‘To my mind, this was no practical joke. He could easily have been killed, or broken his neck and been paralysed. And, with such a serious attempt to harm him, I’m pretty positive that whoever it is will try again.’
‘I’ll get someone over to dust for prints and look for any sign of an intruder in the rear garden. We’ll also need your fingerprints for elimination purposes – I’m sure you understand why.
‘I can also increase the frequency with which a patrol car passes through the village, making sure that they have an extra good look at the exterior of your property, but apart from that, there’s nothing else we can do. There simply isn’t the manpower to put someone on permanent guard,’ said Falconer glumly, hoping that this so-called celebrity didn’t use his fifteen minutes of fame to set the press on to them.
‘Well, I suppose that’ll have to do, for now, but if there’s any further nonsense – maybe injury – I shall have to get on to a private security firm for protection. In the meantime, I’ll get Chadwick to order the installation of CCTV coverage of the outside, so that if anything else occurs, we’ll at least have some evidence to put forward.’
Radcliffe was sounding the most serious he had since he had bidden the policemen enter the house, and McMurrough merely sat in thoughtful mood, gently rubbing his bruises, as his partner ushered Falconer and Carmichael out of the house.
Back beside their cars, Carmichael was also looking introspective, and when Falconer asked him what he was thinking about, he replied, ‘I’m just glad I’m not famous, that’s all.’
Chapter Two
Tuesday
Fairmile Green
At Glass House, there was a ring on the doorbell at eight-thirty the next morning, catching both inhabitants still in bed, and necessitating Radcliffe to run downstairs in his dressing gown and slippers, for McMurrough would no more have volunteered to go down to answer it himself than fly to the moon.
On the doorstep, stood two men in smart bottle-green uniforms, one man positioned slightly behind the other. Radcliffe had no idea that he was witnessing a well-rehearsed delivery pattern, and just stood there, dumbfounded, wondering what on earth this was all about.
‘Good morning, sir,’ intoned the man in front. ‘PPP at your service this lovely morning, sir’ As he said this, he thrust a large cardboard box into Radcliffe’s arms, while his partner moved to the front, announcing, ‘And here is the little precious himself: one miniature dachshund, for your enjoyment – registered name “Dipsy Daxie”. If you’ll just sign this receipt, sir, we wish you many happy years with your new pet.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ asked Radcliffe, as he hurriedly put the box on the ground to accept the wire cage that was thrust at him, a tiny form curled up inside it. And what the heck’s PPP?’ He’d signed the receipt and taken charge of the cage before he could gather his wits sufficiently to realise what he’d just done.
‘Posh Pet Procurement, Mr McMurrough. Thank you for using our service,’ replied the first man in explanation, then they both turned on their heels and walked off the property, got into their van, and drove off, leaving Radcliffe standing on the doorstep with a look on his face that declared that he had just been royally done over.
‘CHADWICK!’ he yelled, loud enough to waken the dead, or at least a very lazy partner. ‘What the hell’s this elongated rat you seem to have purchased for? Dinner?’ and was not impressed when Chadwick came bounding down the stairs with the proud look of young motherhood on his face, making little kissing noises and crooning, ‘Dipsy, darling, come to Daddy, and just ignore cross old Auntie Bailey.’
Auntie Bailey’s face would have looked more at home in the Old Bailey, as a witness for the prosecution, especially when ‘Dipsy darling’ woke up and began to howl miserably at the absence of his mother and siblings.
‘And if you think you’re going to fob off walking that thing on me, you can think again. I will not – I repeat – I will not be seen in public exercising a saveloy on a lead. That thing looks like a cocktail sausage on four sticks.
‘As far as I’m concerned, Dappy Dixie, or whatever the thing’s called, is all yours. You’re the one who’s going to be feeding it, walking it, and bathing it. Me, I’m nothing to do with it. This is your toy, kid, and you can leave me right out of it. I’ve suddenly developed a severe allergy to dogs.’
