Christmas Mourning (The Falconer Files Book 8) Page 9

  ‘Then we’ll just have to do a lot of interviews, won’t we?’ were Falconer’s final words on the matter, but not, apparently, Carmichael’s.

  ‘I hope Mrs Frazer can work out what we’re doing,’ he muttered, more to himself than to Falconer and, fortunately, the inspector didn’t hear him, or he might have feared for the younger man’s sanity.

  Chapter Seven

  Christmas Day – afternoon

  Once back in the welcome warmth of Jasmine Cottage and salivating at all the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, the boys were finally allowed to open their gifts from under the tree, a process which took longer than Falconer had anticipated, as everything had to be displayed to all present, so that thank you notes went to the right person for what they had kindly given them.

  Kerry had tried to find out what they had discovered at the church and how they planned to deal with it, given the current weather conditions and the lack of any means of communication with the outside world, but Carmichael had told her not to ask him about it before the boys went to bed, as it was too disturbing to talk about with little ears pricked for anything they could pick up: and with this she had to be satisfied.

  When the last present had been opened, however, Carmichael rose and announced that he had one final surprise for the family and, grabbing his shovel, went to the back door to dig a pathway to the shed. The poor chickens probably had frozen water, and would need food as well.

  ‘What are you doing, Daddy?’ asked Kyle, looking puzzled.

  ‘You know what Daddy’s like,’ added Dean. ‘He’s probably bought a bull or something.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, boys,’ Kerry admonished them, for although she wasn’t in on the secret, she knew that even Carmichael couldn’t be that reckless.

  The two little dogs, one of them as round as a balloon, took one look out of the door, as did the cat, and all three returned to the warmth of the fireside. Mulligan, being of a rather larger stature, did just the opposite and leapt out into the whiteness, nearly disappearing in its depth, and surfaced every second or two as he attempted to bound through the snow.

  This was a great relief to Falconer, who had had an ecstatic welcome when they returned from the church, which had included an embarrassingly intimate sniffing. The sooner its owners could get back and reclaim the animal, the better, he thought. Nothing could be worse than what he was going through with the Great Dane, although, he allowed, getting bitten or mauled by it would probably not be very pleasant either. At least it liked him!

  Falconer, having accompanied his sergeant to the door and received a blast of icy air, went back inside with the other pets, sat down on the sofa, and tried to defrost his chilled limbs and body, while Kerry applied herself to the ingredients for the meal which they would eat early, for the sake of the boys. As he sat, he became aware that the radio was playing away to a totally unappreciative audience, and applied himself to listen to what was being broadcast, which seemed to be some sort of local news update:

  If you’ve just tuned in, a very merry Christmas to you, and a white one at that. This is Steve Stuart from Radio Carsfold, bringing you up to date with the latest weather situation. I am a lone voice today, as no one else has yet been able to get to the radio station, so we’ll probably spend the rest of the day together.

  Power is out all across the region, as are telephone lines, and even mobile phones have been affected. If you have an elderly or vulnerable neighbour who lives alone, try to visit them to check that they’re all right. The forecast doesn’t look good, with more snow on the way over the next two days, so try to keep warm, get some hot food into yourselves if you can, and just treat it like winter Sundays used to be, long, long ago, before everyone had a television, central heating, or a telephone.

  We’ve all been thrust back in time by this unusually severe weather, and we’ll all have to make the effort to make the best of it. Get out those board games, jigsaw puzzles, and packs of playing cards, and pretend that it’s so long ago that this is normal. I shall be with you throughout the day, playing all your favourite seasonal songs to keep your spirits up, and keeping you informed of any updates about the weather and the power and phone situation. Now, here’s the incomparable Bing Crosby singing ‘White Christmas’ …

  Oh great! More snow on the way! When would he ever get out of this madhouse and back to his own home and his cats? He missed his solitude, but at least he knew his neighbour would feed his pets, and that they’d be warm, for he’d left the central heating on for them when he’d left. Oh, God! The central heating wouldn’t work if there was no electricity, and he had visions of them all dying of hypothermia, when the jaunty voice of the radio presenter caught his attention again:

