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

by Roger Keevil

  “But why do you suppose it's been left here?”

  Copper shrugged. “Search me, guv. And what is all that drivel about anyway?”

  Constable was denied the opportunity to answer by the sound of the door opening, while Copper by some miracle succeeded in being found standing several feet away from the desk, a picture of innocence, as the newcomer entered the room.

  “Are you Inspector Constable? Eileen said you wanted a word.” The young man standing in the doorway provided a vivid injection of brightness into a dull winter's day. The floral shirt, with its colourful pattern of hibiscus and parrots, would have felt entirely at home on a Caribbean beach, and the white jeans appeared to leave no room for expansion. A heavy lock of dark brown, almost black, hair fell across his brow, and was frequently swept back with a shake of the head. He advanced towards Constable, proffering his hand to effect a rather limp handshake. “Evan Ellpuss.”

  Ignoring the slight snort from Dave Copper standing behind him, Andy Constable gave a welcoming smile. “Lord Ellpuss's son, I believe, sir? My condolences on your loss, Mr. Ellpuss.”

  “Thank you, inspector. Do please sit down.” Evan sank into an armchair, tucked his feet up under himself, and left the detectives to make their own arrangements. “You want to talk about what happened yesterday, Eileen said.”

  “That's right, sir. If it's not too delicate a subject.”

  “Oh, you go right ahead, inspector. I'm not some Victorian maiden who swoons at the mention of murder. And it may be murder, according to the chaplain. Is that so?”

  “I'm afraid it is, sir. We had grounds for suspicion earlier on – I have to tell you that we have had confirmation, so this is a murder enquiry.”

  “Well then, you ask me anything you want. If somebody's done the Old Man in, I'd want to know who as much as you do.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ellpuss.” Constable nodded to Copper to deploy the customary notebook. “Now, I understand that your whole family was here in Camford for the meeting of the Board of Trustees.”

  “Oh no, inspector,” Evan contradicted him. “Mother and Father came up specially from London, but I'm here all the time. I'm a student at the university.”

  Constable looked Evan up and down. “Oh yes, sir?” There was an echo of doubt in his words.

  “Of course. A mature student, I should say.”

  “Can I ask how mature, exactly?”

  “Twenty-seven,” said Evan, with a perfectly straight face. Copper, in the background, reflected that it was normally considered a very serious offence to lie to the police, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

  “And yesterday,” continued the inspector, “everyone was gathered here for the meeting of the Trust?”

  “Yes. Of course, I'm not actually on the board of the Trust – neither is Mother, but we've got a pretty good idea of what goes on.”

  “Are you aware of what went on yesterday?”

  “I do know that there was some sort of financial crisis, so they wanted to talk about that. But I suppose they must have sorted it out, because I heard my father tell my mother at the start of the party that he was going to call the editor of the 'Splash' first thing this morning with a new lead story for Sunday's paper.”

  Constable leaned forward. “Did you hear any more details of exactly what he meant?”

  Evan shook his head. “Sorry, I'm afraid I can't help you there. You see, I was rather on the move last night, because my mother had me circulating with the drinks. Honestly – sherry! Who drinks sherry these days? Another one of these fusty old university traditions, I suppose.”

  “So as far as you were concerned, the party was all rather dull?”

  “Well, actually, inspector, no, not really. In fact, everyone seemed a bit jumpy.”

  Constable's interest was awakened. “Can you think of any particular instances?”

  Evan cast his eyes up in thought. “Oh, I do remember one moment which seemed a bit tense, for some reason – there was a bit of a frisson. My father was saying something to Miss Scarlatti about money not being able to buy everything, not even silence, but nothing was set in concrete yet, and she said that all sorts of things can be set in concrete, and her family are the experts. I didn't even know she was interested in buildings, but I suppose she could have been speaking about one of the Trust development projects. I think there's talk of a new library.”

  “Was that all of the conversation that you heard?”

  “Almost. Miss Scarlatti said something about having to go soon. I think she may have been planning to spend the night with friends off-campus, because she mentioned sleeping with the Fishers, whoever they may be. Somebody at another college, I expect.”