‘That’s Dipsy Daxie, if you don’t mind. Kindly remember his name, as he is now one of the family.’ Chadwick had taken the little animal out of its cage and was cuddling it like a baby. ‘Just you ignore nasty old Auntie Bailey; it must be the time of the month, he’s such an old grump-pot.’
‘And you can sort out the contents of that bloody great box as well. I’m not having that in the hall for a fortnight while you get round to it.’ Bailey was working up quite a head of steam, in his indignation that his partner could have ordered such a thing – and after the peacocks, too – without a word of consultation, too – that he felt he could easily burst.
Characteristically, Chadwick ignored his partner’s protests and sat down on the floor to unpack his goodie-box. ‘Lead and collar; check. Feeding bowl and water bowl; check. Squeaky toys; check. Soft toys; check. Pooper scooper; check. Wicker basket and blanket for sleeping; check …’
‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you, you little git,’ Bailey protested crossly.
‘Nope.’
At this cold-hearted and negative response, Bailey ‘took his bum in his hands’, threw open the multi-fold glass doors to the back garden, and went out in a huff, Chadwick’s voice floating after him.
‘And when you get back indoors, there’s been enough talk about other things. I suggest we get back to me, and talk about something really interesting.’ Bailey was back within two minutes, nursing a bloodied hand.
‘What’ve you done, cut yourself on that sharp tongue of yours?’ queried McMurrough, sarcastically. And shut the doors. ‘My little treasure may get out before he’s ready.’
‘Damn your little treasure! One of your blasted peacocks has bitten me.’
‘I believe you’ll find that’s “pecked”. They don’t have teeth.’
‘And neither will you, if you don’t start being just a little more civil,’ his bloodied but unbowed partner snapped and, with that, Bailey took himself upstairs to the first-aid kit, whereupon he found that Chadwick had opened to their fullest extent, the matching multi-fold doors in the master-suite at the rear of the house, and a fine collection of flying insects had taken advantage of the opportunity to come in and have a free viewing.
Wednesday
Market Darley
Falconer had thoroughly enjoyed the first of Carmichael’s full days back in the office and would have appreciated it even more, had he known it would be his last peaceful day for quite a while. And this evening he was having dinner with Heather. Life was grand at the moment, and he didn’t even consider this newly established even tenor not continuing.
He dressed with care as a mark of respect for his companion, then picked her up from the nurses’ home where she was staying while her flat in the Midlands was waiting to be sold.
They had a regular booking at a little Italian restaurant in the Market Square, flexible enough to allow for their respective jobs and the vagaries of the hours of these diverse but, in many ways, similar careers. Heather had nursed the owner’s wife through a gallstone operation about six months ago, and he was still grateful for the way she had sat with her and coaxed her to eat, when she felt she’d never be able to face food again.
Their table was booked for seven-thirty, reasonably early, but it gave them half a chance of getting at least one course down their throats, before one of them was summoned on an unplanned call-out, and they had plenty to talk about tonight.
Heather had been involved in dealing with the victims of a multi-car pile-up on the road south into Market Darley; the consequence, it seemed, of urban-dwelling tourists and their lack of experience on such narrow count
ry roads, although to the locals, that particular road was judged to be a good-sized one. It happened at least once every summer, and when the first of last year’s had occurred she had just started working at the hospital.
At the end of her tale, Falconer asked her if she knew when he had first noticed her at the hospital and, when she replied that she didn’t, proceeded to describe the scene that had so caught his eye.
‘You were standing at the bed next to Carmichael’s, holding one of those pressed cardboard bowls, when the patient in the bed suddenly projectile vomited all down your front. Instead of being angry or disgusted, you just started laughing uproariously at your plight, eventually getting the patient to join in, at the state of your uniform.
‘That was probably the best medicine you could have offered him; no apologies and embarrassment, just a damned good laugh. Then, when you leaned over to tear off some of that all-purpose hospital paper, I noticed a little ladder in the left leg of your tights just lengthen another half inch. I couldn’t take my eyes off that tiny imperfection growing totally without your knowledge, and I realised I wanted to talk to you.’
‘I remember the incident well, and we did seem to meet in the canteen quite frequently after that,’ she replied.
