Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9) Read online

  ‘I bet he doesn’t think so,’ replied Falconer, trying to peer into the back of the ambulance.

  ‘Do you want to have a word with him, before we leave for the hospital?’ asked the same paramedic. ‘We’ve given him something for the pain, but he’s perfectly capable of talking.

  ‘Thanks. I would, just to see if I can get a clearer picture of what happened,’ and Falconer climbed into the back of the vehicle, and hunched down beside his DC.

  ‘What have you got yourself into now, Roberts?’ he asked, looking down at a face with tribal paintings in blood on it. ‘Can’t I trust you to do anything on your own?’ He said this in a semi-jocular way, however, not being good at conversing with the sick or injured.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I hadn’t even got to Mrs Bingham’s house. I just parked up, off the road so that I wouldn’t congest it. Then I heard a revving engine, the squeal of tyres, lights suddenly came on, blinding me, and I flung myself to one side; more of an instinctive reaction than a rational one.’

  ‘Then thank God you’ve got good instincts. I wouldn’t like to think you had a death wish. Did Mrs Bingham go back to her house?’

  ‘She left when the paramedics were examining me.’

  ‘Well, I won’t delay your arrival at the hospital any longer. I’ll take over where you left off, and I’ll come and see you tomorrow, when they’ve got you nicely tucked up in bed with your teddy bear.’

  As the ambulance drew away, leaving Falconer holding the blanket that Mrs Bingham had draped over Roberts’ prone body, while they waited for the ambulance to arrive, he could see that there was a light on in Tootelon Down, and the curtain at one of the front windows was drawn aside, as Mrs Bingham kept an eye on events from the shelter of her own home. Waving to her, to let her know he had seen her, he crossed to the door, and she opened it as he reached it.

  ‘Come on in, Inspector. Such a dreadful thing to happen, and so soon after what … what happened … to poor, dear Lettice,’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘Whatever is this village coming to? It’s definitely being stalked by something evil.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. Here’s your blanket, by the way. It was lucky you were awake and realised what had happened, otherwise my DC could have been lying out in the open all night. Now, perhaps you could tell me about your prowler, and then anything you can about DC Roberts’ accident.’

  ‘Is he all right? What did the ambulance men say? I feel so guilty, because this never would have happened if I hadn’t phoned the police station about someone prowling about out the back.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. This was an act carried out in cold blood, from what Roberts was able to tell me. The car seemed to aim straight for him, with no lights on, then turned them on to dazzle him so they could get a better aim. That has nothing whatsoever to do with your call, so don’t let it worry you. Now, tell me what you can about earlier,’ Falconer asked, in a reassuring voice.

  ‘I was just letting my cat in. He was a naughty boy, and didn’t come back until late tonight, and as I had the door open for him, I heard a noise from the graveyard, as if someone was prowling about out there, and had gone into a rabbit hole or something similar and twisted their ankle. Then I looked in that direction, and there was definitely the light of a torch, probably aimed upwards, as whoever it was regained their balance, and that was what made it possible for me to see it.

  ‘I called out for them to show themselves, but everything went silent and black, and I began to feel a little nervous. That’s when I made the first phone call. Then, when I was waiting for someone to arrive, that naughty old cat of mine decided he needed a last tiddle. I let him out of the front door this time, in case the prowler was still about, and that was when I heard a sort of choking yell and a muffled crash, as if something had been knocked over in someone’s house.

  ‘At night, this village is as quiet as the graves behind these houses, and sound really travels. Not many of us have the luxury of double glazing. That, along with the fact that I could see lights on at Mr Twelvetrees’ house has made me sure that that was where the noise was coming from.

  ‘It was all so clear in my mind that I could almost picture it, but by then, I was too afraid to go round and see if Mr Twelvetrees was all right. If there was someone in the house trying to harm him, I didn’t want to put myself in any danger.’

  ‘That was very sensible of you. At least that leaves you here to tell the tale. Have you heard anything since from that direction?’ the inspector asked, not over-anxious to go round to the house and be attacked himself.

