Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5)
Page 23
It was her similarity to Nanny Vogel that really unsettled him, and he had the feeling that Merv Green would deal with Nanny Vogel without mercy. To him, she would just be a slightly bossy woman, but to Falconer, she carried an air of nightmare, and of the nursery with her, and he didn’t want to revert to being a little boy again while he was questioning her.
When she was brought into the interview room, however, she seemed to have been diminished, and Falconer realised at once, what it was that produced that effect. It was the absence of her chatelaine belt, which had been removed from her when she was taken into custody, which was no surprise really, as the necessaire that hung from it contained a murder weapon, as did the Georgian silver fruit knife, folded neatly into its own handle. They were both exhibits now, and would, at this very minute, be with the lab boys being tested for any evidence of blood, which he had no doubt they would find.
It may have been something, the wearing of which, had been imposed upon her by her employer, but he knew she enjoyed the noise it made when she walked, announcing her arrival before she was seen, and he also had no doubt that she had added a few little bibelots to it, of her own choosing. Without its talismanic effect, though, she was just another late- middle-aged woman in a long frock, and looked no more dangerous than any normal woman might, if she favoured her hemline very low.
The interview itself was a lot less traumatic than he had thought it would be (for him, that is), and Beatrix held back no details whatsoever.
‘It’s a very simple story, Inspector. Chef had been infuriating me beyond belief. I know little Cadence shouldn’t have gone into the kitchen, but every time he saw her in there, he physically kicked her. There was absolutely no need for that. He could just have lifted her up and put her outside, but no, he had to kick her. And it wasn’t a gentle kick either. He used to really boot her one. Sometimes she sat on my lap in the evenings and positively howled with pain if I touched a sensitive spot.
‘The man was a beast; a perfect beast, and in the end, I just saw red. I guess you could say that the skin of my teeth lost its hold on the end of my tether. I made that quiche, and you’ve no doubt discovered my little jar of death? I collected those death caps last autumn, and dried them, and put them away – just in case, and Chef turned out to be the case they had been waiting for.
‘With regards to Freeman, I was on my way upstairs on Saturday night, when I was dismissed from the dining room until later, and I saw one of the footmen going into the billiards room. I knew no one would be on the hunt for the “corpse” until another course had gone by. Now, I may be getting a bit long in the tooth, but I do my best to look good, and, boy, did he look good to me. I’d been admiring him from afar ever since I first saw those two.
‘So, silly, deluded woman that I was, I followed him in, and I …’
‘Go on, please,’ prompted Falconer.
‘Well, I’m ashamed to say, I made a rather crude pass at him, and put my arms around his neck to kiss him. And that was the end of my little fantasy. He pushed me away, then turned his back on me and … and … he actually wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, to wipe away the contact my lips had made with his.
‘It was like a slap in the face, and I could already feel my hand reaching for the fruit knife dangling from my belt. Then he said he’d tell Mr Grammaticus, and that he’d throw me out on my ear for such disgusting behaviour. But I hardly noticed that bit. I told you how imprisoned I felt. It was the sheer insult of the thing. I used to be paid by men for all that, and I was beautiful once. To be called disgusting drove me into a fury. I’d already done for Chef, I thought, so what difference did one more make?
‘The next thing I knew, I had the knife in my hand, and standing on tip-toe to get the right angle. Then I plunged the blade into his neck. The blood started to flow out at quite an alarming rate, and I pulled away as fast as I could, so that I didn’t get my clothes splattered with it.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘I just went upstairs to my room and washed the knife. Then I lay down on the bed and had a little nap.’
‘And Mr Newberry?’
‘That happened a little later. I was coming downstairs from my little rest, and I recognised that Newberry as the one who had cheated me during that Goodwood Week that I told you about. It was quite a long time ago, but I couldn’t mistake the jaunty way he walked, and the arrogant tilt of his head.
‘What I did then, was purely an instinctive reaction, and more mischievous, on reflection, than with any real malice in it. I took out my little pair of scissors, crept up behind him as he approached the staircase – and poked him in the bum with the blades. I certainly had no intention of killing him, just of giving him a little sting, in a more physical way to the sting he’d practised on me.
