by Emily Organ
“No, a bullet hole. And when I put my finger in it I feel some metal.”
“Oh! A casing, perhaps?”
“I hope so. I can’t get it out, though.”
“Let me have a go at it, Pembers. I’m known for my strong fingers.”
Churchill sank onto her knees beside the hole in the lawn and poked her finger inside.
“By whom?” asked Pemberley.
“By whom what? What do you mean?”
“Who knows you for your strong fingers?”
“You ask such odd things at such odd times, Pemberley. Can’t you see I’m trying to get this bullet casing out of the colonel’s lawn?”
“Find something, ladies?” he called over from the other side of the pond.
“Yes, I think so, Colonel!” Churchill called back, cutting her finger on the casing. “Oh, darn it.” She dabbed at the blood with her handkerchief. “You’d think the old fellow would come and help, wouldn’t you?” she muttered. “It’s his bullet casing and his lawn, after all. What we need is a long, hard implement with a little hook at the end to extract the blasted thing. Ah! I know what would work, Pembers. My crochet hook! Be a love and rummage around in my handbag for it, will you?”
Pemberley located the crochet hook and handed it to Churchill.
“Easy does it,” she said, inserting the hook into the hole. “That’s got it… Now, out we come. There we go… Ah ha! Hello, sailor!” Churchill held up the soil-encrusted piece of metal casing.
“We’ve got it, Colonel!” she called over to him.
“Marvellous,” came the reply.
“It’s amazing how useful this crochet hook is,” said Churchill. “I think I’ve used it for just about everything except crochet. Never could get the hang of that craft. Managed to tie my fingers up in knots instead of the wool.” Churchill placed the bullet casing in her handbag. “Now, help me up, please, Pembers. The old knees have gone numb.”
Chapter 14
“I’m rather reluctant to share our precious bullet casing with Inspector Mappin,” said Churchill as they approached the small white police station at the bottom of Compton Poppleford high street. “He’ll claim the credit for all our hard work.”
“I think we’re doing the honourable thing,” replied Pemberley. “It might help him with the case.”
“I sometimes grow tired of being honourable, don’t you, Pembers? I quite fancy being dishonourable for a change.”
“But then you’d be ever so disappointed in yourself, Mrs Churchill. And you’d have to live with that disappointment for the remainder of your days.”
“Oh look, there’s a nice shiny car parked outside the police station. It must belong to the chief inspector from Dorchester.”
Churchill and Pemberley stepped into the station to find Inspector Mappin and the chief inspector sharing a pot of tea.
“Busy day, gentlemen?” asked Churchill.
“We’re conducting a briefing,” said the chief inspector through his thick red moustache. He rose to his feet and Mappin followed suit.
“I thought you’d be busy tracking down the murderer, Inspector Mappin,” said Churchill.
“That’s what I’ve been doing all day,” he replied defensively. “This is the first opportunity I’ve had to sit down.”
“And the hard work is continuing as we speak,” added the chief inspector. “We’ve got our men out crawling all over Compton Poppleford.”
“Have they not learnt to walk yet, Chief Inspector?”
“Who are these women?” the chief inspector barked at Mappin.
“How rude of us not to introduce ourselves, Chief Inspector,” said Churchill. “I’m Mrs Annabel Churchill of the eponymous Churchill’s Detective Agency, and this is my aide-de-camp Miss Doris Pemberley.”
“Private detectives?” asked the chief inspector with a sceptical expression.
“Indeed, and you are Chief Inspector who?”
“Llewellyn-Dalrymple.”
“Try saying that with your mouth full!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just a little quip to lighten the mood, Chief Inspector. We won’t detain you for long. Miss Pemberley and I have some evidence to present.”
“Oh yes?”
