Joanna Jansen giggled as she whispered to Wieto, ‘I don’t suppose it was us that did all that, do you? After all, we were a bit off our faces after that “blow” last night.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he replied. ‘We’d be aware of any vandalism we’d caused.’ And then he added, ‘I think!’
Mabel Wickers stumped off home to put what potted plants she had outside into the shed before nightfall. She’d grown everything from seed, and didn’t want all her time and care destroyed with a casual kick of an uncaring foot.
Melvyn Maitland was a very unhappy bunny as he stumped back home. Another blasted list to draw up! More people to speak to about when they could help! And would he get an extra penny for this? No, of course he wouldn’t! At that moment, he wished he lived anywhere in the world but this picturesque little English village.
Once home, he grabbed the neck of a bottle of rum he had purchased earlier that day, with a glass from the draining board, and headed straight for his study. Seeing the direction in which he was headed, Marilyn called after him, ‘Oh, don’t go off on another toot tonight, Mel.’
‘I shall do what I please in my own blasted home,’ he yelled over his shoulder, and slammed shut the door behind him. Was he never to have any peace?
When the German couple got home, Ferdie sat for a while in silence, an expression of dark determination and cunning on his face. ‘What do you think about?’ asked Heidi, puzzled at what had caused this deep introspection.
‘I have a little idea,’ he announced, looking up at her. ‘I will sit up tonight with my little air gun, and if I see any of this mischief-making, I will pot who is doing it, so they can be uncovered and made to pay for their misdeeds.’
‘Do you think that wise?’ Heidi was sceptical that his plan was a sensible one. ‘What if it is you who is arrested?’
‘I will be doing my duty as a good citizen, is that not so? You will see! I shall catch the mischief-maker, and hand him over to the police. I shall be a hero in this village. It is true. Believe me. I know this!’
Heidi was troubled at his plan, but knew that any resistance was useless. Once Ferdie had set his mind to do something, it was done, and nothing would distract him from his planned course of action.
The couple made a point of staying up late, watching German TV via satellite. Heidi usually went to bed much earlier than her partner, but tonight she wanted to stay up as late as she could, because she was worried about what he was intending to do.
Eventually, however, when her eyes started to droop, she had to give in and go upstairs. Ferdie immediately began to plan for his night-time vigil, gathering together a few bottles of good German beer, a snack or two to keep up his strength, a fleece in which to wrap himself, for, even though the night was a mild one, being sedentary, he would feel the cold, and Ferdie did not approve of feeling cold.
Finally, he collected a warm hat and his air pistol, and made his way out to their garden shed to set himself up as a human trap. He would leave the shed door open, with no light showing from inside, and from where he had a good view of the garden. If anyone came in search of mischief tonight, he would be well prepared, and mark the miscreant in such a way that he would be easily identifiable by the police.
He would not be bored. He would spend his night thinking about his investment portfolio, and how he might improve his dividends. If he was still not in bed by morning, he could go straight into the house and check the Bloomberg stock market channel, to see if his overnight thoughts might bear fruit.
Heidi went straight to sleep as her head touched the pillow. She was one who never suffered from insomnia, and had no sympathy for others who said they could not get to sleep. It was easy. One just closed one’s eyes, turned off the computer in one’s head, and sleep descended effortlessly.
Chapter Five
Sunday – The Early Hours
At 2.30 a.m., as Ferdie was right in the middle of planning a complete shake-up in his investment portfolio, his ears caught sounds of movement just beyond the hedge of the back garden. Immediately he put his brain on pause, and channelled all his attention into listening. What he heard was too big to be an animal. He was instantly on the alert. Maybe the maker of mischief was, at this very moment, entering his garden to commit further criminal acts.
Silently, he took up his gun, which had been sitting beside him, and stood up, to take position as an observer, but there was nothing to be seen for now. The crack of a twig brought him to full attention, and he peered cautiously through the open door to see nothing but his own garden bathed in moonlight.
