Murder Comes To Call: three Inspector Constable murder mysteries (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 4)

by Roger Keevil

  “Evidently Mr. Winker appreciated your abilities, sir,” said Constable.

  “Perhaps, inspector.” Bernie did not sound wholly convinced. “The thing about Wally was,” he explained, “he was always trying to get you to prove yourself.”

  “In what way?”

  “I've lost count of the number of ideas that I've come up with that he didn't like, or wouldn't authorise the finance for if there was some consumer research needed, and in the end, it gets to you. Tips you over the edge.”

  “As in the case of Mr. Winker, sir?” suggested Copper.

  “Oh lord, no.” Bernie's hand went to his mouth as he realised the import of his words. “No, I assure you, inspector, nothing could have been further from my mind. I mean ... it … it was just an expression. Please, don't get the idea that I ...”

  “I quite understand, Mr. Rabbetts.” Constable stemmed Bernie's anguished stammerings with some difficulty. “An unfortunate choice of words. And if I were to tell you the number of times Sergeant Copper here has fallen into that particular trap … So please don't worry that we're taking that as an inadvertent confession.”

  “Thank you, inspector.” Bernie pulled himself together.

  “But it does still leave us with an impression of conflict between yourself and Mr. Winker, which we have to take into account. For all your knowledge and experience, it seems that he didn't give you the easiest of rides.”

  “That's true, inspector. But I don't think I was alone in that. I'm sure everyone was on the receiving end of Wally's disapproval at some time or another. In fact, I remember joking to Heidi Lockett once that I wouldn't mind seeing her file on Wally for a moment, just so's I'd have something over him for a change.”

  “What file would this be, sir?” enquired Constable innocently.

  “Oh.” Bernie seemed surprised. “I thought you'd know. Apparently there is in existence a file on every senior member of staff, with goodness knows what information in it. Rumours circulate, you know. Of course, if it ever comes up in conversation, everybody treats it as a joke and professes that they're purer than the driven snow, but I expect everyone's got something they'd rather not have known, haven't they? You'd know that better than me, inspector, wouldn't you?”

  Constable declined to be drawn. “And Miss Lockett's reaction to this jocular request of yours was …?”

  “Oh, she just laughed.”

  “But she didn't deny that such a file existed?”

  Bernie stopped short and thought for a moment. “No, inspector. Actually, she didn't.”

  *

  Heidi Lockett's office was a paragon of neatness. Shelves held precisely arrayed box files, each neatly labelled with an anonymous alpha-numeric code. A filing cabinet, drawers secured by a fearsome-looking locking apparatus, stood behind the desk. On the desk itself, alongside the expected computer screen and keyboard, telephone and firmly-closed diary, not a scrap of paper was to be seen. On a worktop in a corner, the red stand-by light of a printer winked lazily.

  “Inspector. I knew you'd be coming to see me eventually.” Heidi smiled confidently as the detectives entered her office, and waved them to a sofa standing against one wall. She swung her chair round to face them. “So how are the enquiries proceeding? Or, since I'm doubtless one of your suspects, or at least persons of interest, shouldn't I ask?”

  Constable smiled in return. “Oh Miss Lockett, how pleasant life would be if we could all pool our information at times like this. But you know as well as I do that sometimes we have to play our cards close to our chests. I'm afraid I'm not in a position to share with you any of the interesting facts which have come our way. But I'm hoping that won't prevent you from giving us some useful help.”

  “Of course I will if I can, inspector. Ask me anything. What would you like to know?”

  Constable chuckled softly. “Doesn't this rather conflict with the image of a Head of Security who jealously guards the valuable information in her possession?”

  “I can't imagine how you would have got that impression, inspector.”

  “Right, Miss Lockett.” Constable's voice became steelier. “Enough verbal fencing. We can drop the pretence now. The simple fact is, you were the eyes and ears of Mr. Winker, weren't you? His pet rottweiler. He put you in a position of considerable power. We've been told from several sources that you have confidential files, gathered on Mr. Winker's behalf, on your colleagues, and goodness knows what else besides. And that information, should it come into Mr. Winker's possession, could have proved very uncomfortable for various people. That could very well provide a motive for murder. In fact someone commented, not altogether seriously, that they were surprised that, as the compiler of these dossiers, you weren't the one who was killed. In the old gangster movie cliché, 'you know too much'. Any thoughts on that?”

