Christmas Mourning (The Falconer Files Book 8) Page 14

  ‘When he discovered he’d left his real glasses in the church. He must have taken them off after having to read the words of the carols, and put his silly wire-framed ones on so that he could be the complete Father Christmas in the pub,’ Cedric informed him.

  ‘Even then he couldn’t resist standing at the bar and chatting for another half an hour before he actually left the place. He just couldn’t resist attention.’ Alice had a very disapproving look on her face.

  ‘Did anyone else leave during that time?’ Maybe they were getting somewhere at last.

  ‘That woman with the headaches. She doesn’t socialise much and always looks ill. I think she used to run the post office. Warren-Browne, that’s her name. Marian, I think. They left, but then there was a bit of an exodus, and there were so many people drifting away that I couldn’t really identify anyone else with any accuracy,’ added Alice, thinking that they must have covered everything by now.

  ‘And you three left when?’

  ‘About the same time as everyone started to go,’ replied Alice. It was late, and there was no point in staying when everyone else was off home.’

  ‘Now, one last question,’ stated Falconer, making them all sigh. Would these accursed policemen never go and leave them in peace again?

  ‘Did you, and this may sound an odd question, ever notice the way he behaved around children? I know we touched on this subject yesterday, but I wonder if you’ve had the chance to remember anything else on the subject.’ Cunning Falconer!

  There was a stunned silence. The question had really been a curved ball for them, and they looked as if they were all waiting for someone else to speak first. It was Alice Diggory who blinked first. ‘In what way, Inspector?’ she asked.

  ‘Did you ever see him with young children and feel uncomfortable?’ Falconer wasn’t going to waste time beating about the bush.

  Again, there was a silence which seemed to stretch out into infinity, which Alice again broke, looking anywhere but at Falconer. ‘I always thought that I wouldn’t have been happy with him having contact with any of my pupils, but then I’ve already told you that,’ she stated, flushing again and wondering if the others might follow this lead.

  ‘I saw him in the tea shop once,’ Cedric Malting piped up. ‘It was a day when little Tristram was running round the place because there was no playgroup.’ He stopped for a while to muster his thoughts, before continuing. ‘I’d just dropped in for a coffee and didn’t see Digby until he called the little chap over. When he’d toddled up to the table, Digby picked him up and swung him high in the air, then sat him on his lap.

  ‘It all looked perfectly normal till then, but while the little boy was on his lap he kept running his hands over his arms and legs, and it made me feel a bit creeped out.’ Here, indeed, was new evidence of Jeffries’ inappropriate behaviour.

  ‘Now, I’m not saying there was anything wrong, just that it made me feel very uncomfortable, and when his mother saw what was happening she very quickly came and took him away, saying that if he should come out of the back room again would someone call her immediately, as she was worried that he might get outside. Get outside, my foot! She just didn’t like the thought of him being fondled by Digby, or at least that’s what I thought when I got home and mulled it over in my mind.’

  ‘I can’t remember a specific incident, but I know that something left alarm bells ringing in my mind about him.’ Robin De’ath didn’t like being left out, and volunteered this even if he couldn’t readily call anything to mind. ‘I do remember that Stupple chap being a bit concerned, though. I overheard him in the pub, talking about his own kids and the Cubs and Brownies. Obviously his wife shared his concern.’

  Isn’t it funny, thought Falconer, that no one ever says anything about things like this until someone’s dead or moved away. Everyone has concerns, but no one’s willing to be the first to air them; then, after something like this, it all comes pouring out. It was too late now! If only someone had spoken up sooner they could have got him, but now they’d just have to leave it to Social Services to pick up the pieces after the event. Damned nuisance, and no mistake!

  ‘Well, thank you all for your time. We’ll be on our way now, and leave you good folks in peace,’ he said, rising and nodding to Carmichael to indicate that they were leaving.