Churchill removed the bullet casing from her handbag. “This was retrieved from the lawn at Ashleigh Grange using a crochet hook. It’s a spent casing from Colonel Slingsby’s Webley Mark IV. The gun was stolen from his gunroom yesterday at some time between breakfast and eight o’clock in the evening. This casing may help you find out whether the colonel’s revolver was used in the shooting of Mr Williams last night. Have you retrieved any casings from the murder scene?”
The chief inspector gave an impressed nod. “Yes, we have,” he said, “and it is my belief that they came from a Webley. Analysis of this casing you’ve found will enable us to establish whether the same gun was used.”
“I thought as much,” said Churchill proudly as she handed him the casing.
“It’s from a Webley all right,” he said, examining it closely. “I’ve got a ballistics chap over at Bovington who can take a look at this along with the other casings we’ve gathered from the murder scene.”
“If it’s the same gun the culprit must have stolen it from the colonel’s home yesterday,” said Churchill. “Perhaps you’d like a list of the people who visited him.”
“I’ll say,” replied the chief inspector, picking up his notebook and pencil. “What have you got for me?”
“Mr Rumbold, Mr Downs, Mr Woolwell, Mr Harris and Mr Williams, our tragic victim.”
“And Mr Harding,” added Pemberley.
“Well, he didn’t have anything to do with it, did he?” Churchill said scornfully.
“You never know,” said Pemberley. “The chief inspector should write his name down anyway. As well as Colonel Slingsby’s name, as a matter of course.”
“All written down,” announced the chief inspector, flicking his notebook shut. “I’m assuming you know where to find all these chaps, Mappin?”
The inspector nodded sheepishly.
“I have to say that Mrs Churchill’s work from today knocks the socks off yours, doesn’t it?” continued the Chief Inspector. “How does it feel to be outwitted by two old ladies?”
“Less of the old, please, Chief Inspector,” said Churchill.
“They even dug a bullet casing out of the lawn with a knitting needle,” he continued. “Can’t say I’ve seen you do anything nearly as enterprising today, Mappin.”
“It was a crochet hook,” corrected Churchill.
“Never mind the details.”
“On the contrary, Chief Inspector, details are extremely important when you’re trying to solve a crime. They often make the difference between solving it and… er… not solving it.”
“Who are you, exactly?” asked the chief inspector, folding his arms.
“I’ve already told you. I’m—”
“A private detective. Yes, I heard that. But where does your expertise come from?”
“Well, since you ask, I was married for over forty years to Detective Chief Inspector Churchill of the Metropolitan Police.”
“I see. Solved a few cases himself, did he?”
“He did indeed. In fact, he cut his teeth on the Jack the Ripper case when he was just a fledgling constable.”
“Fledglings don’t have teeth,” said Pemberley.
“Perhaps not, but my husband certainly did.”
“It’s probably best not to describe him as a fledgling if you’re mentioning teeth.”
“Thank you, Miss Pemberley. The comment was only intended to serve as an illustration to the Chief Inspector of my late husband’s policing pedigree.”
“Jack the Ripper, eh?” said Chief Inspector Llewellyn-Dalrymple. “Fat lot of luck they had catching him.”
“You can’t win ’em all, Chief Inspector.”
“You’re right, Mrs Churchill. That’s a motto I like to use
myself. Poor Mappin here doesn’t seem to win any at all, do you, Mappin? And now you’ve been thoroughly shown up by two elderly biddies. Inspector Mappin nil, Women’s Institute one!” The Chief Inspector gave a booming laugh.
“We are not members of the Women’s Institute,” Churchill insisted.
“I was a member briefly,” said Pemberley, “but there was a horrible lady there who kept flicking jam at me.”
“You’ll let us know if your ballistics fellow confirms that the colonel’s gun was used in the murder, won’t you, Chief Inspector?” said Churchill.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “And thank you for all your help, ladies. Go and take a well-earned rest in your armchairs, and allow the strong arm of the law to take it from here.”
Chapter 15
“The day I take a well-earned rest in my armchair is the day I die, Pemberley,” said Churchill back at the office.
“Oh, you mustn’t mention your death.”
