The Dead Squirrel (The Mac Maguire detective mysteries Book 2)

by Patrick C Walsh

  ‘Forgive me but I’m finding this strange. I normally know something about the people I work with but I know nothing about you except, of course, that you like Jane Austen and that you’d make a pretty good burglar.’

  ‘It’s the finding out that’s the fun,’ he said with a wink. ‘Come on let’s have a look inside.’

  Catherine’s house was quite a bit smaller than Olivia Parker’s or Penny Bathurst’s and it also had a lot less clutter. In fact to Mac’s surprise it had no clutter at all. This gave him an idea. They looked around the rooms downstairs, a lounge, a dining room, a TV room, a small office space and the kitchen which was quite large.

  ‘This is quite nice!’ Leigh exclaimed.

  ‘Why?’ Mac asked.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Absolutely, I’ve always found that a house can tell you a lot about the people who live there or person as in this case.’

  ‘Well…’ Leigh looked around the rooms again while Mac followed after her. ‘It’s all absolutely spotless and, though I know she had a cleaner, I’ll bet she cleaned this place herself as well. There’s not a thing even slightly out of place as far as I can see. It’s quite minimal but the furniture is very good quality and the colours all go together beautifully. I have to admit she’s done a great job, I definitely wouldn’t mind living here.’

  ‘Interesting, so you like blue too.’

  Again Mac was thoughtful for a while.

  ‘It could be just that she had an eye for detail but it could also be something else. Come on, let’s look upstairs.’

  There were three large bedrooms. One was used as a lumber room and was full of boxes, all numbered and neatly positioned in rows. Mac noticed that there was no dust on any of the boxes. The second bedroom smelt faintly of tobacco. The bed was made and the duvet had been turned back. There was a pair of men’s slippers under the bed and a dressing gown hung on the back of the door.

  ‘Her dead husband’s room I’d guess,’ Leigh said.

  ‘Yes, I believe it’s been a couple of years since he died but it looks as though he just stepped out a minute or two ago.’

  Leigh touched the top of the bedside table with her finger.

  ‘No dust, so she cleans in here regularly too.’

  The last bedroom was Catherine’s.

  ‘So this is where she died,’ Leigh stated.

  ‘Yes, I believe they found the bottle of water here, on the bedside table.’

  They both looked around the room. Mac opened a large wardrobe and looked at it for some time.

  ‘Come here and have a look at this.’

  Leigh looked and then said, ‘God, she obviously loved blue, there’s no other colours here and she’s arranged them all by shade, darkest to lightest.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit unusual?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Leigh said hesitantly.

  ‘Look again, look at what the clothes are.’

  She looked again.

  ‘Yes I think I see what you mean. The clothes are only classified by shade. There are summer dresses, winter frocks and cardigans and they’re all mixed up. Apparently only the shade of blue was important to her which is strange. Come to think of it all the walls are painted some shade of blue and the kitchen cabinets are blue too.’

  ‘It’s possible that Catherine could have been somewhere on the autistic spectrum, they call it Asperger’s as well. We know that Catherine was quite directed and goal driven, her area of knowledge was specialised and that she wasn’t all that good with people. It appears that she might have also had some sort of colour obsession which fits too. People with Asperger’s can suffer from a lack of empathy making it difficult for them to understand what other people are going through. It might have only been mild in her case and I believe that some of the symptoms lessen with age. We’ll need to see her doctor at some point.’

  ‘Oh, so she might not have actually been a cow but just someone who had limited social skills?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Mac conceded.

  ‘Now I’m beginning to feel sorry for her,’ Leigh said with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘To understand all is to forgive all, someone once said. Come on, let’s go. We’ve still lots to do today.’

  As they walked back to the car Mac looked at his watch. It was nearly two o’clock.

  ‘Let’s find the nearest pub and get something to eat with, perhaps, a side order of information.’

  As they drove out Mac told Leigh to stop the car. He’d noticed that there was a metal post box attached to the garden wall. It was obviously there to save the postman a walk. He got the lockpicks out and had it open in seconds. A single white envelope lay within. He asked Leigh for an evidence bag and carefully placed the envelope within. It must have been hand delivered as there was no name or address on the front.

  The nearest pub was no more than two hundred yards from Catherine’s front door. It was called ‘The Earl Lewin’. Mac stopped and smiled as he read the menu through the window.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ Leigh asked.

  ‘It’s a gastro-pub and bloody expensive with it. Just the type of place someone like Catherine might frequent. Come on lunch is on me.’

  The Second Poisoning

  He took his time deciding on his second victim as he was somewhat spoilt for choice. However, the conviction soon grew on him that he should settle some outstanding family business next.

  His wife had no close relations and neither did he, except for his aunt of course. Yes, his dear old auntie.

  His father had died when he’d been very young so it had always been just him and his mother. She was dead now too and he had loved her dearly. However, he also realised that his mother had been weak. She’d never had a good opinion of herself and had always been too easily swayed by what other people said. And so, when he’d been young, he’d dreaded every one of his aunt’s visits.