  Constable mused for a moment, quietly filing facts away at the back of his mind. “Did your father speak to anyone else that you know of?”

  “Oh, everyone at some time or another. I did hear him talking to the Reverend Grey about the chapel. I've heard a rumour that something pretty amazing has been discovered. Mind you, you never know what to believe in a place like this – the whole college is a hotbed of rumour and gossip. It's great fun sometimes.”

  “And this amazing discovery – have you any idea what was found, or by whom?”

  “Sadly, no, inspector. That bit of the story hasn't got to me yet, but I expect it will. Perhaps,” speculated Evan with sudden enthusiasm, “it's another medieval wall-painting! They discovered one a few years ago in the chapel crypt underneath some whitewash when they were doing some restoration. It's all about damnation and the casting of souls into hell – it's very graphic, with all those writhing bodies. Maybe it's another one of those. Anyway, my father said it couldn't stay covered up for ever, and he wanted to make sure that the whole world knew the naked truth, and then he cracked some joke about getting Ozzy Osbourne in to sing at the chaplain's next service. And I thought, big respect, dad, getting down with the kids!”

  “How did the chaplain react to his remarks?”

  “It was very funny, really,” giggled Evan at the memory. “The Rev. Grey lost it a bit and said that my father was really getting his goat, but for some reason that made my father laugh even more. But then the Rev went off looking a bit sick. Overdosed on that cheap sherry my mother was serving, I expect, or else he'd had too much of his home-brewed communion wine.”

  “Home-brewed wine?”

  “Yes, he's always concocting something in that little lab of his in the crypt, but everyone knows that.”

  “And what about the rest of the evening?”

  “Not the faintest, inspector,” said Evan airily. “I'd had enough by then, so I sneaked off. I thought, I'm not going to waste the whole evening hobnobbing with all these dreary people. Actually, Mrs. Wright's quite fun – you can have a laugh with her, but we're not really each other's type. So I escaped to the pub.”

  “And that would be which pub, sir?” intervened Copper, pen at the ready.

  “The Rose and Rainbow, sergeant.”

  “I don't know it, sir.”

  “It's just the far side of the Square. It used to be the old 'Rose and Crown' before somebody bought it up and turned it into a cocktail bar. The barman Damien does some absolutely super cocktails there – everyone loves his 'Between The Sheets'. And I spent the rest of the evening there until about midnight or so. The first thing I knew anything was wrong was when Eileen brought me my tea this morning.”

  “Can anyone confirm that, Mr. Ellpuss?” asked Copper.

  “Loads of people. All the crowd were there.”

  “Just one will do, sir,” said Copper stolidly.

  “Well, if you absolutely insist on checking up on me,” said Evan a touch waspishly, “I suppose you'd better ask my friend Toby.”

  “Toby, being …?”

  Evan sighed irritably. “Tobias Wheat, sergeant.”

  “And where will we find this gentleman, should we wish to do so?”

  “He works at Sofas-4-All in the Square. I'm sure if you rush there no
w, he'll confirm what I've told you.”

  “Just a thought, Mr. Ellpuss,” interrupted Constable. “You say you stayed out until after midnight, but the lodge-keeper told us he locks up long before that. So, how did you get back in?”

  “Ah.” A sly look came over Evan's face. “You've discovered the other secret of Ewell Hall, inspector. Yes, the gates do get locked up, but I'm sure you know what students are like. You can't get us to obey the rules if there's a way round them. So each student year passes the secret down to the next.” Evan unconsciously lowered his voice. “There used to be a little gateway leading from a yard at the back of the chapel vestry out into the lane behind. Now, it was all walled up years ago, but there is a tree in the lane, and if you're agile, you can climb up, clamber over the wall, let yourself down into the yard, and come out through the chapel. In fact, there was even supposed to be a secret passage from the chapel through into the Master's House, but I've never found it. Anyway, generations of us have got in that way, and the bulldogs have never found out how.”