  ‘I hated him! Really hated him! He did everything he could to make me feel small and insignificant, and I’m glad someone’s finally nailed the bastard!’ Cedric Malting was seething with emotion as he said this, only to be answered by the other two.

  ‘Oh, really bad joke, Ced! ‘Nailed’ him’. Bad, bad taste,’ said Robin De’ath.

  ‘We all hated him, but I don’t think you ought to go around saying things like that, Cedric; at least not before they’ve caught whoever’s done this awful thing,’ Alice added, getting her two-penn’orth in as well.

  Falconer stared at them all after this little outburst, then bade them the compliments of the season and led Carmichael outside into the fresh air once more.

  ‘I’m glad to get out of there,’ he said, once the door had been closed on them.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Carmichael. ‘You could feel the build-up of hatred, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Definitely. So, this little visit hasn’t crossed anyone off our list of suspects. And Jeffries announced to anyone within earshot that he was going back to the church, then delayed his departure. If anyone had the slightest notion of doing him harm, that gave them the ideal opportunity to slip home for a weapon of sorts, brass candlesticks aside, even if they hadn’t already had the foresight to bring along a nail gun to aid their carol singing.

  ‘Just about the same as yesterday, then – everybody hated him, but nobody had anything to do with his murder.’

  ‘SOS,’ sir,’ replied Carmichael.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Same old shit, sir,’ the sergeant enlightened his superior, with a little grin.

  Their next call was at Blue Sky, the halfway house for recovering alcoholics and drug addicts, and neither of them was relishing what lay ahead of them: Carmichael, because he thought the very existence of such a place in a small village was asking for trouble, and Falconer just because he was a fastidious man himself who never over-indulged in anything, and found it hard to sympathise with others who had done so to the detriment of their way of life.

  His years at prep and senior school, followed by university and the army had left him self-reliant and sober: a man very much in charge of his own destiny, and he couldn’t understand how others could follow such a highway to hell with apparent disregard for the consequences. One of the reasons that he had joined the police force was because he wanted to be a part of ensuring that people lived honest and respectable lives, and were protected from those who didn’t. On this subject, he was a hard and unforgiving man.

  Carmichael, on the other hand, never having gone away to school, and receiving his education at the comprehensive school in Market Darley, was more of a realist, and was of the opinion, given the choices he could have made, that ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I’. He knew that some people couldn’t resist temptation, especially if they didn’t have much of a home life, and would succumb out as somewhere to hide from the harsh realities of their lives, or even out of boredom. Maybe, between the two detectives, there was a well-balanced outlook on life.

  Dr Hector Griddle had to stifle a look of pure alarm as he surveyed their warrant cards, and his thoughts immediately went into overdrive. Surely one of his patients hadn’t committed some offence? They had all seemed so well-readjusted to life, and were almost ready to return to the community.

  He led the two policemen to his office and bade them take a seat, asking, ‘How can I help you, officers?’ He was aware of how squeaky and nervous his voice sounded, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was riddled with anxiety that there should be a blot on the copy book of his establishment when it was so close to closing down.

  ‘We’r
e making enquiries into the death of one of the residents of the village, and of the visiting clergyman, and would like to know where your patients were after Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I know that they attended, and I want to know exactly what they did and where they went directly after the service.’

  ‘They all came back here,’ answered Griddle, a sheen of sweat visible on his upper lip. ‘I supervised them myself, then locked the establishment for the night. I assure you that none of them could have gone wandering after that. They also wear tags, so if they achieved the impossible and managed to get out, an alarm would have gone off, and I would have responded immediately.’

  It had cost Falconer a lot to use the word ‘patients’, and now he was stunned by the sheer defensiveness of the man. Could anywhere be as secure as he claimed Blue Sky was? Even Alcatraz had had at least one escapee, and Colditz had had its fair share of absconders, too.

