The Gypsy Hill Murders (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 1)

by P. J. Thurbin

  Running up the steps of Peter’s club, Ralph saw his friend engaged in deep conversation with the livered doorman.

  “Hey Ralph! My God, I thought I looked rough, but you look as though you’ve been out on the razzle for a month,” shouted Peter.

  With that he clapped Ralph on the back and the two friends headed back to the waiting Jag. Ralph made sure that Peter was strapped in before they spun round the small Georgian square and pointed the bonnet towards Esher, were Peter lived in a very exclusive house near the racetrack at Sandown Park.

  Ralph could see that Peter had returned to a nearly sober state, which helped, as he wanted to tell him about the happenings at the University. As they drove along he went through exactly what had happened .He made sure that in telling Peter about the incident he covered all the details in order to clarify things in his own mind.

  “Look Ralph”, said Peter. You know what was really going on there tonight. Someone was indulging in a bit of hanky panky, or what we academics might call extra curricula activities. That caretaker must have walked in on them and they panicked. In the commotion the caretaker was probably pushed out of the way and the poor sod tripped and fell down the stairs, broke his neck, and the guilty pair were away, so to speak, on their tippy toes. You just happened to be an innocent by-stander. So my advice is to keep quiet and it will all blow over. Just you take my word for it; it happens to me all the time.”

  Ralph wanted to tell Peter to stop treating it as a joke, but considering how late it was and that they were both tired, he settled for trying out some possible scenarios.

  “Look Peter, I take your point, but I think it’s a bit more serious than you seem to think. The way I see it, the caretaker was doing his usual rounds at about half past nine. He went up the stairs leading from the reception lobby and probably found the door to the main conference room ajar. If he assumed that this was just an oversight, by one of the secretaries as she locked up for the night, he simply closed it and used his master key to lock it for the night. Being distracted he tripped and fell down the stairs. Alternatively, if he had disturbed an intruder he would have triggered the alarm which is at the top of the stairs. The intruder might have tried to escape and in the commotion pushed Bob down the stairs where he fell and broke his neck.”

  “You didn’t say anything about the alarm going off,” Peter said. “He may not have been completely sober but his mind was sharper than most even after a few drinks.”

  “I never heard the alarm go off,” said Ralph, “but the power was out for a while and the alarm is on the mains.”

  Peter was not in the mood for complicated speculations.

  “I tell you Ralph, it was a couple having a bit of harmless fun, nothing more sinister than that.” Adding with a wry grin: “you’re sure it wasn’t you all the time, and this is your cover story? Sorry old boy, just joking.”

  “Apologies accepted,” said Ralph, as he eased the car into a tight curve in the road. He knew he wasn’t likely to get a sensible response from Peter tonight, but he couldn’t help thinking out loud about some other things that were on his mind.

  “But there have been a few incidents in the past months where some of the oak paneling up there has been tampered with. I think it could be an intruder who wanted to find something. Maybe someone thinks something is hidden in the old building that’s worth a lot of money, family heirlooms perhaps. But I am still not sure what Jack Welsh was doing there. He’s a rum cove at the best of times, and I’m worried that he might be trying to set me up for some scheme that he’s involved in. For my money Jack Welsh is up to no good. But would he stoop to murder? I suppose if the prize were big enough. You never know with a chap like that.”

  Peter realized that his friend was quite wound up about his experiences earlier that night and decided that it was time to lighten things up a bit.

  “Hey Ralph do you remember that night when my wife caught me in the upstairs bath in Kenry House with that girl from over in admin? Boy was she mad. I’d had a few drinks that night and we had just settled down in that big Victorian bath tub, bath foam spilling out over onto the floor, when she walked in. I could never work out if she was more angry that we were in the bath together or that we were drinking the bottle of Bollinger that she had been saving for our anniversary. Whatever it was, she stormed out and didn’t let me back in the house for weeks. Funny thing was the girl was pretty hacked off with me as well. Could never work out why. But it wasn’t the first time I’d made a mess of things and I doubt if it will be the last.”

  Ralph smiled in the early morning light at his friend’s tale, some of which he suspected was true. He could see they were nearing the turn off for Esher and he thought of the bizarre relationship that Peter had with his wife, Marcia. They had been married for 25 years and she had been a successful fashion model when they first met. Stunning good looks had made her an icon in the advertising business. Her classical features had once adorned most of the leading fashion magazines and her face was used to promote the value of milk as a way to a healthy life style. He glanced at Peter and he could see how the two life styles had clashed. As the dawn broke they pulled into Peter’s driveway, and having bid him a good morning, Ralph turned for home and a chance to get some well earned sleep. He noticed a slight smell of oil and realized that he had been pushing the car pretty hard on the way back from London.

