Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9) Read online

  ‘My turn, now,’ said Falconer, really getting into the spirit of the exercise. ‘I’ll try Maude Asquith. So, what do we know about her? She’s been sucking up to Miss Keighley-Armstrong in the hope that she’ll be left something in the will, because life is difficult at the moment, as it is for most people her age, who used to rely on income from investments to help them get by.

  ‘Roberts seemed to think she was some sort of hard-faced old besom. Was she hard-faced enough to kill the goose, because it wouldn’t lay the golden egg at her convenience? We know that there’s a military background in her family. Can we assume that a ruthless streak runs in her? It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility, and she’d want the stuff found, so that the cash it represented could be freed up. Is old Mother Goose our ruthless killer?’

  ‘This is just like playing Cluedo with the boys, sir. Now, my turn. I’m going to propose Violet Bingham.’

  Falconer blew out a deep breath in admiration, and said, ‘I wish you joy of that one. It’s a very brave choice, and I’m glad she wasn’t left for me.’

  ‘Actually, it’s very easy. Same as for the vicar. Miss Keighley-Armstrong would trust her simply because they’re best friends. She could’ve come to the same deal with Twelvetrees and, when you’re a little old lady, you can always call on a neighbour late at night, perhaps because you’ve had a fuse go, or the electric bulb in your bedroom needs changing, and you’re too old to stand on chairs.’

  ‘I’ll grant you that, but why call the police, then?’

  ‘So that the body didn’t just lie around the house. Twelvetrees didn’t really have any friends. He could’ve laid there for days; weeks even, and she wants everything all tidied up, so that she can get to probate, and pick up whatever was left to her, sir’

  ‘Well done. You’re developing a very devious imagination, Carmichael. I applaud you for it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Carmichael was by this time just hoovering up the granules of sugar from the large plate and his own smaller one with a wet finger. He’d eaten all but one doughnut, which Falconer had taken charge of when the sergeant had first entered the office with his sugar-laden load and both pieces of lardy cake.

  ‘If we consider the Haygarths, we could use the same theory as for Mrs Yaxley. Her boys couldn’t have been involved, because they were doing the music for the party.’

  ‘They could’ve done it afterwards, sir.’

  ‘I find that unlikely, as they’d have to clear all their equipment away and get it back home: but the Haygarths have a failing business to prop up. We know they’re at each other’s throats over the smallest expenditure, and they could’ve done it, either together or separately. Who does that leave us, Carmichael?’

  ‘The antiques fair lady and her neighbour – that refined gentleman collector who said he’d take a look at my Smurfs, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Carmichael. There’s no need to rub it in, that he said some of them – the rarer ones – could fetch quite a lot of money. Go on. It must be your turn, now,’ he encouraged Carmichael, feeling a little guilty that they were almost turning the exercise into a game.

  ‘Well, I believe the woman, when she says she was at an antiques fair the whole day. She can probably provide us with dozens of witnesses, just from the other dealers, and I don’t think the old gentleman looked very well at all.’

  ‘They’ve both had some sort of brush with the law,’ Falconer reminded him.

  ‘I know, but they’re not like Twentymen, who’d done time. It sounded like they were one-off affairs, where they didn’t really know what they’d got hold of.’

  ‘I tend to agree. Although with that sort of thing, it can’t be used as a defence, although I really don’t think there was any mens rea in their cases. It’s just a hazard of what they do, that some people try to impose on them by using them as unwitting fences.’

  ‘Precisely, sir. That just leaves us with Wanda the witch.’

  ‘Don’t even bother to go there, Carmichael. She’s an absolute nutcase, and could have done either murder for some esoteric reason we’d never think of in a hundred years. We’ll leave her on the back burner, and see if anyone else says anything about her.

  ‘We’ll have to go back over there, anyway, but I think we’ll leave that till tomorrow. I still haven’t made any appointments, I want a word with Doc Christmas, and we haven’t even examined the insurance photographs that we brought back here.’

