Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (11 page)

“So if I could just make a note of what it was that Mr. Cope wanted to talk to Mr. Allday about,” suggested Dave Copper.

Gideon grew a little pinker. “Honestly, I don’t much like talking about people behind their backs, gents. There’s some dreadful gossips in this village, which I don’t hold with. Now a bit of harmless chat, that’s one thing, but repeating confidential stuff – well, that’s different. I wouldn’t normally do it, but I suppose as it’s a question of murder …”

Andy Constable adopted his most reassuring tones. “We can be very discreet, Mr. Porter,” he coaxed. “If it’s appropriate. So …”

“Well, inspector, if you say so. It turns out that Horace is buying a flat in London – I don’t know exactly where, ’cos I didn’t hear that bit – and he wants Robin to do some sort of fiddle on the deeds to avoid paying stamp duty or something. And not only that, but there was something about putting it in someone else’s name because of Capital Gains Tax.”

Dave Copper beamed. “I love it. Now that is a very juicy bit of fraud, isn’t it sir? That’s about the first definite bit of motive we’ve come up with. I can see that we’re going to have to have another nice long conversation with Mr. Allday.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, sergeant,” replied the inspector. “Don’t forget, Mr. Cope might have intended to buy this flat and engage in this fiddle that Mr. Porter mentions, but he certainly won’t be going ahead with his purchase now, will he? And in case it’s slipped your mind, the doctor’s got Mr. Cope down at the mortuary, so it won’t be too easy questioning him on the subject, will it? Plus there’s the matter of hearsay evidence – I don’t know that the courts would be too keen on relying on Mr. Porter’s eaves-droppings.”

Dave Copper’s face fell a little, and Gideon Porter hurried to join in. “Hold on, because you didn’t let me finish. That wasn’t the end of it. See, Horace stood there looking smug, ’cos that was always his way anyway, but then Robin said he was a professional man, and he couldn’t do that sort of thing, and then Horace said ‘I don’t see why not, you’ve done it often enough before for other people’.”

“And how did Mr. Allday respond to that?” asked Constable.

“Well,” said Gideon, “he just spluttered a bit, and Horace looked even smugger, and he said to Robin ‘Well, think it over. But it’s not going to do your career a lot of good if it gets out, is it?’, and then off he went.”

“So what happened then?”

“Course, I couldn’t say anything, could I, being as how I wasn’t supposed to have heard all of this. So I just quietly slipped Robin a large brandy – he looked as if he needed it, just sitting there a bit taken aback like.”

“And in your opinion, could there be any truth in what Mr. Cope had said?”

“I honestly couldn’t say,” asserted Gideon firmly. “Robin’s always been perfectly straight with me, so I take as I find.”

“And he didn’t say anything at the time?”

“Not a word, inspector. And I didn’t want to hover round him, so I popped down the cellar to get another crate of light ale up, and by the time I got back in the bar he’d drunk up and gone.”

“And have you seen him since? Or Mr. Cope, for that matter? Was anything further said on the subject?”

“Course I’ve seen Robin. He pops in most days – he was in yesterday, and I said I’d most probably see him up here. I cracked some joke about him getting Horace to tell his fortune, which he didn’t seem to find all that funny. He said he reckoned Horace knew too much about people already. But Horace – no, I don’t think I’ve seen him since. No, I tell a lie – I saw him go past with Albert while I was finishing setting up here, so that must have been around twelve-ish, but I was busy, and he didn’t speak. Lord …” He seemed struck by the thought. “That’d be the last time I saw him alive.” He shook his head. “You just never know, do you?”

“Indeed you don’t, Mr. Porter,” agreed Constable. “So, if that’s all you can tell us, I don’t think we need to keep you any longer. You’ve obviously got your work cut out here.”

“Oh, don’t fret about that, inspector,” smiled Gideon. “I got my two lads coming up from the village to get it all on the truck. We’ll have it done in a jiffy. To tell you the truth, the sooner I get back to the pub, the better. I got the feeling that tonight’s going to be pretty busy, what with this business with Horace. There’s nothing my customers like more than a good chin-wag about a bit of local goings-on, and it don’t get much better than this. If you see what I mean, and no disrespect to Horace, rest his soul.”

