‘Where have we got that Frenchwoman stashed?’
‘In the dining room now, under the eagle eye of that fearsome housekeeper, sir. Ms Meercroft had to get back to her shop to put the stock away.’
‘Well, get this joker down here with them. They can both go off to the station, and they can kick their heels there until we’re ready to question them.
‘Get your jacket, Mr Veede.’ This he addressed to Lew, who was examining his injuries in the cheval mirror. ‘We want to have a little word with you about your movements last night, in relation to the fatal fall suffered by Mr Newberry.’ Holding up a hand to stem the flow that threatened to pour from the injured man, he continued, ‘No, sir, I’m not arresting you. I’d just like you to accompany a couple of my officers to the station to make a statement. At the moment, you’re only helping us with our enquiries.’
‘Mrs Veede,’ he continued, ‘I’d like you to remain in this room until we return to take your statement. Any refreshments you need may be ordered using the in-house telephone, and I understand every room has a bathroom or shower-room en-suite. Yes? Good. But I need you to wait here, and not communicate with anyone else before I return. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ Sue Veede now had a tiny voice, and seemed visibly to have shrunk. That she was in denial of what had just happened was evident from her face, and she looked child-like and bewildered, a mere shadow of the virago she had been just a couple of minutes before.
‘I suggest you have a little lie-down, and get everything straight in your head. That way, it will be easier for us all when I question you later.’
Without a word, the woman turned and walked over to the bed, a waif-like creature with no fight left in her.
VI
They learnt little from the Baddeleys, who were visibly upset at being present as such tragic events had unfolded, and next to nothing from the Berkeley-Lewises, except for corroboration that there had been a fair amount of flirting and inappropriately adolescent behaviour, mostly under the influence of alcohol. A bit of fortunate eavesdropping, however, and again at a fairly high volume, did add to their insight into some of the other guests.
Returning to room number one, where by logic they ought to have started, they were fortunate enough to find the door of the room very slightly ajar, and the buzz of voices issuing out on to the landing. It was the higher-pitched tones of Aylsa that first caught their attention. Stopping abruptly, and putting a finger up to his lips, Falconer effectively blocked any further movement from Carmichael and stilled his voice before it could give away their presence.
‘But it wasn’t him, Enoch. You might have thought it was, but it was the other one all along. You can hardly be glad he’s dead if you never knew him. Don’t be absurd!’
‘Well, I couldn’t tell them apart, and if they were twins – which they were – it doesn’t really matter which one of them it was, because they were identical. Same bodies, same minds. It stands to reason that what one of them did, the other one would have done too.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous. And you never lost anything by not getting the go-ahead. You actually found a better plot, and you went from success to success. If they had let you develop that other bit of land, you’d have been washed away in floodwater, time and again.’
‘That’s not the point. I will not be thwarted, and that young whatever you want to call him – seeing as you say I can’t use the word ‘darkie’ – was an arrogant young whippersnapper who needed to be put in his place. I’d been in business for years before he came along, with his fancy degree, and his interest in lesser-spotted blue Martian toads, or whatever they were.’
‘That doesn’t make you right, and you know it. And it was nothing to do with his brother, and now his poor brother’s dead.’
‘Yes, a pity about that. Still, you can’t always get it right, can you?’
‘Enoch! You didn’t, did you? You wouldn’t risk everything for a petty act of revenge – not that there’s anything petty about murder.’
‘Of course I didn’t, you silly cow. I was just saying that I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. If whoever it was got the wrong man, then the other one’s suffering, and that’s fine by me.’
‘You spiteful old bigot. How you don’t grow horns and a tail beats the hell out of me.’
‘I think we’ll leave them stewing a bit longer, and pounce when they’re at the height of their temper. They’re more likely to let something slip if they’re at each other’s throats. Come on. Let’s have a word with our esteemed authoress before we tackle those two.’ Falconer turned his gaze towards the sunshine yellow glow from room number two.