  Back at the police station Inspector Linham was pondering the case that he was now trying to unravel. He had a victim with a broken neck and a nasty bash to the back of his head. His death could have resulted from an accidental fall, or it could have been from a blow to his head from an unknown assailant. He also had two people that he knew of that had been at what might be the possible crime scene. Neither had any clear motive, but neither of them had an alibi or witnesses who could vouch for them. The early post mortem carried out by the police doctor showed no signs of a struggle, and there was no weapon found that might have caused the blow. Maybe the poor chap had simply tumbled down the stairs and knocked his head on the wall by the hallway door. There was blood on the wall and he could almost hear the coroner saying that it was death by misadventure. The Inspector decided that there was little chance of bringing a prosecution in this one. Interviewing Chalmers and Welsh was a mere formality, something that Wilson could handle while he dealt with the press and the officials at the University. That was a part of the job that he was not looking forward to.

  Chapter 2

  It was some months later, early in the spring, and the incident at Kenry House the previous autumn was now fading in Ralph’s memory. The coroner’s verdict was accidental death, and although he had been called as a witness, it had all been a very low key affair. The University had been very supportive of the caretaker’s family and the funeral had been well attended by the Vice Chancellor and the various Deans. Ralph had a feeling that a lot of the concern shown was part of the University’s attempt at damage limitation about the bad press the University was subjected to at the time. Some of the papers went so far as to suggest that there might be a dangerous criminal or deranged student who had been lurking around the grounds that night who had struck the caretaker down. They had tried to interview Ralph but he had been under strict orders from the University not to say anything beyond what had come out at the coroner’s inquest.

  Jack Welsh had been a bit more loquacious, no doubt succumbing to the temptation of a payout from one of the less salubrious tabloids. He had been quoted as suggesting that there were mysterious goings on at Kenry House that some said were attributed to ghosts, and that poor Bob, as Welsh now referred to him, had probably been spooked by one. At one point he had even suggested that a local priest might be asked to come and exorcise the fiend. But by now interest in the case was fading, and college life had settled back into a routine.

  As the afternoon rain streamed down his office windows, Ralph could hear the squirrels screeching in the bank of pine trees that lined the driveway and the chatter of students
as they moved between lectures.

  He was looking forward to starting some new courses and focusing on the challenges that had first attracted him to teaching. He was determined to avoid finishing up like Mr. Chips, James Hilton’s dusty old school master who struggled to come to terms with a changing world. For Ralph it was all about making your chances and then throwing yourself whole heartedly behind them. That is what he had done at Cambridge even though his college, King’s, was notorious for being a place where it was especially hard to establish yourself. But he had learned quickly and was now trying to impart some of that zest and staying power to his students. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “I thought it time for your afternoon tea Professor Chalmers,” said his secretary, Janice, as she set the tray on the little table beside his desk. “Now that that business with the police is settled we need to get back to our usual routine.” She had a way of bringing a person back to reality that brooked no questions.

  Janice was from the old school. She had been a secretary at the British Embassy in what was then Bombay, and had become inculcated with habits and a culture that were more suited to Victorian times than to a bustling modern University. The other secretaries did not like her attitude towards the academic staff which they saw as not supportive of their attempts to establish themselves as administrators, and they certainly resented being seen as mere secretaries. Her style and manner suited Ralph as he found Janice both hard working and loyal. Characteristics that were high on his list.

  Somewhat later in what had been a long day, the door swung open and in walked his friend David Walker, who was Professor of Law.

  “So Ralph, I see that you have got over all that business with the police and now we can get the old gang going again. It’s about time we started up our evening sessions in the college bar.” David was always one to come directly to the point in spite of his being a lawyer.

  “Thanks for reminding me. Why not start tonight?” replied Ralph. But he was still dogged by the events of that night and knew that David would indulge his habit of using him as a sounding board. “But there is something that keeps coming back to me about that night. You see, when I was at Cambridge I had this habit of looking for a role model as the place had plenty of famous alumni that you could look to for inspiration. Well I passed up on Robert Walpole, John Maynard Keynes, Salmon Rushdie and Allen Turing, the mathematician.”

  “So who got the honour?” David asked.

  “M.R. James, the ghost story writer. He wrote with a logic that created order, and that’s what I aspired to. I think I was seeking a life with order and discipline. But what bothers me now, is that something about that business with the caretaker at Kenry House last year just doesn’t hold up to that sort of logic.”

  David saw that he needed to let Ralph get things off his chest. He was certain that once they got down to the bar he could divert him from what he felt was becoming an unhealthy obsession.

  ”I’ve heard about James but never read any of his books. So what’s the connection, Ralph?” he said, in an attempt to project an upbeat tone.

  “Well, James was the founder of the antiquarian ghost story. He wrote these classical horror tales, which were mostly set in a country estate. The protagonist was usually a rather naïve gentleman scholar with a reserved nature. Which in some ways I have become. Discovery of an old book or some clue or artifact that unlocked or attracted the wrath of someone beyond the grave usually triggered off some odious or malevolent happening. Don’t you see that the incident at Kenry House is like one of those horror stories? I just feel that something has been unlocked here that is based on a happening in the past just as in those old tales. I know it’s foolish to think of it that way, David, but something tells me it is not just my mind playing tricks on me.”