As he turned to go, a thought occurred to the Inspector.

“Just one thing, Mr. Porter. That little wooden gate just outside …?”

“The one through to the Secret Garden? What about it?”

“Did you notice anyone go through it after Horace Cope arrived?”

Gideon scratched his head in thought. “I can’t say as I did, but mind you, I wasn’t paying that much attention on account of I was getting everything sorted out here. But I don’t see as how they could, because it’s always kept locked as far as I know. Course, it was going to be open today so’s people could go through and see Horace. Sorry, I don’t suppose that helps, does it?”

“Not to worry, Mr. Porter. It was just a thought.”

Chapter 7

As Constable and Copper re-entered the hall of the house, they almost collided with the scurrying figure of Amelia Cook as she emerged from the drawing room carrying an empty tray, leaving behind her cries of “So kind, Amelia”, and “Thank the lord, I’m
starving”.

“Miss Cook, would it be?” enquired Constable. “We’d like a word, if we may …”

“I can’t stop – I’m up to my ears in the kitchen.” And she disappeared at speed through the green baize door into the corridor, leaving the detectives to exchange amused glances before following her.

The kitchen of Dammett Hall was a show-piece of the Edwardian architect’s art. Sparkling tiles of white and blue with interwoven art nouveau designs covered the walls to ceiling height, while along one side of the room an enormous cast-iron range with brass fittings offered a bewildering choice of oven doors, cooking plates, and water boilers. Shelves along another wall carried an impressive array of gleaming copper dishes and pans, while beneath the windows, which rose from above head height to the top of the room, a row of lead-lined sinks, interspersed with wooden draining boards, gave evidence that the scullery-maids of former days were not encouraged to gaze at the outside world as they worked. Discreetly placed, a modern range and refrigerator indicated that the room was not entirely for show. The centre of the room was dominated by a huge wooden table, scrubbed white, which at present was spread with baking trays, bags of flour and tubs of butter, china plates and dishes, and an incongruous pile of large tupperware containers. Amelia Cook stood at the head of the table, looking around as if uncertain what she should do next.

“Yes?” she said a touch crossly, pushing a strand of hair off her face with the back of a wrist. “What is it you want?”

“We’re very sorry to have to interrupt you when you’re obviously busy, madam,” replied Andy Constable in his most soothing tones, “but I’m afraid it’s official business. I’m Detective Inspector Constable – this is Sergeant Copper.”

“Well, you should have said, shouldn’t you?” Amelia took a deep breath and seemed to calm down a little. “I do apologise, Inspector. I’m sorry I’m a bit flustered, but I’m all at sixes and sevens at the moment, and I had to break off just now in the middle of some cream horns because Lady Lawdown wanted some sandwiches if you please, and you know what it’s like if your rough puff goes flabby.”

“I can imagine,” smiled Constable. “But I’m afraid it’s all rather more serious than that, of course. We do need to ask you some questions about the death of Horace Cope.”

“Horace Cope? Horrid man! I didn’t like him a bit.”

Constable was taken aback at the sudden vehemence. “That’s a very strong statement to make, madam. Do you mind telling us why?”

Amelia subsided on to one of the kitchen chairs surrounding the table, and after a moment, the two policemen did likewise. Discreetly, Dave Copper produced his notebook and opened it expectantly.

“Oh, no particular reason, I suppose,” replied Amelia. “It’s not as if he ever did anything to me. But I never could like the way he treated my friends – he seemed to have a knack of upsetting them. He was always making remarks in a meaningful tone, as if he was getting at people for some reason. He was just … I don’t know … well, rather slimy in his manner. Of course, that’s just my private opinion. I can’t abide gossip, so you’ll get nothing of that sort from me.”

“Ah, but it’s always helpful to hear what people really think of a murder victim, madam,” remarked Constable. “We so rarely get to hear people’s candid opinions.”

