by Roger Keevil
Everything came back to the character of Horace Cope. How often had he heard in his time as a junior detective that the key to the crime was so often to be found in the nature of the victim. So what sort of man was Horace Cope?
A creep. Andy Constable couldn’t stop the words springing into his mind. On the surface, wealthy, cultured, well-respected. Influential, moving in high circles. A celebrity (how he hated that word!), appearing in the newspapers and on television. But as a person, not immediately likeable. Constable made a strenuous effort to put his personal thoughts aside, but he couldn’t help shuddering at the lifestyle demonstrated by the furnishings with which Horace surrounded himself in his home. And the evidence of the various witnesses showed that Horace had a mercurial and unpredictable personality, at one moment charming and generous on the surface, but changing in seconds to an air of syrupy menace or, on occasion, waspish malevolence. A collector of information, and a user of that information to his own benefit. In short, a blackmailer. But did he actually use the information, or did he simply hold it over the heads of his – was ‘victims’ too strong a word? – and to what end? There wasn’t any evidence that Horace had derived any financial gains from his knowledge. So did he simply enjoy knowing what he knew, letting it be known that he had power over others, simply as an end in itself? It seemed so. Constable snorted. So, not only a creep, but a twisted creep. Sometimes, Andy Constable thought to himself, my job’s not easy. He felt slightly depressed, a mood not helped by the fact that heavier curtains of drizzle had begun to drift in across the lake. He headed for the solitary cedar which towered over the front lawn half-way between the lake shore and the house, and hunched on the rustic wooden bench sheltering beneath it.
“Sir!”
Andy Constable looked up to see Dave Copper trotting across the lawn towards him, in his hand a plastic bag. Copper seated himself alongside the inspector, puffing slightly.
“I reckon you may be interested in this, sir. Just found it in the library, crumpled up in the waste-paper basket.”
“What were you doing ferreting about in the waste-paper basket?”
“Dropped my notebook, sir. Fished it out, found this underneath it.”
“So what is it?”
“Letter to Robin Allday, sir. Dated the day before yesterday. Listen to this.”
The bag was the usual clear seal-able type used to contain items of evidence. Inside, crumpled but smoothed out so that it could be read, was a letter on Law Society headed notepaper, addressed to Robin Allday at his chambers in Dammett Worthy High Street.
“‘Dear Mr. Allday, As a result of certain information which has come into our possession, we should be grateful if you would attend a preliminary hearing at these premises on Wednesday of next week. We apologise for the short notice given to you, but we believe that the gravity of the allegations requires urgent action. You may bring an additional legal advisor should you think it appropriate.’”
“Who’s it from?”
“Some woman called Julie Noated, sir. Secretary of the Disciplinary Board, it says. So what do you reckon that’s all about?”
Andy Constable raised an eyebrow. “We know exactly what it’s about, sergeant. In fact, I’ve just been thinking about Mr. Allday and what we’ve been told about some of his activities. Maybe a bit of fiddling taxes, maybe a bit of property fraud. And it looks very much as if somebody has blown the gaff on Mr. Allday to his professional authorities.”
“That somebody being Horace Cope, sir?”
“Who else, sergeant? We can check very easily – you can give them a call on Monday.”
Dave Copper grinned broadly. “Well then, we’ve got him, haven’t we, sir? Perfect motive. Horace threatens Robin, Robin won’t play ball, so Horace spills the beans and Robin bops him one. End of. Let’s go get him.”
“Hold your horses, Copper,” smiled Constable, amused at his colleague’s eagerness. “There are still some things that don’t quite fit.” He began to pace up and down. “For a start, until we know exactly what this ‘certain information’ is, we can’t be at all sure that Horace Cope had anything to do with providing it.”
“No, sir,” put in Copper, “but it’d be just like him, from everything people have told us, wouldn’t it?”
“That I grant you, sergeant, but we shan’t know for certain until Monday. And in any case, we’ve heard a lot about Horace Cope making all these meaningful remarks to everybody, but we haven’t got any evidence as yet that he actually did anything about any of them. I think our Mr. Cope was the sort of man who enjoyed having power over people because of what he knew about them. But once you actually use the threat, it’s gone. You can’t use it again. And if Horace Cope had actually gone ahead and revealed what he knew about Robin Allday, what would be the point of Robin killing him? The cat’s already out of the bag.”
“Maybe he killed him to protect somebody else, sir.”
Andy Constable paused. “That, Sergeant Copper, is a remarkably astute observation. Well done. And you would have in mind …?”
“Well, sir, Miss Biding is a very attractive young lady. And she does fit in with this property thing somewhere.”
“Excellent thinking, Copper. I like it. And that could perhaps account for one thing which is puzzling me, which you don’t seem to have thought of.”
“What’s that, sir?” asked Copper.
