Murder on the Heath: a suave murder mystery with a great twist

by Sabina Manea

  ‘It’s been years since I’ve been out in the country.’

  ‘What do you do with your time off?’

  ‘I barely ever have holidays. When I do, it’s mainly reading and traipsing around museums. A European city or two, occasionally. What do people do around here? There’s only mud and fields for entertainment.’

  ‘You’ll see. It’s not as dull as it looks.’

  The rest of the journey was spent in congenial silence, until Lucia veered sharply left, through a pair of tall wrought iron gates and up a long gravel driveway. A few moments later, the house came into sight – a square, crenelated mansion topped with clusters of chimneys of uneven heights. The golden coloured stone gleamed in the tentative winter sun now that the early morning frost had melted. The driveway curved elegantly, leading them to the main entrance with its weather-beaten stone steps.

  ‘What do you think?’ She turned around to her passenger, watching for his reaction.

  ‘Smaller than I’d expected.’

  ‘Really? What did you expect?’

  ‘Chatsworth. Windsor Castle. Something out of the reach of mere mortals.’

  ‘The Lexingtons might be rich, but they’re not that rich. Mind you, there are some lovely paintings left.’

  The car rolled on past the front door, along the side of the building and around the back, which revealed itself as a rectangular, cobblestoned stable yard. Lucia pulled up alongside a mud-splattered Defender, an ancient two-door Honda that looked far from roadworthy, and another vehicle which she recognised as the Chanlers’ implausibly shiny Range Rover.

  ‘Here we are.’ She jumped out, waiting for the inspector to follow.

  He shut the car door and surveyed the yard in undisguised amazement. A couple of horses peered out of the stables, keen to greet the new arrivals. One of the doors swung open and a petite, wiry woman appeared leading an enormous chestnut specimen that looked on the verge of taking off into the distance.

  ‘Oh, pack it in, Fruitcake!’

  Her voice was lower and more forceful than her stature suggested, and the single yank on the lead rope, combined with firm feet on the ground was sufficient to scare the gigantic animal into submission.

  ‘Naughty, that’s what you are,’ she continued, and the creature glanced at her in resignation.

  ‘Sue!’ shouted Lucia. ‘That’s not Fruitcake the sickly foal, is it?’

  ‘Are you alright, love? Thought it was you, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be,’ replied the woman, her weathered face stretching into a friendly grin as they approached. ‘Can’t wear glasses when I’m working, they’d only get knocked off. Yes, that’s him, the wretch. Can you believe it? Huge, isn’t he? Shame his brain’s so small,’ she added, stroking the horse’s neck maternally. ‘Always seeing what he can get away with. He knows I love him to bits, but I’m not having any of this nonsense, you hear me, Fruitcake?’

  The animal returned the affectionate look and rubbed his head against her shoulder.

  ‘This is my friend, David. David, meet Sue. She runs the stables. I wouldn’t get on the wrong side of her if I were you, unless you want a hard smack with a riding crop.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Sue.’ Carliss was greeted with a crushing handshake.

  ‘I hear you’re an inspector in the Metropolitan Police.’ The measured, lightly clipped vowels of her local accent didn’t suggest she was particularly impressed by his credentials.

  ‘Don’t eat him alive, Sue. He’s a good sort. Has to be, judging by how Ginny’s taken to him.’

  ‘If Ginny says he’s alright, then he’s alright,’ Sue accepted, ever so slightly grudgingly. She shot him a tentative, lop-sided smile. ‘Do you ride, David?’

  ‘Never been on a horse in my life.’

  ‘Oh. I thought all coppers had to know how to ride, or perhaps that was just in the old days.’

  ‘It’s not a job requirement, not in London anyway.’

  Sue sized him up with an impish glint in her eyes. ‘Well, you’re not going to get away with it here. Ginny said to have one ready for you. I’ve got Starfish over there.’ She pointed to one of the heads sticking out over the split door. ‘You’ll be fine. She’s a lazy riding school plod. All you have to do is hold on to the reins and give her a few good kicks. I’d be surprised if she could be bothered to canter, but you might get her to trot. We’ve got plenty of spare kit, so no excuses.’