  “Bulldogs, sir?”

  “Yes, inspector. The chaps in bowler hats, like Mr. Lisson at the gate. Of course, no ex-student would ever become a bulldog, so the secret's pretty safe, I should think. Oh!” A sudden realisation came to Evan. “That's as long as you don't give us away.”

  “I think that your secrets, if secrets you have, will be quite safe with us,” replied Constable drily.

  Evan uncoiled himself from his chair. “So is that all?”

  “I think so, sir. If you don't mind, we'll just wait for your mother here. Although ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder if we might take a look at the room where last night's party took place?”

  “Just to get an idea of the locus in quo, you understand, sir,” said Dave Copper with an admirably straight face.

  “Of course. It's just across the hall in the dining room.” Evan led the way and held open a door. “Mind you, I don't suppose Eileen's had a chance to clean in here this morning yet, so it's probably still a bit of a mess.”

  “So much the better, sir. Just leave it with us.” With a smile Constable closed the door, politely but firmly, in Evan's face.

  *

  The unlit dining room was long and low-ceilinged, with dark oak beams and mullioned windows. A dining table, which looked as if it would have been at home in a monastic refectory, was prominent in the centre of the room, while around the walls were ranged various cabinets, chairs, bureaux and console tables. Trays bearing bottles and plates with the remains of a finger buffet formed an untidy centre-piece on the table, while sherry glasses and the occasional whisky tumbler stood abandoned on various surfaces about the room. At the end opposite the door a large carved stone fireplace, its mantel supported by a pair of sturdy caryatids, presided over the room.

  “Hey, guv,” said Copper, “what about all these bits and pieces left over from the party? If the doc's pretty sure that Lord Ellpuss was poisoned, shouldn't we be getting the SOCO team in to bag everything up? Maybe we're looking at vital evidence.”

  “Extremely sound thinking, sergeant. With a bit of luck, they'll still be fiddling about where the late Lord was found. Nip out and put this on their agenda.”

  “Will do, sir.” Copper trotted smartly from the room.

  The sergeant had only been gone a matter of moments, as Constable stood surveying the room and seeking somehow to absorb the atmosphere of the previous evening, when he was aware of another presence. Turning, he was met with the sight of a woman silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Inspector Constable? May Ellpuss. Lord Ellpuss was my husband.” She switched on the light and stepped into the room. Constable saw a woman of mature years and middle height, dressed in an elegant ensemble of purple dress and black court shoes. Pearls gleamed discreetly in her ears and in a single strand around her neck. The complexion was pale but flawless, with merely a hint of sombre red lipstick. The eyes were grey and clear, and the hairstyle, with its immaculate sweep of carefully-lacquered ash-blonde hair, was positively prime-ministerial in its authority. “I understand that you wish to speak to me.”

  “If that isn't inconvenient, Lady Ellpuss. And may I offer my condolences.” These were accepted with a grave nod of the head. “And I am sorry to distress you, but I have to ask you some questions.”

  “Naturally, inspector – we all have to do our duty,” said Lady Ellpuss. “But I think I'd prefer it if we didn't talk here. After all, this room is the place where I last saw my husband, so ...” A small lace handkerchief was drawn from her sleeve as she dabbed at the corner of her eye. “Perhaps we could go through to the drawing room.” Constable followed her into the hall, just as Copper, with a brief murmur of “Just caught 'em, guv. They're on their way”, returned and fell in behind them.

  “So, how may I help you, inspector?” enquired Lady Ellpuss, as she seated herself with a ramrod back in a Queen Anne chair by the fireplace and invited Constable to another opposite.

  “I would like, if I may, to ask you about the individuals who were at the party last night.”

  A flash of distaste lit up Lady Ellpuss's face. “Of course, none of these dreadful people are what they pretend to be. Frauds, all of them. I mean, they're all posing as members of the great and the good, just because my husband appointed them to the Board of the Trust, but most of them are nobodies. They have no idea how to behave.”

