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

by Roger Keevil

  “And then there was a small party after the meeting, I'm told. Which you attended?”

  “Yes, I was there for a while.”

  “And did you have any contact with Lord Ellpuss during the course of the party? Or were you conscious of any conversations which the other guests may have had with him?”

  “I chatted with him, certainly, inspector, but I really can't recall exactly what about.” Donna's eyes assumed a wary expression. “Inspector, I'm starting to wonder where these questions are leading. Are you implying that there may have been something suspicious about Lord Ellpuss's death?”

  “It's a possibility that we have to consider, Miss Scarlatti, in the light of certain information in our possession.” Donna's eyebrows rose in enquiry. “Which of course I'm unable to share with you.”

  “I quite understand, inspector. Well, in that case, all I can tell you is that Lord Ellpuss was alive and well when I saw him last, and when I left the party I came straight back here and knew nothing further until the lodge-keeper gave me the news this morning. So, if there's nothing else ...” Donna Scarlatti stood, an unmistakeable signal that the interview was at an end.

  “If there should be anything else, Miss Scarlatti, will you be here later on?”

  “Possibly, inspector. Possibly not. I simply use this apartment as a pied-à-terre when I'm kept late on college business. Otherwise, I have a house outside Camford.”

  “And the address, madam?” Copper noted the details.

  “Thank you for your help,” concluded Constable. “We'll come and find you if we need you.” On that slightly ominous note, he led the way back towards the front door.

  *

  “So where, next, guv? Chapel, is it, as it's just across the way?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I said, do we go for the chaplain next, guv?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

  “You seem a bit distracted, sir. Is something the matter?”

  “Scarlatti … Scarlatti,” murmured Constable under his breath, and then came to and focussed on what his junior colleague was saying. “No, it's just that that name is ringing a bell somewhere in the back of my mind. Don't worry – it's probably nothing important. And the lady herself didn't seem to have anything important in the way of information to impart, so let's bash on to our next port of call, which as you suggest, ought to be the chapel. To hell with 'Keep Off The Grass' – I'm taking the short route.” He set out across the pristine whiteness of the snow covering the grass of the quad, heading for the chapel entrance on the opposite side.

  The thud of the door closing behind the two detectives seemed an almost sacrilegious disturbance of the serene calm of the dimly-lit building. Subdued, the pair gazed around them. A subtle light filtered down from high multi-coloured stained-glass windows, and mute carved stone faces looked down on the visitors from the tops of soaring pillars. The ceiling was an arresting cobweb of tracery, with details picked out in red and gold. A tiny red light flickered above a purple-draped altar. In response to the sound of the door, a figure, cassock-clad, appeared from a door behind the choir stalls.

  “I'm afraid there's no service this morning.” The voice was unexpectedly high-pitched, the intonation that of a BBC radio announcer from the 1950s. The figure moved forwards into a pool of light which revealed it to be a tall thin man with a slight stoop, whose age could have been anything from thirty to fifty-five. Bright eyes of an odd light colour looked out from a smooth pink face beneath a shock of untamed hair whose colour in daylight might have been somewhere between silver and pale gold. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  “Would you be the Reverend Grey, sir?” began Constable, approaching nearer.

  “That's right. Petroc Grey, D.D., college chaplain, for my sins.” A slight chuckle. “Were you looking for me?”

  “We were, sir. We're police officers...” The two proffered their warrant cards and introduced themselves. “... and we're looking into the death of your late Master.”

  “My Master? Oh, of course, Lord Ellpuss. Sorry … so silly of me. Yes, Mr. Lisson gave me the sad news. I'm afraid that in here, one feels so very distant from the troubles of the world that it's easy to forget the unpleasantness of reality. I'm sure you must feel that – I could see you admiring my chapel.”

  “It's a very fine building, sir,” agreed Constable.

