Muffins and Mourning Tea (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 5)

by H. Y. Hanna

  “I come to get my scarf. I left it in Charlie’s room,” said Tanya loftily, turning away from us and sauntering over to Charlie’s bedroom. She opened the door, ducked under the crime scene tape, and went in. A moment later, she emerged with a cashmere scarf in her hands.

  “Er… are you sure you should be removing that from the room?” I asked. “It’s an ongoing murder investigation and the police might need to—”

  She gave me an insolent stare. “It is mine, not Charlie’s. The police have no right to my things.”

  Damian was looking at me strangely and I realised that he must have been wondering why I was being so diffident with Tanya. If I was really a CID officer, I wouldn’t have let her remove anything from the room.

  “Aren’t you from the police?” he asked.

  I flushed. “No. But I… er… I work with them sometimes.”

  “You mean, like a private investigator?”

  “Er… well, not really… but sort of… in a way…” I stammered. “Um… anyway, I’ve got to get going. See you later!”

  Leaving the two of them staring after me, I practically ran to the door and escaped from the room.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was exhausted when I finally got back home that night. It had been a full day at the tearoom and then the tension of snooping around Haverton College and being caught by Damian Heath had absolutely drained me. Still, I was eager to call Devlin and tell him everything I’d learned.

  “Gemma—I was just about to ring you,” he said when he picked up his phone.

  “How’s your day been?”

  “Manic. It’s just been really bad timing with these two homicide cases coming in practically at the same time.”

  “Is your case in Blackbird Leys a murder as well?”

  “At the moment, it’s looking like aggravated assault which resulted in death—the man died in hospital—but we’ll have to conduct a full investigation. And then there was a potential kidnapping reported in Summertown.” He sighed. “It’s just been one of those days…”

  Devlin sounded tired and harassed. I felt suddenly sorry for him.

  “I won’t keep you if you’re busy—”

  “No, it’s great to hear from you, Gemma,” he said, his voice warming. “So tell me what you’ve been up to. It’ll be a nice break from all these forensic reports and witness statements. Things busy at the tearoom today?”

  “Very. And in particular, I had a customer who shed some light on your May Day murder case.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, my father has a colleague visiting: a Russian history professor. It’s his first time in Oxford and my parents brought him to my tearoom because he was keen to experience a traditional English afternoon tea.”

  “Well, he went to the right place,” said Devlin with a smile in his voice. “I have to say, Gemma, I was daydreaming about your tearoom this afternoon when I was sitting in one of the dreary interviews. I was almost ready to commit murder myself for a decent cup of tea—not the black sludge they brew here in the station cafeteria—and one of your delicious scones.”

  I laughed. “Well, you know there’s one with your name on it waiting for you any time.” I sobered and returned to the subject. “Anyway, I got talking to this Professor Obruchev and d’you know what he told me? Tanya Koskov assaulted another girl during a modelling audition and stabbed her with a cheese knife.”

  Devlin whistled. “When did this happen?”

  “A few years ago back in Russia. In her teens.”

  “It’s interesting we didn’t pick that up. We ran a background check on her, of course, and I’m still waiting for more information from Interpol, but the preliminary search didn’t find any records of assault or other criminal conviction.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “Tanya’s father is such a powerful man back in Russia. Professor Obruchev is an old friend of his from university days and he says Vladimir Koskov will do anything to protect his only child. In that instance, he paid off the injured girl’s parents so they wouldn’t report the incident to the police and he managed to hush the whole thing up.”

  “Yes, Mr Koskov has been harassing my Superintendent as well. The upshot was that I got called in today and told that I had to tread carefully where Tanya Koskov is concerned. It’s why I’ve been holding off on questioning her again until I’ve gathered more evidence. Besides the fact that we’re not allowed to speak to her anymore unless a lawyer is present, I get the feeling that it would take very little to trigger a complaint all the way up the chain to the Chief Constable. We’ve already had Mikhail Petrovsky making noises about police harassment.”

  “Oh him!” I cried. “He’s such a pompous git, isn’t he? Who is he anyway?”

  “Graduate student at Haverton College, doing a DPhil in Russian philosophy. A complete Slavophile—don’t get him started on the subject of great Mother Russia! As you say, a bit of a pompous old bag. Seems to have taken it upon himself to protect a fellow countryman: he was outraged that we would dare to suspect a Russian of murder and kept lecturing us about how we should be treating Vladimir Ivanovich Koskov’s daughter,” said Devlin irritably. “I’d love to get him for obstruction of justice. I don’t know how Tanya stands having him around.”

  “She probably enjoys it and finds it very amusing,” I said. “I get the impression that Tanya likes being the centre of attention and having people fuss over her. It would suit her to have a self-righteous prat hovering around her and defending her honour. But surely with what I just told you about her history of aggression and assault, you’ll have enough ammunition now to use on her?”

  Devlin didn’t sound as enthusiastic I thought he would be. “Perhaps. However, people often do things in their wild youth that they grow out of later on. It’s well known that the teenage years are a difficult time, and while some people may have trouble controlling their impulses then, with maturity they become very different people. You can’t hold something against Tanya that happened nearly ten years ago. That’s what a good lawyer will argue and I know that Koskov will be getting the best solicitor for his daughter. I need a stronger case than this. Right now, what we really need is a motive.”

