Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5) Page 19

  Carmichael was waiting for him just outside the front door of his cottage, yawning and vigorously rubbing a hand over his head. It would appear that both of them shared the same sense of having been aroused from the near-dead, and he anticipated a quiet drive to their destination.

  The door of The Manse was slightly ajar, but Falconer knocked for the sake of good manners. From the other side, approaching across the hall, could be heard the gentle jingling of metal upon metal, announcing, before she reached the door, the presence of Beatrix Ironmonger, even at this hour wearing her chatelaine chain.

  She bade them enter, her lips pressed tightly together, as if to demonstrate her disapproval of such goings on at this ungodly hour of the night. ‘He’s in his room,’ she said without preamble. They didn’t take him to hospital. He’s just got to watch out for any signs that he might have a concussion.’

  ‘Who, Mrs Ironmonger?’

  ‘Why, Mr Grammaticus, of course. Didn’t anyone tell you?’

  ‘No. I was given no details whatsoever. I was just told there had been an ‘incident’ here.’

  ‘I should say there has!’ she almost spat. ‘Mr Grammaticus has been the victim of a booby trap.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Upstairs, lying down.’

  ‘So, what happened exactly?’

  ‘Someone had been in his room, because the door was ajar. I know, because I saw it, and when he regained consciousness,’ she continued, with a smug note of drama in her voice, ‘he told me that he went up to bed deeply in thought, and didn’t notice that the door was open slightly, even though he usually locked it. You can’t be too careful in a place like this,’ she added, with a secret smile. ‘And when he pushed it to go in, one of the hotel’s stone hot water bottles fell on him, knocking him to the ground and rendering him unconscious for a short time.’

  ‘It was balanced on the top of the door, you mean?’

  ‘It must have been, otherwise it couldn’t have fallen, could it?’ In other words, ‘thanks for stating the bleeding obvious’. She seemed a queer fish for Jefferson to have put in charge of housekeeping in this establishment; cold, aloof, and acerbic in her comments, and it must be assumed that she had qualities that Falconer did not, as yet, appreciate.

  ‘Went down like a ton of bricks,’ she murmured.

  ‘You actually saw it?’ asked Falconer, suddenly on the alert.

  ‘No, no, but it’s obvious he must’ve done; a man of that build. I was just expressing an opinion, that’s all. Talking to myself, really.’

  ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to let us go up to speak to Mr Grammaticus himself – unless there were any witnesses to the incident.’

  ‘Certainly not, at this time of night. I only found him because my Perfect Cadence was a little peckish, and I knew there were some leftovers that would only go to waste if they were left to the morning. I couldn’t see my poor little kitty go hungry, now could I?’

  I suppose not,’ answered Falconer, the fact that she was a cat-lover being the only point in her favour, so far as he was concerned.

  ‘Room number four – just opposite you, on the left, as you get to the top of the stairs,’ she directed, then more or less floated off towards the staff sitting room. Her skirt was so long, and her steps so small and regular, that, in a dim light, Falconer thought he could almost mistake her for a ghost. There was no colour at all in her attire, and her suspiciously blonde hair lost its brassiness in a low light.

  With a small shiver, he beckoned for Carmichael to follow him, and they made their way upstairs, to interview the latest victim of this now slightly sinister building.

  II

  They found the man tucked up in bed like an enormous sick child, several pillows behind his head, which sported a theatrically large bandage, and the counterpane neatly smoothed across the hilly bulk of his body. Against the right side of his head, right over the bandage, he held an ice-pack, and his face was paler than usual, as he glanced up at their arrival.

  ‘Hello, there, Inspector, Sergeant,’ he greeted them. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been in the wars.’

  ‘You certainly have. Much damage?’

  ‘No, not with a skull as thick as mine.’ He attempted a small laugh at this weak joke, but the effect on his head proved too much, and he gave up, and just shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t ask me what happened, because I can’t really tell you.’