  ‘It’s been quiet as the grave since just before that poor man was run down,’ she replied with conviction.

  ‘In that case, I’m going down to take a look. If I’m not back in ten minutes, or if you hear any sounds that might be a scuffle, ring the station again, for I might need some help.’

  ‘You be careful, young man. I don’t want another attack on my conscience,’ she warned him.

  ‘I’ll take every precaution necessary not to become another victim, Mrs Bingham,’ Falconer replied, rather pleased at her description of him as young.

  Closing her front door behind him, Falconer walked the short distance to Bijou, knocked sharply on the door, and rang the bell, then tried to see if he could see anything through the windows, but the curtains were closed. He then tried calling through the letterbox, but there was no answer to this summons, either. Think! The downstairs lights were on, the upstairs lights were off. That didn’t look too good for Mr Twelvetrees. He’d have to try to gain entrance at the rear of the property.

  Tapping softly on the door of Tootelon Down, he went back inside the cottage and asked, ‘Is there any back access to these properties?’

  ‘There is; on the boundary of the graveyard. Do you want to go out through my back gate? Otherwise you’ll have to walk round there from the road.’

  ‘That would be very convenient, thank you, Mrs Bingham. Again, if I’m not back in ten minutes, sound the alarm.’ He was getting a bad feeling about this situation, and a frisson of fear passed through his body, as he hoped against hope that there was no one still lurking in Bijou.

  He went out of the rear gate, having borrowed a torch from Violet, his own still in the glove compartment of his car. The gate to the property in question was unbolted, which was convenient, even if it did increase his feeling of unease. The back door was closed but unlocked, which he discovered when the knob turned in his hand, and the door swung open.

  The illumination of the house lights was disquieting in the silence of the dwelling, and it was with extreme caution that he crept carefully towards the door of the living room, which had been left ajar. Was there someone behind it, waiting to set upon him? With infinite caution he crept up to it, then gathering his courage, he flung it open and yelled, ‘Police! Don’t move!’

  The merciless silence continued, as he stared at the scene in front of him in horror. There was someone completely ruthless at large in this small community, and they’d struck again. Before him, Julius Twelvetrees lay sprawled in a wing-backed chair, his throat cut, and an apron of gore decorating the front of his body, the blood also having dripped and formed a pool at his feet. As the freshet of red had cascaded from the wound, it had had sufficient force to stain the upper legs of his trousers, completing the image of the man wearing an abattoir apron. Beside the chair, a small table had been overturned, and a glass lay on the floor, its contents now forming a discoloured circle on the carpet.

  On the coffee table in front of his chair were scattered an assortment of pieces of jewellery, their brightness twinkling in the overhead light, and mocking the dead man with their beauty and imperviousness. Falconer felt the bile rise in his throat, and returned immediately to the kitchen, where he wouldn’t have to stare at the scene of such carnage.

  Taking a few moments for his stomach to settle, he took out his mobile and phoned it in, thanking God that he was able to get a signal from this cottage. Damn their night-tim
e surveillance! At the very least, he’d need a SOCO team and Philip Christmas. When he’d finished his call, he turned the key in the back door, pocketed it, then let himself out of the front door, and went back to Violet Bingham’s.

  He might be responsible for the crime scene until other officers arrived, but he was damned if he was going to stay in that house any longer, with that grisly corpse smiling at him with its neck gaping and bloody. Likewise, the jewels would have to stay in position until they’d been photographed and dusted for prints. He hoped that Mrs Bingham would offer him a cup of strong tea, because, by golly, he could do with one at this particular moment.

  Doc Christmas was the first to arrive, Bob Bryant probably still busy rousing people from their beds and waiting for them to arrive, so that they could set off in a group in one of the official SOCO vans.

  ‘One of yours again, Harry?’ the doctor asked, as he was admitted to Bijou. ‘Are you intent on wiping out rural life in this area? I could’ve done without being roused from my bed at such an unsociable hour. Lord, that’s a messy one, isn’t it?’

