Christmas Mourning (The Falconer Files Book 8)

by Andrea Frazer

  CHRISTMAS MOURNING

  ANDREA FRAZER

  Christmas Mourning is the eighth instalment of Andrea Frazer’s Falconer Files, a detective series chock-full of picture-postcard villages, dastardly deeds, and a delightful slice of humour.

  The UK is experiencing its worst winter for years. Catastrophic news for DI Harry Falconer, as he has rashly promised to spend Christmas with his sergeant, Carmichael, and Carmichael’s rambunctious family, in Castle Farthing – only to find himself snowed in and in and spending a lot longer at chez Carmichael than is desirable …

  Without power or telephones, and Castle Farthing cut off from the outside world until further notice, Christmas Day greets them … with a murder in St Cuthbert’s Church, where the locum vicar has discovered, to his horror, one of Castle Farthing's residents nailed to a gigantic cross.

  Falconer and Carmichael are left to dig their way out of Carmichael's cottage to investigate the terrible crime, with none of the technology and support normally available to them.

  As if this is not enough to cope with, Carmichael has agreed to look after a huge Great Dane over the festivities, Kerry Carmichael is just about to give birth – and death is still stalking the snowed-in community, intent on claiming at least one more victim …

  This book is for Colin Crouch, the best and most inspirational English teacher I have ever met: a man who taught me to open my eyes and see a whole world of possibilities I never knew existed.

  Other books by Andrea Frazer

  The Falconer Files

  Death of an Old Git

  Choked Off

  Inkier than the Sword

  Pascal Passion

  Murder at the Manse

  Strict and Peculiar

  Christmas Mourning

  Grave Stones

  Death in High Circles

  The Falconer Files – Brief Cases

  Love Me To Death

  A Sidecar Named Expire

  Battered to Death

  Toxic Gossip

  Driven To It

  Others

  Choral Mayhem

  DRAMATIS PERSONNAE

  Old Village

  Kerry Carmichael – wife of DS ‘Davey’ Carmichael, and her sons, Dean and Kyle

  Rosemary Wilson – Kerry’s aunt, and proprietor of ‘Allsorts’, Drovers Lane

  George and Paula Covington – owners of ‘The Fisherman’s Flies’ public house

  Alan and Marian Warren-Browne – formerly of the post office; godparents of Kerry

  Rebecca Rollason – proprietor of the Castle Farthing Tea Shop. Husband Nick, son Tristram (3)

  Brigadier Godfrey and Joyce Malpas-Graves – The Old Manor House

  Albert Carpenter – a village elder, of Woodbine Cottage. Great-nephew, John.

  New Village

  Digby Jeffries – ex-BBC, of Michaelmas Cottage, Carsfold Road

  Robin De’ath – ex-Channel 6, of Pastures New, Carsfold Road

  Cedric Malting – playwright, of The Nook, Carsfold Road

  Alice Diggory – ex-English teacher, of Hillview, Carsfold Road

  Henry Pistorius – ex-BBC radio, of The Old School House, Sheepwash Lane

  Warren Stupple – physics teacher at Market Darley, of Pilgrim’s Rest, Sheepwash Lane

  Helena Stupple – his wife. Two sets of twins: Emily and Amelia; Sholto and Octavius

  Dr Hector Griddle – In charge of Blue Sky, a rehabilitation centre based in the old vicarage

  The Officials

  Detective Inspector Harry Falconer of the Market Darley CID

  Detective Inspector ‘Davey’ Carmichael of the Market Darley CID

  Rev. Searle – officiating clergyman in St Cuthbert’s for 24th and 25th December

  Superintendent ‘Jelly’ Chivers, PCs Green, Starr, Proudfoot, et al.

  Previously – In the Falconer Files

  This is the eighth big case that Detective Inspector Harry Falconer and Detective Sergeant ‘Davey’ Carmichael have worked on together. When they were first made partners they were a decidedly odd couple, but each had something to teach the other, and during these months Falconer has become a little less obsessive about his appearance, and Carmichael has found a voice of wisdom that he never knew he possessed.

  Harry Falconer is about five feet ten inches tall, with a slightly olive cast to his skin, and brown eyes. His hair is short and straight, very dark brown, and worn en brosse. He is of medium build, and tries to eat healthily to preserve his still-trim waistline.

  He previously lived alone with his seal-point Siamese cat, Mycroft, having spent sixteen years in the army, reaching the rank of major. Since working with Carmichael, he has acquired three more cats directly from the cases they have worked on together: Ruby, a red-point Siamese, Tar Baby, a long-haired black cat, and Perfect Cadence, a silver-spotted Bengal. His parents are both barristers.

  ‘Davey’ Carmichael is six-feet-five-and-a-half inches tall in his enormous cotton socks, and takes size fifteen shoes. He is not just tall, but broad as well. He has a shock of fairish hair which grows in any direction it feels like, and his eyes are blue. Carmichael can eat an awful lot of anything he fancies without gaining an ounce.