“The letter itself,” explained Constable, taking it from his colleague’s hand and examining it. “What on earth is it doing in the library at Dammett Hall when it’s addressed to Robin Allday’s office? Unless he brought it up here to show to …”
“Laura Biding!” exclaimed the two policemen in unison.
“Because she was threatened by Horace Cope as well, and Robin’s got a soft spot for her. And that could be why he would have killed Horace Cope.”
“Or,” interrupted Copper, “Laura’s also got a soft spot for Robin, so she killed Horace so as to try and protect Robin!”
“And now you’re starting to give me a headache,” said Constable. “If we start getting into motives where people are killing people to protect other people, there’ll never be an end to it. We shall have Lady Lawdown protecting her daughter, and Helen Highwater protecting Lady Lawdown, and Seymour Cummings protecting goodness-knows-who, and the vicar killing Horace Cope off for the greater good of his parishioners! Let’s stick to what we know at the moment, and what we know is that we don’t know what this letter tells us.”
“No, sir.” Dave Copper shook himself slightly. “I mean, yes, sir. So do you want me to go and find out?”
“We’ll both go, sergeant. I think we’ve done enough speculating for the moment. I think it’s time we went and had another little chat with our suspects. They’ve had plenty of time to sit and wonder what’s going on – I’m sure they’ll be starting to get a bit twitchy now, so we may get a bit more of the truth out of them. It’s worth a try. I still can’t rule any of them out at the moment, and the more I find out about Horace Cope, the more surprised I am that somebody didn’t murder him long ago.”
Dave Copper grimaced. “He really was quite a nasty piece of work, Mr. Cope, wasn’t he, sir?”
Andy Constable nodded. “I rather think you’re right, sergeant. But now he’s a murdered nasty piece of work, which means we have our job to do. And I don’t know about you, but I’m getting cold and wet. Come on.”
Chapter 10
At the front door of Dammett Hall, the village policeman was maintaining his vigil, although by now he was starting to droop a little. Andy Constable felt sorry for him.
“How are we, Collins? Anything to report?”
“Not really, sir. Gideon Porter’s gone back down to the pub, but he said he had your okay for that. And I think most of the other stall-holders have gone off as well, so there’s hardly anybody around now. Except for in the house, that is.”
“And are all our suspects still safely tucked up where we left
them?”
Collins grinned. “Far as I know, sir. I haven’t heard a peep out of them. Oh, except for that Miss Cook, sir. She wanted to know how long you wanted her to stay here – something about getting the scones done for this afternoon’s cream teas, and whether she ought to do them up here or down at her tearooms. She was all in a bit of a flap, sir, but then she usually is, to be honest, but I calmed her down.”
“Well done, Collins.” Andy Constable looked at the steadily increasing rain advancing towards the house. “Look, there’s no point in you standing here freezing to death and getting wet. Go and see Miss Cook and tell her we’ll have a chat with her later. We can go down to the village if need be. And with a bit of luck, she might let you have a cup of tea.”
“And tell her you can have that bit of cake she promised me,” put in Dave Copper with a smile.
“Right you are, sir. Thank you.” And a relieved-looking Collins headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Seven weary faces turned to see the two detectives as they entered the library, where an awkward silence seemed to be reigning. The Reverend Pugh, who had regained a considerably more normal colour than had been the case during his conversation with the officers, rose at once and came towards Inspector Constable.
“Inspector, might I have a word?”
“By all means, Mr. Pugh. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering how much longer you wanted me to stay,” explained the vicar anxiously. “Of course, I’m only too happy to do my duty, and if you need me here any longer I’m quite prepared to remain as long as I can be useful, but I honestly don’t know that I can tell you any more than I’ve already said, and what is beginning to trouble me is that I may not be back to St. Salyve’s in time to prepare properly for this evening’s service, and I really do think that there is likely to be a number of my flock who are going to be disturbed by today’s events, so of course they will be looking to the church for guidance and comfort, and I feel that I need a time of quiet and calm to prepare some remarks for them in my sermon, which of course under the present circumstances I might find … er … somewhat difficult …” He glanced meaningfully at the others in the room. “So if it’s no trouble, and you really think you can spare me, I would be so terribly grateful …”
“Please, Mr. Pugh, don’t give it another thought,” said the inspector, stopping the vicar’s flow with some difficulty. “I’m sure if there’s anything else we need to speak to you about, we shall be able to find you quite easily.”
At that moment, there came a tap at the library door, and P.C. Collins put his head into the room.
“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but it’s Miss Cook. She says can you pop in and see her, because she’s remembered what it is she forgot, and it was the batch of scones that did it, and it wasn’t mother at all. I have no idea what she’s on about, but she seemed quite excited. And she’d like to get on, if you don’t mind, sir.”
“Thank you, Collins. Tell her we’ll be with her as soon as we can. And then can you run Mr. Pugh back down to the village, please. Can’t have him getting wet in this rain.”