Amelia sniffed dismissively. “Well, of course, one isn’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, is one, inspector? That’s what they say. Especially with Horace Cope.” She gave a little giggle. “You never know – being a psychic, he might come back and haunt me! Oh, what a dreadful thing to say! I really shouldn’t joke at a time like this. Whatever will you think of me?” She resumed her serious manner. “So, how can I help you?”

“Copper?” Constable handed over to his colleague.

“I’m just making a note of who was where and when today, madam,” said the sergeant. “If you can just help us to build up the picture…”

“I’m not sure I know anything at all, really,” replied Amelia. “I’ve been here at the Hall all morning, but I’ve hardly set foot outside the kitchen. As for Mr. Cope, I haven’t even clapped eyes on him, which is no wonder, considering everything I’ve had to do, and now look, it’s really all been such a waste, which I honestly can’t afford, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on, because I want to be away from here and get back to the village, and Laura said I wasn’t to leave until I’d spoken to you, so I thought, well, at least I can use the time to take advantage of this lovely big kitchen, because really, my kitchen at the Copper Kettle is just a cubby-hole compared to this, but for all that, I’d much rather be there than here…”

“Just one second, madam.” Copper managed to interrupt the flow. “We seem to be getting rather ahead of ourselves. Can we just go back to the start, please? Can you tell us how you came to be here at the Hall today in the first place? Do you work for Lady Lawdown?”

Before Amelia could reply, Andy Constable spoke. “I think if you check your notes, sergeant, you’ll find that Miss Biding has already mentioned that Her Ladyship had engaged Miss Cook to do some catering for the fete. Isn’t that right, madam?”

“That’s right, inspector. I usually do it for Sandra, because although I say it as shouldn’t, my little establishment has quite a reputation in the area, and I’m sure that some of the visitors come just for my cakes, but of course one doesn’t like to presume, so I was quite pleased when Sandra asked me to do it again this year … that must have been, ooh, about six weeks ago. Because, of course, I have to plan ahead, because the fete is always on a Saturday, and Saturday is usually quite a busy day for me for teas, so I have to close up, but I always make sure that I put notices up and do some leaflets telling my clientele that I’m going to be up here at the Hall on that day, because I hate to disappoint people.”

“Yes, of course, madam,” Constable managed to squeeze in.

Amelia was not to be stopped. “And now look what’s happened! This horrible business with Horace, and please don’t think I’m being unfeeling, because that’s not like me at all, but the only thing I want to do now is to get back to the Copper Kettle and open up and see if I can stop all my lovely food going to waste. It won’t keep for ever, you know, especially not the sponges. But if I know my customers, there’s nothing they enjoy more than a good gossip over a piece of cake and a cup of tea, and I’m usually open until seven on a Saturday. So if that’s everything …?” She made to rise.

Andy Constable decided to take control. “Actually, no, Miss Cook. We really must talk about Mr. Cope. So the sooner we can do that, the sooner we can let you go. So if you wouldn’t mind …”

“Oh. Very well, inspector.” Amelia subsided on to her chair once more. “Ask away.”

“I think you said that you hadn’t seen Mr. Cope at all today, is that right?”

“That is correct, inspector. I arrived here long before anyone else this morning, and I don’t think the others got here until about mid-day, from what I’ve heard.”

“So when would be the last time you actually did see Mr. Cope?”

“Ooh, let me think – when was it? I think it must have been last week some time. Yes, that’s right, because he came into the Copper Kettle with Helen Highwater one morning for coffee and cake. I remember, because that day I’d done one of my special rich fruit cakes.” She turned to Sergeant Copper. “Have you tried my special rich fruit cake, sergeant? No? Now, you really must. You look to me like a boy who likes his cakes. I’ll cut you a piece in a second when we’ve finished.”

“I’m sure Sergeant Copper would like that very much,” put in Andy Constable, “but I think we’re straying from the point again. You were saying …?”

“Was I? Oh yes, Horace and Helen. Yes, I was quite surprised to see them together, because they’re not normally what you’d think of as chums, but I saw them outside just before they came in, and I got the impression that Horace had button-holed her so that he could speak to her about something.”

Sergeant Copper’s pencil poised itself over his notebook. “Would you by any chance have an idea of what it was, madam?”