Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9) Read online

  ‘That’ll mean I can get the roof into a good state of repair, and install a more efficient heating system into the bargain. I could even have the hall refurbished. It looked so shabby after I’d taken down the decorations after the party that I thought it needed a bit of a spruce up.

  ‘Obviously, I’ve no idea how much it will come to, but I reckon it’ll be a substantial amount of money, when the insurance pays out. So, you never know; perhaps I winkled the combination of the safe from her when I dropped her home, then cracked her on the head, emptied the safe, and took to my heels to hide the stash.’

  ‘You are having me on, aren’t you?’ asked Falconer dubiously.

  ‘Of course I am, but I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. It would have been easy enough for someone she was familiar with to turn up on the doorstep, saying she’d left something at the party, and they’d come round to return it in case it was missed in the meantime and she was worried about it. It could’ve been anyone who knew what she kept in her safe.’

  ‘One thing you probably don’t know, which hasn’t been widely broadcast, is that the jewellery that was stolen was found on a coffee table, in front of the chair that Julius Twelvetrees was found dead in.’

  ‘Oh, my good Lord!’ she ejaculated with horror. ‘What a very grim picture that paints. So it was he who killed Lettice?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not that easy,’ said Falconer, bursting that hopeful little bubble of an easy solution, ‘That’s how it was meant to look: that he took the lot, then, when looking it over, was filled with remorse, and took his own life.

  ‘Fortunately, Market Darley CID isn’t that easy to fool,’ he stated, feeling a slight stirring of guilt, remembering that it was Doc Christmas who had spotted the set-up. ‘So now we’re looking for someone who has killed twice, and why the jewellery was left there, out in the open, we don’t have the faintest idea. Yet! But we’ll get there, don’t you worry.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday afternoon – Market Darley

  Once more back at the ranch, Falconer suggested that, as he was a much quicker typist than Carmichael, he should type up the notes so far, while the sergeant ran all the village’s residents that they’d spoken to through the CRB. It was a cunning suggestion of the inspector’s, for he found CRB checks deathly boring, as they usually turned up nothing on this sort of case, and he found typing rather relaxing.

  ‘Can you read my shorthand, sir?’ asked Carmichael, knowing that, in the past, Falconer had pronounced his amalgamation of Pitman’s (he had purchased a book at a jumble sale when he first joined the force), abbreviations and ‘Carmichael hieroglyphics’ impossible to unravel.

  ‘You forget how long we’ve been working together now. I’ve finally broken the code, and feel as proud as if I’d solved the mysteries of the Rosetta Stone. Let me at them notes. I could do with doing something mindless, and typing’s great for that: through the eyes and straight out through the fingers, without having to pass through the brain. Sometimes I’ve no idea what I’ve typed, until I read it through at the end.’

  ‘I wish it was that easy for me, sir. I’m happy, though. I love going on ‘villain hunt’.

  ‘So, we’re both perfectly content with our early afternoon tasks, then? That’s good, and afterwards, we’ll have a little pow-wow about what we’ve learnt so far, and see who we can make out a case against.’

  Carmichael bent his head to his computer, and Falconer reached out to grab Carmichael’s notebook from the edge of the sergeant’s desk. For the next half hour there was silence, except for a mutter or two from one or other of them at whatever they had found. Falconer did query one of Carmichael’s little drawings, which was a smiley face at the bottom of his notes about their visit to Tresore that morning, but Carmichael explained that he only drew that to indicate that he had found Toby Lattimer a very nice man.

  ‘Smurf-lover!’ Falconer muttered under his breath, in contempt, only to be interrupted about ten minutes later by a yell from Carmichael.

  ‘Bingo!’ he shouted, then fell to his computer again, to carry on his searches.

  ‘What was all that about?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’ve finished,’ his sergeant replied, his eyes not moving from the computer screen.

  Ten minutes later, Carmichael’s voice was raised, once again, with the exclamation, ‘Bingo, again!’ This time Falconer ignored it, but when, only a quarter of an hour later, Carmichael shouted, ‘Full house!’ he could contain himself no longer.