  “Lovely, isn't it?” Grey's eyes strayed up to the exquisite carving of the ceiling. “It's Early English Horizontal, you know. One of the finest examples in the country, I believe, and blessedly untouched by the Reformation. You should experience the atmosphere by candlelight – it's quite magical, the way the darkness and the light seem to feed off one another. I have to confess, I do spend a great deal of time here at night.”

  “You're evidently a firm devotee, sir.”

  “Indeed I am, inspector. But then, church buildings are a speciality of mine, from even before I was called to the cloth. In fact, I've even had a little treatise published on the subject of lightning-conductors on medieval rural ecclesiastical buildings. Of course, I doubt very much that you would have read it.”

  “You never know, sir,” said Constable. “I surprise myself sometimes at some of the things I take it into my head to read. Odd information never comes amiss.”

  “Tell me about it,” murmured Copper at his side. He had on more than one occasion been the unwilling recipient of one of the inspector's impromptu lectures on the most arcane subjects.

  “Oh, well, in that case, perhaps you are familiar with my work. I called it, 'Grey's Energy in Country Churchyards'.”

  Constable shook his head. “Sorry, sir, not one I've come across.” He reacted to Copper's meaningful throat-clearing alongside him. “However, that isn't really why we're here, sir.”

  “No, of course not,” said the chaplain. “I'm so used to people coming here seeking the truth that I'm sure you must have questions of your own.”

  “Copper?” The inspector handed the questioning over to his colleague.

  “Right, sir. Yes, Reverend, if you wouldn't mind. You are one of the members of the Trust whose meeting was held last night, I think.”

  “Yes, sergeant, that's right.”

  “At which matters of finance were discussed.”

  “As of course you would expect, sergeant, since that is the Trust's chief function.”

  “Just recapping the main facts, sir. After the meeting, there was a small drinks party, which you also attended?” The chaplain nodded. “Were you aware of any circumstances or events which struck you as unusual during any of this?”

  “Not in the slightest, sergeant. Why should there be? No, of course, I spoke to Lord Ellpuss during the course of the evening, but there was nothing out of the ordinary that I recall.” A cautious light came into Reverend Grey's eyes. “I don't quite understand why you're asking me these questions, sergeant. Am I to take it that you believe that His Lordship's death was other than a natural occurrence?”

  “We must consider that possibility, sir.”

  “Oh heavens!” Reverend Grey appeared shocked. A thought seemed to strike him. “But how? And what does Lady Ellpuss say about this?”

  “We haven't spoken to Her Ladyship as yet, sir.” Constable resumed control of the conversation. “We didn't wish to trouble her until we had a slightly clearer picture of the situation.”

  “Oh, the poor woman,” said the chaplain. “I must go to her. I must offer her whatever consolation I can. I'm sure you'll excuse me, inspector. Needs must when the devil drives.” Without waiting for further permission, Grey dived back through the door by which he had first entered, reappearing seconds later, prayer-book in hand, throwing round himself a voluminous black cape. The cape billowed behind him as he swooped down the nave, and the door to the quad closed after him with a hollow echo.

  *

  Back under the gatehouse arch, where the chilly breeze did not swirl quite so penetratingly, the detectives took stock.

  “H
alfway down my list of trustees, guv, plus there's still the family. What about the grieving widow and her son?”

  “I think we'll do best to leave Her Ladyship in the tender care of the chaplain for the moment,” replied Constable. “We don't know what sort of state she's in, and the last thing I need is a hysterical woman to cope with. So on down the list, and since there seems to be a lot of money talk sloshing around, let's get some information from the horse's mouth.”

  “Best not let the lady hear you call her that, sir,” commented Copper, “if by that you mean Mrs. Pocock.”

  “Which I do. Just around the corner, I think the very helpful Mr. Lisson said.”

  17 Cutpurse Lane was a delightful Georgian cottage with sash windows and a tiny portico – 'that's worth a pretty penny', thought Constable to himself. The door was opened by a stout middle-aged woman with greying hair dressed back into a pleat, and wearing a cardigan, tweed skirt, and sturdy shoes of the type which are invariably described as sensible. Introductions effected, she preceded the police officers into a cosy drawing room, a fire burning in the Regency grate, the walls adorned with prints of eighteenth-century rural scenes.

