Shot in Southwold

by Suzette A. Hill

  Crew and cast were mildly surprised by this, but were dutifully jubilant – the only dissonant voice being that of the ‘gofer’, who was heard to mutter that he had thought the film was supposed to have been a good whodunnit and not some screwy Walt Disney. However, being merely the gofer, such observations were firmly ignored.

  When Lady Fawcett enquired of the young director what his next project might be, she was told in no uncertain terms: ‘Why, to marry your daughter, of course. We got engaged last night. Didn’t she tell you?’

  Angela had beamed. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ she had exclaimed, ‘you will suit each other down to the ground! But I wonder how Amy will take to the glamour of the film world – it will be quite a change for her.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Bartho had replied, ‘filming is just a sideline. My real aim is to breed first-class whippets like Mr Bates. Once this is all over, Amy and I plan to set up a joint concern in Northumberland. She will see to the stud side of things and I shall handle the breeding. And you, Lady Fawcett, can have the pick of our first litter! I tell you, it will be the best whippet complex north of the Watford Gap!’

  Lady Fawcett had paled and closed her eyes … Well, at least it won’t be Kensington, she had thought gratefully.

  ‘But there’s always money in it,’ Rosy said encouragingly, as they sat in the bar that night toasting the happy couple. ‘It could be quite a lucrative venture, especially as whippets have become so popular all of a sudden.’

  Her companion brightened. ‘Yes. Yes, you could well be right – and certainly more useful than that outlandish film!’ She took a thoughtful sip of her sherry. And then leaning forward, and with a softened wheedling tone, said: ‘Now, Rosy dear, you don’t think you could possibly help Amy choose her wedding dress, do you? The silly girl never listens to a word her mother says, and for her to do it unaccompanied would be disastrous.’

  Warily, Rosy indicated that she would be only too happy.

  ‘Oh, good,’ the other said briskly, ‘at least that’s one thing settled. Now, I suggest you go to Marshall and Snelgrove the moment we get back – one should never take too long over these matters.’

  But then Lady Fawcett’s face clouded somewhat. ‘There’s only one thing that is worrying me …’ She hesitated, before saying, ‘I gather one can change a name by deed poll, isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosy replied startled, ‘but Amy won’t have to do that, the marriage does it automatically.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of Amy’s name. Bartholomew’s actually … after all, Rosy, do I really want my daughter to be known as Amelia Hackle; it’s not very melodious, is it?’

  Rosy agreed that it wasn’t. ‘Not terribly. But then neither is Schoenberg.’

  But the Fawcett request for help and advice was not the only one Rosy received.

  Together with Cedric and Felix she had gone up to the studio to say goodbye to the departing film crew, and amidst all the noise and bustle of packing up, Bartho had sidled up looking distinctly twitchy. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘I’ve just had a telephone call from Cousin Walter. He wants to give us a wedding present.’

  ‘Well, what’s your problem?’ asked Felix. ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth, that’s what I say.’

  ‘If it were a horse it wouldn’t be so bad,’ Bartho replied bleakly, ‘but it’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The beach hut. He says it’s become a white elephant, and rather than sell the thing he would be delighted for Amy and I to have it … Frankly, I don’t fancy the idea. I mean, it wouldn’t be quite nice, would it?’

  Felix shuddered. ‘I should think not!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Why don’t you tell him that Amy suffers from claustrophobia and couldn’t possibly cope with being in a confined space? You could also add that she isn’t too keen on ozone, either,’ Rosy said helpfully.

  Bartho brightened. ‘Yes, that’s an idea,’ he began.

  ‘In which case your cousin would sell the hut and thus the bullet hole would be found,’ Cedric pointed out. ‘He would have some explaining to do – as would you, I imagine. No, you will either have to accept his thoughtful gift or—’

  ‘Set it on fire!’ cried Felix.

  Cedric closed his eyes. ‘What I was going to suggest was that you get some putty to shove into the hole and cracks and then paint over the whole thing. All four walls. Alternatively, you could rip out the boards and replace them with others.’

  ‘But that would make an awful commotion, and probably take ages,’ Rosy objected.

  ‘It would. Thus I think putty and paint would be his best bet.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ yelped Bartho. ‘I’ll get some straight away from that nice ironmonger in the high street, and then you can all help me to do it. It’ll be finished in a trice!’

  Cedric recoiled. ‘Er, I hardly think—’

  ‘And I don’t happen to have packed a paint smock,’ protested Felix.