  “I can give you a motive,” I said. “I heard that Tanya is incredibly jealous and possessive. There are witnesses who overheard an argument between her and Charlie the day before May Day. She was screaming at him and accusing him of cheating on her and threatening to make him regret it.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  I hesitated. I had been hoping that I wouldn’t have to tell Devlin about my evening’s activities with the Old Biddies. “Um, well… I sort of got talking with some students at Haverton College.”

  Devlin sounded annoyed. “Gemma, have you been snooping around again where you shouldn’t? I told you not to meddle with the investigation.”

  “I wasn’t meddling—I was just being social. What does it matter if I chat to a couple of the students at Haverton, if we can get valuable information for the case? People don’t always like talking to the police but they’re happy to have a bit of a gossip.”

  “Gemma!” Devlin made an exasperated noise. “You know it’s not as simple as that. I can’t have you going around speaking to witnesses and possibly confusing the issue with leading suggestions. If we then questioned them later, they might say something just because you put the idea into their heads.”

  “I wouldn’t give them leading suggestions!” I said indignantly. “I know better than that! I’m very careful about what I say and I try to let them do most of the talking.”

  Devlin sighed. “All right… what else did you find out?”

  “Well, mostly I was chatting to two girls in the college J.C.R.—one of them happens to live on the same staircase as Charlie and Damian. She was the one who told me she overheard the fight between Tanya and Charlie the day before he was murdered; she also said that Damian is totally different from Charlie—that he could get ‘nasty’ if he had
a bit too much to drink. I got the impression that Damian Heath isn’t very well liked and that he’s been trying a bit too hard to ‘keep up’ with his richer roommate.”

  “Hmm… well, right now he’s definitely one of our top suspects. He certainly had the easiest access to the murder weapon, if it’s true what Tanya Koskov said about leaving the skewer in the boys’ sitting room. Damian could easily have taken it and used it.”

  I frowned. “It seems a bit stupid, though, don’t you think? I mean, he must know that the skewer would be traced back to their room and he’d immediately be flagged as one of the people with access to it. Why use such an incriminating murder weapon?”

  I remembered something else and added, “You know, Damian told me that he thinks Tanya gave him the wrong time to meet on purpose.”

  “Did you talk to Damian too?” Devlin asked sharply.

  “Yes, I… um… sort of bumped into him near his room…”

  I swallowed nervously. This was now straying out of white lie territory and I hated having to deceive Devlin. But there was no way I was going to tell him about the Old Biddies’ stunt impersonating college scouts and sneaking into the boys’ room uninvited. In fact, I was suddenly glad that we were having this conversation on the phone because Devlin had always had an uncanny ability to read me, and if we were talking face-to-face, he’d see through my lies in a second.

  As it was, he already sounded suspicious as he said, “That was a convenient coincidence, meeting him like that.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” I said, as airily as possible. Quickly, I rushed on. “Damian thinks that Tanya had engineered the whole thing so that she could get Charlie alone on May morning. He said that he heard her threaten to kill Charlie during their fight the day before and that she was likely to do it in a jealous rage.”

  “Now that’s very interesting that he told you that…” Devlin’s voice was sarcastic.

  “Why?”

  “Because he conveniently didn’t bother to mention that he himself had a big fight with Charlie the day before the murder as well.”

  I drew in a breath. “He did?”

  “Uh-huh. My sergeant spoke to some students at Haverton this morning and they said that they overheard Charlie and Damian having a huge bust-up down by the college boathouse the evening before May Day.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Devlin. “According to these students, it was something to do with Tanya Koskov—one boy reported hearing Charlie say that it was ‘disgusting’ and that Damian was ‘taking advantage of a vulnerable girl’. Then Charlie said Damian had gone too far this time and threatened to report him to the police.”

  “Wow…” I said, my mind spinning.

  “And what’s even more interesting is that these students said Damian stormed away just as they arrived on the scene and that he looked ‘murderously angry’—those were the words they used.”

  “We’ve got to find out what the two boys were fighting about.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to be questioning Damian Heath again at the first opportunity and ask him about this. But Gemma…” Devlin’s voice became stern. “I’m telling you again: this is a complicated case and no place for amateurs. I appreciate what you have done but you’ve got to leave this in the hands of the police now.”

  I sighed. “All right. I was just trying to help.”

  Devlin’s tone softened. “I know you are. And I do appreciate it, sweetheart.”

  “Are you almost done for the night?”

  “Yes, just about; I’ve got a couple more reports to read through.”

  “Why don’t you come over when you’re done? I can rustle up a late dinner if you—”

  “It’s okay, I’ve eaten already. My sergeant got me a sandwich earlier in the evening.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ve brought a couple of things back from the tearoom—some Chelsea buns and some delicious chocolate fudge…?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Devlin said, “Thanks, Gemma. I would have liked to but I’ve had a really long day and I’m exhausted. I think it’s best if I just go home and get an early night. I’ve got another early start again tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay. How about lunch tomorrow then? You know it’s my day off. I can meet you anywhere you like.”

