Brief Cases Box Set

by Andrea Frazer

  “He was the one who really made the running in the relationship, Angela just getting carried away with the romance, probably, and swept off her feet, with the speed with which things happened. He never let her visit his family, because the family he’d told her about simply didn’t exist. But he did get her to make a will, in his favour, when they’d talked about marriage, explaining that it was best to do it straight away, even if their marriage nullified it, as anything could happen to anyone, in the blink of an eye, and he would do the same for her.

  “He took a bit of a risk with his plan to kill her, but it obviously paid off, as we all found out only three days ago. His friend had left behind a diamond necklace that belonged to his grandmother, and had asked Cutler to get it cleaned, before leaving for Dubai – this was a vital piece of evidence, should his plan come off. If it didn’t, he just wouldn’t mention it, and would have returned it to his friend on his return to this country. It was really the only thing he had with which to fool us about his wealth, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

  “He knew that any nuts found in Angela’s stomach at the post mortem, might point the finger directly at him, so he couldn’t risk that happening. But he did stumble across a little known fact about Brazil nuts that suited his purposes perfectly.”

  “And that was what Dr Christmas rang up and told you about?” asked Carmichael, sitting with his chin resting in his hands, as attentive as a child being read a particularly enjoyable story.

  “That’s right, Carmichael. Cutler had found out that eating Brazil nuts would cause traces of them to be passed on through sexual contact”

  “So his nuts contained traces of nuts?” asked Carmichael, with a wide grin at his witticism.

  “Don’t be coarse, Sergeant!” replied Falconer, and then dissolved into mirthful laughter, not just at the witticism, but at Carmichael’s crestfallen face at this rebuke. “Anyway, to continue, he then stuffed himself with them all day on Christmas Eve, hoping that he’d eaten enough, and given them enough time to get through his system. Then, as we know, he made love to Miss Cater, just before he left her apartment on Christmas Eve.”

  “Bastard!” commented Carmichael casually, hoping not to interrupt the inspector’s flow.

  He didn’t, as Falconer continued, “She was probably already showing signs of her allergic reaction before he left, but he stayed on to make sure that she was in no condition to phone for help, or leave the apartment, to seek it elsewhere.

  “The next day, he knew exactly what he would find, when he turned up at her door, and, I must say, in my opinion he turned out to be a pretty good actor.”

  “But how did you suss out all that other stuff, sir?” Carmichael asked, with a face that indicated that he regarded all the other facts garnered as nothing short of magic.

  “Simple, and all of it readily available to be found. I thought it was a bit iffy, that Cutler had never taken her to his family home to meet his parents, and then he didn’t want me to visit them either. Was that because they didn’t exist, or because there was something very wrong about his background?

  “I contacted the concierge of the block that he’s been living in, confirmed that the apartment had been sub-let to him, with the permission of the lease-holder, and got said lease-holder’s contact number, should anyone need to be contacted in an emergency. I also got a contact number for the real tenant, in Dubai.

  “A quick phone call to Dubai confirmed that Dominic Cutler was no more the affluent young man about town than Bob Bryant is, and that he was only living there, to give him a break from living with his mother in a council house, to try to sort himself out, find himself a job, and gain a little more self-respect.

  “Well, he’d done more than that. He’d found himself a wealthy young woman. All he had to do was, literally, love her to death, as he told us so callously.”

  “God, that’s evil, sir,” Carmichael commented, sitting up straight, as he realised that Falconer had reached the ‘and they lived unhappily ever after’ point of his story.

  “He’ll get his comeuppance, and he won’t get a penny from that will, either,” stated Falconer. It might just have worked, however, with less diligent officers, too bound up in their own families, at this particular time of year, to do much digging.

  “He was prepared for us to come round and give him the tragic news, that Brazil nuts are something that can be transmitted from one body to another during sexual intercourse, and would have played the broken-hearted fiancé who had lost his beloved, because he had accidentally and unknowingly killed her, by making love to her – loved her to death, in fact.