  ‘You can’t remember?’

  ‘No, it’s not that, so much as the speed at which it happened, and the fact that I was completely submerged in thought, about the future of this place. I knew I’d had quite a brilliant idea, and was mulling over the practicalities as I came upstairs, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with a thumping headache, and my housekeeper’s face close to mine. God, that gave me a shock!’

  ‘I should think it did. I don’t think I’d fancy that myself,’ agreed Falconer, with another shudder. ‘Something she did mention, though, was that your door was open when you came upstairs. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, I’d almost forgotten that. It was only open about five or six inches, or whatever that is in metric-speak, but you know what I mean. I should have registered it as unusual, because I always keep the door locked, but I was completely enthralled in my brilliant new idea, and by the time it registered consciously, it was too late. A split second later I was knocked to the ground.’

  ‘Your housekeeper described the incident as a booby trap. Would you agree with that?’

  ‘I think I’d have to. It can hardly have been a prank, or a practical joke with something that heavy, can it?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir, and that means that we’ll have to treat this as attempted murder. If it had hit you at a different angle, you could be dead, or in intensive care by now. Even though that’s not so, we can’t overlook the intentions of whoever balanced that thing up there.’

  ‘But I thought you had three people in custody, and that everything was done and dusted.’

  ‘So did I, sir; so did I, but it appears that I may have been somewhat hasty in my conclusions. By the way, what was your brilliant idea?’

  ‘Haven’t the faintest idea, Inspector. I can’t recall a thing about it, apart from the fact that I was really excited, and thought I was on to a sure-fire winner this time. Oh, and by the way, something was removed from my inner jacket pocket while I was unconscious, and I should very much like it back.’

  ‘What was that, Mr Grammaticus?’

  ‘A small, black leather-bound notebook. I keep a lot of notes in it for ideas I have, and I’d be grateful for its return. I totally rely on your discretion not to pry into its contents, for some of the notes in there are very personal, and I should not like to think of them being read by anyone other myself, if you would be so kind.’

  ‘We don’t pry into anything that is not concerned with the case, sir. Are you sure you hadn’t just mislaid it?’

  ‘It’s too valuable to me for that, Inspector, but I have every faith in your integrity, as both a policeman and a gentleman, if I may say so.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ Falconer answered him, making a mental note that, if Grammaticus had been floored to obtain this notebook, it would no doubt be very pertinent to the case, and he hadn’t actually agreed not to look inside, had he?

  Having taken the stone hot water bottle into custody, they stood at the bottom of the stone steps that led up to the hotel’s entrance for a few minutes, to assimilate what this new attack could mean, and Falconer was convinced that it could only mean trouble – especially for him. Had he been somewhat precipitate in his decisions to send suspects to the station for further questioning? Did they really measure up as prime suspects? Did he have any evidence to back up his actions, other than circumstantial? Could he, in all honesty, defend what he had done?

  Carmichael broke into his self-pitying reverie with the direct, but tactless question, ‘Are you in the shit, sir?’

  ‘I could be in m
ore shit than I found myself in when we visited your uncle’s. I think I might have some fast talking to do in the morning, along with a mort of grovelling, and an appetite for a large portion of humble pie.’

  ‘Oo-’eck, sir. I wouldn’t fancy being in your shoes.’

  ‘Neither do I, Carmichael, but just one more thing before I take you home.’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘Why have you got stripy cuffs and anklets sticking out from under your clothes?’

  Carmichael looked down at himself, and immediately inserted both his hands under his top, and gave an abrupt pull at each side of his body. He then moved his enormous hands to just below the waistband of his trousers, and performed a similar action, this time in an upwards direction.

  ‘Sorry about that, sir. I just pulled something on over my ‘jammies’ when you called. They must have worked their way down since I left home.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I thought it was Friday already.’

  ‘Not yet, but I can promise you a beezer of an outfit for this week! I got some stuff at a boot sale a couple of weekends ago, and Kerry’s got it all washed and ironed and ready for me to wear.’

