Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (15 page)

Lady Lawdown seemed the least likely person in the world to be a suspect in a murder case. The local aristocrat from the big house, a magistrate, on close terms with the Chief Constable of the county – all in all, a pillar of the community. Although, from one or two things which had been let drop, not a particularly wealthy one. Laura’s comment that there was not much in the way of valuables in the house – the remarks about the roof – how many murders over the years had been committed for financial gain? And yet Horace’s death seemed unlikely to benefit Lady Lawdown financially. Lady Lawdown’s attitude seemed inconsistent – at one point, she was describing Horace Cope as a ‘wretched little man’, but in very nearly the same breath she was almost gushing in her praise for his talents as a clairvoyant. According to her daughter, Horace was a very old friend of the family, and yet the vicar was the unwilling witness to a confrontation between Lady Lawdown and Horace which seemed to have left him purring with self-satisfaction and her rattled and jumpy over something. But what? Had it anything to do with whatever Amelia Cook saw her bundling hurriedly into her handbag?

Lady Lawdown’s daughter Laura was another whose relationship with Horace held inconsistencies. ‘Uncle Horace’, she called him. He gave her presents and took her out. In fact, he had been originally responsible in a way, having introduced her mother to Lord Lawdown, for Laura’s position as a favoured daughter of a notable county family. Step-daughter, of course, as the child of Lady Lawdown’s original marriage. So in the context of all this, what was the meaning of the conversation between Laura and Horace in Amelia Cook’s teashop? Obviously it degenerated into unpleasantness, as Laura spoke of getting Horace stopped by using her mother’s influence. And Horace’s retort about Laura’s mother not being much of a lady was hardly the remark of a good friend.

And then there was the other conversation in the ‘Copper Kettle’ which Amelia Cook had overheard. Andy Constable sent up a silent prayer of thanks for inquisitive and gossipy old ladies. If Horace Cope had been giving Helen Highwater’s books bad reviews in his newspaper critic’s column, it was hardly surprising that she in her turn should not be Horace’s greatest fan. But Amelia had the impression that this was all water under the bridge, since Helen and Horace were having coffee together, but then some other factor seemed to have crept in. ‘Don’t you dare!’, Helen had said. Dare what? Horace had talked about the value of something. With luck Amelia’s memory would eventually come up with the missing remark which might throw more light on the exchange. But whatever it was, the meeting had not ended happily, that was clear. And Horace already had a copy of Helen’s new book. But hadn’t he turned down Helen’s offer of a copy? Was he just threatening another bad review? Surely authors get used to such things. And a writer of Helen Highwater’s standing, with the immense success of the Carrie Otter books, could afford to shrug off one unfavourable newspaper article.

Thinking about newspapers, Seymour Cummings had described himself as Horace Cope’s deadly rival. Of course, he had been speaking in jest. But how funny did he actually find it? Not very funny at all, if the conversation which the vicar had overheard in the church was anything to go by. In fact, Horace seemed to be posing a considerable threat to Seymour’s career. The only stock-in-trade which a professional clairvoyant has is his reputation, and if that is destroyed, he has nothing. The evidence of the email on Horace’s computer showed that he was determined to put the largest of spokes into Seymour’s wheel. If it became public knowledge that Seymour’s predictions were not the result of his own psychic talents, but were plagiarised from other sources, whether the allegation were true or not, Seymour’s career would be wrecked. Not only would his newspaper column be discredited, but any chance of the lucrative contract for the much-heralded television show would vanish. Seymour would find it virtually impossible to demonstrate his innocence – how do you prove a negative? He would be ruined. So Seymour’s threat to Horace Cope may not have been an idle one, but the reaction of a desperate man.