  I’m interrupting this song to let you know that I’ve just had news that the power is on again in Market Darley, and so are the phones, but the relevant authorities say it will take them considerably longer to reinstate their services in the villages. Hang on in there, my lovely little villagers. Help will get to you. Don’t forget to check out those neighbours, and look after anyone on their own at this difficult time. Snow ploughs are doing their best to clear the main roads, but it’ll take some time to get to those outlying communities, so just be as patient as you can. And now we return to what has become a Christmas anthem, by Slade …

  Thank God for that! At least the cats would be fed and warm, even if they were a bit confused and lonely. They were his family, to all intents and purposes, and he couldn’t bear to lose even one of them.

  At that point, his thoughts were interrupted by the boys, who came rushing in, cheeks aglow, to announce with great excitement that Daddy had got them some chickens, and that they were to have freshly laid eggs for their breakfast every day if they wanted to. ‘Daddy’ also came in looking chilled to the bone, and warned them that it might not be every day. The chickens had to settle in first, and that they didn’t lay so often in the winter when there was a severe shortage of daylight.

  Mulligan also came in and made straight for his new ‘bezzie mate’, climbing up on the sofa and laying his head in Falconer’s lap. It was like suddenly finding himself under an iceberg, and he shivered and gave a little moue of distaste. Why was he so attractive to the blasted animals, when he was a cat lover through and through?

  Fortunately for him, his imprisonment under what he thought of as ‘that wretched dog’ was cut short by Kerry calling for assistance in the kitchen, as the food was ready to be served and she needed a hand to get everything through to the table.

  Carmichael had insisted, after they had all eaten an excellent lunch, on crackers being pulled, all the jokes read out, and everyone donning paper hats. Falconer had a particular hatred for this sort of seasonal headgear, but was so moved by the pleas of the young Carmichaels that he eventually gave in and set one on the top of his head just to please them. He seemed to have no control over what happened to him in this household, and longed for when he could leave: not that they weren’t a hospitable family, but because he was not used to company, his everyday home life being one of solitude and the time and space to think.

  Feeling restless, he went over to the front window and took a peek outside, for no other reason than that he wouldn’t have so many smiley, happy faces staring at him, as if expecting him to suddenly break out with a conjuring act, or perhaps juggle the uneaten sprouts for their entertainment.

  For a moment his breath was taken away by the beauty of the snow. Snow wasn’t white. It was a wide palette of blues and pinks and pale lilacs, and he just stared at it, marvelling at this display of colours and the diamonds that the weak sun sparked off its surface. Just for a moment, he could understand why some people wanted to be artists, and paint the miracles of nature in all their glory, and then his mind switched back to more prosaic matters.

  ‘The Fisherman’s Flies is blazing with lamplight,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘It’s positively glowing yellow. I wonder what’s going on over there.’

  Afte
r a few moments for thought, it was Kerry who answered him. ‘That’ll be New Village,’ she answered cryptically, then carried on to explain: ‘All the older residents know the benefits of cooking by bottled gas and having wood for an open fire, even if they don’t use it regularly. Those who’ve come to the village more recently or retired here from the towns and modernised their property have, in the main, installed electric cookers in the absence of mains gas, and the old fireplaces are either purely decorative now, with no wood to fuel them, or were blocked off.

  ‘They’d have no way of keeping warm or of cooking their turkeys. I expect they took a quick look to see if the pub was open and, seeing light, made for there where it was warmer and might be able to provide a bite to eat.’

  ‘In that case,’ suggested Falconer, ‘we’d better make our way over there and see who’s in need of shelter. If we’re lucky, there might be some who knew Digby Jeffries and had a bone to pick with him. We could get a whole run at interviews without having to visit them all in their own homes.’