  ‘I shall look forward to that, provided I remember to bring my sunglasses, and haven’t been transferred in disgrace by then. If I’m on traffic duty, do feel free to visit me, won’t you? I’ll be in dire need of a good laugh.’

  III

  Back in his bed once more, if only for a few hours, Falconer found sleep elusive. Twice he managed to fall into a light doze, but awoke both times when bad dreams had come his way. The first time was a given, in that it represented Chivers’ face about an inch from his own, shouting words like ‘imbecile’, ‘incompetent’, ‘negligent’, and ‘stupid’.

  The second dream, however, was a little more difficult to rationalise, involving as it did the ghostly figure of Beatrix Ironmonger floating before him, but instead of the small domestic items that usually hung from her chain, in addition there hung a bayonet and a pair of garden shears. In the end, he put it down to the disconcerting impression she had made in the wee small hours when she had let them in.

  But, horror of horrors, the worst thing about the dream, or nightmare, call it what you will, was that she had Nanny Vogel’s unforgettable face, and he awoke with a loud cry of ‘Whaaa!’, which he could still hear echoing in his ears as he sat up in bed with a start. He’d obviously let himself be spooked by his recent encounter with the slightly unearthly housekeeper, and his previous nightmare about that scary figure from his childhood.

  He tried, once again, to capture sleep, tossing and turning, in search of the rest and repose that both his body and brain craved, but it was a state that he failed to achieve during the next hour and a half.

  He had decided to give up his futile pursuit of sleep when he suddenly dropped off the edge of the cliff, and descended into the depths of a dreamless slumber, only to be awoken by the telephone’s urgent summons at nine o’clock. Oh God! He’d turned his alarm clock off when he went out earlier in the night, not knowing when he would return, then had completely forgotten to set it again, amidst all his fears of having detained someone innocent.

  ‘Falconer speaking. How can I help?’

  ‘It’s Carmichael, sir. I don’t know why you’re late, but Chivers is out for your blood. You’d better get here in double-quick time, before his head blows up, or that’ll be your fault as well.’

  ‘Cover for me, will you? Say I had a puncture or something. For God’s sake don’t tell him I just slept late, he pleaded, his bowels turning to water at the thought of what lay ahead of him at the station.

  ‘Sure thing, sir. Leave it to me. I’ll come up with something that’ll melt his heart.’

  ‘No, don’t do that …’ but it was no use, he was talking to a dead line. Great! Now he had something else to worry about. Carmichael’s imagination was a place he didn’t want to go, and he dreaded how the sergeant would explain his absence.

  IV

  Falconer arrived at the station tired, pale, and apprehensive but, for once, his luck was in. Detective Superintendent ‘Jelly’ Chivers had only looked in briefly, and was now conspicuous by his absence. He had had to leave to attend a meeting to discuss current manpower and the use of community service officers on the beat. Perhaps everything would be solved by the time the man deigned to set foot in the station again, and there would be nothing for him to be dragged over the coals for.

  No sooner had he sat down at his desk, however, than Bob Bryant rang from the desk. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, sunshine,’ he announced without preamble. ‘I’ve got three customers banged up down here, and a seething duty solicitor, and I’d be grateful if you’d come and clean up this mess you’ve landed me in.’ This was strong stuff indeed from the usually-cheerful and laid-back desk sergeant, and Falconer made his way downstairs as quickly as he could given the fact that he had had virtually no sleep the night before.

  The duty solicitor awaited him in one of the interview rooms, and wasted no time in giving the inspector a verbal lambasting. ‘I’ve got three clients detained here for further questioning, but I can’t seem to locate any physical evidence that may back that up. Now, maybe there’s something I don’t know about, but I somehow doubt it. I’ve spoken to all three of them, and I don’t believe you have anything to back up your decision to keep them here. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘They weren’t actually under arrest. None of them has been cautioned. It should have been made perfectly clear to them, that they were here in a voluntary capacity only, and that they were free to leave whenever they wanted to.’

