DEATH IN HIGH CIRCLES
ANDREA FRAZER
There is mischief afoot in the village of Fallow Fold. Persons unknown have been on a spree of vandalism, scratching cars, smashing colourful pots of flowers in full bloom, breaking greenhouse windows – and defiling a front door with a racist word, written in spray paint. The police are called, and given the unavailability of more junior personnel DI Harry Falconer and DS ‘Davey’ Carmichael arrive to investigate, but there are no obvious suspects.
Then a resident is attacked as he keeps a nocturnal vigil, hoping to catch whoever is responsible for the vandalism. Soon, there is a surfeit of uncharacteristic behaviour from those who live there, and Falconer begins to suspect that there is more to come.
When the man who runs the local bridge circle disappears, there is a palpable whiff of evil in the air – which leads to a murderous attack on one of the police officers. This is a time when DI Falconer is forced to search his soul to discover what, and who, is really important in his life, and what really matters in it.
Death in High Circles is the tenth full-length instalment in the Falconer Files, detective novels featuring dastardly deeds done in picture-postcard villages – and a delightful slice of humour.
Other books by Andrea Frazer
The Falconer Files
Death of an Old Git
Choked Off
Inkier than the Sword
Pascal Passion
Murder at the Manse
Strict and Peculiar
Christmas Mourning
Grave Stones
Glass House
The Falconer Files – Brief Cases
Love Me To Death
A Sidecar Named Expire
Battered to Death
Toxic Gossip
Driven To It
All Hallows
Death of a Pantomime Cow
Others
Choral Mayhem
This book is dedicated to Major Jonathan Redding and Peter Needham, without whom this series could not have been written.
DRAMATIS PERSONNAE
Residents of Fallow Fold
Dixon, Lionel – retired solicitor’s clerk
Fidgette, Martin and Aggie – retired teachers
Maitland, Melvyn and Marilyn – nomadic tax-ghosts who never settle for long
Ramsbottom, Dale and Sharron – retired salespersons
Wickers, Mabel – widow of a headmaster
Zuckerman, Madison and Duke – retirees from the USA
Chateau, Antoinette – retiree from France
Schmidt, Ferdie and Heidi – early retirees from Germany
Jansen, Joanna and Wieto – retirees from the Netherlands
Officials
Detective Inspector Harry Falconer of the Market Darley CID
Detective Sergeant Davey Carmichael, of the Market Darley CID
Detective Constable Chris Roberts, of the Market Darley CID
Dr Philip Christmas, FME for the Market Darley CID, and resident of Fallow Fold
Dr Honey Dubois, occasional psychiatric consultant to the Market Darley CID
Previously – in the Falconer Files …
Detective Inspector Harry Falconer and Detective Sergeant Davey Carmichael were first paired together when Carmichael was still a uniformed PC, liable to appear with ink stains all over his hands, a purple tongue where he had been sucking his ballpoint pen, and his uniform jacket buttoned awry.
Falconer was the sartorial opposite, being very fastidious about his appearance and his mode of dress. Their attitudes to life were also diametrically opposite, Falconer being emotionally constipated, and Carmichael not only nurturing his inner child, but embodying an outer one as well.
In their first case together, Carmichael met and fell in love with the girl of his dreams, and they subsequently married, after which he adopted her two sons and they recently had a child of their own. They now live in Jasmine Cottage in the village of Castle Farthing, which is, in reality, two cottages knocked into one. They share this home with two dogs, a Chihuahua and a tiny Yorkshire terrier, and the three pups they produced when Carmichael was a little dilatory in taking them to the vet, believing them to be of the same sex.
At the beginning of their partnership, Falconer had one cat, a seal-point Siamese called Mycroft. Since then he has adopted another three cats, named variously Tar Baby, Ruby, and Meep. He is beginning to think he’s a soft touch for anything feline that comes his way and needs a home.
Previously in the army for many years, he joined the police force and was eventually posted to Market Darley at his current rank. Carmichael, however, had progressed from Acting DC, to permanent DC, to DS, and is very happy with his lot.
Falconer is unmarried, being extremely backward in coming forward when it comes to affairs of the heart, and has only fallen in love twice: once in their second case together, and again, more recently, with a doctor who liaises with the police force on matters psychological. He lives in Market Darley.
Their personalities are chalk and cheese, and Falconer has spent the best part of their partnership trying to understand some of Carmichael’s more bizarre behaviours and fads. Carmichael had spent their time together trying to get the inspector to loosen up a bit and have some fun.
Considering their vastly different outlooks on life, they rub along together quite satisfactorily; each privately thinking the other is a bit weird.