The door of this room now stood thrown back on its hinges, and a plaintive voice from inside it proclaimed its absolute intolerance of the heat of the day. A slightly deeper one suggested that she turn on the air-conditioning, and shut the window, as the insects were coming in at an alarming rate.
The first voice stated that it didn’t know they even had such a facility, let alone how to use it, and this was followed by the rustle of a newspaper being set aside, and a thoroughly un-gracious offer to do it for her, then added, ‘I say, Percy, old girl, you didn’t have anything to do with that business last night, did you? I mean, I know you love publicity for your writing, but you wouldn’t go as far as to push a man downstairs, would you?’
‘Silly old Pooh! Ah, that’s better. You may shut the window and door now. Lovely, lovely cold air.’
As Lloyd tottered over to pull the door closed, he found Falconer and Carmichael waiting just outside it, both desperately trying to look as if they’d just arrived there, but Lloyd was too much of an innocent for guile, and took their presence there at face value.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. You must be the detectives who cast such a pall over the first part of luncheon.’
‘Do come in,’ trilled a voice from inside the room. ‘You’ll never guess what my silly old husband asked me earlier on? He thinks I’ve committed murder to publicise my triumphant re-launch into crime fiction. What a hoot, isn’t it?’
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Boyd-Carpenter. And did you? Commit murder, that is?’ There was no point in beating around the bush when she had raised the subject herself.
‘Of course I didn’t, you silly young man. But if I’d thought about it a bit more, I could’ve staged a murder that even old Grammaticus didn’t know about, just to add a degree of tension and verisimilitude. I could’ve talked to that nice woman whose husband went tumbling down the stairs. She looked like she might be up for a bit of jiggery-pokery. Still, it’s something to consider for the next time, isn’t it.’
‘If there is a next time, madam.’
‘I meant for another murder mystery weekend. Oh, there must be!’ Suddenly Percy looked desperate. ‘This is the start of a whole new career for me. There’s a whole generation out there who know nothing of my books. I must have the opportunity to publicise myself. I’ve got a huge back catalogue, and with all of this, I could be a bestseller.’
‘You’ll no doubt make enough from what went on here this weekend to keep you in sales for the rest of your life, but I certainly couldn’t guarantee there being another murder mystery weekend here,’ Falconer said.
‘Well, so long as my books are put back into print, I can probably find another venue if I want to continue. I’ve thought of turning this one into a dinner party game. There’s money to be made out there, young man, and I intend to get in on the action.’
How selfish people were; how egotistical and self-centred. Two people lay dead, and another at death’s door, and all she could think of was money. She spared no thought for those who had had their lives cut short, nor for those they had left behind. It was ‘How does this affect me?’ It was, however, an ideal opportunity to put the wind up the old bat, and it was with a suppressed feeling of glee that he issued his warning.
‘I should keep to your room, if I were you, madam. We mustn’t lose sight of the fact that th
ere’s someone dangerous out there, someone who is willing to resort to murder, and that a third victim’s life is still hanging in the balance. Don’t let anyone in unless you trust them absolutely, and keep your door locked at all times. We wouldn’t want you to be the next corpse on our hands, would we, Carmichael?’
‘No, sir. Indeed not!’ Carmichael had taken the baton, and was now running with it. ‘It could be anyone.’ At this comment, Lloyd cast a sideways glance at his wife, then shook his head like a dog emerging from its bath, as the sergeant continued, ‘It could be one murderer, or two, or even three guilty parties. Best keep your guard up, and stay where you’re safe.’
Falconer was satisfied to note that as they left the couple in their room they both had worried expressions on their faces.
VII
The shouting had diminished to an angry muttering in room one, and Falconer reckoned it was time that they made their presence known to its occupants.
A sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door produced the empurpled face of Enoch Arkwright, with the charmless greeting, ‘It’s the pigs, Aylsa. No offence meant, I’m sure. Just a turn of phrase, like. You’d better come in, I suppose.’
