‘Ah! In that case, when you brought her through, she was clearly not carrying the fatal chocolates. Were you carrying them for her?’
‘No, I never saw them until we got to the parlour.’ She opened the kitchen door. ‘Ali, the chocolates. They were on Mother’s table, weren’t they, on Boxing Day, when you arrived?’
‘To get the fire going, yes,’ said Alison, putting down her teacup. ‘I know that because I had to move the table a bit, to get to the grate.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, I say that, but it might not have been those chocolates, if you see what I mean. There were others all over the place, though I couldn’t tell you exactly where.’
‘Were they open, the ones on the table?’
‘The lid was closed. I’ve no idea if they’d been opened, obviously.’
‘You weren’t inspired to tidy them away?’
‘No, because I didn’t know who they belonged to and I didn’t want to mix them up with someone else’s. Someone had gathered up the wrapping paper though.’
‘Was there anyone else in the room, when you were doing the fire?’
‘Not while I was there,’ said Alison. ‘I don’t think anyone was up yet. Or they didn’t come into the parlour anyway.’
‘They only began drifting in while I settled Mother,’ said Rosie.
‘Where were your other sisters that morning?’ said Felix.
‘Beatrice was on duty,’ said Alison.
‘What doing?’
‘Feeding and milking. It’s easier if one person does it all.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Except the hay, which I did. I chucked it down and left her to it. And Delia was cooking breakfast, after she’d fed the fowls.’
‘Nothing is easy, is it?’ sighed Felix, flopping down at the table. Any of them could have done it, is what it amounts to. They’d all have been up early enough, goodness knows. Or it could be anyone in the house, come to that. John, Paul, go and ask everyone if they brought Hannah Falkner’s chocolates to the parlour for her on Boxing Day morning. And if they did, when and where from. That’s everyone except Rosie and Alison Falkner. I’ve done them.’
‘Lydia Falkner to see you, sir,’ said Yardley, as they left.
‘Miss Falkner, good morning to you,’ said Felix, rising again. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure? Do sit down.’
‘This is a bit awkward, Chief Inspector,’ said Lydia, ‘but I feel it’s my duty. It’s about the chocolates and . . . Dr Bartlett.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Felix encouragingly. ‘And what might that be?’
‘Well, you see. You know that he gathered them all up after poor Grandma was poisoned, but I don’t suppose he told you that he had two more of his own, in his room. Boxes, of chocolates, I mean.’
‘I see. And what did you want to tell me about them?’
‘Well, just that they were there. He had them both open and appeared to be doing something with them. I don’t know what, of course.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s all really. It seemed a bit queer and I thought it might be important.’
‘And when exactly did you see them, these chocolates?’
‘Er, on Christmas Eve.’
‘Any idea of the time?’
‘About six something, I suppose.’
‘Hmm, I see. That’s very interesting. And what were you doing in Dr Bartlett’s bedroom, if I may be so bold?’
‘I, well, I was upstairs changing for dinner and I just wandered in, hoping to have a word with him, but he wasn’t there – I expect he’d gone down – and then I saw them.’
‘So then you wandered out again?’
‘Why, yes, obviously.’
‘Did you find him?’
‘Yes, at dinner.’
‘Did you mention this to him?’
‘Well, no. It didn’t seem to matter at the time. It was only after . . . you know.’
‘All right, Miss Falkner. Thank you for that. Sergeant Rattigan will type up your statement in due course and if you’re happy with it, we’ll get you to sign it.’ Closing the door gently on her he turned world-wearily to Rattigan. ‘Comments if you please, Sergeant.’
‘Well now, sir,’ said Rattigan, replying in kind, ‘using my unparalleled experience of the human female, I’d diagnose the green-eyed monster.’
Felix nodded his agreement. ‘Nevertheless, we’d best have him in about it, when we’ve seen Dr Absalom.’
◆◆◆
Returning to the village they called, at his request, at Dr Absalom’s surgery.
‘You’ve got something for us, Doctor?’