  Rosy fixed them with a stern gaze. ‘Listen, we are all in this. We have already failed to report what we suspected to be vital evidence, so to complete the job we may as well conspire to conceal it entirely. Come on, the sooner it’s done the better. And then at crack of dawn tomorrow we can all get the hell out of here and back to London. It can’t be soon enough for Angela as she’s dying to fix the wedding caterers. There’s no point in hanging about!’

  Felix and Cedric stared in wonder. ‘If you say so,’ Felix said meekly.

  A week after the visitors’ flight from Southwold, Nathan and Jennings were still brooding upon the murder and the Ramsgate suicide.

  ‘The Kensington people haven’t come up with anything useful about the girl and her contacts,’ Jennings said glumly. ‘I mean nothing of any significance that would indicate a London link. It’s pretty disappointing; I really thought the key might be there.’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘Probably is, old son, but that doesn’t mean that it can be uncovered. We’re not all Hercule Poirot. In fact, if you ask me, that chap has done the police a great disservice. It’s always assumed that we can pull rabbits out of hats, like he does in those stories you are so keen on. And when we don’t, because of lack of evidence, the public gets shirty. It’s one of the joys of being a policeman.’

  Jennings sighed disconsolately. ‘So what’s the super saying? Grumbling about lack of progress, I suppose.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. He has mentioned it, of course, but currently he is crowing about our success with the Blyford burglary. The jewellery is safe, three villains nailed, big headlines in the newspaper and a letter from the victim congratulating the chief constable on the efficiency of his police force – that’s you and me. So cheer up, it could be worse. We may not solve this one, but we haven’t got a bad track record. And besides, when you are lording it over everyone up at the Yard you can always reopen it.’ Nathan grinned and stuffed fresh tobacco into his pipe.

  Phlegmatic, that’s what, Jennings thought. But also grinned.

  ‘But the Tildred kid apart,’ his boss continued, ‘the one that really puzzles me is that Vincent Ramsgate. All that rampaging about and then topping himself like that. Very rum, if you ask me. Still, people do funny things.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jennings darkly, ‘but we mustn’t discount the homosexual element.’

  Nathan was startled. ‘I didn’t know there was one.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ the young man said, ‘bound to be.’ He nodded sagely.

  ‘Really? What makes you think that?’

  Jennings frowned. ‘Well,’ he explained, ‘what gives the game away is the sartorial accoutrements. You can generally tell.’

  ‘You mean clothes.’

  ‘Exactly. I mean, would you go around wearing purple socks and a cap with a tassel, sir?’

  Nathan reflected, and then said, ‘Well, only at Christmas.’

  ‘Hmm. But it wasn’t Christmas, was it?’ Jennings replied soberly.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Oh
yes,’ the young man said firmly, ‘it’s often the way: a spat here, jealousy there, a rival caught with his pants down – and then, all of a sudden, whoosh – suicides galore and a whopping great bloodbath! Oh yes, it happens all the time.’

  Nathan lit his pipe. ‘I see,’ he said; and couldn’t help wondering if, slaked of Agatha Christie, Jennings had switched his literary allegiance to racier reading.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I should like to thank crime writer Michael Jecks (The Knights Templar series et al.) for guidance regarding the topic of bullets and guns. His knowledge of this subject is immeasurably better than mine! Similarly I must thank Tanya Hayward of Kent and Essex Serious Crime Directorate, who, sparing time from the real world for the fictional, was so patient in answering my queries. Both sources helped enormously in clarifying my thoughts on the matter.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SUZETTE A. HILL was born in East Sussex, and spent much of her childhood playing spies and smugglers on Beachy Head and picnicking at the foot of the Long Man of Wilmington. Hill worked as a teacher in both public school and adult education before retiring in 1999. She now lives in Ledbury, Herefordshire. At the age of sixty-four and on a whim, she took up a pen and began writing. Hill has since published ten novels, including the Reverend Oughterard series.

  suzetteahill.co.uk

  By Suzette A. Hill

  A Little Murder

  The Venetian Venture

  A Southwold Mystery

  Shot in Southwold

  The Primrose Pursuit

  COPYRIGHT

  Allison & Busby Limited

  12 Fitzroy Mews

  London W1T 6DW

  allisonandbusby.com

  First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2017.

  This ebook edition first published in 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 by SUZETTE A. HILL

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from

  the British Library.

  ISBN 978–0–7490–2136–8