  Falconer concurred silently, with a nod of his head, and the doctor continued, ‘That’s enough to turn anyone’s stomach. Just as well you didn’t have Carmichael with you, or he’d probably have blown his guts all over the body.’ Again, Falconer nodded. Seeing the man sprawled in the chair, as if enjoying an evening in front of the television, made him feel nauseous again; apparent innocent domesticity demonstrated in the most ugly way.

  ‘This has all the outward appearances of a suicide, but I think that’s just for show, and it’s an incomplete scene,’ Dr Christmas gave as his considered opinion.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Falconer, amazed by what appeared to be the doctor’s perspicacity.

  ‘You mean apart from the absence of the weapon?’ Pointing to a cup and saucer lying on the coffee table that was adorned with jewels, and a newspaper and pen on the lid of the open bureau, he said, ‘There’s your evidence.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Falconer, perplexed.

  ‘His throat was cut from left to right, which indicates a right-handed culprit. If you observe the cup and saucer, they lie to the left of the table, and the bureau holds a pen and newspaper, the latter folded to reveal a half-completed crossword. The pen has been left to the left of the paper; ergo, he was left-handed, but whoever cut his throat was in such a hurry, or didn’t realise he was a southpaw, for the slash across his throat has been made by a right-handed person, from behind.

  ‘The absence of any weapon either indicates the complete panic the murderer was in, or an inordinately strong attraction to the knife used, and whoever it was couldn’t bear to just abandon it. Or maybe if we had found it, it would have immediately identified who was responsible. Have a chew on that baccy for a moment.

  ‘Of course, you’re going to have to get the SOCO lads to check out all the knives in the house, but it’s my bet that this is a case of “slit-and-run”.’

  ‘By golly, you sound just like Holmes astounding Watson,’ replied Falconer, genuinely impressed.

  ‘Also,’ continued the doctor, ‘the glass has been left as if it had fallen from his right hand, whereas all the other evidence in the room suggests that he was left-handed. This is another murder, Harry boy. That’s two in not-quite-twenty-four hours, going by the discovery times. Old Chivers is going to get into a right muck sweat. I have known him in the past to refer to you as Dr Death. This double is going to get right up His High-and-Mightiness’ nostrils.

  ‘He can hardly hold me responsible for the murderous actions of every resident of the county,’ stated Falconer with indignation.

  ‘It might seem unreasonable, but he does. I should stay out of the office as much as possible until these two are wrapped up. Keep a low profile, and he won’t get the opportunity to set off any heavyweight salvos.’

  A discreet knock at the front door alerted them to the fact that the SOCO team had arrived, and that they could take a break from the oppressiveness of the room, with its dreadful metallic smell of blood.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday morning – Market Darley

  When Carmichael got into the office, a baggy-eyed, grey-skinned Falconer was hard at work at his desk, and appeared to have been there for some time.

  ‘Morning, sir. Golly! You look rough. Just the way I looked yesterday morning. Have you been on a bender?’

  ‘I most certainly have not, Carmichael. I was roused from my innocent slumber about two hours after I got to sleep, and spent some considerable time in Shepford St Bernard, where I had the pleasure of attending another murder scene, and also seeing DC Roberts off in an ambulance. And discovering the missing jewellery. I mustn’t leave out that bit.’

  ‘Crikey, sir, you have been busy. Why didn’t you give me a bell?’

  ‘Because you looked so awful yesterday that I thought you were in great need of a good night’s sleep. And now I look as bad as you did.’ At this point Falconer finally looked up from his paperwork and exclaimed, ‘Carmichael! What the devil are you wearing, man? I thought you’d got rid of the dressing-up box.’

  ‘Sir!’ said Carmichael, looking slightly hurt. ‘You know I like bright colours; they cheer me up, and it’s such a lovely day today.’

  Falconer gazed at his sergeant in disbelief. He was, indeed, back to his old ways, and had on a brightly decorated Hawaiian shirt and canary yellow trousers. ‘You’re giving me a headache just looking at you.’

  ‘Well, Kerry said I looked good enough to eat,’ Carmichael threw back at him.