  Her elder sister seemed to be all too aware of his mother’s numerous faults and she was not backward at telling her about them. Her mothering skills she held in especial contempt. Every visit left his mother depressed for days afterwards. She would hold him and cry and apologise to him for being such a bad mother.

  Even as a child he’d been strongly of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with his mother but it was her sister’s skills as an aunt that were truly to be despised. She never forgot to forget his birthday although there was always a little something with his Aunt’s name on it under the Christmas tree. When he was twelve he discovered that it had actually been bought by his mother.

  He hadn’t seen much of his aunt since his mother’s death but he thought now would be a good time to renew their acquaintance. There was a very good friend of his that he wanted her to meet.

  He asked if he could pop around on the pretext of doing some family research. He brought her a little treat as thanks. His aunt was a great lover of sweet things and could never go past a pastry shop. He’d brought her favourite, a choux bun with chocolate on the top stuffed with cream and a liberal helping of Mr. T of course.

  He watched her stuff the pastry down her vile mouth with some satisfaction. Some cream had spilled on to the plate and she picked it up with her finger and then licked it all off.

  That’s it auntie, he said to himself, don’t waste a bit.

  The doctor rang him the day after. He said that his aunt was dying and if he wanted to see her before she went he should come immediately. He was glad that she had the decency to die before he got there. There was no-one else there, just him and the doctor.

  This would be the hardest part, convincing the doctor that the death was natural.

  As it turned out the doctor made it easy for him. He told the doctor that his aunt had been ill for some time (which was a lie of course) but she’d always been scared of seeking medical help (which was true). The doctor then asked a series of questions about chest pain and breathlessness. He congratulated the doctor on his skill in spotting every single one of her symp
toms.

  Only to be expected, the doctor supposed. She was in her sixties and was quite overweight. With such a clear diagnosis the doctor felt that an autopsy wasn’t needed.

  The death certificate stated categorically that she had died of heart failure and that was that. He called the undertakers and, while he waited, he had a good look around his new house. Of course, as he was her only relation, everything would go to him. Besides the house there was a tidy sum in the bank and probably some insurance.

  He tried to look sad as they took her body away and he thought he did quite well. However as he went around the house locking doors and turning off lights he stopped and laughed out loud as he suddenly remembered something.

  Before every visit his mother would go to the baker’s shop and buy a cake. They didn’t have much money but his mother, afraid of her sister’s bad opinion, always somehow managed to scrape together enough money to buy the best cake they had.

  His aunt would survey the cake greedily and when offered a large slice she’d always say ‘Oh you shouldn’t have. One day these cakes will kill me.’

  Chapter Six

  Even though it was a weekday the pub was full and they had to wait. Eventually a waiter led them to a table towards the back of the room.

  ‘Let’s eat first and ask questions later. I always do it better on a full stomach,’ Mac said.

  Leigh chose the pan-fried salmon while Mac went for the cheapest dish on the menu, liver and bacon. It was really good and Mac made a mental note to bring Bridget here sometime. When the waiter returned with his credit card Leigh showed her warrant card and Mac asked to see the manager.

  A few minutes later a man dressed in a chef’s outfit joined them and introduced himself.

  ‘Hi, I’m Simon Gent, I own and run the pub.’

  Mac was surprised as he was only in his late twenties if that. He spoke with an accent that Mac guessed would be from around the Bristol area. Leigh showed Simon her warrant card and introduced herself and Mac.

  ‘You’re quite busy for a lunchtime, what’s it like in the evening?’ Mac asked.

  Mac was thinking of treating Bridget as it was her birthday in a couple of months.

  ‘You’d need to book at least four or five weeks before, even longer for weekends. We even have people who turn up and wait in case of cancellations,’ Simon said with a hint of pride.

  ‘Oh I see. Anyway we’re investigating the death of Catherine Gascoigne who lived just down the road from here. I was also hoping that, as you were so near, she might have come here from time to time.’

  ‘Oh more often than that, twice a week as regularly as clockwork, except for the last week or two if I remember right. Same time, same table, the one over there in the corner by the window and she always ordered the same thing. She’s dead you say?’

  Mac nodded.

  ‘Did she always come by herself?’ Mac asked.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen most of the time so I wouldn’t know. You’d really need to speak to my head waiter Nico. I’ll go and get him.’

  He walked over and spoke to one of the waiters. Mac observed them both closely while they talked. A minute later Simon returned.

  ‘This is my head waiter, Nico Panagos. He knows everyone who comes in here. Okay if I get back to the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes of course, thanks.’

  Mac noticed the chef giving Leigh a lingering glance as he walked away. Leigh didn’t notice.

  The waiter sat down. He was also in his late twenties, black haired, slim and very good looking. Mac thought he looked somewhat nervous which intrigued him.

  ‘Mrs. Gascoigne, I knew she wasn’t well and now you say she’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, she was found dead yesterday. We’re investigating her death. What can you tell me about her?’