  Heidi leaned back in her chair. She pondered for a moment. “I won't make a secret of it, inspector – knowledge is power. Oh, I'm not just talking about me. It may sound absurd to say it, but the world of confectionery is an extremely cut-throat business. The amount of money that the punters spend on sweets and chocolates is unbelievable, and although in the great scheme of things the Winker Chocolate Company is quite a small fish, there are plenty of sharks out there who would be more than happy to know what we're doing and what we're thinking.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, new products, new ideas in marketing,” explained Heidi airily. “It's like spoiler headlines in newspapers – if you can get there first, you can cut the ground from under your competitors. If you've got information about the competition, or anything else, you stay on top.”

  “And Mr Winker was determined to stay on top?”

  Heidi laughed quietly. “Oh yes, inspector, you can be sure of that.”

  “Both externally and internally.” Constable's words were a statement rather than a question.

  “Of course. Wally was very much in charge. There might be a board of directors nominally running the company, but Wally ruled the roost and no mistake. He was the sole share-holder, so whatever he wanted, he got. That's one of the reasons he kept me around – I could get him the stuff he needed to know.”

  “Helpful background, Miss Lockett, but I'm not sure how far it advances us with regard to the sequence of events yesterday. Now although you weren't in the factory during most of yesterday, you were present during the crucial period of the early evening. We've spoken to, I think, all of your colleagues, and we're building a picture of who was where and when.”

  “What about the CCTV system?” interrupted Heidi.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Rowe tells us that the CCTV system has frozen, and he hasn't been able to produce any results for us.”

  “Typical!” snorted Heidi. She got to her feet abruptly. “I can't remember how much we've been paying him, but it's obviously too much. Let me go and rattle his cage. I shan't be a moment.” She paused at the door. “I'll say one thing – if you think this lot have told you everything, you're very much mistaken. If I were you, I'd check very carefully who was on the factory floor last night. I know I was, and I know Wally was, but we weren't the only ones.” She left the office without another word, leaving two slightly bemused detectives behind her.

  “Now there's an extremely Delphic utterance,” remarked Constable. “What do you make of that?”

  “Could be any number of things, guv,” replied Copper. “Could be the old guilty party's trick of chucking accusations around in the direction of other people in the hope of throwing us off the scent.”

  “Or …?”

  “It's the 'or' that I'm still scratching my head over,” admitted Copper. “I've got all this stuff I've been writing down ...” He raised his pad. “… but I'm still struggling to put my finger on one fact which looks like a specific motive for one of these people to murder their boss. It's all too nebulous.”

  “Because …? Come on, sergeant – take your fine detective's brain for a bit of a walk.”

  Copper ma
rshalled his thoughts. “Well, guv, technically, any one of them could have done it, because everyone had an opportunity and nobody's properly alibied. Motive-wise, there are people like Bernie having rows with Winker, people like Trixie and Carson who had secrets, but these turned out not to be as damaging as they feared, and people like Ivor and Candy who were still keen to keep their alleged secret under wraps, although we know they were on a hiding to nothing. And as for Heidi, although she's told us next to nothing about herself, maybe the fact that this new security system is not what it's cracked up to be is something that, as she saw it, put her at risk.”

  “Excellent assessment,” said Constable. He smiled. “And you're right, it gets us precisely nowhere. Come on.” He stood. “Rather than sitting here waiting like spare parts, let's go and see if she's had any luck with Mike Rowe and his box of tricks.”

  Entering Mike Rowe's section, the inspector was surprised to find the computer expert alone. “Oh. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Rowe. I expected to find Miss Lockett here.”

  “Heidi? Oh, she came and went,” was the vague reply.

  “Went where?”

  Mike wrenched his attention from the screen in front of him. “Sorry, inspector, I can't tell you. She was asking something about the CCTV, but I didn't really pay attention to her. It's not up yet, if that's what you wanted to know, but I'd got side-tracked by this rather curious little problem...It's very odd.”