  His cynical expression had evidently been noted by Griddle, because he suddenly broke into speech again. ‘The patients under my care here are on the last leg of their journey back into society and, in fact, we have only six residents at the moment. The charity only took a twelve-month lease on this property, and will not be renewing it. Donations are right down, due to the financial downturn, and this place will have to close. These are hard times, Inspector, for everyone, and charitable donations are nowhere as near as high as they once were.

  ‘The last six people left here will be back in the community within the next three months, and I can hardly see any of them jeopardising the chance of getting on with their lives by doing something stupid so close to them leaving here.’

  ‘Is it possible that I could speak to them individually?’ This wasn’t something that Falconer relished, and he was rather glad when Dr Griddle replied,

  ‘I really wouldn’t advise it at the moment. I can assure you that all of them were safely behind these doors only a few minutes after the service ended, and if you could bring yourself to exhaust every other avenue before unsettling them with an enquiry like this, I should be forever grateful.’

  The inspector saw the bait and took it with relief. ‘We’ll take your word for that at the moment, but if my enquiries don’t throw up anything else, I shall return, and I shall expect to interview each and every one of them. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘As crystal,’ replied Griddle, a wave of relief washing over him. He just wanted to get to the end of his time at this establishment and look for a job with prospects, instead of hanging around here in the middle of nowhere looking after people who were already cured. This time! He had known that Blue Sky was small potatoes when he’d taken the job, and although it was preferable to be in work than out of it, he’d be relieved when he could get back to a town or city and look for something with more of a challenge to it.

  As he saw them off the premises, Falconer sighed with relief then remembered that they still had to go over to the pub and sort out the body of Rev. Searle. ‘Have you got the photographic equipment?’ he asked, and Carmichael indicated the rucksack on his back which had accompanied him all morning without attracting comment.

  ‘Sure thing, sir,’ he replied. ‘I wondered when you were going to remember that we hadn’t been there yet,’ but he said it with a smile. There was no chance that the body had ‘turned’ in the temperatures they were experiencing.

  ‘I wondered when you’d notice that,’ commented Falconer, with a twinkle in his eye. Still, he was so relieved to have got the visit to Blue Sky out of the way that he didn’t think it mattered too much that he’d had a little lapse of memory. And it was probably the thought of having to go to that establishment which had made him temporarily forget about The Fisherman’s Flies, and what awaited them there. And he’d had Allsorts on his list for the morning, so it was just as well that he’d managed to get three of his suspects together in the same room at Hillview.

  George Covington was just opening the pub doors when they arrived and had put a chalked board outside in the snow which advertised hot drinks, sandwiches, and soup for anyone who visited during the lunchtime opening hours. Normal menu would be resumed this evening.

  ‘I’ve still got that there dead cleric upstairs!’ he called, as Falconer and Carmichael came into view. ‘Oh, bugger!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘And I’ve only forgotten to turn off the radiator in there. We’re going to need to get him somewhere cool before he starts to go off. The smell of a corpse isn’t going to do anything for my trade, you know.’

  ‘Just about to get underway,’ Falconer hailed him, then, drawing closer, he explained that they would do all the photographic work necessary, take measurements, and collect any evidence they could find and perhaps after that, George would be kind enough to give them a hand moving the body down to the cellar.

  ‘It is probably the coldest place in the pub. You’re right about that, but I don’t know what Paula’s going to say about it. She’s got a thing about death.’

  Haven’t we all! thought the inspector, especially if it concerns our own. ‘I don’t want to move him to the church, which is possibly colder, George. But it wouldn’t be seemly to be seen moving a body around, even if there aren’t many people about.’

  ‘OK, but if he’s still here in a couple of days’ time, I’m going to have to insist that he’s taken off the premises. It’s not exactly compliant with food hygiene regulations to have a corpse installed in the cellar, which is where our food freezers are.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable. We’ll just go on up then, shall we?’

  ‘You help yourselves. I wouldn’t go into that room again if you paid me. Gives me the willies, that does, him just lying there as if he were asleep, and I can’t say as I’ll relish going down to the cellar when he’s in residence, either.’