  Carmichael’s real forenames are Ralph Orsino, and he has, very sensibly in Falconer’s opinion, chosen to be known as Davey. He has numerous brothers and sisters and, when they were first put together as partners, he lived with his parents and other family members in a council house in Market Darley in a ramshackle extension at the back of the house, which Falconer mentally dubbed ‘Carmichael Towers’, but never dared verbalise this nickname.

  When first partnered with DI Falconer, he was a humble uniformed PC but, during their time together, he has managed to pass his sergeant’s exams, and been moved to the plainclothes side of policing.

  On their first case together he met the woman who would become his wife, Kerry Long, who had two sons, Dean and Kyle, from a previous marriage. They married on New Year’s Eve, 2009, in a pantomime-themed ceremony at the Register Office in Market Darley, and now live in Castle Farthing with two dogs, a Chihuahua and a Yorkshire terrier, known, unbelievably, as Fang and Mr Knuckles, which they acquired on January 9th, 2010.

  At the end of their sixth big case, Music to Die For, Carmichael found out that his wife, Kerry, was expecting his first child, and during their seventh, Strict and Peculiar, he learnt that Fang, supposedly a boy, was in pup – and so was his mother, Mrs Carmichael senior!

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Andrea Frazer

  Originally published by Accent Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781477878880

  This title was previously published by Accent Press; this version has been reproduced from Accent Press archive files.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

&nbs
p; Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prologue

  The village of Castle Farthing had been positively bustling, as far as changes in residents went, over the past eighteen months, and as many had left so many more had moved in, and it wasn’t quite as sleepy as it had been when the village had been struck by the tragedy of murder in the summer of 2009.

  The four new houses that were being built at the time that those events took place were now finished and occupied. As there was no intention of installing a full-time vicar for the village again, the vicarage had been sold off by the church, the garage had been taken over by a large chain of petrol stations, and its little shop now provided some very unwelcome competition for Rosemary Wilson’s shop, Allsorts.

  Sheepwash Lane had been particularly hit by the departure of previous residents, and three in a row now had new owners: The Old School House, The Beehive and Pilgrim’s Rest. Alan and Marian Warren-Browne had retired from the post office and bought The Beehive, once the home of Clive and Cassandra Romaine, and were delighted to have the property, as it had a studio building in the garden which they had turned into a rumpus room-cum-playroom for their goddaughter Kerry Carmichael’s two sons.

  The Old School House had been purchased by a widower who, rumour confidently had it, used to be involved in the broadcast of agricultural programmes on the radio but, for the locals, there would always be Martha Cadogan’s shade out in the garden somewhere, tending her beloved plants.

  Pilgrim’s Rest, the former home of Piers and Dorothy Manningford, was now inhabited by a lively family of six, and its proximity to The Old Manor House had considerably increased the Brigadier’s intake of pink gin and the frequency of his tantrums when the children were laughing and shouting in the garden.

  The vicarage, against furious local opposition, had been acquired by an organisation that dealt in the final stages of rehabilitation for ex-drug users and alcoholics, and events at the village hall, which was adjacent to the property, had dwindled since the property had been in use in its new guise.

  As for the four new houses, two either side of the Carsfold Road where it bifurcated to go round the village green, these were occupied thus: Michaelmas Cottage housed Digby Jeffries, who had been something to do with the BBC; Pastures New was occupied by Robin De’ath (pronounced, naturally, as Deeth), who had worked for a less well-known television broadcaster; on the east side of the road, Hillview was the home of a retired English teacher, Alice Diggory; The Nook, by the amateur playwright, Cedric Malting.

  With Henry Pistorius in The Old School House and three of the four new houses containing residents from a similar background, debate had become more lively, and the competition between these four had been furious as to who should be top dog when it came to prior importance in their respective fields.

  What with the opening of the new rehabilitation centre, newly named ‘Blue Sky’ (all the residents of which were barred from the village’s only public house, The Fisherman’s Flies, by order of the centre’s resident doctor), life had become very different from what it had been in the past, and Castle Farthing was slowly and reluctantly becoming used to the changes that had occurred in its midst.

  The post office, although run by a young couple now and not closed as many thought it would have been, was still a lively place for people to meet and gossip as they waited their turn in the queue, and the Castle Farthing Tea Shop did a livelier trade than it had in the past, mainly due to the residents of ‘Blue Sky’, as they were banished from the pub and there was little else to do in the village. Rebecca Rollason, who ran it, had always found them courteous and polite, and would not have dreamt of refusing their custom because of their pasts.

  DS Davey Carmichael and his wife Kerry had almost finished the joining of Kerry’s formerly rented home, Jasmine Cottage, and its neighbour, Crabapple Cottage, and were really appreciating the extra space it had given them, not only for themselves, but for Kerry’s two sons, Dean and Kyle, too. With the addition of the two dogs to their family – Mr Knuckles and Mistress Fang, the latter in pup – the arrival of a stray cat which they had adopted, and the imminent arrival of their own baby, they had noticed little about the change in the population, being much too busy with more important things: creating the perfect nest for their family.

