-Front’s wasn’t a High Anglican jobby, where confessions were heard, if requested.

  ‘Not as such, but I believe it was told to me in confidence, in an appeal for advice.’

  ‘Look, Vicar, whatever it is, if it plays no part in the outcome of our investigations, it will not be made public, but we really need to know everything we can about the deceased young lady to bring her murderer to justice. I’m sure you can appreciate how we feel.’ Falconer pleaded his case with as much emotion as he could muster.

  ‘I do see your point, and I am willing to tell you what I know, provided that I have your firm assurance that this will go no further than it absolutely has to,’ Rev. Church countered.

  ‘You have it! We have no more interest in spreading spurious gossip than you do, Vicar.’

  ‘Well, here goes, for what it’s worth. Vanessa came to see me about three years ago, now. It was just after her first walking holiday with Myrtle Midwynter, and she seemed very distressed about something.

  ‘I asked her what was troubling her, and she said it was something concerning whether or not she ought to take Communion, or if she even ought to carry on attending church. I, of course, was very concerned about this, and told her to explain her problem to me, and we’d see what we could do to make things better.’

  Falconer was leaning forward in his chair, listening intently. Carmichael, slightly to the rear of the inspector, was busily scribbling notes, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, as he concentrated on speed and accuracy.

  ‘I told her there was little that she could have done that would necessitate taking such drastic action, and reminded her that Jesus died for our sins, and that God could forgive anything, if there was true repentance.

  ‘It was at this point, that she burst into tears, and began to sob uncontrollably. Not feeling capable of offering sufficient consolation myself, I called for Olivia, and between us, we calmed her down, and coaxed her story out of her.

  ‘The poor girl had never had such a thing as a boyfriend in her life, but I think everyone, her parents included, thought that this was because she was shy and socially gauche. The truth could not have been further from this assumption.

  ‘She had, over a number of years, come to realise that she was not attracted to the opposite sex, and, in fact, preferred members of her own sex, and had fought hard not to act on her instincts, a
nd ‘give the game away’, to put it bluntly. Then Myrtle Midwynter sussed out her little secret, probably by sheer instinct. It wasn’t until then that I realised that Myrtle ‘batted for both sides’, if you get my meaning, and that their holiday together had been a sort of lovers’ tryst.

  ‘Of course, I told her it had to stop. Not only was homosexuality forbidden in the Bible, but Myrtle was a married woman, and was, therefore, committing adultery, thus breaking one of the Ten Commandments. This, as you can no doubt imagine, brought on a fresh fit of weeping, during which she said she’d never felt like this about anyone else in her whole life, and that now she had discovered love, she couldn’t give it up.

  ‘At that point, I relented, and repeated that God could forgive anything, because, to be honest, I didn’t know what else I could do for her. Myrtle would probably tire of her eventually, and maybe the whole thing was just a phase she was going through. Vanessa was very immature emotionally, and I wondered if this may not be just the sort of schoolgirl crushes that girls get on their teachers, or a senior pupil.

  ‘I admit to the weakness of leaving it to her own conscience, to decide whether she should continue to take Communion, or even attend church services. I felt totally inadequate to make a judgement, on such a matter.

  ‘She showed up for church twice more, but stayed away from the altar rail when Communion was being dispensed, not even coming to it for a blessing, and then stopped coming altogether. I don’t know what her parents thought, but she must have fobbed them off with some excuse or another. I certainly didn’t disapprove of her, or ask her to discontinue attending worship. That was her own decision, and nothing to do with me.

  ‘I also said nothing to Myrtle. I felt that what Vanessa had told me was in the strictest confidence, and there was the Midwynters’ marriage to consider as well, but, I must say, I felt relieved when Mrs Palfreyman told me recently that her daughter wouldn’t be going on holiday anymore with Mrs Midwynter.

  ‘I felt that my reticence had been justified, and that Vanessa would return to the fold, in due course, and then I heard that she was dead. At first, of course, when it was considered to be suicide, I felt the most tremendous sense of guilt, thinking that she had taken my advice after so much time, and couldn’t live with what she’d done. I prayed hard that day, not only for her soul, but for my own forgiveness, for advising her in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Vicar,’ soothed Falconer, the change of voice from the vicar’s long monologue sending a little frisson through the atmosphere of the room. ‘It had nothing to do with you. We know, now, that she was murdered, and your advice can have had nothing whatsoever to do with it.’

  ‘Thank God!’ exclaimed the cleric, in genuine relief. ‘May her soul rest in peace!’

  It would have been very ill-mannered just to get up and leave at this point, so Falconer decided on a bit of brisk improvisation, to tide them over to the point where they could end their visit.

  ‘A word of advice in your ear, if you don’t mind, Vicar. On the day of that fateful gathering of the band in the church, you left the church key with Harold Grimes. Is that right?’ Falconer knew it was, but gave the vicar the opportunity to join in with the change of subject, and maybe lighten his mood.

  ‘That’s right. They all wanted to go over to The Leathern Bottle for a drink, but had a problem because of their instruments, because the pub is invariably very crowded on Sunday lunchtimes. I said they could leave them in the church, and collect them when they had finished, and I gave the key to Harold, to lock up in the meantime, as he was staying behind to do something or other with his trumpet.’

  ‘Well, it might not be such a good idea to do that again, in the future. Mr Grimes has admitted to us that he actually forgot to lock up the church, and only discovered his lapse of memory when they all went back for their instruments, covering up for himself by fiddling around with the key in the lock.’