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ replied Falconer, taking offence nevertheless, and clutching it close to his heart dearly. From what he had heard, this man was obnoxious. He was going to do his best to bring him down a peg or two, and he fancied that improvisation would be the way to get him rattled.
‘I understand that this is not the first time that you have come across the intended victim of last night’s tragedy in the billiards room.’ Carmichael’s mouth fell open at the inspector’s blunt approach, but at a glower from the boss, he quickly turned it into a yawn, discreetly covering his mouth with one of his ham-like hands. So, it was going to be like that, was it?
‘I have also learnt that you had a particular reason for disliking Mr Freeman, due to a business deal in the past that did not go exactly as you had planned it. Am I correct in my assumptions?’
Before Enoch could do anything to disabuse him, Aylsa had answered a rousing, ‘Yes!’ and added, ‘Enoch doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t have white skin. He doesn’t like any foreigners, if they weren’t born here, and a lot of what he considers foreigners who were born here. He also doesn’t like anyone who disagrees with him, and he can’t stand Southerners. In fact, Enoch doesn’t really like anybody except himself. And, of course, he’s always right, aren’t you, my little alligator?’
‘Aylsa!’ he bellowed, his face flushing an angry red. ‘What on earth are you trying to do to me? You’ll get me arrested if you’re not careful.’
‘Just the ticket, Enoch. You’re an obnoxious old git, and I could do with a break from you.’
‘But you’re my wife!’
‘Not for much longer, if you don’t clean up your act and behave like a normal human being, instead of some sort of bad-tempered animal.’
‘Mr Arkwright. Mrs Arkwright. Could you save all this till later? Enlightening though it is to witness your marital squabbles, may I point out that we have more important business to conduct. It may have escaped your notice, but we are now trying to apprehend the culprit or culprits for two murders, not to mention the attempt on Chef’s life.’
‘I do apologise, Inspector, for myself and for my husband, but it would seem that nobody’s as good as he is, though I know for a fact that he was born practically in the gutter, and sometimes I get sick and tired of all his pathetic prejudices.’
‘What are you talking about, woman?’
‘Shut up, Mr Arkwright, before I arrest you for a breach of the peace. And I think you have something to tell us about one of the members of staff here. From what I overheard earlier – purely by chance, you understand – it would appear that you have had a run-in with one of the Freeman brothers sometime in the past.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ blustered Enoch, beginning to pace around the room.
‘And you suffer from an unusually acute prejudice against anyone who isn’t of Anglo-Saxon origin.’
‘It’s not a crime yet to dislike coloured people, is it?’
‘It is, if that prejudice is displayed publicly. And what about this business venture of yours that was blown out of the water?’
‘A mere nothing, in the light of the success I achieved afterwards.’
‘Would you say you are a man to harbour a grudge, Mr Arkwright?’
Here, Aylsa could not help herself, and burst in with, ‘He can’t let anything go. He always has to get even, even if it was something that happened when he was a child. He doesn’t know the meaning of ‘forgive and forget’.’
‘Is that so, Mr Arkwright? And did this quality in you surface yesterday evening? It sounds as if you recognised the man after all these years.’
This question, for some reason, seemed to raise a fire in him, and he began to puff up like a pigeon, before shouting, ‘Damned right, I recognised the man. You don’t forget something like that in a hurry. He hardly looked any different from the young man who trampled all over my dreams, and left me up Shit Creek without a paddle before I found another site. It was all set up for the planning permission …’
‘You mean you’d greased a few palms on the planning committee.’ His wife was determined to reveal every detail about this blow to his ego.
‘I mean it was set to go through without any objections, and then this darkie, barely out of short trousers, turns up at the meeting, bleating about it being a site of unusual interest because of some damned frog, or toad, or some such ridiculous creature that never did anybody any good.
‘And he had the damned cheek to produce a report he had put together with some bloody wildlife organisation, and the next thing I knew, my application had been thrown out on its ear, and my plans were in tatters. A year and a half it took me to find somewhere else, and it cost me double what the original site would have cost.’