  Again, there was hesitation on the other end of the line, then Devlin said, sounding regretful, “I’m sorry, Gemma—with the way these cases are going, I’ll probably end up eating lunch at my desk again.”

  I tried to keep my voice light. “So… I suppose I won’t be seeing you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try to pop by after work but I can’t promise anything. I’ll definitely give you a ring tomorrow evening and we’ll talk then, okay?”

  Devlin’s deep voice sounded genuinely contrite and I felt slightly mollified. Still, when I finally ended the call, the memory of Tanya’s bitter words came suddenly back to me:

  “There are signs. When a man is with you but always, his mind is somewhere else. He will not answer properly when you ask him what he is thinking or where he has been, and he finds reasons for why he cannot see you… “

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next day was the day of Muesli’s first therapy visit and I got up early to give her a bath, then groomed her and put her harness on, ready for her special appearance. I was still in two minds about whether this whole “Therapy Cat” thing was a good idea. It was really my mother’s enthusiastic prompting that had got me to enrol Muesli but now I wondered whether I had made a terrible mistake.

  Oh, Muesli certainly had the right temperament for a therapy cat: she was confident, friendly, and great with strangers, and enjoyed going to new places, regarding everything with a cheeky curiosity. The problem was, she was a bit too confident, really, and not inclined to follow orders.

  Since it was our first visit, Jane Banks, the program coordinator, had offered to accompany us with her own cat, a lovely placid Ragdoll, to show us the ropes. She met us outside the nursing home, a small establishment just on the other side of Magdalen Bridge, situated on the banks of the river. In fact, I thought the residents must have a great view of Oxford city when they looked out of their windows.

  “Everyone is very excited to meet Muesli,” Jane said to me as we went in. “The Matron has organised for us to start in the lounge area as she thought this might be easier. You won’t have to take Muesli from room to room—you can just meet several of the residents in one place. And then Muesli can relax in one environment and get comfortable.”

  I looked down at my little tabby. Muesli seemed to be having no problems getting comfortable already. She was squirming eagerly in my arms, eyeing everything with great interest, as we walked through the reception area. We were shown into the comfortable lounge room, furnished with plump sofas upholstered with floral covers and a thick pink carpet underfoot. Several of the residents were already waiting and their faces lit up as we entered.

  “Oh! I want to hold the new kitty!” cried one lady, stretching out her gnarled hands.

  Jane gave me a nod and I unclipped Muesli’s leash from her harness, then leaned forwards to place her gently on the old lady’s lap. But no sooner had I let go of the little cat than she sprang off and jumped onto the back of the sofa.

  “Oh!” cried the lady in surprise.

  I flushed. “Sorry!” I exclaimed. “It’s Muesli’s first visit today so she’s not… um—”

  “I think she likes me better!” said a second lady sitting at the other end of the couch, as Muesli began making her way along the back of the sofa towards her.

  She reached the other lady and sniffed her inquisitively. “Meorrw?”

  “Hello sweetie…” The second old lady beamed, putting out a hand to stroke her.

  Muesli perched by the second lady’s shoulder and sniffed her ear. I began to relax slightly. Okay, maybe Muesli just needs a bit of time, but she’ll soon be cuddling in the woman’s l
ap…

  My hope was short lived. Muesli gave the second lady a thorough sniffing-over, then continued her way to the next couch, jumping and hopping across laps and shoulders and eliciting a series of startled gasps and Oh!’s as she went. I glanced over at Jane and squirmed with embarrassment. Great. Her cat was sitting placidly in the lap of an elderly gentleman, purring gently. My cat was being an absolute terror, climbing around the room, using the senior residents as a jungle gym.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again. “She’s not normally like this…”

  Who am I kidding? This was exactly what Muesli was normally like. Never in her life has she sedately done what she was told or sat where she was supposed to. What on earth had possessed me to think that she could be a good therapy cat?

  “Oh, be careful!” cried the Matron, putting up her hands in alarm as Muesli leapt from the back of an armchair onto the shelf above the mantelpiece.

  Several ornaments had been arranged along the shelf—little china dolls and dainty glass animals—as well as a large vase of flowers. My heart lurched as Muesli began walking along the shelf, lifting her paws up deftly and stepping over the ornaments.

  “Muesli! Get down!” I cried, running over towards her. I didn’t dare grab her in case it might startle her into swiping one of the ornaments off the shelf, so instead I hovered anxiously next to the shelf, watching in agony as she carefully picked her way across.

  “Meorrw?” she said as she reached the other side, giving me an innocent look.

  “What are you doing, you little minx?” I hissed under my breath. “You’re supposed to be cuddling with the residents and providing soothing comfort, not causing havoc!”

  “Meorrw!” Muesli gave me a cheeky look and jumped off the shelf, onto the floor. I made a dive for her but she evaded my grasp, trotting across the room. I heard a tinkle of laughter and looked up to see an old lady in a wheelchair leaning forwards, her eyes sparkling.

  “Your cat is a funny one!” she quavered. “I don’t think we’ve had this much excitement in years!”