“Certainly not.”
“He seemed more interested in Miss Parker than the investigation,” Nick put in, and Drew scowled at him.
“That right?” Birdsong’s face took on that arch blandness it often showed when interrogating suspects. “And did that cause Mr. Farthering to become upset?”
Drew glared at Nick. “I didn’t kill him, Inspector. Don’t be ridiculous.”
The inspector merely nodded. “So what was he meddling in?”
“It’s the oddest thing. I had a bit of a do at Farthering Place last week, and Bell showed up at it. He claimed he’d been left a message at his hotel asking him to come. He seemed terribly embarrassed to find that I hadn’t invited him.”
“It wasn’t the young lady who left the message?”
“No.”
Birdsong considered for a moment. “Perhaps he just invited himself.”
“I don’t think so. He seemed a decent chap. For an American. He just didn’t seem the sort. I mean, he was brash enough, to be sure. He once told me he’d jumped into some Hollywood actress’s swimming pool. Uninvited, of course. But I think if that had been the case last week, he’d’ve laughed and owned up to it. Instead he looked genuinely shamefaced. Offered to remove himself at once.”
“At which point you asked him to stay, no doubt.”
Drew grinned. “Noblesse oblige, Inspector.”
“What’s that to do with him meddling?”
“There was also his hotel key. Madeline found it in her bag a couple of days ago. She hasn’t a clue how it got there. Bell utterly denied knowing anything about it and said he was going to find out who put it there and who left him that message inviting him to Farthering Place. Maybe he turned up something someone wanted left alone.”
“A bit strange, isn’t it? I don’t see how this fellow fits into the whole picture with the hatpin murderer.”
“Neither do I.”
Birdsong stroked his heavy mustache, thinking. “What you reckon this one means? The note.”
Drew read the message over again. “‘First fruit of his kind.’ What kind?”
“American?” Nick offered.
Drew smirked. “Not if the killer holds true to form and this is another Shakespeare reference. The Declaration of Independence was a little after his time, don’t you think?”
“Well, foreigner then. Or stranger.”
“Possibly. What about ‘He was bound to molder before he was all grown up’? Granted, he’s not old by any means, but he’s not a child either. Grown up into what?”
“Molder into what?” Nick added. “Of course, his body will molder once it’s put into the ground, but that happens to everyone, not just foreigners. We’ll all be rotten in time, grown up or not.”
“Wait . . .” Drew squeezed his eyes shut. “I know this one. Rotten’s the word. Rotten before he’s half ripe.”
He glanced at Birdsong and then at Nick, and Nick’s eyes widened. “As You Like It.”
“Exactly.”
“What’s this now?” the chief inspector demanded.
“It makes perfect sense,” Drew said. “If I can remember it just right, it says, ‘It will be the earliest fruit i’ th’ country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe.’”
“‘And that’s the right virtue of the medlar.’” Nick finished the quote for him. “Medlar or meddler, there’s little difference between the two.”
“That’s ‘his kind,’ a meddler, and the first fruit would be the earliest of course.” Drew studied the body once more. “Bell said he fancied himself something of a sleuth. Now, if we just knew what he’d been meddling in.”
The three of them turned at a tapping sound coming from the kitchen door. Dr. Wallace was there, bag in hand.
“They told me up at the house what’s happened. May I come in?”
“We’d be most grateful, Doctor.” Birdsong turned to the two constables who’d been working nearby. “You lads finished now?”
The one taking photographs nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“All right then. Take a torch and see if there’s anything outside that will help.”
Drew looked at Nick. “I say, Inspector. I hadn’t gotten to this part yet, but Miss Parker’s aunt, Miss Jansen, had a row with someone coming out of the cottage. I’ve no doubt it was the murderer. She gave him a good thrashing with her cane, I daresay, but he made off into the wood there.”
“You saw this?”
“I came up just as they were struggling. The blighter was off before I could get to him, and I didn’t think I should leave the poor woman on her own in the dark like that.”
