Death Waits for No Lady

by James Andrew

  Charlie was in his work clothes with a basket beside him half full of the weeds he had taken out. He must have been leaning forward, eyes focussed on the task, when the murderer came up behind him. Dr Parker was leaning over Charlie now. He straightened himself up and sighed. ‘No more than two hours ago, possibly less.’

  ‘And we received the call about an hour ago.’

  ‘So your murderer isn’t long gone.’

  ‘If he’s gone.’

  As Parker began to replace his instruments in his bag, Blades continued to look at the body. The sight of someone murdered was always a physical shock. A life ended on someone else’s whim was both unnatural and shudderingly final. And in the middle of a case. Should he have foreseen this? Should he have prevented this?

  ‘The cause of death is obvious enough?’ he asked Parker as he fought to keep the tone of his voice as policeman-like as the question.

  ‘Oh, yes. Killed with blows to the head by an instrument that could be a shovel, just like that.’ Dr Parker pointed.

  ‘There is blood on it.’

  ‘The blows weren’t carefully aimed, but the killer managed to land the decisive blow in the end.’

  ‘Do the type of blows tell us anything about the murderer?’

  ‘Someone strong enough to wield a spade with intent. A man or a woman used to hard work. Whoever it was, they fairly leathered him. As he would have been leaning down to weed when he was initially struck, you can’t judge the height of the assailant, and both hands would have been used to wield the shovel.’

  ‘Someone in a frenzy or just a lot of ill-placed blows?’

  ‘That I can’t say. Either or both.’

  ‘Sergeant Peacock has already tested for fingerprints,’ Blades said. ‘That’s twice our murderer has been kind enough to leave the murder weapon beside the body, but he was wearing gloves this time, so he was thinking clearly enough for that.’

  ‘Our murderer learns as he goes along?’

  ‘Probably,’ Blades agreed. ‘He left clear enough prints all over that poker. There are other prints on the shovel that are good enough, but I’ll bet you ten to one, they’re Charlie Falconer’s.’

  ‘I can’t help you with that. I’ll arrange for an ambulance to take him to the morgue. Then I’ll type up my report and schedule the post-mortem. And I’ll leave you to it.’

  Peacock had already taken photographs of the body, but Blades told him to keep his camera handy as they looked around. Blades wondered where the murderer had attacked his victim from. He had Peacock take photographs of the general area from every angle. Whoever it was had tried to obliterate prints from their footwear by kicking away at earth, and none of the scuff marks looked particularly helpful. There were marks that looked as if they were from the serrated print of a Wellington boot but there was nothing like a full print. A general idea of size might be worked out with a closer inspection and some measuring.

  Blades supposed that, if the murderer came up on Falconer from behind, which he seemed to have done, he would have approached from the area of the house, though that did not mean he had come from inside it. Blades and Falconer walked along the line he might have come from and, though there were signs of passage, there were no clear traces. The murderer had dropped no cigarette or handkerchief, but they would have constables going over this whole area on hands and knees to double-check.

  Blades wondered what the motive was this time. There would be nothing to be inherited from a gardener, nor would he be expected to be carrying anything of value. Perhaps Charlie had quarrelled with someone. His wife? It was difficult to see how an arthritic spouse could have done this even if there had been a rift in his marriage. Did it have anything to do with the first murder? Did Falconer know something about that? This was the garden of the house where Miss Wright had been murdered. It was to be expected that two murders in the same place and about the same time would be connected. Did Falconer know something about the man seen walking with Miss Wright in these grounds and identified as Renshaw? Had he seen something on the night of the murder he hadn’t talked with them about? Would he be stupid enough to try to blackmail someone? Did he know more about Miss Wright and someone wanted to silence him for that? There were a lot of questions, too many. But the first thing to do after leaving the murder scene under the guard of a constable was to interview the widow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The gardener’s cottage was a humble affair. Blades could see damp under the sitting-room windowsill suggesting the window had needed replacing for some time, and he noticed that the interior walls were whitewashed stone. The floor consisted of floorboards painted a deep brown and covered here and there with worn rugs. The room was made more personal with prints and photographs on the wall, and there was a pair of china dogs on the wooden mantlepiece.

