Death Plays a Part (Cornish Castle Mystery, Book 1)

by Vivian Conroy

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Looking for evidence to clear my father. You’ve just arrived here.’

  ‘I don’t like unsolved mysteries.’ Guinevere got to her feet. She wasn’t about to tell him that family was everything to her, and a sense of place. She wanted to defend this beautiful castle and its owner, even if he was a little rough around the edges.

  Dolly barked, satisfied that they were going to do something.

  Guinevere smiled. ‘You heard her. Are you coming?’

  ‘If you don’t like unsolved mysteries,’ Oliver said as he followed her to the narrow door in the large gate, ‘you shouldn’t be staying here at Cornisea Castle. This place is full of them.’

  His own relationship with his father being one of them, Guinevere supposed, but she didn’t say so. They stepped outside. It was eerily quiet. Dolly pressed herself against Guinevere’s chest, moving her ears as if she was listening for a significant sound.

  A shiver went down Guinevere’s spine. They were sneaking around in the dark with a killer on the loose.

  The half-moon was bright and illuminated the surroundings, but still Oliver used his phone to light the path directly ahead of them. Guinevere stayed close to him, glad he knew his way around here. On her own she could never have figured out where the right air hole was. But Oliver led her, with confidence, to where thick bushes grew with shiny, dark green leaves.

  He pointed. ‘It’s behind these rhododendrons.’

  Guinevere nodded. ‘Shine it on the bushes,’ she ordered. ‘We have to see if someone pushed his way through them.’

  ‘Those branches are pretty pliable,’ Oliver said. ‘Wouldn’t they have just snapped back in place after the killer had passed?’

  ‘Hey, you there!’ a voice resounded. ‘What are you doing there?’

  Guinevere froze, clutching Dolly in her arms. ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered.

  A man in dark clothing came their way, shining a torch.

  Oliver released his breath in a frustrated hiss. ‘It’s Eal,’ he whispered. ‘I bet you he’ll now make a fuss about us being out here. But if we had told him what we intended, he would have brushed it off as unimportant. He’s like that, you know.’

  Guinevere now recognized the same constable who had questioned her briefly. He was a broad-chested man in his fifties with short hair and a huge moustache that he twirled when he was uncertain. He had eagerly listened to Kensa when she had explained over and over that Bolingbrooke had to be the killer. As a local, did Eal have some reason to hate Bolingbrooke and not mind that he got accused and even convicted?

  The constable said, ‘What are you doing here? It’s the dead of night.’

  ‘I’m walking on my own ground,’ Oliver said tightly. ‘I’m not afraid of some murderer who might be long gone.’

  ‘Gone? You think it was a stranger?’ Eal shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you. And you have to go back inside this instant. We still have a lot of work to do in the morning.’

  ‘And what if it rains before that?’ Guinevere asked. ‘Traces could be deleted.’

  ‘What traces?’

  Oliver prodded her with his foot not to tell, but Guinevere said anyway, ‘I was wondering if somebody tried to get to Mr Haydock through the air hole that led into his cage.’

  The constable studied her. ‘And why would you wonder about that?’

  ‘Well, if somebody did try and reach the air hole, pushing through these dense bushes, there might be traces of it. Evidence. If it rains before you investigate in the morning and the footprints fade, you can prove nothing any more.’

  The constable studied her. ‘You think you’re some kind of private detective? A real Sherlock Holmes in the making?’

  His condescending tone lit Guinevere’s blood. ‘No, I’m just trying to protect an innocent man against a murder charge.’

  ‘So you know for sure that Bolingbrooke didn’t do it? That’s very impressive considering you don’t know him at all, or local sentiments.’

  Guinevere flushed. Dolly seemed to feel her discomfort and licked her neck. She steadied the dog in her arms.

  Eal moved to stand in front of Oliver, speaking low. ‘What are you really here for?’

  If he had been as tall as Oliver it would have been intimidating, but Eal was a head shorter and seemed to be talking to Oliver’s chest. ‘To take something away? Change the scene? Maybe you were in league with your father. It’s odd you pop up here and the day after somebody dies.’