  ‘I’d rather we did that than sat with them in the dark, with no tea and biscuits and freezing our nuts off,’ agreed Carmichael.

  ‘Davey! Language!’ his wife admonished him, only for her husband, not usually the quickest of thinkers, to come up with the excuse that he was referring to Christmas nuts and had said nothing whatsoever vulgar.

  ‘And try to call in on Auntie Marian before you come back,’ asked Kerry, looking anxious. You know she’s been a bit off recently, and I’m worried about her. She won’t talk about it, and Uncle Alan always says there’s nothing wrong, but in my opinion she hasn’t been herself since just before they retired from the post office.’

  ‘Will do,’ replied Carmichael. ‘Provided that the road’s been cleared up to Sheepwash Lane. I’m not doing any more digging today. I’m aching in places I didn’t even know I had, and I never want to feel that cold again!’

  The light was already fading when they left the house again, a couple of multi-coloured chickens out to peck around for crumbs of information. The walk to the pub was treacherous underfoot and both of them would have gone flying if it had not been for the one grabbing the other’s arm.

  Christmas carols flooded out of the pub, which did not boast double glazing, and on entering they stuffed their exotic headgear into their pockets before anyone saw what they had been wearing. They found half the village in the pub. The tables had all been pushed together to form one long dining area, and gathered around it were Cedric Malting, Henry Pistorius, Alice Diggory, and Robin De’ath.

  Warren and Helena Stupple were also there with their brood, as was Rosemary Wilson, Kerry’s aunt, who had been unfortunate enough to run out of gas on the one day of the year that she really needed it, having decided that she couldn’t honour the invitation she had to lunch with the Warren-Brownes given the prevailing weather conditions.

  The atmosphere was warm and convivial, although most of the conversation had been about the tragic event of the evening before, George Covington never being able to resist telling a good story. Paula Covington came through from the kitchen as they arrived, her face red and glistening with perspiration, and she informed them that she had half a dozen turkeys of various sizes in her ovens, and would they be joining them for a late lunch?

  Falconer thanked her very prettily, explaining that they had already eaten, but would be grateful for the opportunity to speak to those present about the death that had occurred the previous night. He finished his little speech by enquiring, ‘I thought you had the vicar staying with you. Is he not around? I can’t see him in here.’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten all about the poor old dear. George!’ she shouted. ‘Could you go upstairs and see what’s happened to Rev. Searle. He’s probably dropped off, poor old thing,’ and George obediently went towards the door that led to the staircase, in search of the missing sheep from his flock for the day, but got waylaid by a group of customers at the bar, determined to be served. Well, it didn’t matter too much. The old boy would come down when he was good and ready.

  Banging on the table with a spoon, Paula asked for hush before explaining that Detective Inspector Falconer and Detective Sergeant Carmichael would like to have a private word with them all, and she’d be grateful if they’d move into the back parlour with them for this, as lunch wouldn’t be ready yet for about another hour. Her announcement of such ranks being present in her pub made her feel, just for a moment, very important.

  Falconer and Carmichael followed her out of the bar through another door, and she settled them at a table, promising to bring them hot coffee without further delay, and asking whom they would like her to send in first. Her face glowed with excitement at the unexpected turn of events since that morning. This wasn’t the first time that death had stalked the village, and it wouldn’t be the last, and she was just glad that it had been no one whom she considered ‘nice’ who had been eliminated.

  ‘I think we’ll have that Stupple chap in first, if you please.’ He and his brood were certainly taking up a lot of space out there, he thought, although he couldn’t see that the man would have anything against Jeffries. It would be an easy interview then, as the family probably had no reason ever to have spoken to the victim.