As his eye fell on Gideon Porter, loading the last of his beer barrels on to a truck with the assistance of two beefy red-faced youngsters who, from the marked resemblance even at this distance, could only be his sons, Andy Constable was reminded of the conversations which the landlord had overheard at the Dammett Well Inn. What was it Gideon had said? ‘You ever want to know anything, you just come and stand in my pub for a bit.’ Certainly local knowledge helped. And local knowledge was an essential part of the work of a local solicitor, and without doubt, Robin Allday was another pillar of the Dammett Worthy community. In the course of his activities, a solicitor becomes privy to a great many confidences and secrets, and people need to trust such a man. Knowledge, it is said, is power. But the question was, not what Robin Allday knew about other people, but what Horace Cope knew about him. Horace evidently trusted Robin enough to draw up his will, but the mention of property dealings hung in the air in an uncomfortable fashion. There was evidently something Horace knew which rattled Robin badly, and it had to do with his handling of property transactions. Allegations of fraud hovered unspoken. But what was it that Horace knew, how did he come to know it, and most importantly of all, what was he proposing to do about it?

And then, last of all, Albert Ross. Horace’s cousin, his closest – indeed, his only – relative, but for all that, an outsider in terms of the close-knit community of friends and family which made up Dammett Worthy. Horace’s relationship with Albert seemed to have been a strange mixture – on the one hand, Horace had taken him in when Albert had fallen on hard times, something for which Albert had shown a faintly pathetic gratitude – a rock, he had called Horace, a very generous man – but on the other, Horace had not exactly lavished an overdose of caring family consideration on his cousin. He housed him in the meanest accommodation compared with the overstated opulence of his own room. He used him almost as an unpaid servant, and ordered him about in front of others in a fashion verging on the humiliating. And again, the exchange overheard by Gideon showed that Horace was holding some kind of threat over Albert. Was the threat a result of Albert’s suspected dishonesty, or had Albert tried to take some kind of compensation for himself as a payback for Horace’s unpleasant treatment of him? And had the payback finally taken one step too far? Albert had been markedly jumpy during his interview with the police officers. Was this simply the natural nervousness of any person in that situation, or was it a result of the shock of the murder of his only family, or was it fear and guilt on account of his actions? As Constable knew only too well, sometimes the meekest worm will turn.

Everything came back to the character of Horace Cope. How often had he heard in his time as a junior detective that the key to the crime was so often to be found in the nature of the victim. So what sort of man was Horace Cope?

A creep. Andy Constable couldn’t stop the words springing into his mind. On the surface, wealthy, cultured, well-respected. Influential, moving in high circles. A celebrity (how he hated that word!), appearing in the newspapers and on television. But as a person, not immediately likeable. Constable made a strenuous effort to put his personal thoughts aside, but he couldn’t help shuddering at the lifestyle demonstrated by the furnishings with which Horace surrounded himself in his home. And the evidence of the various witnesses showed that Horace had a mercurial and unpredictable personality, at one moment charming and generous on the surface, but changing in seconds to an air of syrupy menace or, on occasion, waspish malevolence. A collector of information, and a user of that information to his own benefit. In short, a blackmailer. But did he actually use the information, or did he simply hold it over the heads of his – was ‘victims’ too strong a word? – and to what end? There wasn’t any evidence that Horace had derived any financial gains from his knowledge. So did he simply enjoy knowing what he knew, letting it be known that he had power over others, simply as an end in itself? It seemed so. Constable snorted. So, not only a creep, but a twisted creep. Sometimes, Andy Constable thought to himself, my job’s not easy. He felt slightly depressed, a mood not helped by the fact that heavier curtains of drizzle had begun to drift in across the lake. He headed for the solitary cedar which towered over the front lawn half-way between the lake shore and the house, and hunched on the rustic wooden bench sheltering beneath it.

“Sir!”

Andy Constable looked up to see Dave Copper trotting across the lawn towards him, in his hand a plastic bag. Copper seated himself alongside the inspector, puffing slightly.

“I reckon you may be interested in this, sir. Just found it in the library, crumpled up in the waste-paper basket.”

“What were you doing ferreting about in the waste-paper basket?”

“Dropped my notebook, sir. Fished it out, found this underneath it.”

“So what is it?”

“Letter to Robin Allday, sir. Dated the day before yesterday. Listen to this.”

The bag was the usual clear seal-able type used to contain items of evidence. Inside, crumpled but smoothed out so that it could be read, was a letter on Law Society headed notepaper, addressed to Robin Allday at his chambers in Dammett Worthy High Street.