  Just as the inspector was about to open his mouth, undoubtedly to express his reservations on being included in any equestrian activities, Virginia Lexington strode towards them purposefully.

  ‘Lucia, David. Great to see you both. Hope the journey wasn’t too tiring.’

  They embraced warmly, like the good friends that they were or had become.

  Virginia led the way to the back door. It took them straight into a boot room that smelled of mud, horse, and wax jackets. Boots of all shapes and sizes were lined up neatly on the stone floor, and before the inspector had had a chance to take in his surroundings, he was nearly knocked over by a bounding lurcher.

  ‘Off, Milly,’ ordered Virginia in a no-nonsense tone. ‘Don’t mind her. Overenthusiastic.’

  The creature panted and slunk off back into the house. The boot room was adjacent to a big farmhouse kitchen, the centrepiece of which was an old-fashioned Aga. Next to it, a large, scrubbed dining table was liberally covered in half-drunk mugs of tea and the weekend papers, a sign that the house was very much inhabited.

  ‘Excuse the mess. We’ve been taking it rather easy this morning.’ Virginia strode in and unceremoniously decanted the leftover fluids into the deep butler sink. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ came the unanimous reply.

  They sat down around the table, leafing through the Saturday magazines. Though it had been too long since her last visit, Lucia felt instantly at home. She remembered all the weekends away from Cambridge that she and Nina had spent around that table, moving seamlessly from morning tea to lunch to drinks and finally dinner. When they weren’t entertaining guests, life in the Lexington household was lived in the kitchen – it was there that secrets were shared, advice was imparted, and problems were solved. They’d been like a family to Lucia, and it had never stopped. Away from her own home, Lexington Hall was where Lucia had felt most alive.

  As the strong, hot tea warmed up the blood in his veins, Carliss inhaled the comforting smell of toast and woodfire. Lucia could see that he too felt oddly at home, though he probably wouldn’t have been able to explain why – after all, this place was as far removed from his own lifestyle as could be. Milly the lurcher had settled quietly at his feet, and a tiny terrier had surreptitiously crawled into his lap. Lucia didn’t have him down as an animal lover, but he looked like he didn’t mind the little body curled up so trustingly against him.

  * * *

  Later, as darkness fell, the house started coming to life. The high-ceilinged rooms were beautifully lit with a combination of chandeliers and tall floor lamps that flickered invitingly. This contrasted with the hot, bustling kitchen, which had been taken over by Sue’s daughter and her small army of helpers. They had forged an efficient production line of chopping, squeezing, mixing and decorating that would have given any high-end restaurant a run for its money. Anyone that dared loiter was unceremoniously shooed off.

  DCI Carliss, dressed as best he could muster out of the confines of his suitcase, had managed to busy himself with a glass of sherry and Guy Lexington’s latest instalment, a weighty tome on churches in the Languedoc. Sat in a capacious leather armchair facing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the library, he relaxed into the pleasant wooziness that came with the first drink of the day. It took the edge off the aches and pains inflicted by his time in the saddle.

  ‘You look cosy.’

  Lucia stood in the doorway, bringing with her a faint smell of freshly washed hair and something else – an earthy, woody scent. She wore a long-sleeved, floor-length dress richly embroidered with flowers
, butterflies and boxing hares, like a princess out of a Russian fairy tale. The policeman did a double take. She knew the faintly ridiculous get-up suited her, and she wore it nonchalantly. She was in her element.

  ‘It’s a nice gaff,’ he replied, his intense eyes resting admiringly on her. ‘I’m learning a lot about ecclesiastical architecture too.’ He held up the shiny volume, proud of his own erudition.

  ‘Oh, that. Guy churns them out like there’s no tomorrow. That man barely ever sleeps.’

  ‘Retired, is he?’

  ‘Just about – if they can persuade him to make space for new blood. He’s still Emeritus Professor at Emmanuel. Any excuse to turn up and give a lecture on his latest pet subject, and he’s got plenty of those on the go.’