  “How that phrase makes me shudder, when I think about it! Instead, he got the spirit of justice, rather than the spirit of Christmas, and the next season of goodwill he sees will be from the inside of a prison cell. And that’s just how it should be.

  “What an audacious plan, and to think that he thought he could fool the police like that! Well, I suppose we’d better be getting off home.”

  “Would you like to come to ours for your tea, sir? Kerry’s promised that she’s got the most delicious recipe in the world, for cold curried turkey, and there are loads of mince pies, and a whole hunk of Christmas ham left.”

  “I don’t know, Carmichael. I’d planned on a quiet night in.”

  “On your own again, I suppose,” declared the sergeant, with both disapproval, and concern.

  “With my pets, Carmichael.”

  “Well, I won’t hear of it! Those cats can stay on their own, for one evening. You’re coming home with me, and having some proper seasonal company, for a change, you miserable old Scrooge, and I’ll not take ‘no’ for an answer,” the sergeant stated with vehemence.

  “That’s very hospitable of you, Carmichael, but are you sure Kerry won’t mind?”

  “Mind? She’ll be over the moon! She’s been dying for you to visit: she’s heard so much about you.”

  “From you, Carmichael?” asked Falconer, apprehensively.

  “Of course from me, sir.”

  “Oh, dear!” said Falconer, following, Carmichael out of the room, to his uncertain fate, that evening.

  STAVE SEVEN

  The Fourth Spirit – The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come

  28th December, 2009 – evening

  Falconer was surprised and secretly delighted to be welcomed, as an honoured guest, at the cottage in Castle Farthing where Carmichael would live after his marriage, in just a few days’ time. Kerry was obviously delighted to welcome such an important figure into her home, and the two boys, who treated Carmichael’s position as a detective sergeant with casual contempt, were thrilled to have a real detective inspector visit their home.

  The cottage was decorated in a suitably over-the-top festive manner, and some work had been done to connect the rooms with the cottage next door. A much too tall fir tree dominated the front room, drowning under its own weight of baubles, tinsel, and other seasonal ornamentation. In the grate, a wood fire was burning, and the whole atmosphere was redolent of the sort of Christmas that Falconer had never experience before, and it filled him with an unexpected joy.

  Carmichael was a very luck young man, to be moving into this home, with its convivial and welcoming occupants, devoid of any of the airs and graces that would have been present at one of his parents’ Christmases.

  Flopping down into an armchair by the fire, indicated to him by Kerry, he accepted the half pint of beer that Carmichael thrust into his hand, and prepared to enjoy himself, with not even a hint of the ‘keeping up appearances’ attitude that had , and probably still did, prevail in his family home, for the first time in years.

  The End of it

  “Why don’t you come for Christmas Day, next year, sir?” asked Carmichael, seeing Falconer relaxed and perfectly at ease at the fireside.

  “I might just take you up on that offer, Carmichael,” Falconer mumbled, feeling his eyes droop, in the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the little home. “I migh
t just do that!” Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all!

  THE END. . . . . until the next time!

  A Sidecar Named Expire #2

  A young man and his girlfriend decide to celebrate their first Valentine's Day together with a cosy evening of cocktails at her house. But as the evening progresses, events don't go quite as Malcolm Standing planned …

  The next morning, DI Falconer and DS Carmichael are called in to try to sort out what really happened.

  Chapter One

  14th February

  ‘Now, my cocktail starts with one-and-a-half measures of gin.’ There was a short glugging sound from round the angle of the L-shaped room, as Chelsea Fairfield began to mix the drinks with which they were going to celebrate their first St Valentine’s Day together.

  They had only been an item for three weeks or so, but Malcolm Standing had been captivated by her since their first meeting, and had gladly accepted her invitation to spend this evening at her house, drinking cocktails together. He had high hopes of not going home at all tonight, and sprawled on the sofa in an ecstasy of expectation. Tonight would probably be the night!