  ‘What on earth have you found to make you so excited?’ he asked, giving up any attempt to carry on with transcribing his sergeant’s notes. ‘It must be good for you to have yelled three times.’

  ‘Oh, it is, sir. Three of them have got records, and another one a warning. I didn’t yell for that one, but the other three were irresistible. I just couldn’t contain myself.’

  ‘So, spill the beans, Carmichael. Which ones have got a record, and for what?’ asked Falconer, slightly crestfallen that the glory of finding the records hadn’t been his. When he checked he always came up with zilch.

  ‘The first one I found was that antiques dealer, Galton. She’s been in trouble for receiving stolen goods, but only the once. She got off with it, because they believed her story about buying in good faith, and her clean record before that.

  ‘Then there was our latest victim, convicted for handing stolen goods. He bought some dodgy gear and sold some in his shop. One of our guys recognised something in his window when he went there to buy a gift for his wife, and old Julius coughed for the stuff he’d already sold as well. That seemed to be a one-off case, too, as he’d rung the station on at least one occasion previously to alert us to the fact that he’d been offered some hooky watches.

  ‘And thirdly, our mysterious cove, Colin Twentymen.’

  ‘A right cagey character he was, when we visited him. We’d have got more out of an oyster,’ commented Falconer, wondering where on earth Carmichael had exhumed the word ‘cove’ from.

  ‘Correct, sir. Well, it seems he’s done time for theft and burglary. He was released on parole last year, which would probably coincide with when he moved to Shepford St Bernard.’

  ‘We’ll definitely have to have a rather firm word with Mr Twentymen – and the other two, of course. Who was it who received a caution?’

  ‘The local witch – Wanda Warwick – of all people. Apparently, some zealous soul in our midst had a word with her about fortune-telling, invoking an ancient law against it,because he didn’t believe she was genuine. I don’t recognise the name reporting, but then I don’t know every officer who works here, since the amalgamation, with all those extras bodies joining us from the little rural stations that they more or less closed down.’

  ‘Very interesting, Carmichael. Good work! That’ll give us food for thought, but now, I think we ought to have a brain-storming session, taking the suspects one-by-one and seeing how they might be responsible. Then, tomorrow, we’ll go pay them all another visit.

  After a visit to the canteen to bulk up their blood sugar – very necessary in Carmichael’s case – they got down to reviewing and speculation.

  ‘Let’s get rid of the obvious no-noes first. I can’t see our nice lady vicar carrying out such violent attacks, can you? Two murders and a hit and run?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘I don’t think we can exempt her from the list. Look at what she said to us earlier. That could have been a very clever double bluff, pretending not to know that the jewellery had been found. She could have religious mania, and have done it all for the money for her church. It’s her first parish, she said, and she might have got a bit psychopathically involved with it.’ This was from Carmichael, and surprised Falconer.

  ‘Do you really mean that?’ he asked, ‘Or did you just not find her sponge cake to your liking?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m only pulling your leg. I don’t think she’d hurt a fly. I was just playing devil’s advocate.
’

  Falconer was surprised that Carmichael had even known what the expression meant, let alone be capable of playing the part and coming up with a bizarre, but possible, candidate for the crimes. He’d have to watch him, or he’d be turning out a real smart-arse. And that wouldn’t do at all; that was his job.

  ‘What about Violet Bingham?’ Falconer threw out at his sergeant. ‘Can you make a case out against her?’

  Carmichael thought for a minute, then drew breath, and said, ‘If she knew she was being left the cat, what else might she think she has been left? And Miss Keighley-Armstrong would have let her in without a qualm, as would Mr Twelvetrees. Who would suspect an elderly lady of such dastardly acts?’

  ‘Nice one, Carmichael, although I can’t see an ice-cream’s chance in hell of it being true. You’re right about the will, though. We really must find out who thinks they might have been mentioned in it. It might make us look at things in an entirely different light, if we examine expectations rather than the reality.