  The inspector was slightly taken aback by the firmness of May Ellpuss's expression. “I was under the impression that several of the Trustees were of quite long standing,” he ventured.

  “That's as may be,” said May darkly, “but when my husband took over as Master, most of them had to be re-appointed. He could sometimes be very naïve, you know – took people at their own valuation, in fact far too often for his own good on occasion. But woe betide them if he found himself let down.”

  “You said something about their behaviour, Your Ladyship. I don't quite understand.”

  “Well, look at what happened when Elizabeth Pocock spilt my husband's drink all down him. All of a flutter she was, blushing and dabbing at him with her handkerchief, and gabbling on 'Take mine, take mine, I can easily get another'. Nobody with an ounce of breeding would have caused such a scene.”

  “Do I gather that you don't much like Mrs. Pocock?”

  “Ridiculous woman!” The pose of grieving widow seemed to have been forgotten, and had been replaced by a formidable virago. “She may be Financial Secretary of the Trust now, but she used to be an accountant with Ladhill's Bookmakers, and according to Eileen Maggs, before that she was just a cashier at one of their betting windows. Always keep in with your servants, inspector – you'll be amazed what they can tell you.”

  “I shall try to bear that in mind, madam,” said Constable solemnly. “Ladhill's Bookmakers, eh?”

  “I think she may still be involved with them, because I saw her in deep conversation with my husband right at the start of the evening, and he said something like 'Lost a great deal of cash? You bet!'. And then she scuttled away, and he turned to me and said, 'Honestly! Losing a fortune because of a useless old nag!', and then he stamped off.”

  “Your husband not a betting man then, Your Ladyship.”

  “Oh no, not from a horsey background by any means, inspector.” Lady Ellpuss smiled fondly. “A dear man, but no seat on a horse at all. No, my side of the family are the ones with riding in the blood. Now my brother, for instance, when he was serving with the Household Cavalry, he used to … oh, that reminds me.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don't know if it's at all relevant to what you want to know, inspector, but it's just another instance of the sort of people we were having to mix with. Now, one of my husband's new appointments, Muskett – oh, I beg his pardon.” The voice was heavy with irony. “He always insists on the full 'Colonel Muskett, D.F.C., (Retired)', but I think we can all see what's going on there.”

  “Yes, Lady Ellpuss,” smiled Constable, �
�we have met the colonel. So where does your brother come in?”

  “Well, dear Gerald was on the staff at Sandhurst, and I happened to mention Muskett one day, and he'd never heard of him. And it's not the sort of name you'd forget, is it?”

  “To be honest, madam, I'm not sure that the colonel is the sort of man you'd forget,” agreed Constable.

  “And the army are normally so good at keeping records, aren't they? But according to Gerald, the only time he'd ever come across the name was in connection with Aldershot, and he thought that might have been the Catering Corps, so that would have made no kind of sense, would it?” Lady Ellpuss shrugged dismissively. “Not, I have to say, that I'm particularly concerned one way or another.”

  “So all in all, not exactly your kind of people?” summarised Constable.

  Lady Ellpuss leaned forward confidentially. “To be frank, inspector, I have as little to do with these persons as I can, commensurate with supporting my dear husband in his work, of course. Oh dear!” She broke off for a moment and wiped away a tear. “For a second I'd forgotten ...” She took a breath. “Forgive me, inspector. Do carry on.”

  “We were speaking about your guests at the party.”

  “As far as that was concerned, I contented myself with making sure that Evan kept the sherry glasses filled, but I saw some people just helping themselves. So rude! Ah! I've just remembered – that was another thing. My husband was never a one for sherry - he had one or two at the start of the evening, but he was always partial to a rather fine single malt whisky in preference, so he changed over to that later. But when he saw him with a whisky tumbler in his hand, Muskett came up – Muskett again! - and practically insisted on a whisky for himself. Such bad manners! But anyway, by this time, the decanter was virtually empty, so I had to go through to the study to fetch another bottle, and as I went in, Professor Plump was just coming off the phone.”

  “Yes, we had been told that the professor received a telephone call during the evening.”