  ‘One-and-a-half measures of Cointreau,’ her voice purred on, ‘and one-and-a-half measures of lemon juice. Shake,’ he discerned the quiet sloshing of the cocktail shaker being agitated, ‘and strain into a frosted glass, over ice. There! That’s my White Lady sorted. Now for your Sidecar.’

  ‘How come I don’t get to choose my own cocktail?’ he called out to her.

  ‘You can after the first one. I just thought a Sidecar was rather appropriate, as you ride a motorbike,’ she called in answer, and Malcolm could feel his whole body tingling in anticipation of the evening to come.

  ‘Right! A Sidecar. Bit of information for you here, my dear. This cocktail was originally created after the First World War, in ‘Harry’s Bar’ – the one in Paris, not the one in Venice, and was named after an officer who used to go there by chauffeur-ridden motorcycle sidecar. See what I mean?

  ‘And now for the ingredients. One measure of cognac, one measure of Cointreau, and one measure of lemon juice.’ As she shook the cocktail, he raised his voice to give his opinion of the two recipes.

  ‘Yours seems to be half as strong again as mine. Why’s that? It doesn’t seem fair to me.’

  ‘Just think about it, sweetie,’ she answered, and he heard her speaking in a slightly quieter voice. ‘There we go! And strain, garnish with a slice of lemon, over crushed ice. I’m on my way.’

  In less than a minute, she came round the ‘L’, carrying a small silver tray with the two glasses on it.

  ‘Hand it over, then,’ Malcolm said, holding out his hand.

  ‘Not just yet, big boy. I want the occasion to be just right, so, just before we drink our cocktails, I want us to enjoy a black Russian cigarette.’

  ‘But I don’t smoke!’ he protested.

  ‘Neither do I,’ she replied, ‘but trust me, this is definitely the best way to enjoy these cocktails,’ and in so saying, she removed a small black box from a drawer in a wall unit, opened it, and held it out for him to take a cigarette, took one herself, and produced a lighter to light them. ‘Now, she ordered, ‘a couple of puffs on that, and we can have our glasses. Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.’

  ‘And the same to you … darling.’ He hesitated over the last word, as this was the first time that they had used it, but he got over his surprise by gazing at the huge bouquet of flowers that he had brought with him, and thought that they had been worth the money, if this was the effect they had on her.

  While all this was going through his mind, he was having difficulty not to succumb to a fit of coughing from the cigarette smoke. He had tried smoking when he was about nine or ten, but it had made him throw up, and he just hoped that this unfortunate consequence did not recur this evening. How that would ruin things for him!

  Asking for an ashtray, he took a token puff on the cigarette and put it down in the corner of the receptacle, looking pleadingly towards the two glasses on the tray.

  ‘You can have your drink, now,’ Chelsea purred, and placed the tray under his nose with a flourish. ‘Enjoy!’ she said, taking her own glass, and setting the tray down on the wall unit where it had sat in the meantime.

  Only a few minutes later, Chelsea stood up and announced that she was going to mix them another drink. ‘What, already?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes! Come along, slow coach. Get that down your neck, and we can have another one before seeing how events develop.’ Eager at the promise in her words, he downed the last of the liquid in the cocktail glass and watched as she disappeared behind the ‘L’ again.

  ‘That seemed awfully strong,’ he said, raising his voice a little so that she could hear him, and realised that his head was beginning to spin.

  ‘I’ll cut down on the measures this time, if it’s a problem for you,’ she called back. ‘And don’t forget to have a couple of puffs on your cigarette. They’re dead expensive, they are, and if I don’t see you smoking it when I get back round there, I’m going to be very cross with you.’

  ‘But I don’t like ’em,’ he replied, realising that his voice was beginning to slur.

  ‘I don’t care! I’m educating you in the finer things in life, and you’ll do as I say, or else!’

  When she came back to him this time, she put down the tray, extracted two more cigarettes from the box, and lit them both, handing one to him, but when he reached for it reluctantly, he seemed to have two hands on the end of his arm. ‘Blimey!’ he thought. ‘The things that blokes do, just to get a leg-over.’