  David was nothing if not a diplomat, and had a reputation for handling the petty politics that arose among the many warring tribes at the University. He had a low key approach that some mistook for lack of determination, but they admired him for his ability to get things done. Here his objective was to get his friend Ralph to focus on a new challenge.

  “Look Ralph I can see where you’re coming from and I think that you’ve good reason for thinking the way you do. After the shock of seeing someone dead at your feet and having to deal with that Welsh character, anyone would be looking for answers. But perhaps we can toddle down to the bar and see what the gang has got up to while they’ve been left to their own devices. That lot has probably got themselves into some deep trouble by now. How about it Ralph, are you ready to get that first round in?” Clapping his hand on Ralph’s shoulder, the two conspirators went to meet with their colleagues.

  As they walked down the staircase in Kenry House and out into the chill of the evening air, Ralph took heed of his friend’s admonitions about getting a new interest or challenge. He needed some way of pulling himself out of his focus on evil deeds and such like. He tried to take a quick stock of where his time at the college had taken him.

  Over the past few years he had paid his dues to the gods of academia. He had obtained his Doctorate, presented the required number of refereed academic papers, and chaired enough committees to satisfy the most ardent meeting goers. He had seen colleagues have affairs with other people’s wives, staff being disciplined for dating students, the odd alcoholic that had been admonished and then hidden in the ranks to avoid attracting adverse publicity in the press, a Dean who made some errors of judgment and had been quietly moved on, and the usual exhibitions of depression that colleagues indulged themselves in when passed over at promotion time. Not exactly an optimistic place on which to start planning the future, thought Ralph.

  But against this rich tapestry of University life he still enjoyed his job. It provided plenty of opportunity to travel at someone else’s expense, and presenting his annual conference paper at exotic locations meant that he was on what was known as the conference loop. Over the years he had realized that his colleagues presented the same papers year on year with just a few refinements. But so what. Staff at the other Universities did the same, and no one was foolish enough to rock the boat. And he did enjoy the camaraderie of academic life. As he and David came into the college bar he knew that he was showing his age and prejudices, but he failed to see how a post on Facebook or a Twitter exchange could replace the one-on-one richness that could be enjoyed by colleagues, over a drink after work.

  Ralph was at heart a romantic. He had spent summers delivering yachts for friends who wanted them for use in the Mediterranean, or helping wealthy people who simply wanted someone else to sail their boats. That had meant the occasional stopover in ports around Portugal and Spain where he enjoyed the odd dalliance ashore with the local ladies. But at the end of each voyage he returned to his apartment in Surbiton and settled back into his orderly routine. So far he had not met anyone he wanted to settle down with, but on the other hand he had not suffered too much collateral damage. His circle of friends at the college had now become more important than he liked to admit, even to himself.

  The college bar was not that crowded. The culture at the University had changed over the years and the idea of staff meeting over a friendly drink was now not the norm. It had been downgraded from highly required, if you wanted to get in with the power group, to highly frowned upon, as it suggested a lack of self control and might attract adverse publicity to the University. But Ralph and a few of his friends had kept up the tradition. As he and David walked towards the bar they could see Peter Cavendish and Katie Eggleton were deep in conversation.

  Peter was onto his favourite topic, sixteenth century organ music. He was furious about his failure to get a grant to fund his research interest.

  “They just don’t know a good thing when they see it,” Peter ranted. “If they only stopped and thought about it they would see the connection that my research project could make to early attempts at educating the masses. That is what pre reformation music was, a simple way of commu
nicating key religious ideas to the masses. This is the very thing that we’re supposed to be engaged in. Even if some of the things we teach the kids are hardly classifiable as religious. But you lot know what I mean”.

  Peter, like most academics, was now tired of teaching students who were on their first step on the ladder to becoming musicians. He was anxious to get research funding so that he could buy his time out. Then the administration could hire in some junior person to do the gutty part of his teaching. He felt that the college approach to teaching music was failing to differentiate between producing what he called professional instrumentalists and social musicians. He dreaded the thought that the outcome of all his efforts to teach students about music would achieve no more than producing yet another boy or girl band.

  “The powers that be don’t have a clear purpose, and consequently aren’t clear about what we should be providing,” said Peter, continuing to try to make his point.

  Peter had taken part in the Early English Organ Project which centered on re-discovery of the sound of the sixteenth century organ. Historians and musicians had known for years that before the reformation, driven by Henry the VIII, that every church had at least two organs. After the Reformation organs were no longer required for the Reformed liturgy so they were allowed to rot and decay. Unlike today, they didn’t even have scrap value. Peter had helped construct a replica of one of those early organs and had been the first one to play sounds that had not been heard for 400 years.

  In today’s terms that would be like the desk top computer having been banned through some health legislation, lost from memory for some 500 years, and then someone finding a key board and a screen in an old shed and building a modern replica from plans and those relics. Peter now wanted to link that work to how music was used in Medieval Cathedrals, but he had little support from his department, and had taken to complaining bitterly to anyone who would lend an ear. Tonight it was Ralph and the rest who were his captive audience.