“‘Dear Mr. Allday, As a result of certain information which has come into our possession, we should be grateful if you would attend a preliminary hearing at these premises on Wednesday of next week. We apologise for the short notice given to you, but we believe that the gravity of the allegations requires urgent action. You may bring an additional legal advisor should you think it appropriate.’”

“Who’s it from?”

“Some woman called Julie Noated, sir. Secretary of the Disciplinary Board, it says. So what do you reckon that’s all about?”

Andy Constable raised an eyebrow. “We know exactly what it’s about, sergeant. In fact, I’ve just been thinking about Mr. Allday and what we’ve been told about some of his activities. Maybe a bit of fiddling taxes, maybe a bit of property fraud. And it looks very much as if somebody has blown the gaff on Mr. Allday to his professional authorities.”

“That somebody being Horace Cope, sir?”

“Who else, sergeant? We can check very easily – you can give them a call on Monday.”

Dave Copper grinned broadly. “Well then, we’ve got him, haven’t we, sir? Perfect motive. Horace threatens Robin, Robin won’t play ball, so Horace spills the beans and Robin bops him one. End of. Let’s go get him.”

“Hold your horses, Copper,” smiled Constable, amused at his colleague’s eagerness. “There are still some things that don’t quite fit.” He began to pace up and down. “For a start, until we know exactly what this ‘certain information’ is, we can’t be at all sure that Horace Cope had anything to do with providing it.”

“No, sir,” put in Copper, “but it’d be just like him, from everything people have told us, wouldn’t it?”

“That I grant you, sergeant, but we shan’t know for certain until Monday. And in any case, we’ve heard a lot about Horace Cope making all these meaningful remarks to everybody, but we haven’t got any evidence as yet that he actually did anything about any of them. I think our Mr. Cope was the sort of man who enjoyed having power over people because of what he knew about them. But once you actually use the threat, it’s gone. You can’t use it again. And if Horace Cope had actually gone ahead and revealed what he knew about Robin Allday, what would be the point of Robin killing him? The cat’s already out of the bag.”

“Maybe he killed him to protect somebody else, sir.”

Andy Constable paused. “That, Sergeant Copper, is a remarkably astute observation. Well done. And you would have in mind …?”

“Well, sir, Miss Biding is a very attractive young lady. And she does fit in with this property thing somewhere.”

“Excellent thinking, Copper. I like it. And that could perhaps account for one thing which is puzzling me, which you don’t seem to have thought of.”

“What’s that, sir?” asked Copper.

“The letter itself,” explained Constable, taking it from his colleague’s hand and examining it. “What on earth is it doing in the library at Dammett Hall when it’s addressed to Robin Allday’s office? Unless he brought it up here to show to …”

“Laura Biding!” exclaimed the two policemen in unison.

“Because she was threatened by Horace Cope as well, and Robin’s got a soft spot for her. And that could be why he would have killed Horace Cope.”

“Or,” interrupted Copper, “Laura’s also got a soft spot for Robin, so she killed Horace so as to try and protect Robin!”

“And now you’re starting to give me a headache,” said Constable. “If we start getting into motives where people are killing people to protect other people, there’ll never be an end to it. We shall have Lady Lawdown protecting her daughter, and Helen Highwater protecting Lady Lawdown, and Seymour Cummings protecting goodness-knows-who, and the vicar killing Horace Cope off for the greater good of his parishioners! Let’s stick to what we know at the moment, and what we know is that we don’t know what this letter tells us.”

“No, sir.” Dave Copper shook himself slightly. “I mean, yes, sir. So do you want me to go and find out?”

“We’ll both go, sergeant. I think we’ve done enough speculating for the moment. I think it’s time we went and had another little chat with our suspects. They’ve had plenty of time to sit and wonder what’s going on – I’m sure they’ll be starting to get a bit twitchy now, so we may get a bit more of the truth out of them. It’s worth a try. I still can’t rule any of them out at the moment, and the more I find out about Horace Cope, the more surprised I am that somebody didn’t murder him long ago.”