  As he finished speaking, the telephone rang, and Doc Christmas registered for class as if he were telepathic. ‘Hello, Harry boy. I’ve got the two of them done, if you’d like to hear the results.’

  ‘I was just talking about you,’ Falconer told him, marvelling at how some things just fell together.

  ‘I thought someone must’ve been. My ears are burning like the very fires of hell. That aside, everything’s exactly as we thought it would be. The old lady’s heart gave out, and the other chap died from blood loss – exsanguination, as we posh fellows with a medical education call it. Oh, and the first weapon matched the wound, so we’ve got no mystery object to find there, but obviously we are still missing the knife, which I estimate as being only about three inches long but wickedly sharp. One thing, though, that keeps coming back to me about the old lady: why did she seem to be making her way out to the gravestones? It was almost as if she intended to hold on to one, as if leaving a message.’

  ‘Who knows what goes through a person’s mind when they’re dying,’ replied Falconer. ‘Maybe she was just trying to alert us to the fact that there were stones in the house, but of a precious sort.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have made all that effort – her dying effort, mind you – to crawl all the way out there, if there wasn’t something on her mind that she wanted to alert us to.’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Falconer, his mind already on the phone calls he had to make. ‘We’ll probably never find out.’

  Noting down the list of numbers he’d have to dial, he asked Carmichael to search for any gemologists the police might have used in the past, and asked, in passing, how baby Harriet was getting along.

  ‘She can hold her head up now, and she’s a real smiler. We’re all completely besotted with her. You must come and see her soon, because, after all, I’ve got a sort of date with the vicar to do the triple christening – oh, God, I hope it’s not her, or I’ll have to persuade another vicar to come to Castle Farthing,’ he concluded, looking worried, as he turned to his computer.

  ‘Don’t worry, Carmichael. I’m sure Rev. Florrie is as innocent as the day is long – good grief! I’m starting to sound like my mother! Before she got all hoity-toity, that is.’

  The insurance company could have a representative at their service first thing the next morning. The gemologist, whom Carmichael turned up, and who was attached to the local auction house, also agreed that he would be available in the morning.

  The solicitor, however, proved more elusive, and couldn’t see them until Wednesday afternoon, which was a real nuisance. Not knowing whether the will that they had picked up from the study floor at Manor Gate had been superseded by another one would definitely hold them back. Damn and blast! Who did these solicitors think they were, obstructing the police in their legitimate enquiries?

  Feeling hard done by, Falconer sent Carmichael to sign out the necessary papers gathered from the first crime scene and had a bit of a sulk. His first sight of what was brought to him, though, revived his spirits no end.

  ‘Look at this!’ he exclaimed, running his eyes over the will, to which he had not previously paid much attention. ‘This is only dated four months ago. It leaves the cat to Mrs Bingham, twenty-five per cent of the capital after all expenses and taxes to St Bernard-in-the Downs-Church, and five thousand each to Rev. Florrie and Violet Bingham, that they might treat themselves to something they would not otherwise be able to afford.

  ‘The rest goes to the Cats’ Protection League – as we discovered when we first had a brief sight of this – in gratitud
e for the company, and I quote here, “‘that she has received from her many pet cats over the years, which has been vastly superior to that which she has received from most of her human companions during that time.”’

  Carmichael whistled. ‘That’s a turn up for the books for anyone with high hopes of being left something. Now we know a bit more about the inhabitants, I bet old Ma Asquith, for one, will be furious! It’s lucky she doesn’t have a cat, otherwise she’d kick it from here to kingdom come when she hears about this, sir.’

  ‘I wouldn’t fancy being the next person she runs into afterwards, either,’ replied Falconer, looking at his watch and frowning. ‘Time you weren’t here, me laddo. You need to get home to that lovely family of yours. I’ll finish up here. Tomorrow, we can drop in on Roberts early, then see the insurance company, but we’ll have to pop back here first before we see the gemologist, so that we can sign the stuff out of evidence.

