Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (8 page)

“Did you drive?”

“Oh no, sergeant. I don’t have a car, and Horace always likes to go for a walk every morning, so we walked. I carried the case.” He sighed at the memory.

“And you reached here at what time?”

“I’m sure it was about five past twelve, because we were a little later than we meant to be, and Horace got rather annoyed with me. He wanted me to walk faster, you see, but with the case …”

“And after you arrived at the Hall?”

“We went in,” explained Albert pedantically. He seemed to have got into his stride. “Lady Lawdown gave us a drink, and then Horace wanted to carry on because we were late, so he went off on his own to start getting ready, and then I told her ladyship I really couldn’t stay, because Horace wanted me to help him prepare and get him dressed and do his make-up. And then later on I was back with everyone else when the vicar came in and told us he’d found Horace. And I was so shocked, and I felt I ought to go to him, but after what Mr. Pugh told us, I just couldn’t ….” He gulped and hid his face again.

Andy Constable took over again. “Please don’t upset yourself, Mr. Ross. We have seen Mr. Cope, and it’s probably for the best that you didn’t go out there. I think we’ll leave it there for the moment. It’s been very helpful to understand some of the background.”

“Horace has been so good to me,” sniffed Albert, wiping his eyes, “and I haven’t had to pay for a thing. He was a very generous man, you know, despite what some people may tell you about him. It’s not easy to find a job when you get to my age, but Horace said he was determined to sort something out. I really don’t know what I shall do. I expect I shall stay on at the cottage for the moment, of course, but goodness knows after that.”

“Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Ross,” said Constable. “If you wouldn’t mind, we may want to take a look round the cottage. You never know …” He left the conclusion to Albert’s imagination. “Do you happen to have a key with you? That’s if you’ve no objection, of course.”

“Um … no, I don’t mind at all, inspector. Do look round if you want. Do you want me to come with you? I’ll need to disarm the burglar alarm.” He fished in a pocket for a key.

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” replied Constable, who very much did not want Albert’s assistance. Life was always easier if the owner of a property wasn’t around during a search. “If you don’t mind giving us the code, we’ll deal with all that.”

As Albert left the library, the two policemen exchanged looks.

“Make-up again, sir. That must be what those crayon things were in the case.”

“Exactly, Copper. In the case. But on Mr. Cope, not a sausage. So what do you make of that?”

“Good afternoon, Detective Inspector.” Robin Allday advanced confidently, his hand held out to shake Andy Constable’s. “We have met, but I don’t know if you’ll remember me. Robin Allday.”

“Of course I remember you, Mr. Allday,” smiled the inspector. “Do please have a seat. I can remember a couple of people you’ve managed to get off, who we would rather have seen end up with a criminal record. And I think I’ve seen you around the station a few times. I wasn’t aware that you were a local.”

“Yes, I’m based in Dammett Worthy. Hall, Knight and Allday, in the High Street. It sounds far grander than it is, I’m afraid. Actually it’s just a one-man band – well, me and my secretary. Just an ordinary country practice, really – I hardly ever get involved with court proceedings, which is why I thought I might not ring a bell with you.”

“We have famously long memories for names and faces, Mr. Allday. Not of course a problem for anyone who stays on the right side of the law.” The inspector laughed. “So what side of the law are you on, Mr. Allday?”

“What … oh, I see what you mean,” said Robin. “A bit slow on the uptake there, I’m afraid. It’s difficult to be at your sharpest when there’s murder going on. The worst we usually get around here is the odd poacher getting in the way of a few shotgun pellets.” He took a breath. “Sorry, inspector – I’m rambling. You asked about my practice. I suppose I do pretty much all the legal work around these parts – you know, wills, conveyancing, financial trusts, that sort of stuff. We do like to keep things local – it’s a very close-knit community here in Dammett Worthy.”

“And did that community include Mr. Cope?” enquired Constable.

“Yes,” replied Robin, “I was Horace’s solicitor. As a matter of fact, I was engaged in some work for him at the moment, but of course I can’t really talk about that – rules about client confidentiality and all that, which I’m sure you know all about.”