‘And by Carmichael’s bedside,’ he added.
‘Which was my doing,’ she chimed in. ‘I rather wanted to get to know you too, as your visits seemed to do Davey so much good. I say, this carbonara’s absolutely ace, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll say. Are you going to have zabaglione for dessert? And I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to.’
Having hailed the waiter and ordered their final course, he told her about Carmichael coming back to the office on Monday night, yesterday being his first full day back in harness. ‘You make sure you don’t work poor Davey too hard. He’s had a very bad time of it, as you well know, over the last couple of months.’
‘“Poor Davey”, as you insist on calling that great big lump, was thrilled to bits with the call-out we had Monday night.’
‘You didn’t get him out late, did you, you cruel beast? I told you, the boy needs his rest. You really are a slave driver.’
‘He’d never have forgiven me if I hadn’t taken him with me. The call was only to Chadwick McMurrough’s house.’
‘No!’ she squeaked, not even giving him time to ask her if she’d ever heard of him. ‘Not that brightly dressed camp guy with the chat show?’
‘That’s the one,’ agreed Falconer.
‘Ooh! I think he’s lovely. I was rooting for him all the way through The Glass House and I watched him in Cockneys.’ Here she paused as if in amusing memory. ‘And I never miss one of his chat shows. If I’m on duty I have to record it; he’s just so funny. I wish I could have gone with you; I’d love to meet him, although I’d probably die of embarrassment.’
‘So, you’re a closet Chadwick fan, are you?’ asked Falconer, in surprise. This was exactly the sort of thing that happened when you only met up once a fortnight.
‘Not exactly ‘closet’, and I had no idea he’d moved into the area. Where did you say he was?’
‘Fairmile Green.’
Fairmile Green
‘I’m going to take Dipsy for a little walk,’ announced Chadwick. ‘You coming, Bailey?’
‘Are you out of your tiny little mind?’ his partner responded. ‘When I said I wouldn’t be seen dead with that mobile chorizo, I meant it. I’m going to have a little nap, then, when you get back, I might deign to accompany you to the local hostelry for a little liquid refreshment.
‘If you’re lucky, there might be some fans of yours there, and you can sit and bask in their admiration, before we come back here and retire for the night. That sort of thing always puts you in a good mood.’
‘Suit yourself, sweetie, but I’m off.’
‘I hope none of the neighbours dies laughing.’
‘Bitch!’
‘Silly cow! Have a nice walk with your mini-Cumberland.’
Radcliffe stretched himself out on the extra-long, white leather sofa and was asleep within minutes, his snoring, for once, unappreciated by either man or beast.
The next thing of which he was aware was the echo of what he immediately identified as a howl of pain, followed by some very rich and loud swearing, and a face appeared at the rear glass doors, filled with anguish.
Leaping to his feet and making a rush for the doors, he unlatched them and admitted Chadwick, clutching one shoulder with one hand, the other, limply clutching the lead of the tiny pup. As Radcliffe grabbed the lead and pulled the dog inside, Chadwick began to groan with pain, and to insist that Bailey called the police once more and, if necessary, a doctor.
‘What in the name of God has happened?’
‘I decided to come in the back way so that Dipsy could do any business he needed to conduct in the garden before we came in, and maybe he’d not need to go while we’re out. But when I opened the side gate, a bloody great stone, which must have been balanced on the top, fell off and landed on my shoulder. I’m sure it’s broken.’
‘Your shoulder would never break a stone. Where did you leave it? By the gate?’
‘You unfeeling bitch!’
‘Come here and let me see.’
‘I’m in agony here, and all you can do is insult me,’ replied McMurrough, stripping off his long-sleeved T-shirt to reveal a slight graze and a swelling that would turn, overnight, into quite a satisfactory bruise.
‘You big baby! There’s no way that’s broken, but it looks pretty painful.’
‘What if it had landed on my head?’
‘Then the thickness of your skull definitely would have shattered it.’
‘Cow! What if it had landed on Dipsy? It would have killed him.’