  ‘We’ll go back over to Shepford St Bernard after lunch. Maybe that Fletcher woman will be back by then. Who knows? Anyway, off you go, and have a good evening. I’ll just look through the rest of the paperwork, and I’ll be off, too. I’ve got a houseful of lonely cats who think I’m simply never there, and they aren’t far off right.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Monday evening – Market Darley

  With a look of absolute shock on his face, Falconer spread out the photographs of the pieces of jewellery, which were numbered, on his desk, and read the written description of each piece as he moved from photograph to photograph. Each description gave a weight in troy ounces for the gold or platinum, and a weight in carats for the stones.

  Under his breath, he read out loud, ‘Diamond choker set in eighteen-carat gold. That’s a good weight of gold, but, look at this – how many carats of diamonds? Phew! That’s a corker, and no mistake. What’s next?

  ‘Sapphire and diamond V-shaped necklace, with ruby and seed pearl flower decoration. Eighteen carat gold again, and about half a stone of gems. Daddy was a very generous husband to Mummy. Lucky old Mummy!

  ‘Emerald and diamond bracelet with matching necklace, ring, earrings, and pair of clips. What are they? Let’s have a look at the photograph. Oh, yes, those things you could clip on to either side of the neck of a garment. Very old-fashioned, but no less valuable for that. My God! This little lot’s set in platinum, and I didn’t know there were that many diamonds in the world!

  ‘Graduated opal necklace with diamonds – oh, that’s very pretty. Next, garnet and opal bracelet with matching necklace, ring, earrings, and another pair of clips. I think we’re getting into the cheaper stuff now, but that’s all relative.

  ‘Mixed coloured sapphire necklace with detachable pendant, for wear as brooch, with matching bracelet, earrings, and ring. Daddy didn’t mess about when he gave his wife a present.’

  He read on until he had examined each photograph against its description, let fall the last photograph, and whistled again. This was serious jewellery. He’d not seen anything of this quality since he’d gone on a school trip to the Tower of London to see the crown jewels.

  There was also an additional description sheet of various rings and other baubles not photographed, and a note about loose stones. Good grief! Now it looked like there was a little leather pouch gone walkabout, with unset stones in it. They’d be a doddle to sell, if the seller didn’t look like an out-and-out criminal.

  The pieces themselves, though, would have been impossible to fence. Interpol would have been involved in searching for them, and the only way to deal with such distinctive items was to break them up. Who on earth, in Shepford St Bernard, would have had the contacts to dispose of this quality, and quantity, of treasure? There was more here than in some small countries’ crown jewels, and they’d been kept in a safe in a tiny village in rural England for God knows how long.

  Miss Keighley-Armstrong’s solicitor must have been out of his mind for not insisting they were kept in a strongbox at her bank. And the insurance company was just as much to blame. She was lucky she hadn’t been turned over years before. Silly old woman! What did she think she was playing at?

  Well, she’d got her comeuppance good and proper now, and paid for her foolishness with her life, as had another resident of the place. He’d better get a patrol car to shadow them when they went to the auction house, or maybe he’d better give the chap a ring and get him to come to the station.

  The thought of being out and about with such enormous riches made him break out in a cold sweat. No way was he getting coshed for this little lot, even with Carmichael by his side. Yes, the gemologist was definitely going to have to come to the station. There was nothing else for it.

  A quick phone call and one of the photographs e-mailed to the auction house, easily obtained the gemologist’s agreement and, with that settled, Falconer took a final look at the photographs, before putting them back in the evidence bag. What he hadn’t noticed at first, being dazzled by the subjects of the pictures, was how old they were.

  They must have been taken decades ago, but that was probably when the policy was first taken out. Why renew them, when there was no need? Jewellery didn’t age or decay. And at least the gemologist was going to come to the station. With this arrangement made, his fears about having to walk around with a fortune in his briefcase had been allayed, and he went home in a less panicky state of mind.

  When he got home he received an enthusiastic welcome from his cats, Tar Baby, the huge black, long-haired monster; Ruby, the red-point Siamese; Meep, the silver-spotted Bengal, and Mycroft, his original cat, who was a seal-point Siamese, and who had grudgingly ceded his personal space to include the other three as they joined the household.