“So being Mr. Cope’s solicitor, presumably you may have made a will for him,” asked Constable. “Or are you not allowed to tell me that either?”

“Oh, I can tell you that all right,” said Robin. “Yes, there is a will, but I can’t tell you what’s in it. Not yet, at any rate. I’m afraid you’ll need a court order to see it if you want to do so in a hurry. Why, do you think you will?”

“I really can’t tell at this stage, Mr. Allday. It may be relevant, it may not. Of course, we do have a magistrate handy on the premises – I don’t suppose Lady Lawdown’s authority would be sufficient, would it.”

Robin took in the smile on Inspector Constable’s face. “Now you’re just teasing, inspector. You know that isn’t the way things work. I don’t make the rules, you know – I just have to follow them.” The inspector continued to gaze at him. “Look, if it helps you, you may not know that Albert Ross is Horace’s only living relative.”

“Yes, we were aware of that, Mr. Allday.”

“Well then, inspector, you might like to draw your own conclusions from that. That’s all I can say.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very helpful. Now, about this afternoon …”

“I don’t know that I can be at all helpful on that score. I was hardly here at all. I should have been here at twelve o’clock because Lady Lawdown had invited a few of us for drinks before the fete. But I went into the office this morning, because sometimes Saturday morning is the only chance I get to catch up with things. I only meant to stay for half an hour, but you know what it’s like, inspector. Sometimes you just get bogged down in paperwork.”

“Yes, sir, I know that only too well,” groaned Constable ruefully.

“So there I was, ploughing through these documents, and they’re never as simple as you hope they’re going to be. Of course, I completely lost track of time. The next thing I knew, Laura’s on the phone to ask me where I am, so I came straight on up. But by the time I got here, Horace had already gone out to his tent, so I didn’t see him, and it was only a couple of minutes after that when we all heard the shocking news from Mr. Pugh. Actually, I was the one who called the police while they were taking the vicar upstairs. And then Lady Lawdown got on to your Chief Constable because I think she knows him quite well. I believe she asked for you in person.”

“So I understand, sir,” said Andy Constable drily.

“That’s about all I can tell you. So … well, now you know as much as I do.”

“People are always saying that to me, Mr. Allday,” said the inspector. “And sometimes it’s actually true, sir. But I think we’ll settle for that for now. We have some other matters to look into, so I may want your help again later.”

“You only have to ask, Mr. Constable. You know where to find me.”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Allday.” Andy Constable’s tone was carefully neutral.

Robin’s look seemed to be trying to gauge whether a deeper meaning lay behind the inspector’s words. With a shaky smile, he left the room.

“So what do you make of our Mr. Allday, then, sergeant?” asked Inspector Constable.

“I reckon he’s worried about something, sir. Couldn’t say what, though. Shall I get him back in?”

“No, I think we’ll let him stew for a while. I may be wrong, but I’m not sensing the right sort of guilt. If it’s anything relevant, I dare say it will trickle out later. At the moment, I’m more concerned with taking a look around Mr. Cope’s cottage. Like the book says, the more you know about the victim …”

“I take it I’m driving again then, sir?”

Chapter 5

The Dammett Worthy constable had now taken up position at the front door of the Hall, looking as if he expected to repel hordes of ghoulish sight-seers and was rather embarrassed at the fact. He stood aside as Andy Constable emerged. The inspector allowed himself a quiet smile at the young man’s mixture of enthusiasm and self-consciousness.

“Right then, Cerberus …”

“No, sir. Collins, sir. P.C. Collins,
sir.”

Inspector Constable sighed. “Of course. All right, Collins, I’m leaving you in charge of the scene while I go off and look at the dead man’s cottage. I don’t want any of the people in the house wandering off while I’m away.”

“Right, sir. Thank you, sir. Leave it to me, sir.” He drew himself up and snapped a salute.

Andy Constable kept a straight face. “So let’s have a bit of your local knowledge. How do I get to Sloe Lane?”

The drive to the village took only a few minutes, and the detectives parked the car on the green in front of the church. The rambling building in the local mellow grey stone nestled in a picturesque churchyard filled with a random muddle of tilting headstones, family tombs with moss-filled inscriptions, and Victorian monuments surrounded by fearsome wrought-iron railings, all overhung by huge horse-chestnut trees in full leaf and a monumental yew, its limbs propped on timber supports, close to the lych-gate.