  Cosy little villages tended to stay the same in cosy fiction, but real life simply isn’t like that. Castle Farthing had changed considerably, and was due to change again as the cataclysmic winter of 2010 approached, as unsuspected events closed in around the little village.

  Chapter One

  Friday 24th December – Christmas Eve, 5pm

  In Castle Farthing on this Christmas Eve, all was aglow with myriad lights, all twinkling in the cold air and filling it with a rainbow. George and Paula Covington had outdone themselves with their decorations this year and, apart from the many varied strands of lights attached to the outside, they had added an enormous inflatable Father Christmas and an equally huge inflatable snowman, both of which were lit up from within.

  From the Christmas trees outside the pub doors, every colour imaginable sparkled from the fibre-optic trees (with added strings of light and decorations) that they had placed outside the doors of the public house, and an equally large Christmas tree did the same job inside, the roaring log fire providing an extra welcome to customers in this bitter weather.

  Even the castle ruins from which the village had originally been given its name (the ‘farthing’ thought to be the toll charged to pass down the road through the old castle grounds) had been seasonally tarted-up, and, for the first time, were strung with sturdy outdoor lights in an assortment of colours.

  The lights strung round the village green also did their bit to add to the seasonal atmosphere, and every cottage sported a brightly lit and decorated tree in its front window. Castle Farthing looked like a Christmas card, the impression heightened by the snow that had threatened earlier in the day and had eventually begun to fall at about two-thirty, delighting those on their way to the church for the crib service, for St Cuthbert’s had a locum this Christmas, and services would be heard in its ancient walls at this time of the year for the first time in two years.

  In the next few hours, however, everyone back in their houses hiding from the cold and the rising wind, the snow had begun to fall in earnest, the flakes large and soft as duck down, falling faster and faster in ever increasing volume, and Castle Farthing, unbeknownst to most, now had six inches of blanketing white decorating it, too, and the sky was heavy with more to come.

  Wednesday 1st December – morning

  Detective Inspector Harry Falconer was sitting at his desk finishing off a provisional report on the crime figures for November, when a whirlwind entered the room; the door flying back on its hinges to bang and rebound from the metal filing cabinet behind it, and then slammed with a shudder that ran through the whole room and a giant of a figure crossed over to the desk and flung itself into the chair on the other side of it, exclaiming, ‘That bloody man!’

  ‘Carmichael!’ retorted Falconer, in horror, for he rarely heard Carmichael swear. ‘Whatever’s got into you? What man? Calm down and tell me all about it, and we’ll see if we can’t get it into some sort of perspective for you.’ And damn you for interrupting when I thought I’d just got a handle on these figures; I’ll have to start all over again now when you’ve got it out of your system, thought Falconer with a mental sigh.

  ‘That one I’ve mentioned a few times to you: the one that’s moved into the village: the one that’s trying to get his finger into every pie, and who’s been upsetting Kerry. You remember, sir?’

  ‘I certainly do. What’s he done now?’ The inspector hoped it wasn’t anything too heinous, but Carmichael didn’t usually get all het up about nothing.

  With a renewal of the anger he had demonstrated on entering the office, Carmichael’s face gr
ew red, and he made strangling motions with his huge hands, declaring, ‘I could kill the man myself, saying such things to a pregnant woman.’

  At the rise in the volume of his voice, a uniformed officer poked his head round the door to see that everything was all right, and withdrew when he realised that it was only the DI and the DS in there.

  ‘Come on, you! Let’s get ourselves off to the canteen, get some hot tea into you, and talk about this calmly. Just simmer down, and you can tell me all about it, but without the murderous gestures, if you don’t mind,’ Falconer suggested. Then, perhaps he could get back to what he had been doing, in peace. Let the younger man get it out of his system .

  ‘Sorry, sir, but he just makes me so mad!’ replied Carmichael, blowing on his hands now, which were blue with cold as he wore no gloves.

  ‘And get your hands by that radiator for a couple of minutes before we go. I don’t want you throwing scalding tea everywhere, especially over me, just because you’ve got no feeling in your fingers. My arm’s only just recovered from that knock with the baseball bat I got, and I don’t want to follow it up with a nasty case of Advent burns.’ [1]

  Falconer had received a nasty blow to his arm during an attack from a suspect in their previous case, and was still taking painkillers and painstakingly following the exercises the physiotherapist had shown him after that injury.

  A few minutes later in the canteen, his enormous hands wrapped round the special pint mug that Maggie behind the counter kept for him ( she was soft-hearted, and proud of it!), Carmichael took a noisy slurp of the almost-boiling liquid, squinted his eyes in pain and appreciation, and began his tale of woe.

  ‘That chap I told you about over the last few weeks: he’s getting worse, and it’s really upsetting Kerry,’ began Carmichael.