  Rev. Church looked at first, perplexed, and then angry. ‘He certainly did not forget to lock up. I wonder why he told you that. I sent Olivia round to the church to collect my travelling Communion box, so that I could spend the rest of the morning going round administering the Sacrament to the sick and the very elderly, forgetting that I’d asked Harold to lock up, and that the key would be in the pub.

  ‘When she got there the door was definitely locked. It wasn’t stuck, or anything like that; it was genuinely locked. Of course, when she came back empty-handed, I remembered what I’d done, and thought better of going to get the key from him, because that would leave me insufficient time to complete my visits, without coming back home for lunch, then going out a second time, so I decided just to wait until he dropped it through the letterbox, when they’d all finished their business in the pub, and gone home.’

  ‘But, why would he lie to us?’ Falconer asked, now with a face that bore the mark of confusion.

  ‘I have no idea, my dear Inspector. You must ask him that yourself. I must say, it’s very unlike him to tell lies. Are you sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?’

  ‘Perfectly!’ exclaimed Falconer, and rustling Carmichael out of his seat, they thanked the vicar for all his help, and left The Parsonage.

  III

  Falconer’s mind had been racing all the way back to the office. Now he had discovered a possible motive for Vanessa Palfreyman’s murder, and an inconsistency in the information gathered through initial interviews.

  Throwing himself into his office chair, he stared with such vehemence at Carmichael, that the younger man actually looked over his shoulder, then back at the inspector, and said, ‘What?’

  I think we’ve got the information that we were missing before, and the ‘something’ that we simply didn’t understand.’

  ‘Is that right, sir?’

  ‘Of course it is. Don’t you see it?’

  ‘You’ll have to help me on this one. I’m still feeling a little peculiar.’

  ‘You’ve always been a little peculiar, but you’re beginning to turn into a hypochondriac, in my opinion, Carmichael,’ stated Falconer, with a distinct lack of sympathy. ‘Look, the vicar handed everything to us on a plate. All we’ve got to do is sort out exactly what the implications are.

  ‘First, he told us that Vanessa Palfreyman was batting for the other side, and was having a relationship with Myrtle Midwynter.’

  ‘I told you that village was a den of vice, sir.’

  ‘Look, Carmichael, you’re entitled to your own opinion, but this isn’t about your moral principles, it’s about murder. At least we now have a suspect for the poisoning.’

  ‘How do you mean, sir?’

  ‘Well, Myrtle told us herself that she and Myles wanted to start a family. She wouldn’t want the lesbian or bisexual tag hung round her neck if she wanted to become a respectable mother, would she? She’d probably do anything to prevent that happening.’

  ‘I’ll give you that, sir, but what about Dashwood, now that we know Harold really did lock the church door?’

  ‘That’s simple! She, and possibly with Myles as an accomplice, all for the sake of respectability, did the dreadful deed. When you think about it, it makes absolute sense, for she had constant access, whenever she wanted, to her own cello case.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed Carmichael, ‘but I don’t understand, then, why Mr Grimes said he’d left the church door unlocked, when he’d done no such thing.’

  ‘He’s getting on a bit; probably just forgot. No, that’s not our concern at the moment. It’s Mrs Midwynter we want to nail.’

  ‘Just what exactly does a castor oil plant look like, sir? I can’t say that I’ve ever actually seen one,’ Carmichael asked, feeling that he should at least know this, before the case was over.

  Falconer ran his hands expertly over the keys of his computer, then called Carmichael to the other side of his desk, to look at what he had brought up on the screen. ‘There, Carmichael! That’s a castor oil plant.’

  ‘But I’ve seen one of
those, recently!’ Carmichael exclaimed, jerking up from his bent position, and scratching at the short hairs on his head, in an effort to recall where.

  ‘Was it inside or outside?’ asked Falconer, urgently.

  ‘Definitely outside.’ There was a silence of, maybe, three seconds, and then Carmichael whooped with triumph. ‘Got it, sir! It was when we were sitting in the garden at The Grange. When I was able to, I looked round at their garden, and they’ve got one little bit in the far right-hand corner, which looks like it was lifted straight from a scene from a Tarzan film.’

  ‘No! Never!’ declared Falconer. ‘I didn’t see it.’

  ‘You had your back to it, sir. And I saw leaves, just like that, sticking through the foliage. It had these sort of heads, with sort of beads on it, shaped like a ball.’

  ‘Those must be the seeds. That’s it, Carmichael! Time to apply for a warrant.’

  ‘But we’ve no proof as yet, sir,’ Carmichael tempered with caution.

  ‘Proof be damned! We’ve got a bloody great castor oil plant, right there in her garden, and we’ve got her with access to the murder weapon in the case of Dashwood. We’ve solved it, Carmichael. Let’s go get her!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday 21st July – lunchtime

  I

  Without waiting to have any lunch, Falconer arranged for a patrol car to follow them to Swinbury Abbot, and requested that the car contained PC Green and PC Starr, because they intended to arrest a woman. He didn’t want to waste a minute, and they reached The Grange at four minutes past one, leaving the patrol car to be parked at a slight distance, outside the old meeting hall, so that its presence would not be observed from The Grange, but could be easily summoned at the moment it was needed.

  Their arrival interrupted the Midwynters’ luncheon, but Falconer made no apologies, and asked straight away if he could have a look round their garden. Puzzled, but not alarmed, Myles gave them permission, then returned to his interrupted meal.