  The room struck warm as they entered it, and when Falconer checked the body, he was dismayed to discover that rigor mortis had not yet worn off and the limbs were frozen in a position that would give them some considerable trouble transferring him down to the cellar. If only there had been no heating in the room, he would have been as floppy as a rag doll. And now he wasn’t. Just their luck!

  ‘Right, Carmichael, you do the videoing again and I’ll take care of the photography, then we can draw a plan of the scene and put in some measurements. We’ll have to bag up all the crumpled wrapping paper as well, for fingerprints. Let’s get this scene recorded as quickly as possible, so that we can get on with the job of finding out who killed them both, although I can’t think of a motive for anyone wanting to do away with a locum clergyman, can you?’

  ‘Seems daft to me. I don’t think he knew anybody in the village, so why murder him?’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  As they talked, they worked, and it wasn’t too long before Falconer yelled downstairs for George to come to their aid in getting the mortal remains of Rev. Searle down to the cellar.

  When George arrived, he took one look at the position of the body and declared, ‘I hope he’s not still stiff, for if he is, I don’t see how we’re going to get him through the doors and down the stairs with his legs flopped apart like that.’

  ‘Stiff as a board, I’m afraid, George. You really ought to have turned off that radiator,’ Falconer informed the publican bluntly.

  ‘I can’t be expected to think of everything round here,’ George retorted, a grim expression eclipsing his normal happy ‘mine host’ face.

  The three men stood contemplating the body, and a grimace of distaste washed over Falconer’s face, a greenish tinge, over Carmichael’s. ‘We’ll just have to see how we can manage, before doing anything drastic,’ Falconer advised, emphasising the last two words for all they implied, and the three of them went over to see which part of the deceased vicar they would each be holding, as they took him to his next, but not last, resting place.

  As it worked out, George took the body by the shoulders, Falconer and Carmichael being left with a leg each. ‘Up with him!’ ordered the inspector, which
was easier said than done. He might have been a frail figure of a man but in death he seemed to have put on an awful lot of weight.

  Their first attempt to get him to leave the room feet first didn’t work, as the two policeman were standing one either side of their load. ‘Do it the other way round,’ advised George Covington. ‘If I get ’is head out first, you can support ’im from behind his feet, that way you won’t be either side of ’im, and ’e should just about fit through.’

  George was correct and, with a little local difficulty, they were able to get the body out of the room and onto the landing. The stairs proved a most awkward obstacle to overcome, and Carmichael nearly lost the leg he was holding as he followed the body down the stairs. ‘Hold fast, there, Sergeant. ’E might be dead, but we don’t want to break ’is bloody neck, do we?’ yelled George, struggling not to lose his hold as Carmichael recovered his grip.

  The entrance to the cellar was from the actual barroom itself, so they had two doorways to negotiate before they could get him down the cellar steps and put him down. George knew that the cellar door was wide, but he expressed doubts about the width of the door to the bar as they reached the foot of the stairs.

  They approached the opening with caution as Paula Covington came to see what all the noise and shouting was about. Her unexpected exclamation of, ‘Oh, my God!’ nearly unsettled them sufficiently to let go of their load, but George saved the day by shoving a knee into the old man’s back while his two companions got a firmer hold of his ankles.

  ‘Come on, let’s see if he’ll fit,’ said George, anxious to get back to his bar.

  He didn’t fit! They stood there for more than a minute contemplating the problem. Falconer knew that if the worst came to the worst they could always break the resistance in his thighs by cracking the joints, but he wouldn’t be responsible for his own stomach, let alone Carmichael’s, if they had to do this.

  As he was contemplating this grisly plan, Paula suggested, ‘Why don’t you just turn him sideways? That way, you should be able to get him through.’ And she was right, although as they turned him as directed, a plethora of small objects and coins fell from the man’s trouser pockets and showered their feet with debris.