  Warren Stupple arrived almost immediately and took a seat as requested. ‘We’re just speaking to everyone who attended church yesterday to ask them if they noticed anything unusual during the services concerning Mr Jeffries. We’re also anxious to hear about anyone who had reason to dislike him. Do you have any information for me?’ the inspector asked, not expecting to get anything positive, and was surprised when Stupple replied,

  ‘Actually, my wife and I weren’t too fond of him ourselves. We made sure that our children definitely went to the older Father Christmas at the Crib Service. Apart from the fact that the man made an embarrassing fuss by not giving way to the old gentleman who had played the part for years, I was not happy with his attitude towards my, or any other children.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Falconer, definitely tantalised.

  ‘He was far too physical with them. If he had an opportunity, he invaded their personal space, patting them on the arm or leg, and even, on one very uncomfortable occasion, actually picking up one of my daughters and hugging her. I felt he was far too tactile and familiar with them, and it made the whole family feel uncomfortable. We weren’t averse to crossing the road to avoid him if we saw him first.’

  ‘Oh!’ This was something that neither Falconer nor Carmichael had heard anything about before.

  ‘And he was far too eager to get access to the village children with his relentless pursuit of playing Father Christmas. If this hadn’t happened, I’d probably have got in touch with you. Some of our Cubs and Brownies have had uncomfortable experiences with him too. It may all have been innocent, but I felt worried enough to consider alerting the police to his over-familiarity with the young in our community.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I saw nothing amiss at the church, but then I doubt he’d do anything in full view of the congregation. Although, for all I know, he might have fondled a leg or two under thick winter clothing while giving out the presents.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Falconer, now thoroughly stunned. This was a line of enquiry that had never crossed his mind, and put all the parents of young children in the village in the frame. A parent would do anything to protect his or her child, and murder could not be ruled out if any sort of inappropriate behaviour had occurred.

  ‘That will be all for now, Mr Stupple, and thank you very much for sparing the time to have a word with us. Don’t send anyone else in for the moment. Detective Sergeant Carmichael will come through when we’re ready to talk to the next person.’

  When the man had left, considerately closing the door behind him, Falconer looked at Carmichael and just exclaimed, ‘Phew!’

  ‘I know what you mean, sir,’ replied Carmichael.

  ‘That was all a bit unexpect
ed, don’t you think?’

  ‘If he’s laid one finger on my boys, I’ll …’ the sergeant began, punching one fist into the palm of his other hand.

  ‘You’ll what, Carmichael? Kill him? Well, as you know, someone’s beaten you to it. And maybe now we know why. As for your boys, you’ll just have to ask them, and hope for the best,’ replied Falconer pragmatically.

  ‘Kerry’ll go mad if she finds out he’s ‘been at’ them.’

  ‘Then ask them when she’s not there. After this is all over, we’ll get Social Services to have a quiet word with the Stupple kids, and let them take it from there if there’s any evidence of deviant behaviour. Maybe he just loved children.’

  ‘And maybe I’m a Dutchman, but I’m not wearing clogs and eating Edam. Who do you want in next, sir? I’ve got a list of names here.’

  ‘Excellent work! Let me have a quick look … I think we’ll have Miss Diggory in. You’ve marked her down as a retired English teacher. Maybe she spotted something amiss in his attitude to children, being used to working with them.’

  Alice Diggory was all of a flutter when she entered the room explaining before either detective could speak that she had never had any business with the police in her life before, and she was terribly upset about what was happening in Castle Farthing, which was such a quiet and peaceful place. She’d obviously moved here after Reginald Morley’s untimely demise, and that of Mike Lowry, thought Falconer, looking back to the first case he and Carmichael had worked on together.

  ‘Just sit down and try to keep calm,’ Falconer advised her. ‘We’re only trying to find out if anything happened yesterday in the church that might have any bearing on this case. But we’d also like to know how Mr Jeffries got on with the other residents of the village.’

  ‘I didn’t notice anything untoward; well, with the exception of that disgraceful interlude when the two Father Christmases almost came to blows. I was so disgusted with grown men behaving like that in the hearing of innocent children that I left as soon as the last carol had been sung. I did manage to get to Midnight Mass, though, with the help of my neighbours.’