  After a scratch meal of baked beans on toast with lashings of brown sauce (divine), he sat at his desk writing cards for each of the suspects, then pinned them onto a cork board, and sat looking at them for some time, but nothing leapt out at him, and the cats were vying for his attention, starting little arguments and scraps to draw him away from what looked, to them, like a very boring pastime.

  He eventually gave in, screwed a couple of used envelopes into balls, threw them across the room, then joined in with the scrum of cats, all vying to possess one of these prizes. He spent the next half an hour rolling round the floor with them, retrieving balls from them and throwing them to another part of the room.

  At last, relaxed and in a much better frame of mind, he collapsed on to the sofa, and suddenly grew himself a thick, furry blanket with eight eyes. This was more like it. He might not be married with children, but he did appreciate the company of his cats, and knew exactly why Miss Keighley-Armstrong had left the bulk of her estate to their welfare.

  Although he’d like a wife and children one day, and even had a candidate in mind when he could get his head round the idea, for now he was content. Cats had very simple needs – shelter, water, food, and someone to love them – so they weren’t very different to him, and they served each other in these areas admirably for the time being.

  Castle Farthing

  Carmichael also got involved in rather a lot of rough-and-tumble after arriving home unexpectedly early. The boys were overjoyed to have him home before their bedtime on a weekday, and immediately initiated a tickling-wrestling game, which he joined in with enthusiastically, until Kerry upbraided her sons for hijacking him before he’d even had a cup of tea. All three looked suitably chastened, then winked at each other when Kerry turned away to go into the kitchen.

  ‘We’ll carry on after I’ve had my cuppa,’ he reassured them. ‘In the meantime, I’ll catch up with little ’un.’ Harriet was asleep in her bouncing chair, oblivious to all the shouting and laughter that had just gone on around her, but she didn’t stay that way for long, for Carmichael lifted her out, and held her up in the air, booming, ‘How’s my little princess today?’

  She replied by chuckling, then belching, the wind probably moved by her sudden elevation, and dribbled a sour stream on to his shoulder. ‘T
hat’s my girl. Get it up, then you won’t have a sore tummy when you go to bed,’ he crooned at her, not a whit bothered about his clothes. Kids boaked a bit, sometimes; it was par for the course.

  His arrival having suddenly turned the household upside-down, the two tiny dogs, Mr Knuckles and Mistress Fang, headed in his direction, followed by their three puppies, who had just woken up. They leapt about his trousered legs with the sort of joy that intimated he’d been away for a year or more and, as Kerry entered with his huge mug of tea, telling him that supper wouldn’t be long, she shooed them down, and sent them, hang-dog, back to their basket.

  ‘Daddy needs a sit down. He’s been at work all day, and doesn’t need to be bothered by you lot as soon as he sets foot through the door,’ she declared, to all the residents of the house, whether two-legged of four. Monkey the Abyssinian cat, ignoring her completely, slid on to his capacious lap as he sat down with his mug, and curled up there, in clear possession should someone else want to question it.

  ‘This is unexpected. Is that good news or bad news?’ she asked, sitting beside him on the sofa.

  ‘Neither,’ he answered her. ‘It’s just the result of a natural break in the investigation. There was nothing more we could do for today, so I left the inspector looking at some of the paperwork and headed back here.’

  ‘Didn’t be need any help?’

  ‘He told me to get off to see you lot, although goodness knows why,’ he declared, then ducked as she lobbed a cushion at him.

  ‘Because we’re the lights of your life, oh powerful breadwinner, and your existence would be empty without us,’ she told him.

  ‘Amen to that,’ he agreed, and leaned over to kiss her.

  Shepford St Bernard

  Gwendolyn Galton knocked on Toby Lattimer’s door at exactly eight o’clock. She was quite looking forward to the company, as she lived alone, her only contact with the outside world being at auctions, antique fairs, and the occasional foray into junk shops. Goods in, goods out; lots of cleaning and tiny repairs, in between these didn’t leave a lot for time for making friends and developing a social life.