  “And what might that be?” Constable was intrigued.

  “I'd just finished my scan, inspector,” said Mike, “and there didn't seem to be anything unexpected in the system, but then I noticed that there was one strange little item which had turned up in the spam box. It's an encrypted email which had come in, addressed to the inbox of the General Accounts department – that's ga@winkerchoc.com, you see. All the departmental mail addresses go by initials here, you see, like everything else, so you have md@winkerchoc for Wally as Managing Director, and so on. And I thought, who on earth is sending encrypted emails to the accounts people? So I was curious to find out what it was all about.”

  “Any luck, sir?” enquired Copper.

  “Well, I must admit, I quite enjoy this kind of thing, although I'm no Bletchley Park,” confessed Mike. “But I've got a couple of programs I've tried, and I've made a bit of headway with the start of it. Still can't untangle the identity of the sender, but the main text looks as if it could well be something financial, which I suppose is why it was for Accounts. I'll keep on at it.”

  “What do you have so far?” asked Constable.

  “This.” Mike handed over a piece of paper. It read 'Farther to D.C.D.A. report on fraud charges …'.

  “Not more initials!” groaned Dave Copper in the background.

  “And that's it?”

  “I was still working on it, inspector, but I can stop if there's something else you need.”

  “No, Mr. Rowe – you carry on.” A quiet smile appeared on the inspector's features. “You never know, something out of the ordinary like this may be just what we need. Do you suppose it will take long?”

  “Just a few minutes, I hope.”

  “Good.” Constable nodded. He suddenly became brisk and business-like. “Right, sergeant, here's what's going to happen. You see if you can track down Miss Lockett – find out where she's disappeared to. Assuming she hasn't demonstrated her guilt by doing a runner, she'll be around somewhere. Then tell her and the rest of the management that I'd like a word with them all in the boardroom in ...” He consulted his watch. “... fifteen minutes. I shall retire to Mr. Winker's office for a little quiet contemplation. And please, Mr. Rowe, if you can bring the full text of that email through to me when you have it, I'd be grateful.”

  “Do you reckon you've got it, guv?” asked Copper.

  “Maybe, just maybe. If I'm right. We shall see. Go on, off you go. I have thinking to do.”

  *

  It was almost a quarter of an hour later that Andy Constable was jolted to full awareness by the tap at the door. From his reclining position in Wally Winker's black leather desk chair, eyes unfocussed as he allowed the thoughts in his mind to circulate, form, and re-form into patterns, he swung upright and resumed his normal brisk manner.

  “Come in.”

  “Inspector Constable – I thought you'd want this as soon as possible.” Mike Rowe stood in the doorway. “It's that email.”

  “And you've managed to decode the whole thing?”

  “Not absolutely all of it.” Mike sounded apologetic. “And the sender's address is still disguised, but at least I've got the geographical location – it's somewhere in America. And the main burden of what it's about. I'm afraid it's a bit untidy, but I hope it's what you want.” He handed over a sheet of paper bearing a few lines, intermingled with crossings-out and corrections in his somewhat scrawly handwriting.

  Constable surveyed the paper. “Yes!” he murmured almost inaudibly. His expression did not alter at all as he folded it and tucked it away in an inside pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Rowe. That's precisely what I need.”

  As if on cue, Dave Copper appeared at Mike's shoulder. “Found Miss Lockett, sir – she was out at the gatehouse with Barry Herman. But I've got everyone in the boardroom now, guv, if you're ready for them.”

  “Oh yes, sergeant,” responded Constable, beginning to smile with quiet satisfaction. “Ready is exactly what I am.”

  Copper knew that look. “I take it, sir, that we may be leaving before too long? And perhaps not alone?”

  “You take it correctly.”

  “Time to point the chocolate finger, eh?” grinned Copper in anticipation but then, in response to his superior's glare, cleared his throat and assumed an almost convincing straight face. “Sorry, sir. And maybe I should ask our uniformed colleague downstairs if he would like to come and join the proceedings up here, guv? Just in case someone wants to break up the party early?”

  “A very wise precaution, sergeant. And you might like to put a call in to the station and warn them to prepare the guest accommodation. Oh, and rustle up another car with a couple of chaps to come here and take over.”