This is their fifteenth chronicled case.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2012 by Andrea Frazer
Originally published by Accent Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
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eISBN: 9781477878903
This title was previously published by Accent Press; this version has been reproduced from Accent Press archive files.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Prologue
The village of Fallow Fold is situated high on the Downs. In early spring, late autumn, and winter it is scoured by winds, but for the time in between these seasonal scourings its position is ideal, with panoramic views of the surrounding countryside, and clean, fresh air, which is a joy to breathe. It is situated about twelve miles south-west of Market Darley.
It is an old village which has retained its ancient buildings, having been discovered early, by both retirees and commuters, who bought the ‘olde worlde’ picturesque but unliveable wrecks and invested in them heavily. The result is a community so spick and span and well cared for, that it could almost have been designed by Walt Disney himself, to recreate ye olde England (‘y’ being a letter that, back in the mists of time, use to be pronounced
‘th’).
Many of its original retirees had now passed on to that great accountant’s office in the sky, but their homes have passed on to younger family members, and the original commuters have found ways of living permanently in the village: usually by selling their London properties when a family came along, and it is now a well-inhabited community, with a much better balance of population than before incomers’ money first arrived, and rescued it from demolition.
It is, on the face of it, a calm village, where the most disturbing events are squabbles caused by sibling rivalry, which produce the odd outburst on walks through its pretty lanes, and, superficially, seems to be an absolute paradise in which to live and raise a family.
It has also attracted a fair number of international residents, both from those who worked in England and those who had visited it on holiday. They had chosen it for a good place to settle into their dotages, so it has just a whiff of the cosmopolitan about it.
There is now plenty to get involved with in this village, as it boasts a number of hobby circles. The residents have a choice of joining like-minded others in a plethora of activities. There is a knitting and needlecraft circle, a book circle, a gardening circle, groups for growing both flowers (including arranging them) and vegetables, a bridge club, a classical music circle, and the church choir.
Their weekly, fortnightly, or monthly meetings take place in the village hall, one of the two public houses, or the larger properties of individual members. Each of these groups inevitably boasts cross-over members, as one’s interests are rarely confined to one subject area. There is also an amateur dramatic group, like all the circles well-attended and enthusiastically enjoyed, but this latter definitely keeping itself to itself – its participants being much too absorbed in learning their lines and actions in the current production to have time to participate in anything else.
Chapter One
Saturday
The two men stood helplessly in A&E, disbelievingly watching the hospital trolley that was being rushed into the emergency admissions bay of Market Darley Hospital.
The shorter man, with mid-brown hair, bowed his head in despair, thinking how easily this dreadful thing could have happened to any of the team, and feeling guilty that he hadn’t been able to do more at the scene.
The slightly taller man with the olive complexion was feeling as if he had been hit over the head with an iron bar. He was completely stunned, and simply couldn’t believe what had happened, and with such swift, unstoppable inevitability. The man on the trolley was in a bad way, and the faces of those admitting him and in the ambulance had tried to reassure them, but their eyes were grave behind their professionally optimistic expressions.
He stood straight as a ramrod, as if standing to attention, wondering whatever he would do if the man didn’t make it. What would happen to his family? Who would replace him in his job? But even more importantly to him, who would replace him not just as a colleague, but as the reliable partner he had become? In his own way, his partner was irreplaceable, and had carved a special place in his heart for the way he conducted both his personal and professional life. Sometimes he had driven him almost to distraction with some of his eccentricities, but he’d never worked with anyone better.
The shorter man grabbed the arm of a doctor who was rushing towards the room into which the trolley had disappeared, and asked if the patient was going to be all right.
‘It’s not a clear picture yet, but we do need to get him to the operating theatre to stop the internal bleeding. After that, it’s all down to how strong his constitution is, and whether there are any complications that we don’t know about yet.’
The taller man stood, still staring at the closed doors of the emergency admissions room, tears pouring, unchecked and unnoticed, down his cheeks, his heart breaking for what might have been prevented if either he or his partner had been just that little bit quicker thinking, or had made a move a fraction of a second before that terrible, deadly strike.
For the first time since he had been a child, he prayed silently, not even having indulged sincerely in this occupation during his years in the army. This was one compatriot that he couldn’t bear to lose: his life would be so much the poorer for him to continue in any useful pattern, and it was something he knew he would never get over.
Although they rarely showed their respect and affection for each other, it was tacit in their good working relationship, and he couldn’t believe that such a pointless attack might deprive him of this unique personality forever.