  ‘I must get on to that solicitor to find out if what we have got is the most recent will. And the insurance company. And we’ll need to find a contact number for a gemologist to take a look at the jewellery, and give us an up-to-date estimate of its value. But that’s not what we’re doing at the moment. Who’s next?’

  ‘Let me see,’ mused Carmichael, ‘We’ve done the vicar and Mrs Violet. What about that Maude Asquith, who took such exception to DC Roberts?’ he suggested, smiling at the thought of the DC’s misfortune. Cheeky young upstart, insulting him like that, and taking the P.

  ‘I hope you and Roberts aren’t going to start squabbling every time you meet.’

  ‘As long as he minds his manners and doesn’t try to put me down again, everything will be just fine and dandy,’ replied Carmichael, his face a mask of stubbornness. ‘And Asquith’s another old lady. I know we haven’t met her yet, but she sounds more the sort to smarm round people with money than to knock them on the head. As for cutting a man’s throat … And why would she leave the jewellery there? In fact, why would anyone leave the jewellery there, sir?’

  ‘Good point, Sergeant.

  ‘Maybe it got too hot for them to handle, and they just wanted rid of it, sir.’

  ‘Then why not just dump it somewhere in the graveyard? Why commit murder again? Somehow we’re missing the connection between these two deaths, and there must be one. It can’t just be coincidence, that two people get themselves murdered within a very short period of time, in the same tiny village, and with the jewels connecting each to the other.’

  ‘And where’s the knife that killed Twelvetrees?’

  ‘Quite right, Carmichael: where the hell is it? It doesn’t matter how I look at it, I just can’t seem to find a common factor for murders, except for those ruddy jewels. What on earth was the point in seeing off the old lady, only to kill again and leave the jewellery at the scene of the second murder? Any ideas, Carmichael, because I’m stumped?’

  ‘Nix,’ replied his partner.

  ‘I think we’ll just have to consider all the suspects for the first murder, then sift through everything we have to try to identify why Twelvetrees was killed, and left in an Aladdin’s cave of jewellery.’

  ‘Weirdest murder scene I’ve ever come cross, but how about this, sir? Twelvetrees was the first murderer, but someone knew he’d done it, went round, maybe in a fury, because of how they felt about Miss Keighley-Armstrong. They catch him with his illegal hoard right out in the open, not even any signs of concealment. Then they lose their temper and go for him, in vengeance.’

  ‘And the knife, Carmichael? They just happened to have it on them?’ asked Falconer, interested, but not convinced, ‘We’ve still absolutely no idea where it came from, what it looks like, or where it is now.’

  ‘Why couldn’t it have belonged to Twelvetrees, and they just picked it up surreptitiously, then came at him from behind?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened. But where did it go after the murder, even if it did belong to Twelvetrees? I give up, for the time being. In the meantime, I’m going to make those appointments with the solicitor and insurance company, and sort out a gemologist.

  ‘Then we’ll go through everyone again, with regard to the first murder, and see if we can find a link between the two. You go to the canteen and pick us up something nice and sweet, and we’ll have a good old chew of the fat while we’re having our coffee break.’

  Carmichael returned, about ten minutes later, with a tray loaded with two mugs of coffee and a large plate, which held six jam doughnuts and two stout squares of lardy cake, and a hungry look on his face. ‘Crikey!’ said Falconer in surprise, ‘are we expecting visitors?’

  ‘No, sir? Why?’ The sergeant really didn’t understand the question.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Now, make sure you don’t get those mugs mixed up. I don’t think coffee with six sugars in it is going to agree with me.’

  ‘It’s a big mug, sir. There’re eight in it, so it’s not too bitter. I can’t stand bitter drinks. They make me shudder.’

  ‘OK, let’s get started,’ suggested Falconer, wondering how Carmichael could even taste the coffee. When they were both seated, and each had in front of him a plate, Carmichael’s piled rather higher than the inspector’s, Falconer began with, ‘We’ve just had a look at Twelvetrees himself being responsible for Miss Keighley-Armstrong’s murder. We know he used to be a jeweller. We also know he’s got a record.