“I suppose not. What did the man look like?”
“Neither of us got much of a look at him. He wore black all over, I know that much. Tallish.”
“And when was this?”
“Right before I had Denny ring up. A bit before ten, I’d say.”
The chief inspector made note of the time. “All right. I’ll have the men make sure there’s nothing disturbed until it’s light enough to see. Doctor, if you’d like to examine the body . . .”
“Pretty obvious from what I can see without an autopsy.” Dr. Wallace knelt down and turned the dead man’s head to one side, examining the inch-wide red weal that ran around the neck. “Strangulation via ligature.” He touched the face and hands and briefly pulled back one eyelid to look into the unresponsive eye. “Death no more than an hour ago. Probably less.”
Birdsong nodded his agreement. “Any sign he was bludgeoned with anything?”
The doctor lifted the head of the corpse and made another brief examination. “Not that I can see. Obviously, he didn’t struggle during the strangling.” He checked the wrists. “He wasn’t tied down.”
“No. Could he have been drugged?”
“Certainly a possibility. I’ll look into it when I get him on the table.” Dr. Wallace got to his feet. “I’ll have my assistants take him out now, Inspector, unless there’s something else.”
“No, no. You go ahead.”
Drew stopped the doctor as he headed toward the door. “I say, when you were at the house, were you able to give Miss Jansen something? To calm her, I mean.”
Wallace chuckled. “She’d have none of me, I’m afraid. Said she’d never been sick a day in her life and wasn’t about to be letting foreigners tamper with her. I left some sleeping pills with the young lady in case she changes her mind, but she seemed right enough as she was.”
“Sounds like the old girl, eh, Nick?”
Nick grinned. “It’s a wonder she didn’t take after you with that cane of hers, Doctor. From what Drew says, she was about one blow shy of catching our murderer.”
“Too bad she didn’t.” The doctor’s expression turned grim. “The killings are getting closer and closer together. We may well have one every day before long if this fellow’s not caught.”
No one said anything more. A moment later, Wallace’s white-coated assistants came in with a stretcher.
Birdsong stood watching, arms crossed, as they lifted the body. “You’ll let us know something as soon as possible, will you, Doctor?”
“Oh, to be sure.”
“You may want to have your cameraman back in, Inspector.” Drew pointed to the belt that had been coiled up under the body. A black-and-white harlequin leather belt just an inch wide. “I’d lay odds that’s what finished him.”
The doctor knelt down again, peering at the belt without touching it. “Most likely. Most likely.”
“Go ahead and take the body out, Doctor.” Birdsong hurried to the door ahead of the stretcher. “Here! Tompkins!”
Soon the constable with the camera came back into the cottage and photographed the belt where it lay. The other one checked it for fingerprints.
“Clean as Monday wash, Inspector.”
Birdsong scowled. “All right. You and Tompkins get up to the house, see that things are secure there. I’ll be along soon.”
“Right, sir.”
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Once the constables were gone, Drew nodded toward the belt. “Might I have a look at it?”
Birdsong nodded. “By all means, whatever good it’ll do.”
Drew picked up the black-and-white strip of leather. “It’s a woman’s.”
“Recognize it?”
“Can’t say I do, Inspector, though it does put me in mind of that dress Miss Deschner was planning to wear the day she was killed. Roger Morris may well remember whether it was with the dress when they quarreled earlier that day.”
“Could be.”
Drew smiled a little. “Of course, you realize this lets old Roger out, don’t you?”
“Could be, Mr. Farthering, but he still has some questions to answer to our satisfaction.”
“Don’t be a poor sport, Inspector. You never really thought he was guilty in the first place.”
Birdsong shrugged. “We’re duty-bound to question any suspicious characters. Now, if it’s convenient, I should like to go with you up to the house and speak to your young lady’s aunt. Miss Jansen, is it?”