  Lucia turned around just as Nina walked in, champagne in hand, resplendent in a lurex jumpsuit of the kind that hadn’t been parted from the mothballs since the 1970s. The policeman looked very underdressed in comparison. Fortunately, Walter followed on his wife’s heels, predictably kitted out in his preppy uniform of chinos, baby blue shirt, and cashmere jumper casually tied around the shoulders.

  ‘Come on, Lulu, let’s give the men some space to have a chinwag without being bossed around for a change.’ Nina took her friend’s hand and led her out of the library. The kitchen being out of bounds, they settled in the drawing room and curled up on the sofa like cats, the way they used to when they came up from Cambridge for the weekend. Flames crackled in the ample wood-burner, making the red and gold William Morris wallpaper flicker like fireflies.

  ‘How’s the investigation going?’ asked Nina, sipping from her glass.

  ‘Not well. We seem to have stalled again, what with one of the suspects dropping dead and the others either as guilty as each other or not at all.’ Lucia gulped down most of the champagne with a weary sigh.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, one minute the man’s alive, and the next thing you know, he’s lying dead in his office kitchen.’

  As Lucia expounded the latest developments in the case, Nina listened silently, her differently coloured eyes narrowed in concentration.

  ‘So, there we have it. It turns out Roberta Musgrave was the last person to have any contact with him that evening – apart from the murderer, of course. The last thing he said to her was “Enjoy your bath.”’

  Nina’s asymmetrical face scrunched up into an uncharacteristically sombre expression. ‘“Enjoy your bath.” Sorry, the short vowels around here are rubbing off on me.’ She was faintly amused at her own revived local accent. ‘There’s no “r” in bath, that’s what Sue always used to say when I came back from boarding school in the holidays.’

  Lucia smiled benignly, but deep down the synapses were working overtime. The fire cast eerie shadows on the ceiling, and the house was still, wallowing in the nocturnal calm, dampened by the lingering fog that never seemed to lift in the Vale of Belvoir.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before the guests started trickling in. They were an eclectic mix – farmers, assorted horsey types, a handful of Guy’s colleagues from Cambridge, and a smattering of London refugees that Virginia had enticed up north with the promise of roaring fires and free-flowing drink. The drawing room was soon filled with exhilarated chatter and the smell of freshly popped fizz and appetising canapés. Virginia glided easily across the cavernous space, her ears glittering with costume jewellery that stood out in sharp contrast with her serious, precision-cut cap of grey hair. Guy held court in a corner, swamped by an ancient tweed jacket, his affable face punctuated by ferret-like eyes that didn’t miss a trick. DCI Carliss had made the schoolboy error of expressing a polite interest in Guy’s book, and there was now no escape.

  Like head-turning statues, Lucia and Nina stood arm in arm at the other end of the room, amused by the detective’s predicament. Now the Dutch courage had kicked in, Lucia decided to come clean.

  ‘I’ve a confession to make, Double N.’

  ‘Do tell. I hope it’s salacious.’ Her friend’s face glowed with an impish grin.

  ‘It is rather, as it happens.’ Lucia proceeded to tell the story of her encounters with Will.

  To her surprise, Nina’s face morphed into disappointment.

  ‘Oh, Lulu, that was silly of you.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d disapprove. I know it’s not the sensible way to go, but what’s the harm in having a little fun?’ protested Lucia, the colour rising in her cheeks as if she had just been admonished for stealing sweets.

  ‘You could lose your job – not that I care about that. More importantly, what about David?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Oh, don’t play stupid with me. You know exactly what I mean.’

  Lucia sighed. She did, but she hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do about it.

  ‘Shh, here he comes. Not a word, please?’ she begged plaintively.

  Nina rolled her eyes and pretended nothing was amiss.

  ‘Ah, David. I see you’ve managed to escape Daddy’s clutches. That’ll teach you to feign enthusiasm in his work. He can talk the hind legs off a donkey, as Mater likes to say.’

  ‘It wasn’t so bad. He’s a pretty interesting bloke. I didn’t know medieval history could be a hobby, but it’s clearly the love of his life. Apart from your mother, of course,’ the inspector added hastily in retreat.

  ‘Don’t worry, she knows she’s number two, and takes no notice of it.’ Nina laughed. ‘They’ve been together too long for her to take him seriously.’