Suddenly, there was a sound dead ahead of him, and he decided it was now time to take action. Leaving the cover of his hideaway, he took one step, then two, outside the shed, only for the moonlit garden to waver and disappear into blackness. His last conscious thought was that whoever it was must have thrown something down the garden to get his attention, but been waiting for him behind the shed’s open door.
Heidi woke suddenly at just before three, for no reason that she could explain and, as Ferdie had still not come to bed, decided that she would take him out some coffee with something a little stimulating in it, to warm his bones during his vigil.
She crept down to the kitchen, although she couldn’t understand why she did this, as she was the only one in the house, and put the kettle on to make the coffee, then changed her mind. She would not use the horrible instant that they used for emergencies; she would use the state-of-the-art machine that Ferdie had bought her which made a range of different types of coffee. Only the best for her man!
Having filled a thermos flask with the liquid, she added three spoonfuls of sugar and a very large shot of cognac, shook the resulting liquid reviver, then carried it out of the back door to deliver to the shed, still wearing only her dressing gown and slippers.
Oh no! she thought, as she noticed a dark lump just outside the shed. Surely Ferdie had not already hurt someone that badly that they were collapsed? She increased her pace from a walk to a trot, worried about what the police might do to such a person as Ferdie, who always wanted to sort out things his own way.
Setting down the flask delicately, for she was, after all, a practical German, and didn’t want to break the delicate interior, Heidi knelt down on the grass to see who Ferdie had shot, while wondering where he was. And suddenly, she knew, for it was he who was unconscious on the ground. Both hands over her mouth, lest she scream and reveal herself to be a feeble woman, she got to her feet and rushed back to the house to call 999. What if he was dead? What if she had lost her ‘best man in the world’?
She could hardly bear to consider the possibility as, after twenty years of prevaricating, he had eventually agreed that they could be married, so that she would inherit the widow’s portion of his sizable private pension, should – God forbid – anything happen to him first. Now, she was having to consider just that possibility and, more trivial but just as important, how she would explain to all her respectable neighbours that they were not married at all yet, just living together.
The telephone woke Falconer at twenty minutes past three in the morning and, as he opened his eyes preparatory to answering it, he became aware of a small body lying across his feet on top of the bed covers. How the hell did she get there? he thought, as he spoke blearily into the mouthpiece. ‘Whoozat?’ he croaked, hoping that, even at this hour, it was a wrong number, and he could just hang up and go back to sleep.
‘Bob? What the hell’s happened at this time of the night – what time is it? God, it’s past three.’
On the other end of the line, Bob Bryant, the desk duty sergeant from the police station in Market Darley, advised him that there had been a 999 call concerning an attack on a resident of Fallow Fold which could prove to be murder. ‘I don’t have a lot of details, but there’s an ambulance on the way and, as Doc Christmas lives in the village itself, I’ve rung him as well. Perhaps you can get on to Carmichael and see if he can be ready to go with you, if you pick hi
m up on the way.’
Castle Farthing, where Carmichael lived, was about seven miles from Market Darley, and then it was another five miles or so to Fallow Fold. It would be most convenient if Falconer could pick up his sergeant on the way. ‘Have you got a name and address for me?’ asked Falconer, now wide awake, and glaring at the small furry body on his bed.
‘Rose Tree Cottage, Ploughman’s Lays, almost directly opposite Doc Christmas’ place. The name’s Schmidt.’
‘Schmidt? As in the German name?’
‘As in “the Schmidt house is at the end of the garden”,’ replied Bob, reviving an old joke within the station.
‘I’ll wake Carmichael and be straight on my way.’
After ending the call, Falconer continued to gaze at Monkey for a few seconds longer, appraising the slimness of her body, and its ability to slip between bedroom door and doorframe while hook and eye were still in place. What a waste of time using those had been, he thought, and determined to get bolts to replace them. He’d like to see her outwit those. And just where were his socks, he’d like to know? And his tie?