“That’s right,” Drew said.
“I’d like to find out what she remembers about the man she saw.”
“By all means.”
Birdsong followed Drew and Nick back to Farthering Place, where they found the whole house ablaze with lights. Madeline and her aunt had stationed themselves in the library with Bobby and Mack, the gardener’s men, posted outside the library window.
“I’m going to have the maid move our things into the house,” Aunt Ruth announced. “I won’t stay another night in that terrible cottage.”
Madeline looked at Drew. “I told her you wouldn’t mind. I hope it’s all right . . .”
“Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad you’re both here. The chief inspector would like to have a word. You remember Miss Parker, Inspector.”
“Certainly. Good evening, miss.”
Madeline smiled thinly. “Good evening, Inspector. Thank you for coming. Drew . . .” She bit her lip. “Was it . . . was it Freddie?”
“I’m afraid so, darling.”
“How did they . . . I mean, was he . . . ?”
“He was strangled with a belt. Perhaps the belt from Clarice Deschner’s dress. I’m sorry, love.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips, covering an almost inaudible cry, and he put his arm around her.
“The chief inspector and his men are going to find the man. It’s going to be all right.”
Drew gave her shoulders a squeeze and then showed Birdsong over to Aunt Ruth.
“Miss Jansen, this is Chief Inspector Birdsong. Inspector, Madeline’s aunt from America.”
“Good evening, madam.” The chief inspector belatedly removed his hat. “I should like to question you about the incident this evening at the cottage.”
Aunt Ruth did not offer him her hand. “I see. The chief inspector, eh? I assume you’re the highest ranking policeman they could get this time of night.”
“I’ll try to inconvenience you as little as possible, madam.”
“Well, sit down. Sit down.” Aunt Ruth fluttered one hand over a nearby chair. “You won’t find any of your class snobbery with us Americans.”
With a glance at Drew, Birdsong complied. “Now, I can appreciate that this matter has upset you, madam, but if I may—”
“Pshaw. He wasn’t but a weedy little fellow. Arms and legs like sticks.”
“So he was thin?” Again Birdsong glanced at Drew. “Fits with the caddy at the golf course well enough, and the chap with the flowers. Anything else you remember about him, madam?”
Aunt Ruth continued, “He was all in black. He was tall, I think. Of course I couldn’t see much in the darkness.”
Birdsong jotted this down. “Did he say anything?”
“No. He came out the front door of the cottage, looking around like he wanted to make sure no one saw him.”
“So he didn’t see you right away?”
“I don’t think so. He had his head down, sort of peeking around the corner, edging toward the trees. Then he saw me and tried to run for it. He stumbled on the steps or I would never have gotten close to him.”
“I see, and he said nothing that whole time you were struggling with him? Not a grunt or a groan that might tell you something about his voice?”
Aunt Ruth shook her head. “As I already said, he didn’t make a sound. He just got loose and ran off.”
“Was that before or after Mr. Farthering arrived?”
“After, but just a few seconds after.”
“And once he’d gone?”
“Mr. Farthering helped me up and took me to the cottage door.”
“He didn’t go inside with you?”
“No. The killer had thrown my cane into the bushes, and this young man went to find it for me. That was when I went into the kitchen and found the body.” There was a little tremor in her lips and in her voice. “I . . . I made it back to the front door, and then he took me back to the house.”
“Had you invited Mr. Bell to visit you at the cottage?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What about you, miss?” Birdsong asked, turning to Madeline.
“No. I hadn’t spoken to him since the day we had lunch with Mr. Llewellyn at the Queen Bess, and that was a while ago.”
“You didn’t go down to the cottage at all since you left to come up to the house for dinner?”
Madeline shook her head. “No, Inspector, I didn’t.”
The chief inspector paused, then looked back at Aunt Ruth. “I assume you didn’t, either?”
“I did not.”
“Did either of you tell anyone you’d be coming to dinner here tonight?”