“Will do, sir.” Collins disappeared back into the hall.
“That’s really extremely good of you, inspector,” said the vicar. “But I wouldn’t want to put that young man to any trouble, and I’m perfectly happy to walk, even though it does look rather damp out there …”
“Not at all, Mr. Pugh.” said Constable, briskly. “Copper …?” And at a nod from the inspector, the sergeant ushered the still-expostulating clergyman out into the hall. Constable turned back to the remaining six people in the room, who regarded him with a mixture of expectation and apprehension.
“I am very sorry to have kept you all for what must seem like a very long time, ladies and gentlemen.” Andy Constable was at his most emollient. “I’m afraid these matters are not always quick and easy to resolve. But I have hopes that we may not need to detain you for very much longer.”
“I sincerely hope not, inspector,” said Lady Lawdown sharply, rising to her feet. “It is not at all pleasant to be cooped up almost like a prisoner in one’s own house, and I’m not at all sure that such a thing is entirely within your rules of conduct. Indeed, I shall definitely consider having a serious word with the Chief Constable next time we meet, which I’m sure will be very soon.” She glared at the detective.
Andy Constable smiled calmly. “I assure you, my lady, that we are doing everything we possibly can as quickly as we can. And of course, nobody could be happier than me if you wish to discuss the matter with the Chief, because I’m sure he would be delighted to explain the exact procedures we follow so that there will be no doubt in your mind for future reference.” He looked levelly at Lady Lawdown, whose eyes wavered and then fell.
“But as it happens,” he continued, “we wanted to have a further word with everyone here, and perhaps it would be a good idea to start with your ladyship. After all, the sooner we begin … Perhaps we might use the library again, if that would be convenient.”
“Oh. Very well, inspector. If that is what you wish.”
“After you, my lady.” He turned to the others. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here for a little longer …” Murmurs of weary agreement followed him out of the room.
“On my way, sir.” A breathless Collins emerged through the green baize door to the kitchen corridor. He almost scampered in the direction of the front door where Sergeant Copper stood patiently listening to a still-gesticulating vicar, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, sir. Miss Cook. She says she’s a bit pushed, so she’s made a note …”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Collins,” interrupted the inspector. “We’ll get to her as soon as we can. You just carry on.” He held the library door open for Lady Lawdown, and the two detectives followed her into the room as Collins led the vicar out through the front door.
Constable took his place behind the desk again as Copper seated himself discreetly to one side. Lady Lawdown poised herself elegantly on the edge of a leather tub chair and looked at the inspector with eyebrows raised.
“Well?”
Constable declined to be intimidated. “Well, my lady, there are a few things we’d like to verify about the sequence of events this afternoon, so I’m sure you’ll be able to assist us with that.”
“Very well, inspector, although I really don’t see how any of us could possibly have had the chance to murder Horace.”
“And yet,” remarked Constable drily, “somebody did. And what I need to know is who was where and when, so that I can decide who did have that chance.”
Lady Lawdown sighed. “As I’m sure you already know, inspector, we were all together in the drawing room having drinks from twelve o’clock.”
“We? And that would be exactly …?”
“Well, everybody … Laura and myself, Helen, Seymour, the vicar of course, Horace and Albert, and Robin. Oh no, just a minute … Robin and Seymour weren’t there at twelve, because they didn’t come in until later. I’d forgotten that.”
“So what about Mr. Cope’s exact movements?” asked Constable. “Can you remember those?”
“Oh, that’s perfectly simple, inspector. Sorry, I thought you already knew. Horace and Albert arrived at twelve o’clock – no, in fact it was more like five past, because the vicar had got here at twelve exactly. I know that, because I remember the hall clock was striking as Helen went out to fetch him in. So Horace was actually a few minutes late, but I don’t suppose that really matters, does it, because after all he was still alive then. Oh, and he brought me some beautiful flowers …” She broke off. “That reminds me, I must put them in water. I’m sure they’re still sitting on the piano, so if I don’t do something about them they’ll be as dead as … well, as dead as Horace!” She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “I do apologise, inspector. That was in extremely poor taste, but this is all becoming a little too much for me.”
“Quite so, your ladyship. But if
we can stick to what actually happened …”
“Ah. Yes. Well, Horace had a quick drink, which I poured for him – oh dear, inspector, I hope you don’t think that I – oh no, of course, silly of me, he wasn’t poisoned, was he?”
“No, my lady,” replied Constable, bluntly. “It was a great deal bloodier than that.”
“Please, inspector. I can hardly bear to think of it.” Lady Lawdown shuddered, took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. “So, Horace finished his drink quite quickly, because he said he had better go off and get things ready, and he wanted Albert to go with him at that point, but it was Laura I think who stopped Albert, so Horace stumped off rather grumpily on his own. So that would have been – oh, it must have been somewhere between five and ten past twelve. It was all very quick.”