  ‘In that case, someone has signally failed in his or her duty, Inspector. From what my clients have told me, they were under the impression that they had to stay here until you got round to speaking to them. Would I be correct in my assumption?’

  ‘They were prime suspects.’

  ‘That is no defence. Who actually booked them into the custody suite?’

  ‘PC Green and PC Starr brought them in.’

  ‘Did you impress upon those officers that they were only helping the police with their enquiries?’

  ‘I told them they weren’t under arrest. I made that perfectly clear to each and every one of them when I detained them.’

  ‘But did you actually tell them that they could leave whenever they liked?’ This man was an absolute terrier, and Falconer felt a blush of shame wash over his features.

  ‘I may not have done, but it’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  ‘To someone in the job, maybe, but to an average law-abiding member of the public, I would think not. You have been slack in your duty to these three people, and I use very mild terms, for what I see as extremely cavalier behaviour. Do you have any solid physical evidence that would indicate a desire for their continued presence here?’

  ‘No, I’m very much afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Oh, and just for the record, I don’t know how much time you spent questioning the woman representing herself as Céline Treny, but I have to inform you that the woman is an independent investigative journalist who was tracking the movements of a recently released guest at one of Her Majesty’s prisons. She’s no more French than I am. What have you got to say to that, Inspector?’

  ‘She’s a great little actress, isn’t she?’ What could he say? She’d given no indication that she wanted to confide in him. ‘Are you absolutely sure of your facts?’ he asked, grabbing at the last available straw.

  ‘I spoke to the editor of a newspaper that she approached, to enquire as to whether they were interested in running her story, and, when I telephoned him first thing this morning, he confirmed that she had mooted the idea to him back in May, and she’s even offered a perusal of her findings so far, if you still don’t believe her.

  I’ve taken a note of her temporary address in Carsfold, her permanent address in the outskirts of London, and I also took her mobile phone number, and that of
her home address, but she’s decided to stay on in Carsfold until you have reached a conclusion to this case, as she might be able to do a piece about that, instead. A sort of ‘your reporter on the spot’ type of thing, as her rent’s paid till the end of the month, and she does have an inside angle from which to look at the various people involved.’

  ‘I’ll just get off and grovel then, shall I?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t waste too much sleep over the two men. They demonstrated to me that they both possess foul tempers, and I had the rough end of their tongues about an hour ago. I should speak to the woman first – her real name’s Penny Trussler – but take your time getting round to the other two. They seemed to have blown themselves out, by the time they’d finished having a damned good shout at me, but I’m so damned annoyed, they can stay incarcerated till Kingdom Come, for all I care.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell them either? That they were free to go, that is?’

  ‘Having been roused from my bed on my day off – I never work on a Monday – at what I considered an ungodly hour, for a man who intends to spend the whole morning in bed, I thought I’d leave that pleasure to you. But they’ll no doubt lodge a complaint, so if I were you, I’d have my story ready before they get the chance to say anything too damaging.’

  V

  It was nearly an hour later before he got round to pointing out that he had not, indeed, arrested the suspects, and that his sergeant’s report would verify this. They both still had some fight left in them but, in all truth, they had each been so far gone in temperat the time that Falconer had asked them to allow themselves to be escorted to the station that neither of them had taken much notice of what he had actually said.

  The suggestion that the incidents would probably be mentioned in a report finally scuppered them both, as neither of them wished what they had blurted out in anger the day before to be recorded anywhere official, and Falconer only hoped that Carmichael’s notes would confirm the words he believed – he knew – he had spoken.

  He was prevented from asking about this, thought as, on his return to the office, Carmichael was puffing and blowing with suppressed excitement. ‘Sir, sir, you’ve got to hear this. I can’t believe it. It’s outrageous!’