‘So you did have a score to settle with him?’
‘Of course I did, but you don’t think I’d have been stupid enough to kill the wrong man, do you?’
‘No, I don’t, Mr Arkwright. But no one but the twins knew they had swapped roles, and they were absolutely identical.’
‘And I’m sure he was as rotten as his brother. In fact, I hope something very nasty happens to his brother in the near future, then I can rest easy.’
‘You can rest easy in the police station at Market Darley, Mr Arkwright. I think a little cooling-off period is called for before I can speak to you in a rational manner, because I’m sure you know more than you’re telling us.’
‘Damn your eyes! I’m English, and you can’t treat me like this.’
‘I’m going to call a car now and it would be in your best interests to go with the officers in that vehicle and just think about what you’ve said to me. As far as I’m concerned, you are the prime suspect for the murder of Jocelyn Freeman, and I suggest that you seek the advice of a solicitor. I’m not formally arresting you: merely asking for your cooperation in this matter. Do I make myself clear?’
‘But you’ve no evidence …’
‘Give me time, Mr Arkwright.’
The afternoon had worn itself away to a thin sliver of time when they finally went downstairs to take their leave of Jefferson Grammaticus. Things seemed to be progressing nicely as they made their farewells, and started off for ‘Tea at Carmichael’s’. They had three possible suspects awaiting questioning at the station, and Falconer was confident that at least one of them would let something slip. It was merely a case of building up a diagram for exactly where everyone was, starting with the interval in which Jocelyn Freeman had been stabbed in the neck, then progressing to who was out of the room and could have been upstairs when Fruity Newberry took his dive down to the hall.
He had every confidence that Lew Veede’s jealousy and bad temper were sufficient triggers to have given the old boy a couple of pokes in the bottom. That would probably only result in a charg
e of manslaughter, but at least he’d have got his man. Chef’s poisoning had a much wider window of opportunity, but he was fairly certain that he had the person responsible for that, in the shape of Céline Treny.
The last to be escorted to the station was a man who harboured an old grudge – granted, it was against Jerome Freeman, though the old switcheroony could easily explain that – but the old sod seemed perfectly capable of anything, provided he came out on top.
Jerome Freeman would not be sufficiently recovered to speak to them until tomorrow. In his hung-over state, he had hardly comprehended that his twin had been killed. After a few hours’ sleep, he was sufficiently in charge of his wits to understand what had happened, and had collapsed with shock and grief.
A doctor from Carsfold had been summoned, checked the remaining alcohol level in his blood, and declared him unfit to make a statement. He then administered two sleeping tablets, and stated that he did not want his patient bothered until the next morning. But that hardly mattered. Falconer had three crimes on his hands, and three bodies in custody. That’d show that old bully Chivers what he was made of, and no mistake. A pat on the back would be definitely in order if he pulled this one off.
The sleeping tablets presented no real complication to the issue, as the inspector felt that he had a grip on the whole case now, and would have it neatly wrapped up by the time that Jocelyn awoke from his chemically-induced sleep.
It was indeed, a quietly smug detective inspector, and an equally confident detective sergeant, that left the grounds of The Manse at shortly after six o’clock, and headed towards Castle Farthing for a welcome break from their investigations. Their evening was, by no means free, but at least they could switch off for a couple of hours before heading back into Market Darley to resume their questioning.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday 20th June – later
I
On the drive to Castle Farthing Carmichael was unusually quiet and seemed to be lost in abstraction. This was unexpected, after such a successful and eventful day, and Falconer made an attempt to draw him into conversation, but with the cryptic comment, ‘Talk to the face, because the hand’s not listening,’ being the only thing forthcoming, he gave up, and waited for the sergeant to think his way through whatever was on his mind. He’d speak when he was ready to, and the unaccustomed silence gave Falconer a chance to gloat on his unexpectedly swift solution of the case.
Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5) Page 17