As soon as he was out of bed, he dialled Carmichael’s number, and waited for the shrill tocsin to wake one of the famously good sleepers in the household.
In Ploughman’s Lays, in Christmas Cottage, an old family dwelling that had passed out of family hands for the better part of a hundred and fifty years, and then rebought by its present owner, Dr Philip Christmas apologised to his wife for her being woken at such an ungodly hour, and reassured her that he was only going across the road. As FME, he was required to attend all cases of suspicious death and, although this hadn’t yet been confirmed, it certainly sounded like it would be.
Back in Castle Farthing, the ringing of the phone had caused Carmichael to sit bolt upright in bed and mumble, ‘But it wasn’t me, Ma, honestly!’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Kerry, his wife, sleepily. ‘You’ll wake up the kids if you start going on in your sleep. And get the phone. It’s driving me mad.’
Carmichael reached automatically for the phone, now that Kerry had confirmed that that was where the irritatingly intrusive sound was coming from, and discovered Falconer on the other end of the line, urging him to get up, get dressed, and wait downstairs for him to call for him. They were off to a possible suspicious death in Fallow Fold.
‘Whaa’?’ mumbled Carmichael, still not quite free of his dream of malfeasance in his mother’s eyes.
‘We’ve got a call-out, you turnip. Get up! Now! Throw some water round your face and don’t go back to sleep, whatever you do.’
‘Orright, sir. See you.’
As the sergeant stumbled out of bed, the slight commotion had wakened their house guest, Mulligan, and he ambled into the bedroom to see if there was anything going on that might interest him. Delighted to find his temporary master awake and just getting out of bed, he jumped up, immediately knocking Carmichael back onto the mattress.
‘Gerroff, you daft dog!’ he hissed, and rose again to fumble for his trousers, for he slept in his underpants.
He had only one leg in the garment, and had lifted his other to insert it, when Mulligan tried again to interest him in a game of, well, anything, so long as it was fun, and took place somewhere warm. Carmichael lost his balance, did a really accomplished little dance on one leg, hopping up and down the room. He finally lost the battle just before he reached the dressing table, at which point his head won the race, and the corner of the piece of furniture raised quite a lump on his forehead, accidentally dislodging Kerry’s pot of loose face powder.
‘Look what you’ve done now, you stupid mutt,’ he hissed, sitting himself up, dusting the ‘wild rose’ tint from his head and face, and getting the second leg of his trousers on while still on the floor. It simply wasn’t worth the risk of perhaps a matching bump on the other side, to rise to his feet again, at this juncture.
Mulligan, by way of apology, loped over and began to lick the blood from Carmichael’s face, only to receive another telling off. ‘If you get any of that on the carpet or bed, Kerry will skin you alive. Leave it alone, Mulligan! Bad dog! Anyway, that’s a very unacceptable thing to do, to lick someone else’s blood. What sort of a dog are you anyway? Did no one ever teach you any manners?’
‘Whatever’s going on down there?’ Now Kerry was awake again. They were both for it, now, if he didn’t think fast.
‘It’s only the dog, come to see what’s going on. I’m afraid he knocked your face powder off the dressing table, but I’ll clear it up when I get back, and pick you up another one as soon as I can. Go back to sleep.’
Kerry subsided under the duvet, and Carmichael crept quietly down the stairs, Mulligan at his heels. As they reached the living room, the pups smelled the presence of the huge dog, and began to make high-pitched howling noises of distress.
In a complete panic, lest he disturb the whole family, Carmichael grabbed the canine colossus by the collar and rushed him out of the front door and on to the front door step, where he would not disturb the pups any more, but Carmichael would have a chance to put on his socks, shoes, and tie, which he still had in his hands.
For the next few minutes, he hoped he was not observed for, to anyone who did not know what had preceded the present situation, he would appear to be getting dressed outside his own home, and in the middle of the night, too.