‘Yes, I have. Come through for a moment.’ Looking pleased with himself, the amiable Doctor led them into the office behind the reception desk, gesturing at a wall covered from floor to ceiling with shelves of manilla folders. ‘No doubt you are familiar with these? Each contains the medical record of one patient. After you left here yesterday, I fell to wondering about the circumstances of the death of Hannah Falkner’s husband. It’s a long while ago, of course, and when I failed to find his folder, I assumed it had been thrown out. Not so, however! When I applied to Mrs Absalom, who takes care of these things, she delved into that cupboard behind you, of which, I must say, I was barely aware, and there he was! I don’t suppose his shade will be unduly disturbed if I show this to you. Do sit down.’
Settling himself at his wife’s desk he took out the contents of the battered folder. ‘Now then. Harry Falkner Senior. Father of the present one, that is. Here we have a copy of the death certificate. Cause of death — cardiac arrest. Often, of course, this is shorthand for insufficient information; we all die of cardiac arrest. However, appended to it was this rather cryptic note handwritten by my predecessor, and, one assumes, intended for his eyes only.’
‘“Alcohol and exposure but poss s/n?”’ read Felix, squinting at the faded and spidery handwriting. ‘Strychnine?’
‘One is given to wonder,’ nodded Dr Absalom. ‘It’s not a medical abbreviation, that I know of. Odd, when you consider it, that he should record it informally in this way. If he suspected it, why not say so?’
‘I can think of reasons,’ said Felix. ‘Your predecessor is long gone, presumably?’
‘Dead these ten years I’m afraid. Whatever else he knew he took it with him.’
‘Well thank you very much for your efforts, Doctor,’ said Felix, rising. ‘That’s extremely interesting. And our thanks to Mrs Absalom for finding it. Tell me. Did you have any particular reason for looking?’
Dr Absalom smiled and shook his head. ‘The merest presentiment; I couldn’t tell you why. However, it is interesting, is it not, that the widow should eventually go the same way?’
‘It all seems to be pushing us in the same direction, doesn’t it?’ said Rattigan as they made the now familiar climb.
‘Yes, it does, agreed Felix. ‘And yet, and yet . . .’
◆◆◆
‘It’s really quite warm in here, isn’t it?’ said Charles, gazing around the hayloft. ‘I suppose it’s because it’s under the roof. Gosh! What a lot of hay.’
‘Dad says it may have to last until April,’ said Ethel, ‘so they’d need it, I daresay.’
‘The way things are going, we’ll still be here by then,’ sighed Charles. ‘They don’t seem to be making much progress, do they?’
‘Well, that’s not very romantic,’ said Ethel reproachfully. ‘You ought to be pleased! It means we’ve got more time together. Or are you getting bored with me already? It has been sixteen hours, after all. Charles, what are you doing!’
‘Carrying you off to my lair,’ growled Charles. ‘You’re mine now, to do with as I will.’
‘Ooh, you caveman you! Am I supposed to kick and scream?’
‘You can, but it won’t do you any good.’
They lay contentedly on the
ir bed of hay, listening to the sounds of the farmyard below.
‘It’s going to be a bit difficult though, isn’t it?’ said Ethel, modestly adjusting her skirts, ‘I mean, finding somewhere to live and that sort of thing. We won’t be able to afford it, will we?’
‘Probably not,’ admitted Charles. ‘Not for a year or so anyway, unless my old man comes to the rescue; which he might, if he doesn’t spend it all on Florence.’
‘What do you think of them getting married?’
‘I’m pleased for him, though it might have come at a better time, from our point of view. You like her, don’t you? You said you did.’
‘Yes, she’s nice, but I like Alf too and he looks so miserable. Mr Felix has let him go back to his farm this morning; on parole, one supposes.’
‘That’s love,’ shrugged Charles complacently, ‘winners and losers. And talking of which . . .’
‘She’s curled up in an armchair, reading a book. I feel a bit sorry for her too. She is my sister, after all.’
‘And my sister-in-law — ghastly thought. How about if we make her maid of honour? She’d probably like that; it speaks to her strengths.’
‘Isn’t it rather rubbing her nose in it? Always the bridesmaid and all that.’