  Before Oliver could say anything to defend himself, a light flashed in the darkness from around the bend of the path. Another man came up to them. He walked fast and determined. ‘Constable Eal?’ he called out.

  The constable froze. He stared at the approaching man as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Chapter Five

  The man stopped a few paces away from their little group. He surveyed all of them quickly. Guinevere had the impression that not much escaped his dark eyes. He was younger than Eal, lean, with a face full of sharp angles. He didn’t extend a hand to shake, but said in general, ‘Inspector LeFevre. I’ve been assigned to this case to support the local force. I came out here first thing, but apparently I’m already too late. The body has been removed, I heard?’

  He gave Eal a cold look as if it had happened on purpose, to frustrate his own investigation.

  Eal nodded. ‘No need to have it lying around there any longer. I saw all I need to see.’

  It clearly conveyed: this is my case, and I intend to solve it my way. Just leave me alone.

  ‘Yes, well,’ LeFevre said, ‘I guess I’ll have photos to study.’ He focused on Guinevere and Oliver. ‘And you are?’

  ‘He’s Bolingbrooke’s son,’ Eal shot, pointing at Oliver, ‘and she just got here today. From London. To help catalogue books or something.’

  ‘Had you been here before?’ LeFevre asked.

  Guinevere said, ‘No, never.’

  ‘I see. Nice dog.’ There was a flash of a smile on his face.

  Guinevere used this moment of goodwill to say, ‘We were just asking the constable about something.’

  Eal looked ready to burst a vessel, but Guinevere continued calmly, ‘These bushes here hide the exact location of the air hole leading into the cage in the dungeon in which Mr Haydock died. We wanted to know if there are traces – like footprints, a snapped branch or something – that can prove someone made his way over to the air hole.’

  LeFevre studied her expression. ‘I heard the victim was stabbed from close proximity. Can it have been done through the air hole?’

  ‘Never!’ Eal shot in a ridiculing tone. ‘A child could understand that.’

  ‘It might have been possible if Haydock stood at the air hole,’ Guinevere said, even though Oliver had argued before it was impossible considering the height of the air hole. A stab would then have landed in Haydock’s face, not his chest. But she had to use LeFevre’s unexpected appearance on Cornisea to get more investigative effort than Constable Eal wanted to make.

  Eal shook his head. ‘If Haydock stood at the air hole, it wouldn’t have worked either. He would have backed away when the hand came in. It would have been right in front of his face.’

  ‘Still, we have to make sure that all ground is covered,’ LeFevre said. He used the powerful torch he carried to shine across the brush, then the ground underneath. He grunted as if he had already seen something, then moved into the brush, careful not to disturb anything in front of him.

  ‘Seems like he has done this before,’ Oliver said to Guinevere. There was a hint of hope to his voice.

  Eal was watching, leaning back on his heels. ‘Inspectors!’ he spat. ‘Always think they can muscle in on someone’s territory. This is my island. My case.’

  Guinevere whispered to Oliver, ‘Do you know this LeFevre?’

  ‘No. I have no idea where he came from all of a sudden. He must have come out here by boat. There’s a little landing pier over there.’ Oliver ge
stured over his shoulder. ‘Jago uses it all of the time.’

  Jago, yes, their missing judge. He had said he couldn’t make it tonight.

  But what if he had come over anyway?

  ‘Is the pier far away?’ Guinevere asked. ‘How many minutes to get from there to here?’

  ‘Five if you’re walking. Less if you run.’

  ‘Aha!’ they heard LeFevre call from the other side of the rhododendrons.

  Guinevere gave Oliver an expectant look. Dolly sat up in her arms, struggling to be released and run over to see for herself what the inspector had discovered.

  Eal leaned forward. ‘It can’t be,’ he muttered.

  After a few more minutes, LeFevre returned. He handed the torch back to Eal and said, ‘You’ll make a note of the fact that a person moved through the rhododendrons to the air hole and sat there on his haunches. That’s clear from the depth of the imprints of his or her shoes. I’m inclined to think it was a woman as the foot is quite small. The imprints suggest little to no profile. Could have been a rubber sole.’