  “I hope this won't take long, inspector,” said the woman briskly. “I was just about to go out to the shops. As I'm sure I don't need to tell you, if I leave it too late on the last Saturday before Christmas, there won't be a sprout to be had.”

  “We'll be as quick as we can, madam. Now, it's Mrs. Pocock, that much we know – first name?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “And is there a Mr. Pocock?”

  “No, inspector. He died some years ago. He'd been ill for a long time.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that, madam. And you are employed by the college Trust, I understand.”

  “That is not quite correct, inspector. I am Financial Secretary to the Trustees, but it's an honorary position. There is no salary.”

  “Perhaps you've heard about the reason we're here.”

  Mrs. Pocock nodded. “I have, inspector. One of my neighbours knocked on my door earlier to tell me there were police cars at the college gate. And when she went up to ask what was happening, she came back and told me that the Chairman had been found dead. I told her, I could scarcely believe it.”

  “I'm afraid it's true, Mrs. Pocock. And because there is a serious possibility that Lord Ellpuss's death may not have been natural ...” A startled look swept across Mrs. Pocock's face. “... we have to look into all the circumstances surrounding the meeting of the Trust which took place last night.”

  “This is all very worrying, inspector,” said Mrs. Pocock. “I suppose you know all about the Trust?”

  “A certain amount, madam.”

  “Camford Academy Strategic Holdings,” enthused Mrs. Pocock. “Such a great benefit! And Lord Ellpuss managed to work wonders with it, but of course, with all his connections, he was perfectly placed to do so. And I have to say, the money keeps rolling in. We receive donations from wealthy individuals as well as commercial organisations, you know – those who haven't already given all their money to political parties, that is.” There was definite disapproval of the latter, signalled by the pursed mouth of the speaker. “And the benefits have been enormous – financing of research projects, new buildings, and so on.” Her face fell. “Goodness knows how we'll manage without His Lordship.”

  “May I take it that you were on good terms with him?”

  “Oh, very much so, inspector. We worked very closely together, but of course, he had so many other interests that he was entirely happy to leave all the routine matters of finance in my hands.”

  “And that would have included the matters discussed at last night's meeting?”

  “Naturally.” Mrs. Pocock preened a little. “Lord Ellpuss relied on me to present all the latest details of new donors to the Trust. Of course, some of that information is of a highly confidential nature, inspector, so I'm afraid I couldn't divulge any details to you, even if I wished to.”

  “No, I quite understand, Mrs. Pocock. So may I take it that all went smoothly at last night's meeting, and at the party following it?”

  “So far as I know, inspector. I didn't stay late, because the weather forecast was not especially promising. So I popped into the chapel on my way home, because I always like to spend a few moments there every day, and then I came back here. Actually, I had quite an early night. And then I awoke this morning to the snow and the awful news. And now, I hope you'll forgive me, but I really must get on.”

  “Of course. And no doubt you'll also be extremely occupied, once this unpleasant business is over, with dealing with all the financial implications.”

  “I'm sure Lord Ellpuss would have agreed,” said Mrs. Pocock comfortably, “that matters will be quite safe in my hands.”

  *

  “Fancy a drink, guv?” suggested Dave Copper. “Or a coffee? Something to warm us up? Something tells me they probably serve a decent cup of coffee in the bar at the Camford Arms.”

  “What an extremely cunning plan, sergeant,” said Constable approvingly. “And you never know who we may run into there. Two birds with one stone. Lead on. You're buying.”

  “... but you see, when they were in Afghanistan for the second time, the Russians made exactly the same mistake as they had in the nineteenth century.” The only occupant of the bar, a white-haired man in his late sixties wearing a bilious yellow tweed jacket and sporting a striped tie, was perched on a bar stool, evidently expounding at length to a terminally bored barman. “Damn fine fighter normally, your Afghan, but the trouble is ...”