“No,” Madeline said, “but we always do. I assume everyone in Farthering St. John knows it by now.”
Birdsong made a few more notes. “Miss Jansen, is there anything else you’d like to include in your statement?”
“Just that there is no excuse for your department to let something like this go on. I thought this was a civilized country. May as well have Capone’s thugs running things. You write that down.”
“I assure you, madam, every effort is being made to—”
“Obviously, it’s not enough.” Aunt Ruth looked at Drew, her lip curled. “And what kind of police department depends on amateurs to solve their cases for them? Don’t you have enough men of your own? Or are they too busy sitting in public houses drinking all night?”
Drew gave the chief inspector a commiserating glance and then turned to Aunt Ruth. “I like to do what I can to help, naturally, ma’am, but as you say, I’m only an amateur. I have no doubt our chief inspector here has things well in hand. He’ll have our killer run to ground in good time.”
There was a determined pleasantness in Birdsong’s mouth. “Anything else I should know, madam? About this evening’s incident, I mean.”
She shook her head. “Nothing but that I wish I’d given him a few more good whacks with my cane. I’m just sorry I can’t tell you anything else.”
“We appreciate your cooperation, madam,” Birdsong said with a straight face. “If you should remember anything else about the incident, do let us know at once. Anything you’d like to add, Mr. Farthering?”
“I can’t think of anything. Unfortunately, I didn’t see much.”
“Then I’ll be on my way. We will keep you informed should there be any developments in the case.” Birdsong replaced his hat. “Good evening, ladies. Gentlemen.”
Once he had left, Madeline came to Drew’s side and put her arm through his. “Thank you for letting us stay here in the house. We’ll both feel much safer.”
“It’s the only sensible thing to do.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “And I’ll feel much better with you both here, as well.”
“Don’t think that will make it easier for any shenanigans you may have in mind.” Aunt Ruth gave him a cool glare. “Madeline and I are sharing a room.”
Drew took the older woman’s hand and made a formal bow over it. “A most excellent idea, ma’am. It puts my mind totally at ease.”
Evidently she could find no fault in what he said and so had to content herself with a disapproving sniff.
“Besides,” he continued, “the police will want to keep everything just as it is down at the cottage until they’ve finished collecting evidence.”
“Oh, poor Freddie. It’s too terrible.” Madeline shuddered, and he took her into his arms again.
“I know, darling, I know. We’ll find the murderer, whoever he is. Don’t you worry.”
“How can I not worry?” Her periwinkle eyes flashed. “This murderer’s getting closer and closer all the time.”
“We’ll find him. I swear to you, we will. Now, you take your aunt upstairs. She’s been knocked about rather badly and ought to get some rest. You too.”
Aunt Ruth stood up. “First sensible idea you’ve had since I’ve been here. Come, Madeline.”
Madeline looked at Drew, uncertainty in her eyes, but he only turned her toward the door.
“Go along, darling. It’s late. Everything will look better come morning.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, both of you.”
“Good night, ladies,” Nick called, and soon he and Drew were alone.
They stood for some minutes in thoughtful silence, and then Drew dropped into a wing chair. “It gets more confusing every day.”
“Did you hear what she said?” Nick leaned against the mantelpiece. “Think about it. It started in Winchester, that’s not five miles from here. Then the golf course, less than two miles away. Clarice’s cottage is only down the road in the village, and this tonight was on your own grounds. Good heavens, how can you not see it?”
“You’re not saying it’s someone here at Farthering Place?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nick blew out his breath and raked his fingers through his sandy hair. “I’m not saying it’s not, though I can’t imagine anyone on the place being a murderer. But think about it. Your solicitor, then someone at your golf club, then a girl who’s seeing one of your friends, then someone at your own cottage.”
Drew laughed half under his breath. “You’re not serious. You think someone is after me?”
“I’m not saying I know for certain, but what else makes sense?”
Death by the Book Page 20