‘That’s true. I think you’re right about reporting this. After that episode the other evening, we’d better just give the police a ring. Better safe than paying for a funeral.’ Radcliffe was all heart. ‘But you don’t need to waste a doctor’s time. All he’d do would be to send you for an x-ray. Do you really want to spend the evening hanging around in A&E?’
‘No way, but you could ring me mum as well. I could do with a bit of TLC, and I’m not likely to get that from you in a million years,’ requested McMurrough.
‘Sod your mum. What’s that stunted frankfurter doing on the new wooden floor. Hey, stop that this minute! And what are you looking so glum about?’
‘It’ll be too late to go to the pub if we have to wait for the police.’
‘Tough, you spoiled little brat.’
Market Darley
While Heather was still cross-questioning Falconer about Chadwick McMurrough’s new residence, his mobile phone rang, putting paid to the flow of questions for a few minutes. When he ended the call, he smiled at her and said, ‘I’ve got to go over to Fairmile Green again. There’s been another attack, albeit a minor one, on our nine days’ wonder local celebrity. Would you care to accompany me?’
‘You bet your life I would. Just hang on while I get the rest of this zabaglione down my neck, and we can get straight off,’ replied, Heather, beginning to spoon her dessert into her mouth with almost unbelievable speed. ‘There, finished. Let’s go!’ she announced, only to be stalled by her dinner partner, who chose to finish his at his leisure, calling for the bill and not rushing himself. Falconer was cool, or so he secretly believed.
‘Take off your shoes,’ ordered Heather, in a rather brusque manner, and quite inexplicably.
‘Why on earth do you want me to do that?’
‘So I can count your toes. At the moment I’d put money on you only having three – you sloth.’
Fairmile Green
Falconer hadn’t bothered disturbing Carmichael over this call, and had informed Bob Bryant that he would go alone – at least technically alone – and Bob agreed with this decision. It didn’t sound very serious, and the sergeant would need a bit more rest than usual, having just returned to work; and Falconer didn�
�t even want to think about having to summon DC Roberts, not when his evening, thus far, had been delightful.
Radcliffe must have been watching out for the car from the dining room window, for the door was opened before the two of them had even got through the gate. ‘Is it OK if my friend comes in?’ asked Falconer, as they approached the front door, ‘Only we were having supper when I received the call that you’d had another spot of bother.’
‘No problem,’ Bailey replied. ‘We’ve already got Chadwick’s ever-loving mother here: the more the merrier.’ The man did not seem best pleased at the way the house was filling up. With these two, that would now make five adults, a ridiculously shaped puppy, and God knew how many fancy birds at the back.
In the lounge they found McMurrough, sitting mournfully on the over-sized sofa, his arm in a sling, his face like a wet weekend. ‘Good evening, Mr McMurrough,’ Falconer greeted him. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I was in a restaurant having a meal with my friend when I got the call to come here, and it seemed churlish, if not time-wasting, not to come straight here.’
‘Be my guest,’ the invalid replied. ‘You can see for yourselves what agony I’m in,’ and he winced theatrically and put a hand to his injured shoulder. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room, until a voice uttered from behind a large white leather armchair, its back to them, and facing a very large television set which burbled away quietly.
Above the sound of the television, the voice suddenly opined, ‘Great big girl’s blouse. Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill. But then you always were a jessie.’
At their expressions of surprise, McMurrough said, ‘You haven’t met my mother, have you? She’s the one in front of the TV with a tray of blinis, cream cheese, smoked salmon, and caviar on her lap. Say ‘hello’, Mummy Dearest.’
Falconer and Heather took a few paces down the room and saw the middle-aged woman, sitting in the chair like a malignant goddess guarding her ambrosial snack. ‘I made ’im three slices of toast, cheese, and tomato and a huge mug of ’ot chocolate,’ the deity proclaimed, ‘and that’s all the TLC ’e’s getting from me for one night. From the phone call, I thought ’e must be dying, at the very least, and there ’e is, with just a knocked shoulder.
Glass House (The Falconer Files Book 11) Page 3