“Why not? We’ll all die some day.”
“That’s what everyone says, but I like to believe there’s a possibility that I might not.”
“You’re going to be the first immortal being, are you, Pembers? Well, good luck.”
“It’s a nice thought.”
“You comfort yourself with that, then, while I admire the incident board. Doesn’t it look good now? Although I don’t know why on earth you’ve put Mr Harding’s photograph up there. That’s a mistake.”
“No, don’t take him down!”
“But he’s not a suspect, Pemberley.”
“He visited the colonel’s home yesterday.”
“That’s because he’s the colonel’s friend.”
“He could have taken the gun.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Why would he do that?”
“To shoot Mr Williams with it.”
“Nonsense. He has no motive whatsoever.”
“How do you know that? You only met him for the first time today!”
“Was it really only this morning? I feel like I’ve known him for years.”
“Everyone who visited the colonel’s home yesterday must be considered a suspect,” said Pemberley.
“Only if Chief Inspector Loonybin-Dullpimple confirms that the colonel’s gun was used in the murder.”
“Let’s jump the gun and assume it was,” said Pemberley. “Did you notice my little joke there, Mrs Churchill? I said jump the gun while discussing the colonel’s Webley.”
“Leave the jokes to me, Pembers.”
“The colonel is also a suspect.”
“I suppose he must be considered. Do you have a photograph of him handy to add to our incident board?”
“There’s a picture of him here in full military regalia. It was printed in the Compton Poppleford Gazette last year.”
“Perfect, Pembers.” Churchill surveyed the picture. “What a fine moustache. Doesn’t he look imperial?”
“And imperious.”
“A perfectly charming gentleman. He’s what my mother would have called an old fool.”
“I suspect many other people would call him that too.”
“But his heart’s in the right place, isn’t it?”
“Is it? I don’t like the man. I can easily imagine him shooting Mr Williams. Did you see the damage he’d done to poor Bertrand the cherub?”
“There’s a marked difference between killing a man and shooting at a lump of stone that resembles a chubby, winged infant.”
“He’s not just a lump of stone!”
“Now, now, Pembers. Let’s make a nice cup of tea with Mr Harding’s kettle and then everything will seem a little better.”
“We mustn’t forget the staff,” said Pemberley.
“But we don’t have staff. If we did, it wouldn’t be me making the tea, would it?”
“No, I mean the colonel’s staff. He has at least two footmen and a minimum of three maids and a valet. And there must be a butler milling about somewhere.”
Churchill sighed. “And a housekeeper to boot.”
“Not to mention the chauffeur.”
Churchill felt her shoulders slump. “And what’s the betting a tradesperson visited the place yesterday as well? You know the sort, don’t you? One of those chaps in overalls and a flat cap who enters the place whistling nonchalantly with a toolbag in one hand and a list of jobs in the other. No one pays him the slightest heed because they assume he’s there to tighten a nut or loosen a bolt or paint the ceiling.”
“I know just the sort.”
“I should think about three of them visited Ashleigh Grange yesterday. People like that are always coming and going at these ancestral seats.”
“Our incident board isn’t big enough to accommodate them all,” said Pemberley despondently.
“I’m sure we can make room,” said Churchill. “We could begin by removing Mr Harding. There’s no need—”
“He stays!”
Churchill startled. “Goodness, Pemberley, you can be quite formidable when rattled. I’ll leave him up there for now, just for the sake of completeness, but there’s no need to waste any time contemplating him as a suspect.”
Pemberley bought some lemon cake from the baker while Churchill made a pot of tea.
“Lovely,” she said as she placed her teacup back on its saucer. “And only slightly impaired by the water’s high mineral content. Isn’t it nice to have a conversation with someone who really knows what they’re talking about, Pemberley? Mr Harding strikes me as the sort of man who always has something knowledgeable to say, whatever the topic.”
“Perhaps during our next conversation with him he can enlighten us regarding the whereabouts of the colonel’s missing revolver?”