  Margaret Falconer welcomed them in, sat them down, and insisted on them having tea and cake. She said they would need it after what they had been doing. She would have been in her forties, Blades supposed, though she seemed worn down and older. Her face was well lined, with pain from her arthritis, and her hair was as grey as that of a woman in her sixties. She was struggling as she moved about with that stick, but she was so earnestly obliging, that Blades, used to refusing refreshments in these circumstances, was now sitting in a worn, wooden-armed but upholstered seat by the fire with Peacock seated opposite him as they waited for their refreshments.

  ‘Would you like any help with that?’ Blades called through to the kitchen after she had lumbered into it.

  ‘Maybe with carrying it through,’ her voice replied. ‘I’ll tell you when it’s ready.’

  In time, Peacock went through and reappeared with her, carrying a tray with a teapot, floral cups and saucers, with side-plates for the cake that Peacock then had to go back and fetch along with the sugar and milk. Mrs Falconer poured and served, then sat down on her settee, and it was as if that bustling about had kept her going because now she burst into tears. Her head was in her hands as she wept. Blades and Peacock had no idea what to do about this though they had the deepest sympathy for her. They just had to wait till she stopped.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such bad news, Mrs Falconer,’ Blades said.

  Then she sobbed again but, after a struggle, managed to recover herself, sat up straight and gave Blades the weakest of smiles.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s been a shock. He was supposed to be coming in for something to eat and he didn’t. It was when I opened the door and looked out to see if he was about, that I saw him lying there.’ Then another sob erupted. ‘He was covered in blood.’ She sobbed again. ‘Who would do such a thing? Charlie never hurt anybody.’

  ‘Do you know if he had enemies?’ Blades was concentrating on watching the expression on the face of the person he was interviewing so his sipping of tea was automatic, and his consumption of cake was occasional. Peacock seemed pleased by the quality of both, and to have worked up a bit of thirst and hunger. Mrs Falconer didn’t touch a thing.

  ‘Charlie didn’t have enemies. He never spoke of any. We’ve been married twenty-five years and I would know. He didn’t quarrel with anyone, even when he should have done.’

  Blades thought back to his first impression of Charlie and did wonder at the truth of what she was saying.

  ‘Are you able to notice much that’s going on up at the house? You don’t go out much, do you?’

  ‘I did like it when Charlie kept me company in the garden and I could enjoy the scent of the roses.’ Then Blades could see her face beginning to break up, but she did not burst into tears this time. ‘I could see plenty from there, but I was never part of it and, of course, I was never in the house, so I can’t tell you much about what goes on in there. I can see out of my windows. I might notice someone going in or out because of the view there is from them, but I’m not looking out all day. I could miss anything.’

  ‘Did you happen to notice anyone unusual about the place today, or was anyone from the ho
use going about the gardens?’

  ‘No. I wish I could be more helpful. I’m sorry.’

  Blades had not expected her to be witness to anything, but he had asked. On the other hand, she might have heard about something. ‘Did your husband talk about Miss Wright’s murder with you?’

  ‘It was quite a topic around here. Of course.’

  ‘Was there something worrying him? Was there something he might have seen or heard and that he maybe thought he should tell us about?’

  ‘He didn’t know anything. If he had, he would have told me. The first he knew about the murder was when he heard about it on the day the body was discovered by Mary. He was at home with me the night it happened.’

  ‘He didn’t mention hearing anybody say something about the night of the murder that might have been useful to us?’

  ‘Not that he told me.’

  Margaret Falconer was the possessor of a remarkable lack of information so far, but Blades thought he might as well ask a couple of questions about Renshaw in case the murder was linked to him.