  Oliver and Guinevere looked at each other. A small foot. Tegen?

  LeFevre said, ‘This idea of yours wasn’t half bad.’ He looked at Oliver. ‘I understand the dungeon has more than one cage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they’re identical in setup? They all have an air hole and it’s all in the same place?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oliver was obviously puzzled as to what the inspector was driving at.

  ‘Good.’ LeFevre turned to Eal. ‘You stay out here. In a few minutes you go over to an air hole. Not the one of the cage in which the murder took place but another. You wait there for my instructions from the inside.’

  Eal looked at him as if he had gone crazy.

  But LeFevre had already turned on his heel and waved Guinevere and Oliver along. ‘We’ll go inside and see what we can make of it.’

  As they walked, LeFevre said, ‘My condolences on the death of the victim. I suppose he was well known around these parts?’

  ‘He was,’ Oliver said, ‘but not exactly well liked.’

  LeFevre smiled. ‘A candid assessment.’

  ‘Coming from a potential suspect?’ Oliver retorted at once. ‘It’s the truth. And I’m sure a good policeman would find out about it soon enough.’

  LeFevre hmm-ed. ‘A good policeman just because I can find some footprints in muddy earth? That’s hardly a compliment, Mr Bolingbrooke.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment, just a statement of fact. And you can call me Oliver. I avoid the name Bolingbrooke.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Because people feel uncomfortable when they know you have a title and most likely a big bag of money. They either start sucking up to you or get jealous and try to derail your career out of spite. I have enough experience with both to know that.’

  ‘I see. What is your career?’

  ‘I make wildlife documentaries. Not on my own of course, with a whole crew. We travel out to Madagascar or the North Pole and then I sit in a hide for weeks hoping to make a few minutes worth of good footage.’

  ‘And you can actually make a living that way?’ LeFevre asked.

  ‘If you’re any good.’

  LeFevre nodded. ‘And why are you suddenly back home?’

  ‘I’m having some time off. I just wanted to look in on my father.’ Oliver glanced at LeFevre. ‘He didn’t like Haydock. Any local can tell you that. They even had an argument this evening, right before the re-enactment started. But my father would never have killed him. I know that for a fact.’

  ‘And why are you so sure? Apart from family loyalty of course.’

  Oliver grimaced. ‘My relationship with my father wasn’t all hearts and flowers. When Guinevere here arrived, he was just throwing me out of the door for even suggesting he could think about putting the castle in a trust. But I know, and so do others who are close to him, that he wouldn’t kill.’

  ‘You agreed that the castle should be put in a trust? So you supported Haydock?’

  ‘Of course not. I wanted my father to get professional assistance to keep the castle away from the likes of Haydock.’

  ‘Yes.’ LeFevre suddenly looked down, at Guinevere’s feet. ‘I suppose the footprints left at the air hole can’t be yours?’

  Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat at this unexpected turn of the conversation. ‘Would I draw your attention to them if they were mine? Besides, I can assure you my feet aren’t very small.’

  Oliver had to laugh.

  LeFevre’s expression was tight though. ‘The air hole theory is yours, right?’

  Oliver said quickly, ‘Guinevere comes from the theatre world so she worked it out by suggesting an alternative scenario for the murder. It’s probably the only way we can prove my father’s innocence. I think we should keep her on.’

  ‘I have to say,’ LeFevre said slowly, ‘that this case is different from what I usually come across. A man stabbed in a centuries-old dungeon while he was locked in and nobody could get to him. Something probably well planned and executed. Too bad I won’t have a lot of time to spend on it.’

  Oliver glanced at Guinevere. So their additional inspector was really up to his elbows in cases and wouldn’t be able to dig deep for motives. He’d probably look at the witness statements Eal had taken tonight. But Eal hadn’t bothered to ask any probing questions.

  LeFevre looked up at the castle’s imposing form. ‘This is also an unusual place. The whole setup on an island.’

  ‘There are more like it,’ Oliver said. ‘Not just here in Cornwall but also along the coast of France. Not a castle there, though, but an abbey. I guess it makes sense when you think about it. The water forms a natural protection.’