But he must have been drunk. He yelled when I poked him with the blades, and I made a cat-like yowl to cover that up, and slid out of sight as quickly as I could. He seemed to teeter there for ever, swaying back and forwards, and clutching at his buttock, then he just went too far in one direction, and tumbled right to the foot of the stairs. I can’t say I’m too sorry; if he cheated me like that, he probably cheated hundreds of people.
‘I hope you’re recording this, Inspector. You can summon my solicitor whenever you like, but he’ll have to make do with the recording, if you call him this evening, for I seem to be feeling inordinately tired. It’s all this being released back into society. I’d much rather be in prison. At least I won’t be worked like a slave, or dressed like some sort of Edwardian relic.
‘The only thing I’m worried about is my darling Perfect Cadence. What’s going to happen to her? They won’t have her put down, will they? She’s only young, and she’s the sweetest cat that ever lived.’ Beatrix was getting distressed, in a way that had never surfaced when she spoke of the consequences of what she had done to people.
‘Have you got any room for my darling? You look like a kind man?’
‘I didn’t look any different when we were up on the attic floor earlier today, but you still intended to put a knife in me, answered Falconer, a cold shiver running through his body as he remembered the look in her eyes.
‘I beg you to take her. If you’ve ever had a cat, you’ll know how I feel. She’s like one of my children, and I can’t bear to think of her anywhere where she’ll be unhappy. Oh, God, what am I going to do? How can I keep her safe and loved, if I’m going back inside?’
‘Do you have a cat box?’ The words where almost whispered, they were so quiet.
‘Up on the second floor, in the room in the back left corner. I stored it there out of the way.’
‘I’ll take care of her.’ Still the voice was barely audible.
‘Do you know anything about looking after cats?’
‘I’ve got three of my own. Might as well even the number up.’
‘I’ll get some money to you, somehow, to pay for her keep.’
‘There’s no need for that. She might as well join my ever-growing bunch. Don’t worry; I’ll take good care of her, and she’ll fit in just fine,’ said Falconer, horrified at the offer his mouth had made, by completely bypassing his brain.
‘You’re a darling man, offering my little kitty a home with yours. May God bless you,’ she said, with real relief and gratitude in her voice. Beatrix Ironmonger – aka Ursula Goodbody, and maybe aka a lot of other aliases too – smiled her grateful thanks at him. The vision of Nanny Vogel was immediately dispelled, and he just saw her as a sad and pathetic woman, getting on a bit now, and who had never really had the chance of a normal life.
Then, with a jolt, he pulled himself together. She had killed several people, and shown no remorse, as far as he could see. He’d get one of the patrol cars to pick up the basket and the cat, when they were in the area, for he had no intention of ever setting foot in that place again.
II
They were sitting in the new canteen at the end of a very long day, with cups of coffee and cakes. Fal
coner’s plate held an apple Danish, as did Carmichael’s, but Carmichael’s Danish was accompanied by a doughnut, a square of lardy cake, and a giant treacle tart with whipped cream on the top. As they consumed this reward for another case solved, Falconer decided that he ought to give praise where praise was due, and said to his sergeant, ‘This has really been your case Carmichael. Everything I’ve done has been a right cock-up, but you’ve shown real insight and logical thinking.’
‘What, sir? I only did my job.’
‘Well, if you carry on doing it at that level, I’ll soon be calling you ‘sir’.’
‘Get out of here! We just make a good team, that’s all.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Sergeant, and I do agree that we do seem to click, despite our differences. And talking of differences, is that a fuzz I see, just making its appearance on your head?’
‘It is indeed, sir. I got fed up with Kojak, so I’m growing it back, but it itches like hell,’ the sergeant declared, reaching up both hands to give his scalp a good raking.
‘So what are you watching instead?’ asked Falconer, hoping to goodness that it wasn’t Cagney and Lacey.
‘Columbo! Oh, and sir, you won’t believe it, but I’ve got this great old mac …’
‘Nooooo …’
Epilogue
At exactly thirteen minutes past one, in the dark of the night, a grey cat slinked across the grand entrance hall of The Manse, as it had always done, and would continue to do, until the building was no more. It didn’t mind the intruders who had moved in and out over the years, for he knew it was his home, his stalking ground, and he would continue on his nightly skulkings in search of a spirit mouse for as long as it took.
THE END
The Falconer Files
by
Andrea Frazer