  “Sir.” Copper turned and vanished immediately.

  “Er … do you want me in the boardroom too, inspector?” asked Mike hesitantly.

  “I don't think that'll be necessary, Mr. Rowe,” said Constable. “We'll need to take a statement from you later, but I think that will keep. So please feel free to go back to work debugging whatever you have that's bugged, and I will get on with what I have to do.” He made his way along the corridor and into the boardroom, just as Dave Copper arrived at the head of the stairs, the young P.C. in his wake.

  “Collins, just the man,” Constable greeted him. “Come in here, close the door behind you, and just stand there, would you? I might want you later.”

  “Watch, listen and learn,” muttered Copper into the younger man's ear. “Not many people get to see the master at work. Sorry, sir,” he said aloud, in response to Constable's quizzically-raised eyebrow. “Just confirming your instructions.” He took a seat in an upright chair alongside the door as Collins, with just a hint of self-consciousness, took his stance in front of it.

  Constable turned to face the assembled company in the room. “Often the character of a victim provides the key to their murder,” he said without preamble. Six faces regarded him with varying degrees of apprehension, startled by the suddenness of his remark. “So what sort of man was Wally Winker? Each of you has given us some kind of insight into that. We've been told he was a strict moralist. We've heard that he was loyal to old friends. But against that, we also know that he had dossiers on his employees in order to have a hold over them.” Several among those gathered around the table exchanged looks of uncertain surprise. Others studiously avoided anyone's gaze by concentrating fixedly on the table-top in front of them. “But set against that, it seems that he was also capable of surprising acts of personal kindness. Miss Trixie Marr has given us one illustration of that ...” />
  Puzzled looks were directed towards Trixie, who flushed and looked down at the hands twisting in her lap. “Inspector ...” she began.

  “...but I do not intend to break any confidences by going into any detail,” continued Constable smoothly. “Suffice to say that she was not the only person who would fall into that category. And here I think we come to the essence of the matter. Secrets. And one question is, was Mr. Winker himself harbouring a secret? A very personal one, considerably at odds with his much-trumpeted morality. I think we can probably deduce that he was, if the extremely unsubtle hints given to us by Miss Candy Kane regarding her relationship with her boss are anything to go by.”

  “Candy? What's he trying to say?” Ivor Sweetman turned to challenge the young woman seated next to him. Understanding began to dawn. “Does he mean that you … you and Wally …?”

  “Please don't make a scene, Ivor,” murmured Candy. “It's not going to help.”

  “I think perhaps you may be better advised to postpone that conversation until a more convenient time,” Constable forestalled the increasingly red-faced Ivor. “There are rather more important questions to be answered here and now. And one of those is the matter of who would have had the opportunity to commit the murder of Wally Winker.

  “Nobody can fully account for their movements during the period of the murder. The last we know of Mr. Winker was that he was in his office and intending to descend to the factory floor. Now we know that each of you had the opportunity to visit the factory floor during the period in question. Trixie Marr was ordered to meet him down there by Mr. Winker himself, and we have confirmation that she was there because she was seen to leave by Val Hart. But Mrs. Hart, as she was so helpfully waiting in the foyer for her bus to arrive, also saw two people go into the factory from the foyer, having come down the main staircase. Neither of those was Trixie, because we know she came down the rear stairs direct from Mr. Winker's office. Barry Herman, the security guard, heard Heidi Lockett arrange to see Carson Laurie downstairs – we can only presume she meant on the factory floor. Might that have been so as to be away from the offices, where conversations could be so easily overheard? It seems logical. Ivor Sweetman and Candy Kane were also together for some of the time – in fact, someone remarked to us that it was rarer for them to be apart than together.” Constable allowed himself a small dry smile. “I'm not intending to speculate how much further that situation is likely to obtain. But is it feasible that they might have acted together for goodness knows what reason – jealousy? revenge? thwarted ambition? Surely all rather too 'Othello' for this situation – after which they fled the scene of the crime together? And if we're in the realms of melodrama, we know that Bernie Rabbetts had a blazing row with Wally Winker, after which Bernie disappeared. And who knew the factory better than him?”