‘Don’t know, then. She might upstage us anyway. Wait a minute; what is this thing?’
‘What’s what?’
‘That what which I’m a-lyin’ on. Rolling away from her, he knelt up and scrabbled about beneath the hay. ‘I thought so. Look at that — a flippin’ biscuit tin! Huntley and Palmer’s Ginger Nuts. No wonder it was uncomfortable.’
‘Charles, you’re not going to open it are you?’
‘I jolly well am!’
◆◆◆
‘Spirit lamp (small),’ dictated Felix. ‘Bottom half of throat lozenge tin (traces of chocolate visible); box of Swan Vesta matches (large); One (opened) box of Pride and Taylor’s chocolates; penknife (small); sharpening stone —’
‘Contents of chocolate box, sir?’ prompted Rattigan, who was noting it all down.’
‘I think we’ll do that separately; it may prove important. Where was I? Pot of chocolate bits; pot of damaged chocolates; screw-top jar of colourless crystalline substance — no need to guess what that is. Sugar tongs.’ He frowned. ‘Sugar tongs?’
‘For holding the chocs while you work on them, sir,’ suggested Yardley. ‘Avoids dabs.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. In short, a veritable poisoned-chocolate factory. Dr Bartlett, this is a magnificent discovery. We are in your debt. Now, what I’m going to suggest is that I have my sergeants dab and photograph the booty, then perhaps I could prevail upon you to replace the tin where you found it, complete with contents. Will you do that?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Charles doubtfully.
‘Not keen?’
‘Suppose I get caught?’
‘Stick it under your coat, or something. I’d rather a policeman wasn’t seen sniffing around there at this stage. But before you go, I should like a private word with you.’
‘And me?’ said Ethel. ‘I am his fiancée, after all.’
Felix frowned. ‘Since when, Miss Falkner?’
‘Since last night,’ confirmed Charles.
‘Oh, I see. Well, er, hearty congratulations! How many does that make it, Sergeant?’
‘Three, I think.’ smiled Rattigan. ‘It’s that darned mistletoe —ought to be impounded. Congratulations to you both.’
‘However,’ said Felix. ‘On this occasion I must insist on Dr Bartlett being alone. Sorry.’
‘Do sit down, Doctor,’ said Felix. ‘I hesitate to mention this, especially now, but something has come to my notice.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Charles.
‘Yes. I’m sure it has a perfectly innocent explanation but it has been reported to me that there were two open boxes of the ubiquitous chocolates in your bedroom on Christmas Eve. Boxes, I believe, not accounted for in your list. Would you care to comment?’
‘You want a complete and comprehensive explanation no doubt?’ said Charles resignedly.
‘If you please.’
‘Then I have a sin to confess, Chief Inspector.’
‘Mortal or venial?’
‘Oh, venial, decidedly.’
‘Glad to hear it. Off you go then.’
‘Well, it’s like this. I didn’t know exactly who was going to be here for Christmas, so I’d brought a few things with me of the sort one can give to anybody as presents. Handkerchiefs, cigars and so on. Also included were two boxes of those blasted chocolates. As it happened, I was talking to Ethel on Christmas Eve and she mentioned that she was particularly fond of strawberry creams and rum truffles, so that night I opened both boxes and rearranged the contents so that one box contained her favourites twice over and gave it to her on Christmas morning. The person whose name you discreetly didn’t mention may well have seen them in my room, lying open.’
‘I see. Very romantic, sir. Were they well-received?’
‘They were, yes.’
‘Any left over?’
‘No, we scoffed the lot between us, both boxes.’
‘It’s a wonder you haven’t got spots,’ said Rattigan, looking censorious.
Charles smiled nervously. ‘I contemplated including them but it would have been embarrassing explaining all that, and as we were still alive and they were all gone . . . well, I’m afraid I decided not to.’
‘How did you come to be talking about your soon-to-be fiancée’s taste in chocolates?’ queried Felix. ‘It seems remarkably fortuitous.’