  He knew that the waiter had lost a valuable customer but the anguish Mac could see in his face hinted at there being more to it than that.

  ‘Well, she came in every Tuesday and Friday, always had the braised lamb with lentils on a Tuesday and the plaice, samphire and lemon butter on Fridays. She hated it when Simon changed the menu and she had to pick something new. She kept herself to herself and always tipped well.’

  ‘Did she generally eat by herself?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Almost always, although I did see her with someone, must have been around four weeks ago. We were really busy that night but I still noticed because it was so unusual.’

  ‘Can you describe her companion?’

  ‘An American woman, very elegantly dressed and in her mid-thirties I’d guess. She only had coffee.’

  ‘Did you catch any of the conversation?’

  ‘I didn’t need to, Mrs. Gascoigne told me who the woman was later. She was a publisher who was commissioning a coffee table book on Jane Austen. Mrs. Gascoigne was really excited as she’d been asked to write a part of the book.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you what the woman’s name was?’

  ‘Yes it was Gloria something…yes, Gloria Bridges.’

  Mac was thoughtful for a short while.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  ‘No, as I said I just knew her from the restaurant.’

  ‘Thank you, I think that will do.’

  Outside Mac stood still for a moment. He was thinking about the waiter’s reaction to the news that Catherine was dead.

  ‘I’d be very surprised if Nico back there wasn’t a bit more involved with Catherine than he’s letting on.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Leigh asked.

  ‘I watched him when his boss told him that we were investigating Catherine’s death. I could see he was really shaken and when he said that he knew that Catherine was ill, I wondered how. Then, when he told us about the publisher and even knew her name, it made me even more suspicious.’

  ‘Why was that?’ Leigh asked.

  ‘That restaurant was busy at two o’clock in the afternoon on a weekday and, according to its owner, it’s heaving at night. As the head waiter I doubt Nico ever has time to sit down with a guest and have any sort of conversation. From his reaction to the news of her death and the fact he knew she’d been ill I figure their relationship might have been a little closer than that of waiter and customer.’

  ‘Do you think Nico might have had something to do with Catherine’s murder then?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far but he certainly knows more than he’s telling. I think we’ll have to come back and speak Mr. Panagos again in due course. Anyway what he told us about Catherine getting offered a book deal is interesting.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well it pretty much rules out suicide I’d say,’ Mac said as Leigh started the car. ‘Let’s try the sister-in-law next.’

  Mac rang Mrs. Carnet’s number to make sure she was in. She was not only in but seemed to be very much looking forward to seeing him.

  They pulled up outside a house in Baldock that, while nice and still way beyond a policeman’s salary, was on a more human scale. The door opened on the first ring of the bell and a squat woman in her sixties, grey haired and dressed all in black, opened the door. Mac introduced Leigh and himself and they were invited in without any further conversation.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ the woman asked with a wide smile.

  ‘Yes please,’ Mac replied.

  He was feeling a little thirsty but it also gave him time to look around the room while Mrs. Carnet was gone. It was what his mother would have called the ‘parlour’, the one room in the house that was always kept in order and had the best furniture. Mac always knew a guest was special when they were ushered into the parlour rather than the kitchen.

  It was nothing like his mother’s parlour though. A large bow window had given that room light and it was the only place in their small house that a cat could have been swung. This room was gloomy and fusty and cluttered with furniture and ornaments.

  The woman appeared with a little silver coloured trolley that ha
d a teapot, three cups and saucers and a plate with a variety of biscuits on it.

  ‘Mrs. Carnet, we’re investigating the death of Mrs. Catherine Gascoigne and we’d like to ask you some questions, is that okay?’

  ‘Catherine’s dead?’

  Her smile widened considerably.

  ‘You know when I woke up this morning I had a feeling that today would be a good day. How did she die?’

  ‘She was poisoned,’ Mac replied.

  ‘Even better then. Well as good as that news is I was really hoping you’d come to ask me some questions about another murder.’

  ‘Another murder?’

  Mac was puzzled.

  ‘Yes the murder of my brother. It was Catherine who killed him of course.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight. You suspect Catherine Gascoigne of killing your brother?’

  ‘I don’t suspect, I know. She and that doctor who wrote the death certificate were as thick as thieves. They did it together,’ she stated as she poured tea into the cups.

  ‘Milk, sugar?’ she asked brightly.

  Both Mac and Leigh asked for milk only.

  ‘How long is it since your brother died?’

  ‘Nearly two years now.’

  ‘So tell me, what do you base your suspicions on?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Well, poor Richard was ill, anyone could see that.’

  She silently mouthed the word ‘Cancer’.

  ‘The doctor at the hospital said he might have another three months, yet only two weeks later he was dead. Now Catherine had known Dr. Lucey for years and he was always around the house. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were lovers. After Richard’s death I went to the police and asked them to investigate but they said they couldn’t find any evidence that a crime had been committed and closed the case. Between you and me I don’t think they even bothered looking.’

  ‘Do you think the death of your brother might have anything to do with Catherine’s death?’

  The woman gave it some thought.