“Nice church, sir,” commented Dave Copper appreciatively.

“A bit of everything,” replied Andy Constable. “Norman originally, I should think, and they’ve added a bit every century or so. But that reminds me – we must have a talk with the vicar when we get back to the Hall.”

“That’s if he’s got over his fit of the vapours,” grinned Copper.

“Right, then – Mr. Cope’s cottage. Let’s see what we can find out about our dead man.”

Crystal Cottage stood back a little from Sloe Lane, fronted by a classic country cottage garden filled with a profusion of old-fashioned flowers. The long low building featured every picture postcard cliché, from tiny windows with leaded lights, courses of flint set into the traditional local stone of the front wall, and dormer windows which peeped through an immaculately groomed thatch adorned with a straw pheasant at the apex. Polished brass gleamed on the sturdy oak front door. Twisted terracotta chimney-pots spoke of a history reaching back to Queen Elizabeth I. A black cat dozed in a sunlit spot on a rockery, and opened one lazy eye as Constable and Copper advanced up the path.

“Looks as if Mr. Cope did quite well for himself,” remarked Copper. “I bet this place is worth a few quid. You couldn’t really get much better, could you?”

“Hmm.” Andy Constable was more reserved. “Very pretty. He’s even got roses round the door. The only trouble is, it’s a bit too perfect for my liking. I never trust perfection.”

The detectives let themselves into a dark hall of beams and panelling, whose walls were hung with an unexpected mixture of historic maps of the county and carved wooden African tribal masks. At the rear of the hall could be seen a surprisingly modern kitchen gleaming with stainless steel and black tile, while ahead an oak staircase led upstairs. To the right lay a small parlour, obviously used as an office with desk-top computer and box files, while a large sitting-room could be seen through the half-opened door to the left. A low buzz sounded from behind the front door, where the red eye of a burglar alarm winked at the officers. Inspector Constable punched in the number Albert had given him. The red eye gazed at him steadily.

“Are we looking for anything in particular, sir?” asked Copper.

“Frankly, sergeant, I have absolutely no idea,” replied Constable. “But from what I’ve seen and heard so far, Mr. Cope doesn’t seem to have been your ordinary chap who gets bashed on the head for an ordinary domestic reason. Our Mr. Cope was a bit exotic. So let’s just have a poke about and see if we can find out just how exotic he was. We might as well start at the top.” He led the way upstairs.

The landing at the head of the stairs offered the choice of three doors. Constable opened the one on the right, revealing a sparse bedroom containing a single bed with an oaken bedside cabinet, a small matching wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and little else. A bedside lamp. A photograph of an elderly lady in a silver frame. A sponge-bag on a bentwood chair. An overall air of obsessive neatness.

“Spare room, sir,” said Copper over his superior’s shoulder. “Mr. Ross’s, I suppose.”

“Not a lot of personality, is there?”

“The room or Mr. Ross, sir?”

“You work it out, sergeant. Have a browse through the cupboards on the off-chance, though, and let me know if there’s anything worth a second look.” And as Sergeant Copper began to open the drawers of the chest, “And if there’s anything other than beige, call the Yard.”

“Will do, sir.”

The bathroom next door was a shock. Far larger than the spare bedroom, it was fitted from floor to ceiling in marble, with a free-standing Victorian bath on ball-and-claw feet standing almost belligerently in the centre of the floor. Ornate mirrors in gold rococo frames hung on two walls, reflecting the gold taps and fittings of an extravagant dolphin design. Glass jars held coloured balls of cotton wool. Perfumed soaps from a Piccadilly store lay in porcelain scallop-shells. Enormous peach towels monogrammed “HC” were draped voluptuously across a brocade armchair. “Very footballer’s wife,” thought Constable with a shudder of distaste. A brief glance into the bathroom cabinet revealed nothing more interesting than headache pills, mouthwash, and a tube of ointment whose use the inspector preferred not to investigate too closely. He moved on to the third door.