  “Excuse me, sir, while I serve these two gentlemen.” The barman seemed enormously relieved to have an excuse to escape, and rapidly busied himself with Dave Copper's order for a pair of cappuccinos.

  In no way daunted, the speaker turned his attention to the newcomers. “Now, you, young chappie – you've got a bit of the squaddie look about you, so you'll know what I'm talking about. As I was telling this feller here, when you're up against it, the last thing you want ...”

  Andy Constable felt no qualms about interrupting. “Would you be Mr. Muskett, by any chance?”

  “Colonel Lewis Muskett, D.F.C., (Retired), to be exact. Got to be exact in this game, you know. Who's asking?”

  “My name is Constable, sir – Detective Inspector Constable, since we're being exact, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Copper.”

  “Aha!” declared Muskett. “Well, a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse. You don't need to tell me what brings two members of the County Constabulary sniffing round here at this hour of the day, and it won't be the smell of coffee! The little matter of a deceased peer, eh? Am I right?”

  Constable smiled. “I can see we've no hope of pulling the wool over your eyes, sir. Yes, of course you are right, and I'm taking it from what you say that you are aware of what has happened.”

  “Course I am,” said Muskett. “You can't keep a thing like that quiet. It'll be all over the town by now. Something funny about it, I've heard. Got it from the hotel concierge – ever want to know anything, keep in with the hotel concierge, that's my motto! Amazing what those fellows can find out.”

  “I'll bear it in mind, sir,” said Constable mildly. “But at present, I'm more concerned with finding out what you can tell us about the events of yesterday, particularly concerning the meeting of the Trust. I gather you hold quite a senior position there.”

  “True, inspector, quite true. Vice-Chairman of the Board of Trustees is the precise title, since I see your young chappie here is doing his best to take down the details surreptitiously, and to be frank, not making a very good fist of it. But yes, old Ellpuss appointed me Vice-Chairman not long ago, a while after he took over as Master. Chappie I knew from another college recommended me. Needed someone with a good head on their shoulders to take things forward when he wasn't around, d'you see? That's where the military training comes in, you know – nothing like an army background when it comes to organising thi
s Trust business.”

  “Were you in the forces long, sir?” enquired Copper.

  “Lord, yes,” replied Muskett. “Made a career of it. Now you won't remember this, sergeant, because you look far too young to me, but we used to have National Service in this country. Well, I was one of the lucky ones – I was included in the last ever group to be called up. Worked my way up through the ranks – not too many people get made up to officer from that sort of start, you know, but the Army will always recognise talent. Same with the Trust. That's why they like an army chap on the board, you see. After the Falklands, anything's a piece of cake.”

  “You were there too, sir?” said Copper admiringly.

  “All the right people were, laddie,” said Muskett. “Walked all over the other lot, but of course, one doesn't like to brag.”

  “Fascinating though all this may be, sir,” said Constable, “I'd like to come back to the events of yesterday. The meeting, and the party which followed it.”

  “Don't know that I can tell you much, to be honest, inspector,” said Muskett. “There was a lot of talk about money at the meeting, but to be honest, all these financial details bore me stiff. Can't fathom what they're on about half the time. I'm more your practical man. And as for the party, well, nobody's going to turn down the chance of a free drink, are they?” He gave a meaningful look at the empty whisky glass before him, which Constable chose to ignore. “I had a drop or two of Lord Ellpuss's single malt, and I had to pull out all the stops to get that, followed by a couple of rather uninspiring vol-au-vents, after which I wended my way home, duty done. And that's pretty much it.”

  “Is that man for real, guv?” asked Copper, as the detectives stood sheltering from a sudden squall beneath the hotel's porch. “He's like a cartoon character.”

  “Let nobody tell you that we don't meet all-sorts in this job, sergeant,” intoned Constable. He chuckled. “The trick is to pick out the ones with the tasty bit in the middle of the liquorice.”