‘I . . .’ began Charles, now extremely pink. ‘Oh, damn it! You may as well have the lot. The person who reported this, and I’m sure it must be she, appears to have a crush on me. No doubt she wished to get me into trouble. I don’t wish, however, to get her into trouble and I hope you won’t mention this to anybody. I said to Ethel on Christmas Eve that this person was looking at me as if I were a box of chocolates. That got us onto the subject.’ He paused and looked suspiciously at their severe expressions. ‘You’re making sport of me!’
‘Sorry, Doctor,’ chuckled Felix. ‘We’re making the punishment fit the crime. You really should have told us, you know. The most improbable piece of information can matter in a murder investigation and it’s well not to forget it. However, I absolve you of your sins. Go in peace. And on reflection, forget about the barn. There’s something there I want to look at.’
◆◆◆
In the end it was a small procession that made its way to the barn, with Felix and Charles leading and Rattigan and Ethel taking up the rear.
‘The stairs are at the back,’ said Charles, leading them among rusting equipment and foraging chickens. ‘Here we are.’
Felix, whose family owned a similar building, entered the hayloft without comment, other than to say that the hay smelled sweet enough at any rate.
‘I found it here,’ said Charles, indicating the slightly flattened patch where they’d taken their ease.
‘Put it back, then,’ said Felix, extracting the tin from under his overcoat. Close as you can to where it was before. I expect they knew this would be the last corner to be cleared. Best fluff it up a bit, I think, while you’re at it.’
Rattigan, who had anticipated him, produced a pitchfork. ‘Weren’t you worried about rats?’ he asked. ‘Bite you on the bum, they would.’
Ethel visibly shuddered. ‘We never thought.’
‘Take no notice,’ said Felix. ‘They’re much more frightened of you than you are of them.’ He made his way to the gable door and opened it, flooding the loft with winter light. Then, peering briefly below, he began methodically to examine the doorframe and adjacent floorboards, eventually indicating something to Rattigan.
Rattigan nodded, and taking out a scout knife proceeded to remove a
particular woodscrew from the threshold plank. ‘Soap in the thread,’ he remarked.
‘Not surprised,’ said Felix. He moved to a corner. ‘And this one, I think. The new-looking head.’
‘Comes up easily too,’ puffed Rattigan, dragging himself to his feet by a roof-beam. ‘Some of the other screws have rusted out though.’
‘That’s the trouble. Keep clear now.’ Firmly grasping a handhold, Felix stepped onto the now-loosened board, causing it to tilt alarmingly and all but throw him off. As soon as he stepped away from it the board tilted back to its normal position.
‘Goodness!’ said Ethel. ‘Is that what happened to Grandma?’
Felix nodded. ‘I’m rather afraid that it did. Hard to prove it was done on purpose, of course, if not impossible.’ He led them back into the interior. ‘Now then. I’m sure you realise the implications of your discovery of that biscuit tin; or if you don’t now, you will when you think about it. If I’m to bring the guilty to justice, and possibly save lives, it’s important that no-one else in the house knows what we have discovered. Is that understood? All right, let’s leave this place to the rats.’
◆◆◆
‘Dabs, gentlemen?’ said Felix, returning to their room.
‘Interesting,’ said Yardley. ‘Apart from the outside of the tin, they were all made by one person — the victim. Not that there were many. There were a couple of nice ones on the spirit-lamp and one, not so clear, on the jar with the bits in.’
‘We only had her dabs from the local force, of course,’ said Nash, ‘so we popped up to her room and collected a few more from around the place. They correspond.’
‘What about the tin?’
‘No-one you wouldn’t expect.’
‘That’s that then,’ sighed Rattigan. ‘We know it but we can’t prove it.’ He turned to Yardley. ‘Those on the spirit-lamp and jar could have arrived quite innocently, isn’t that right?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ said Yardley. ‘However! We thought we’d best have a go at the scraps of chocolate, presumably from the ones she’d messed up and rejected, and there were two nice ones, unquestionably those of Hannah Falkner. Congratulations, sir. You’ve done it!’
Death Among the Kisses (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 10) Page 12