  ‘A witness came forward to tell us of seeing Miss Wright walking about the garden arm in arm with a young man. Do you know anything about that? Did your husband tell you anything?’

  ‘Miss Wright? With a young man? She’d run a mile. I can’t imagine such a thing at all. More’s the pity. I did hear there was a lot of interest in her from young men when she was younger herself, which was a while ago. I’m sure Miss Wright had given up any thought of such things.’

  ‘You never saw a fair-haired young man about the place? With a beard the same colour?’

  ‘Someone’s been spinning you a tale. There’s been no one like that within a mile of Miss Wright’s place.’

  Blades was disappointed. If there was any link with Renshaw, Margaret Falconer could tell him nothing, and Blades thought it probably a waste of time asking about Jack Osgood but he did anyway, only to receive a derisory snort and a no.

  ‘Just a couple of more questions,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll be on our way, and I’m sorry we’ve had to ask you so much.’

  Peacock interrupted at this point. ‘Mrs Falconer, you must eat some of your own delicious cake. I insist. Did you make it yourself? And drink some of your lovely tea. That pot makes a really nice cup.’

  ‘Yes. I did make the cake myself,’ she said. ‘There are still some things I can manage, even if I do have to take a seat in the middle of doing it.’ Then she suppressed another sob. ‘Fruitcake was Charlie’s favourite.’ As she stared into space, Blades could see that Peacock was regretting bringing up the subject of cake.

  Blades decided the best thing was to make her concentrate on questions again. ‘Did you notice any change in Miss Wright’s behaviour or habits after her father’s death?’

  Mrs Falconer looked puzzled. ‘Yes. She was in grief.’

  ‘And what did she do to cope with that?’

  ‘Her father was a demanding invalid and she couldn’t go out much before his death, but she went out even less after he’d died. She did get better after going to that Spiritual church. I’m a firm believer in that as well. That Digby Russell’s a treasure. He put me in touch with my son who was killed on the Somme. It was ever such a comfort to know he’s all right where he is now. I can look forward to seeing him again when my own time comes. And Digby’s a good-hearted soul. He came around to see Evelyn a lot, and it helped her.’ Mrs Falconer looked more cheerful now. A wistful look had appeared on her face.

  ‘You didn’t think there was anything romantic in the relationship?’

  She frowned, and Blades could tell he was trying her patience. ‘I don’t know what would put that into your head unless it’s malicious gossip.’

  ‘Did she spend much time away from the house latterly?’

  ‘Anything I know about that I got from Charlie, and he said she was away at Leeds not that long ago for a few weeks. He said it would do her good to have a nice holiday.’

  ‘Was she away at any other time?’

  ‘I think he said she was away a couple of other times. We assumed she was in Leeds then too. I couldn’t tell you what she did when she was on her travels but I’m sure it was all proper. You wouldn’t expect anything else of Miss Wright.’

  It had been confirmed Evelyn was away on more than one occasion, but Margaret Falconer obviously knew nothing that would shed light on this. Blades had learned nothing at all from this interview. Tactfully, and politely, he and Peacock withdrew.

  ‘We’ll try to find this man who killed your husband. We’ll put our best efforts into it. You have my word for that.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  From the dining room window, Katy, Mary, and Janet had a grandstand view of the murder scene as the police worked on it. The lawn was designed to show the beds to their best advantage from that angle, and they had clear sight of the measuring, the photographing, the talking and nodding, and the shaking of heads and striding about, then the parleying again that Blades and Peacock occupied themselves with round the centre bed with the luxuriant purple lupins and the unfortunate corpse. They had also observed with curiosity as the doctor had poked and prodded at it and noted things down in his notebook. Then they had seen him and Blades standing with their serious looks as they spoke and listened to each other, that mysterious but energetic jabber noiseless to the watchers. They had seen the doctor leave and Blades and Peacock walk into the gardener’s cottage, leaving a corpse under a tarpaulin in a flower bed with a constable standing guard beside it, while a crowd of other large constables crawled around the gardens on their hands and knees searching for anything that might resemble a clue, and looking from the distance not unlike, to Katy’s mind, overgrown schoolboys dressed up in fancy dress and looking for a toffee that they had dropped.