  ‘They seem a good match,’ remarked Carliss. A wistful shadow passed across his face and was quickly banished away.

  Lucia remembered his house in Kentish Town, which she knew to be his childhood home. She envied his stable life, though she knew that they were both wilfully ignoring the creeping loneliness around them.

  ‘They grew up together, you know. Mater’s Nottinghamshire through and through – you wouldn’t have guessed it, would you? A local farmer’s daughter who caught the eye of the dashing young academic, the heir to the big house. He’s inherited all the braincells in the Lexington family, not that there were many to go around. They were childhood friends and were reunited by chance at Cambridge,’ said Nina with a twinkle in her eye.

  Carliss gave out a hearty laugh.

  ‘As much as I’m trying, I can’t picture Virginia Lexington aboard a tractor. It adds up why she’s so good at horse riding though.’ He turned around, somewhat puzzled. ‘I could swear I saw Sue just now.’

  ‘Yes, she’s here,’ replied Nina. ‘We’re not a bunch of stuck-up idiots, you know. Sue’s one of Mater’s oldest buddies. She taught Lucia how to ride. You should have seen Lucia when she was eighteen – frightened of her own shadow. You wouldn’t believe it now. Sorry to rat on you, Lulu. We’re all friends here.’

  As her thoughts drifted away from the conversation, Lucia became fixated on testing the theory she had been turning over in her mind.

  ‘Sorry for talking shop, but something’s been bothering me. David, what do we know about Alec Penney? What was his background before he worked as a psychologist – where was he from?’

  The policeman racked his brains for a few moments. He hadn’t envisaged discussing work, and the intoxicating bubbles had made him lose his edge.

  ‘Let me think. Oh yes, I remember. Pretty sure he went to university in Nottingham, as a matter of fact. And I’m fairly certain I remember reading somewhere in his file that he’s from around these parts. What are the chances? Though I don’t see the relevance of the man’s origins.’

  Lucia’s face bore an unmistakable expression of triumph. ‘That confirms my theory then.’

  ‘And what would that be? Oh, Lucia, I really don’t want to listen to this tonight of all nights, when we were having such a good time.’

  He stopped mid-sentence, and she waited, hoping that he might say more. He didn’t. She realised she had rather ruined the magic. They might have been able to spend a moment or tw
o alone together, but it had fizzled out now, so she decided there was nothing left to lose if she just ploughed on.

  ‘Do you remember what he shouted out at Roberta from the kitchen? “Enjoy your bath.” And when she phoned you on the evening of her death, she wanted to speak to you in person, didn’t she? And she mentioned something about a bath, you said. Am I right so far?’

  ‘So far, so good,’ he agreed in a circumspect tone.

  ‘Can you say out loud “Enjoy your bath”, David? Come on, humour me,’ Lucia insisted, trying to counteract the incredulous expression on his face.

  The detective complied. Being from down south, it definitely sounded like there was a ‘r’ in his ‘bath’.

  ‘Now, Nina, you say it, like you did when we spoke earlier.’

  Nina complied and did a convincing Nottinghamshire rendition of the word.

  ‘Can you hear the difference?’

  ‘Yes, but I still have no idea what you’re waffling on about,’ Carliss replied, none the wiser.

  ‘I wonder if that’s what Roberta thought was odd. Perhaps that’s what she wanted to talk to you about. Picture this: whoever spoke to her out of the kitchen that evening, they could have said “bath” in a London accent. Alec would have pronounced it differently – the way Nina’s just done.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’

  ‘I don’t think it was Alec that Roberta spoke to, although she was fooled into thinking so at the time. Someone was impersonating him, and whoever that someone is, I bet it’s the same person as the murderer.’

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ muttered the inspector, as he nearly dropped his champagne glass on the floor.

  Chapter 28

  ‘So, who was Roberta Musgrave speaking to if it wasn’t Alec Penney?’

  A muddled Carliss sat at his desk, already on his third coffee of the morning, though it was barely nine o’clock. He’d got in at the crack of dawn, feverishly sifting through the files, trying to figure out what it was that they’d missed.