  ‘She probably meant you looked like something from a giant pick-and-mix advert – dolly mixtures and those ghastly yellow banana-shaped spongy things. Be it on your own head; we’re out and about today, and I want you to walk a few paces behind me. I refuse to be mistaken for your carer.

  ‘Right! We’re off to the hospital first, then back to Shepford St Bernard. There were some missed interviews yesterday – I’ve read through Roberts’ notes, so I’m up and running with what he learnt.’

  Shepford St Bernard

  It was barely nine o’clock when Toby Lattimer knocked on Gwendolyn Galton’s front door, and she answered it in her dressing gown, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. ‘What do you want this early in the morning, Toby? You know I’m utterly wasted after an all-day fair. As it was, I didn’t get back till nine last night, and by the time I’d unloaded the van it was gone ten.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear Gwen, but I just had to know whether or not you’d sold that divine tortoiseshell box with the inlaid silver. I’ve been lusting after it since you bought it; should’ve made you an offer for it before you went off yesterday, but you know how I prevaricate. Have you sold it?’

  ‘If that’s all, couldn’t you have waited till a more civilised hour? Really, Toby, look at the state of me,’ she said, tossing her white tresses over her shoulder, out of the way. She hadn’t yet brushed her hair this morning, and it was still tangled from its night on the pillow.

  ‘I couldn’t wait a moment longer. Tell me, have you sold it yet? Oh, please tell me you haven’t. I shall die if it can’t be mine!’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t. So you want to buy it?’

  ‘Oh, I do, very much,’ he replied, his face as eager as a puppy’s when it expects a treat.

  ‘You’d better come in then, so we can agree a price, but you’ll have to make the coffee while I unpack it. It’s still in one of the boxes from yesterday.’

  ‘Will do,’ agreed her neighbour, then called through to her in the dining room, ‘How much do you want for it?’

  She wandered back into the kitchen with the exquisite little item in her hands. ‘I was asking a hundred and fifty, and I think that’s very reasonable,’ she declared, as Toby’s face creased up in alarm.

  ‘That much?’ he asked, his expression suddenly downcast. ‘I was going to offer you a hundred for it. I’ve raided all my little copper pots, and that’s how much I came
up with. I was sure you’d accept. It seemed such a good price to me.’

  ‘You old fake. You did no such thing. You know damned well it’s worth every penny of a hundred and fifty. You’re just taking the piss, but as it’s you, how about a hundred and twenty-five?’

  ‘Done!’ replied Toby, reaching a hand into each of his trouser pockets. From one he drew out five crisp twenty pound notes, and from the other, another twenty and a five. ‘Here you are. Now, how do you take your coffee?’

  ‘You old fraud,’ she answered him. ‘You had the hundred in one pocket, hoping your sob story would work, and put twenty-five in the other, in case I wasn’t such a pushover. I’d be willing to bet that you’ve got another twenty-five in your shirt pocket, in case I was in a hard bargaining mood today.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Toby replied, but he had the grace to blush at the accuracy of her supposition.

  ‘Hey, Monday isn’t pension day. You really have been putting away your pennies for this, haven’t you? And don’t give me that look. You might not look it, but I know perfectly well how old you are.’

  ‘But you still love me, don’t you?’ replied Toby with a twinkle. ‘Coming round for a glass of wine, tonight?’ he asked, surprised at his own boldness.

  ‘Might as well. I’ve got nothing better to do.’

  ‘How honoured you make me feel. About eight?’

  ‘You’re on, but are you sure you’re up to staying awake that late? You’ve got huge bags under your eyes, and you look like you should have stayed in bed.’

  ‘That was the little box. It had me tossing and turning so that I couldn’t get off to sleep, but I shall be fine now it’s mine. There’s something else I wanted to ask you, as well. Have you got any tie clips or lapel pins with gemstones? I have a yen for something like that. Oh, and men’s rings set with stones, too? I want to expand my collections, and I don’t have much in that line.’

  ‘I might have one or two bits. Tell you what; I’ll have a look through when I’m unpacking. Shall I bring anything I find with me when I come round this evening?’