Chapter Two
Friday – Eight Days Previously
Spring had long since arrived, and was wending its lazy way towards summer. The treetops were a lush palette of mixed green salad, and the normally well-trimmed shrubs in gardens were bustling to throw out errant shoots, eager to destroy their manmade symmetry.
The weather was kindly in a way that is never taken for granted in this country; warm days, blue skies with candyfloss clouds and warm gentle zephyrs of breeze followed mild nights, and the countryside, thus cossetted, put on its Sunday best, and dazzled the eyes with its displays of wild flowers and lush verdant pastures, the call of the wood pigeons adding a soporific air to the next best thing to paradise.
It was during the early evening of his day off on such a day as this, that Detective Inspector Harry Falconer was just considering what to prepare for his evening meal, when there was an unexpected ring on the doorbell, followed by a rather urgent knocking on the door itself.
Wondering who on earth this unexpected visitor could be, he went to open it, and answered his own question when he saw a shape through the opaque glass that was as tall as the doorframe. ‘Good evening, Carmichael. What can I do for you on this beautiful late spring evening? And why have you got a cat on your shoulder?’
He’d only just noticed this last interesting phenomenon, as he had been contemplating the dread possibility that Carmichael might have all his brood out in his car, just waiting to pay a visit, and thus turn his domestic harmony and tidiness on its head.
‘Davey’ Carmichael was his DS in the Market Darley CID and, during their first case together he had met a young woman with two children in the village of Castle Farthing, where he now lived. He had courted her, married her, adopted her two sons (as their father was no longer living), and they had since produced a baby daughter who was immediately named Harriet for the inspector – who had, much to his horror, had to deliver the baby.
The Carmichael household also included a pack of tiny dogs and it would appear, at first glance, that this lithe little cat’s arrival in their crowded household might have proved the last straw. Falconer set his face in a determined expression and waited for his answer.
‘It’s Monkey, sir,’ Carmichael said, baldly.
‘I know which one it is. How could anyone mistake an Abyssinian for any other breed? But what’s she doing here with you?’ Falconer could not conceive of a situation that would induce Carmichael to take his cat visiting.
‘We can’t keep her, sir, and I just wondered if …’
‘What’s she been up to? I don’t want any feline delinquents in my home.’
‘Kerry can’t cope. She’s trying to wean Harriet, but if she leaves the bowl of baby rice for a moment, Monkey’s in there like Flynn, and it’s all gone by the time Kerry gets back to it. But the main problem is the dogs.’
‘The dogs? How can there be a problem with the dogs? She’s only a small cat. You coped very well with me there, and that great lump of a dog called Mulligan, all the time we were snowed in at Christmas. What’s the problem with such a tiny feline?’
Carmichael had several dogs, all of them in miniature, and at complete odds with the enormous height and build of their owner. His current count was a Chihuahua, a miniature Yorkshire terrier, and their three unexpected offspring, as Carmichael had been too naïve and dilatory to get the original two neutered in good time. There were now three ‘Chihua-shire’ terriers to add to his menagerie
of minute canines, the pups romantically but impractically named by his wife as Little Dream, Fantasy, and Cloud.
‘She might be small, but she keeps herding all the dogs, like they were a flock of sheep, and she chases them endlessly. She thinks it’s a grand game, but the poor little dogs are terrified – even Mistress Fang and Mr Knuckles.’ These were the parent dogs, but still extremely small. ‘And I just wondered if you could find it in your heart to give her a home. I don’t want to hand her into some anonymous charity organisation, for she’s a beautiful cat, and I wouldn’t like to lose touch with her completely.’
‘Have you had her checked by the vet to see if she’s got a chip?’
‘Yes, and she hasn’t, for some reason, so we’ve no way of knowing where she ran away from – and returning her to her original owners – which I’d do gladly if only I knew who they were – seems to be impossible. I even put adverts in the local rags, but no one got in touch.’
This was quite a heart-felt plea from Carmichael, who never asked for help unless it was the last resort, and Falconer took pity on the poor young man, replying, ‘I’ll give her a week’s trial, but if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have to find another solution. That’s the best I can offer.’
‘Oh, God, thank you so much, sir. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been a cat lover. Kerry will be thrilled that she’ll still get news of the little tinker, but Monkey’s just too difficult to manage, what with the dogs, the boys, and the new baby. Here she is,’ he said, handing her over to his boss, where the cat immediately climbed on to his shoulder and purred loudly in his ear, a strange double purr that he’d never heard before from his other cats, of which he had already accumulated three to add to his original one.
Death in High Circles (The Falconer Files Book 10) Page 1