  ‘I got Bob Bryant to take a brief look in the electoral register, and his home address is actually in Market Darley – one of those big, old Victorian places near the park, but it seems he’s been spending a lot more time in Shepford St Bernard of late. We know he no longer has his shop, so it’s a reasonable supposition that he’s in the smaller house because it’s cheaper to run, and times simply ain’t so good now he’s no longer working.

  ‘He’d certainly have the contacts to break up the pieces, sell the stones – unidentifiable out of their settings – and melt the gold and platinum. Of course, he’d realise nowhere near their true value in their original state, but he’d certainly make a good little pile to see him through a bit longer.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ replied Carmichael, spraying the inspector with sugar from his jam doughnut, ‘but we know he didn’t commit suicide. The only idea that’s left is someone killing him in revenge for doing away with Miss Keighley-Armstrong.’

  ‘OK, we can look into who that could have been later. Let’s take the others, one by one, and see if we can find a better motive for them committing both murders. I’ve got a nasty feeling that I’m not going to like the solution to this case. It’s got that feeling about it – dangerous, and liable to blow up in our faces.’

  ‘That’s not like you, sir,’ commented Carmichael, sinking his teeth into a square of lardy cake.

  ‘I know. I’ve just got that feeling. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes”. I’m not usually prone to that sort of superstitious stuff, but this one worries me.’

  ‘We’ve discounted the vicar, haven’t we, sir?’

  ‘But can we really afford to? After all, she did take our first victim home from the party, and no one would turn away a vicar if they called late. She could have turned up at Twelvetrees’ place and said – I don’t know – that she’d heard a prowler, and she didn’t want to disturb any of the older residents. She knew she could rely on a strong, silent man like him … Oh, this is just rubbish. Why leave the jewellery there? In fact, if it was her, why take it in the first place?’

  ‘Because she had expectations for her church from the will, of course. Doing away with Miss Keighley-Armstrong would just hurry along the inheritance.’

  ‘Then why kill Twelvetrees at all?’

  ‘Because, sir, he saw something that he shouldn’t have done. Maybe he mentioned it to her, and was going to blackmail her for a share, or even all, of the money that was left to the church. Killing him would not only get rid of
the only witness to the first murder, but would ensure that the insurance paid up promptly, because the missing items had been recovered.’

  ‘Then wouldn’t turning up at the witching hour alert him, and make him wary?’

  ‘Not if she said she’d come round at that time because she didn’t want to be seen, and that she’d come to agree terms with him – something like that, that he’d fall for, because he was greedy, sir.’

  ‘Carmichael, did you join Mensa or something when I wasn’t looking?’

  ‘No, sir. It just seemed obvious to me.’

  ‘Well, you can carry on being as obvious as you like. I’m all ears. Go on, do another one for me. What about – oh, let me see – that Yaxley crowd. Fancy anyone from that trio?’

  Carmichael chewed for a minute or two, working his way through another doughnut, took a huge swallow of coffee to wash it down, then said, ‘We do know that Mr Yaxley has walked out, and that his wife is very short of money.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Falconer. ‘And life can be very hard when you’ve got twins to get through university. The fees must be astronomical, having the two of them studying at the same time. Something can probably be sorted out, due to her reduced circumstances – what is it these days, a loan or a grant – anyway, she’s up Poo Creek without a paddle, and sees this opportunity.’

  ‘Same thing applies, then, sir, for Twelvetrees. Or maybe he offered to shift them for her; find a fence – he’d no doubt have connections, with his past – then tried to fiddle the percentage his way. Maybe it was a secret meeting, and he got the stuff out, to point out that they wouldn’t get much for them as they were, because they were too easily identifiable and traceable.

  ‘Then he told her how much less they’d get if they were broken up. She thinks he’s trying to take advantage, and does him. Then she just makes a run for it, leaving all the stuff on the table, because she’d terrified at what she’s just done, and just wants to get out of there and save her own skin.’