“Pemberley! I won’t have you slandering Mr Harding in that manner.”
“It’s not slander. I’m merely entertaining him as a suspect along with all the others.”
“Well, stop entertaining him this minute.” Churchill picked up her pen and hovered it over a sheet of paper. “Now then, Pembers, what we need is a plan for solving this murder. I think we should visit each member of the gardening gang tomorrow and see what he has to say for himself. Let’s start with Barry Woolwell so we can catch him before he overindulges at the Wagon and Carrot again. After Barry we should check on our bearded friend, Rumbold. He’s the most suspicious of the lot. Then we’ll move swiftly on to Mr Sniffer Downs, as we haven’t really probed him yet. Finally, we’ll have to take the bit between the teeth and tackle Mr Stropper, the annoying one.”
“He might try and charge us a shilling again.”
“So be it; we can’t escape speaking to the fellow. Now, following this plan will mean that by teatime tomorrow we should have a good overview of events. What do you think?”
“I think it’s an excellent plan, Mrs Churchill. By then we should have a perfectly passable conspectus.”
“Well, I’m not sure what you said just then, but it sounds good. I’ll tell you what else I’d like to discover, and that’s the location of Mr Rumbold’s secret marrows. Don’t you recall him telling us that he had three of them hidden at a secret location? We need to find out where that is. Now, I think it’s time we both went home, had a hearty supper and turned in for the night. We need plenty of beauty sleep before our busy day tomorrow.”
“I’m not a good sleeper, Mrs Churchill.”
“Try, Pembers, you might surprise yourself.”
Churchill had just risen from her seat, picked up her handbag and put on her hat when the door was swung open aggressively.
“Goodness, that’s a strong wind!” she gasped.
“It’s not wind!” came a growl. “It’s Inspector Mappin!”
“Inspector!” Churchill said cheerily as he marched in through the door. “We’re just knocking off for the day. Oh dear, you look a little hot under the collar. Is something the matter?”
“It certainly is, Mrs Churchill! You’re the matter!”
“Me, Inspector? I don’t unders
tand.”
“You and your interfering, meddlesome ways,” he said, spitting angrily. “Embarrassing me in front of Chief Inspector Llewellyn-Dalrymple in that manner!”
“Oh dear! I thought we were being helpful.” Churchill brushed down her blouse in case some of the police officer’s spittle had landed on it. “I must admit I was in two minds, wasn’t I, Miss Pemberley? I even paused outside the police station and questioned whether we were doing the right thing bringing the bullet casing in. Miss Pemberley here assured me we were, and that we’d only be disappointed in ourselves if we didn’t help out. I wish we hadn’t bothered now.”
“So do I! Now the chief inspector thinks I’m an incapable fool!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t listen to anything Loopywelly-Dimple says. He strikes me as the sort of man who’s never happy unless he’s brusquely admonishing someone. It’s probably the only reason he became a chief inspector, to be quite frank. You find that sort in the army, too. They spend all day shouting at people, then retire to bed sucking their thumbs with a mug of hot milk.”
“What on earth are you talking about, woman?” fumed Mappin.
“Never mind, Inspector. Would you care to leave the premises now? Miss Pemberley and I were just about to head off to our respective homes. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Oh no you don’t!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll have none of that busy day business, Mrs Churchill. You stay well away from this murder case!”
“But I took this case on before the murder was even committed, Inspector. Miss Pemberley and I were called upon to investigate the damage done to Mr Rumbold’s onions.”
“Onions have nothing to do with this. It’s cold-blooded murder, and it’s my job to get to the bottom of it! I am ordering you to stay away.”
“And what happens if we don’t?”
“The pair of you will be arrested for interfering with a police investigation!”
“Is that an arrestable offence, Inspector?”
“It’ll have a more official sounding name to it, which momentarily escapes me, but yes, it is!”
“Well, that is a shame.”