  ‘Poor Charlie,’ Katy said. ‘He wasn’t a bad old stick.’

  ‘He looked fierce,’ Mary said, ‘but he was gentle as a lamb.’

  Janet nodded and muttered something they could not quite make out, but which sounded sympathetic.

  ‘Who would do that to him?’ Katy said.

  ‘Do you think it was the same person who did in Miss Wright?’ Mary asked.

  ‘You wouldn’t think there would be two murderers around here,’ Katy replied. ‘I hope not, anyway.’

  ‘Do you think he saw something on the night Miss Wright died?’

  ‘He must have done.’

  They both stood and contemplated the scene.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he just tell the police?’ Katy said. ‘He liked Miss Wright. She’d been good to him. She gave him time to nurse his wife. There’s not many places that would take on a gardener who needed to spend hours away from his gardening to fuss round his better half.’

  ‘Was he afraid of someone?’ Mary wondered.

  ‘If that’s so, he was right to be. Look what they did to him.’

  ‘You don’t think he did tell the police what he knew?’

  ‘And the murderer didn’t know that or what?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘The police will have their theories,’ Janet said, ‘and they’ll be better than ours. We’re just making things up.’

  ‘Still, it could have been something he saw,’ Mary said.

  ‘How could he have seen anything?’ Janet said, ‘With him in his cottage that evening and well away from the house?’

  ‘He could have looked out of the window,’ Mary said.

  ‘He couldn’t see through the house walls to see what was going on in that drawing room, could he?’

  ‘Could he have seen someone going into the house?’ Katy said.

  ‘That could be,’ Janet admitted.

  ‘He couldn’t have been having arguments with someone in the pub?’ Mary said. ‘My Dad does that. Comes home with a black eye sometimes, or worse. He can’t hold a drink my mother says, but that doesn’t stop him tossing it back.’

  ‘Charlie doesn’t go out to the pub,’ Katy said, then stopped before correcting he
rself. ‘Didn’t go out to the pub. I still can’t believe he’s dead. He was standing in the kitchen with a basket of peas this morning.’

  ‘He’s definitely dead,’ Janet said.

  ‘You don’t think the murderer will turn on us, do you?’ Mary said.

  There was a mocking look on Katy’s face as she turned to Mary. ‘You think he’s got the blood lust? You think he’ll be desperate to cut the throat of a juicy young girl now?’

  ‘You’re horrible sometimes, do you know that?’

  ‘Stop bickering,’ Janet said.

  ‘I don’t know if I want to stay here,’ Mary said. ‘Someone’s murdered two people in this house. Who knows what they’ll do next.’

  ‘It bears thought,’ Janet said. ‘We don’t even know if we’ll have jobs in a few months’ time.’

  ‘Do you think I should be looking around for something?’ Mary said.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Janet replied. ‘We need all the servants we have to keep this place in order over the next few months till we find out what’s what.’

  ‘I know what you mean, Mary,’ Katy said. ‘How do we know what’s going to happen? If Charlie was murdered because of what he saw or even just because of something someone thought he saw, maybe they could think we noticed something too.’

  The two girls and Janet looked at each other.

  ‘You could just go home,’ Katy said to Mary.

  ‘I was glad enough to get away,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want to go back. But it might be sensible and it’s what my mother wants me to do.’

  ‘That’s what she said when she was round to see you?’ Janet said.

  ‘Yes. For the meantime, she said. And that was after Miss Wright’s murder. There have been two now. There’s no way she’ll want me to stay. Won’t your mother want you to go home too, Katy? Will you go?’