  ‘It sure saved them the trouble of digging a moat around it.’ LeFevre gestured. ‘Ah, there we are. Lead on into this dungeon.’

  After a few more minutes they were down in the dungeon. The lanterns were still lit as apparently nobody had thought to put them out. LeFevre looked at the cage that had a rope with a red flag on it woven through the bars. ‘That’s our crime scene?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oliver nodded at the rope. ‘The constable didn’t have any official police tape on him so we had to improvise.’

  ‘Fine. Now we can use this one here to do our little re-enactment of the murder.’

  LeFevre opened the door into the next cage and went in, crouching as his height didn’t allow him to stand up without brushing the top of his head on the ceiling. ‘Eal!’ he called out of the air hole. ‘Are you there?’

  There was a silence, and LeFevre had to call again before Eal responded. ‘I’m here.’ It sounded begrudging.

  ‘All right,’ LeFevre said. ‘I’m Haydock standing at the air hole. I’m leaning forward because I’m trying to see something outside. Passing time, whatever. Maybe I’ve heard a suspicious sound that the killer created to draw the victim to the air hole. You’re that killer. Can you get your fist through the air hole?’

  In a flash a fist appeared, and LeFevre could just duck away, instinctively, or the fist would have hit him full on the nose.

  ‘Is that correct?’ Eal’s voice asked sweetly from the outside.

  Oliver poked Guinevere with his elbow, a grin on his face.

  ‘Perfect,’ LeFevre said to Eal. ‘However, this would have stabbed the victim right in the face. Let me see. Are you sitting on your haunches?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you crouch lower? A woman might have been shorter and more agile.’

  Oliver suppressed a guffaw at this subtle sting.

  Eal’s fist came a little lower now. So apparently he was trying to follow the instructions.

  ‘Let’s try it this way.’ LeFevre took a hold of Eal’s wrist and tried to yank Eal’s arm further down to reach his chest.

  Outside Eal cried out in pain. LeFevre let go of his arm and said, ‘Doesn’t seem to be working. I don’t see how the knife could have been pushed into the victim
’s chest with enough strength to kill him. The stab would then also have been downward. We’ll have to wait and see what the post-mortem report says about the stab wound’s angle.’

  Eal had pulled his fist back. Guinevere bet he was raving mad at the inspector’s antics.

  But LeFevre didn’t seem to notice or care. He was studying the air hole with an expression of utter concentration. ‘If Eal’s fist fits through, a woman’s fist certainly would. Her arm would be thinner so she would be able to push it in further. Still the angle wouldn’t be right.’

  Oliver leaned over to Guinevere. ‘Maybe he’ll ask you to go out and repeat the experiment? Your arm must be thinner than Eal’s.’ He lowered his voice even further to add, ‘A younger person might have an even thinner arm.’

  Guinevere knew he was thinking of Tegen.

  LeFevre was done with the air hole and turned to study the cage construction. ‘The only way in is through the door? No secret passageways?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And your father had the only key?’

  ‘Yes, the doors are normally never locked.’ Oliver gestured around him. ‘Haydock went down here and could get in by himself. The lanterns were already lit because Guinevere and I had done that earlier.’

  LeFevre nodded thoughtfully. He came out of the cell he had used for his experiment and went to the one secured with the rope and the red banner. He peered in. ‘Was the chair moved?’

  Oliver looked at it, frowning to remember. ‘Yes, I think it must have been moved when they took away the body. When we came in here and saw Haydock dead on the floor, the chair was lying there.’ He pointed. ‘Like it had toppled when he fell.’

  LeFevre studied the layout. ‘So he could have been stabbed near the air hole and, staggering back, he hit the chair, and it toppled with him as he fell to the floor.’ He looked at Guinevere. ‘Your idea that the air hole was used isn’t bad. Not bad at all.’

  Oliver seemed to get annoyed with the inspector’s appreciative tone. ‘You said yourself that the angle of the stab wound will be decisive.’

  ‘Of course.’ LeFevre peered again into the cage where it had all happened. ‘What’s that there?’ He leaned even closer, taking care not to touch the bars. ‘It seems there’s something dark on the floor.’