As soon as he had sorted his footwear, sitting on the step, Mulligan landed across his lap with a sigh, to watch him tie his tie. ‘Gerroff, you brute. You can come with us if you’re a very good boy,’ he whispered, and the dog replied with a whine of contentment, and immediately began to snore.
That is how Falconer found them when he pulled up outside the cottage, sergeant sitting on door step, huge animal sleeping across his lap. ‘Why on earth have you got that big lummox with you?’ asked Falconer, getting out of the car to investigate.
Before Carmichael could answer, Mulligan had woken up the instant he heard the voice of his beloved from Christmas, and bounded across to the inspector, nearly flooring him as he leapt up to lick his face, while Falconer struggled to escape this noisome and dribblesome embrace.
‘Because he wanted to come, all right?’ Carmichael finally replied, rather shortly, and determined not to end the statement with ‘sir’. ‘We’ll take my car, and he can go in the back. If you want to leave him behind, I’ll let you get him back indoors … sir.’
The ambulance racing towards Fallow Fold was full of long-servers, who disliked having their night duty disturbed for anything less than a three-car pile-up. As it approached the entrance to the village, the driver snapped on the lights and sirens with a savage glee. If someone wanted to disturb their night for something that might turn out to be trivial, he was determined that a number of other people were going to be disturbed with him.
He wouldn’t usually use the sirens without due reason, unless they were rushing to get through traffic before the chip shop closed of a lunchtime or evening, but this call-out, so far from their station had, somehow, annoyed him.
His act of black humour did cause some commotion inside many of the residences, waking the sleeping residents suddenly, to a sound that could only mean bad news, and causing many of them to immediately de-bed and grab for their dressing gowns and slippers. This was a village, after all, and one always wanted to be first to load a new item of news on to the mighty, but invisible, means of communication that was the grapevine.
Mabel Wickers was one of the first to hear the monster roaring into their midst, being one of the village’s lighter sleepers, and was into her slippers and pulling on her ancient candlewick dressing gown before she was properly awake. She wasn’t one for having to ‘come to’ slowly, and was out of her front door before anyone else except Doc Christmas.
She stood by the roadside, watching and waiting for the emergency vehicle to pull in to sight, so she would know which way to go, to be first with the news. She didn’t have long to wait, for the ambulance drew
up outside Rose Tree Cottage just a minute or two before she came out of her front door (which was in the side of the house; hence the property’s name).
Madison Zuckerman was also quick off the mark, only to find that Duke was not snoring at her side, as she had expected, but was sitting up in bed, in a pose that suggested careful listening. ‘There something bad happening,’ she stated, identifying the noise that had roused her, and Duke nodded his head in agreement. ‘We’d better go and see what’s happening, honey,’ she suggested, and they both rose to go and have a very British ‘nose’.
‘Couldn’t ya sleep, honey?’ she asked, as they trooped outside. ‘Thought it would take a bomb going off to rouse you.’
‘Guess I’m just gettin’ older, that’s all,’ he replied, pointing next door, outside which stood an ambulance, its staff getting out of the vehicle, to be met by Mabel Wickers in ‘nosy old lady’ mode.
Right out on the edge of the village, Martin Fidgette’s sharp hearing had caught the wailing tones and, when his shuffling and low curses at not being able to find his clothes in the dark roused Aggie, he explained that there was something going on further into the centre of the village, and he was going to go and find out what it was.
‘Someone’s already bothered to come all the way out here and deface my poor car. Who’s to say they won’t come back and do something else?’ he asked, rhetorically. ‘I want to find out what further mischief is afoot, before trouble comes back to our door. I can’t afford to pay for any further gratuitous vandalism.’
Aggie sighed monumentally, and lifted her feet out of bed to the floor. ‘Wait a minute,’ she exhorted him, ‘and I’ll come with you. I don’t see why I should be left out, and I’m certainly not riding my bicycle at this time of the morning. My lights aren’t working properly, and you promised you’d look at them yesterday.’
Death in High Circles (The Falconer Files Book 10) Page 5