  Putting the slightly smoked cigarette down in the ashtray, he held his hand out for his glass containing his second Sidecar of the night.

  As he supped the cold liquid, he took a moment to protest. ‘I thought you ’ere goin’ to le’ me cock my own choose-tail, af’er the firs’ one,’ he complained, listening to the deterioration in his speech with puzzlement.

  ‘You can choose the next one, my darling,’ she soothed him, holding up her glass in salutation to encourage him to drink more of his.

  Malcolm had no idea of the time, but it seemed to be a lot later, and he was incapable of moving, and barely capable of thinking. Chelsea was telling him something, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. It seemed to be in a foreign language; one that he had never heard before.

  He was aware of her tucking his feet up on the sofa, and removing his shoes and the cocktail glass, which his right hand had still been clutching. How many had he had? He had no idea. His memory was a blank. Slowly his eyelids closed over his reluctant eyes, and he slept.

  Chapter Two

  15th February

  The voice on the phone was breathless with urgency. ‘But he’s dead, and he’s on my sofa, and I don’t know what to do about it. Please send someone as quick as you can. It’s so horrible, looking at him just lolling there and … well, being dead, I suppose.

  ‘I’ve given you the address, but I can’t bear to sit here looking at him any longer, so I’m going round to my next door neighbour’s. I’ll watch for the car from there. Please be quick. This is doing my head in. Oh, I know that sounds awful, but it’s just not him anymore, it’s an ‘it’, and it’s really giving me the willies.

  ‘God knows what happened. He must have had a weak heart, or something. All I know, as I told you, is that he’s dead, and in my house, and I simply can’t cope with that a moment longer than I have to. Goodbye.’

  Desk Sergeant Bob Bryant put down the telephone receiver and made a quick decision to alert Detective Inspector Harry Falconer and his partner, Detective Sergeant Davey Carmichael. This one sounded right up their street, and shouldn’t take too long to wrap up once Dr Christmas had got the poor gentleman on the table and opened him up.

  Using the internal phone service, he rang through to Falconer to send him and his sergeant on their way, then went back to an external line to contact Dr Philip Christmas to attend the scene as well. As it w
as an unexpected death, he decided to send a small SOCO team as well. It was better to be safe than sorry, he’d always found, and if things didn’t turn out as simply, as he was almost sure they would, it would be in his favour if he had dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.

  Following that flurry of activity, he called one of the uniformed PCs, who had just wandered in, to take over at the desk for ten minutes while he went for a cup of coffee. It was thirsty work, holding the fort at Market Darley Police Station, and he needed a break after that sudden burst of activity.

  ‘It’s not far, so we’ll take my car,’ DI Falconer decided as he and DS Carmichael exited the station, noticing that Bob Bryant was no longer on the desk. ‘What was that address again, Carmichael?’

  ‘Twelve Coronation Terrace – built just after the coronation of our present Queen,’ he observed, displaying, as usual, more local knowledge than Falconer would have believed could exist in the young man’s head. He had recently got married, and seemed, if possible, even happier than he had been when he was first partnered with Falconer the previous summer.

  In fact, it was during the previous summer, on their first case together, that Carmichael had met the young woman who had recently become his wife, and he lived with her and her two sons from a previous marriage in the village of Castle Farthing, the locus for said first case.

  It only took ten minutes to reach Coronation Terrace, and as they slowed to read the numbers of the houses, a woman came out of one of them stepped over the low dividing front garden wall to the house next door and beckoned to them to stop.

  ‘I’ve got ’er in ’ere,’ she informed them, indicating her own house by the bending of her head in the direction of her front door. ‘She’s in a terrible state, poor little thing. Such a dreadful thing to ’appen, when you’re as young as she is. She can ’ardly take it in, nor neither can I. I’m Ida Jenkins – Mrs – by the way.’