Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (21 page)

“Sorry to add to your woes, sir, but you haven’t mentioned those kitchen gloves I found in the Secret Garden.”

“Well, Copper, that’s the one bright spot in the whole case. I reckon we can be pretty sure of getting some DNA off the inside of those, so with a bit of luck it’ll be clear enough to tell us who last wore them.” He sighed. “That’s as long as it wasn’t Amelia Cook, of course. That would really screw things up.”

“No problem there, then, sir,” replied Copper confidently. “You don’t wear kitchen gloves to do the cooking. They’d get in the way. But anyway, we’re not going to get those results just yet, and then you’re going to need to get samples from everyone, so it’s going to take a time to get it sorted that way, isn’t it?”

“You’re right, sergeant. We’re going to have to get by for the moment on the evidence we’ve already got. Of which we don’t appear to have a shortage.”

At that moment there was a tap at the library door, and P.C. Collins put his head into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, …”

“That’s all right, Collins. Come on in. What is it?”

“A couple of things, sir.” He held out an object towards the inspector. “The scouts clearing up rubbish in the grounds have found this key.” The small brass object glinted wetly in his hand. “They found it in the long grass just outside the gate to the Secret Garden, and one of them had the thought of trying it in the lock there, and they found it fitted, but they didn’t like to bring it into the house that way, what with everything that had gone on, so they came round to the front door with it. I’m afraid they’ve all been mauling it about,” he added apologetically, “so there’s not much chance of getting any prints off it. I would have ticked them off about that, sir, but I thought it was quite bright of them to bring it to me.”

“Terrific!” responded the inspector. “Another bit of evidence! Just what I was hoping for!” He turned to the sergeant. “So, Copper, what do you reckon? Helpful or unhelpful?”

“It all depends how it got there, doesn’t it, sir,” replied Copper. “As far as I can see, you’ve got three possibilities. Seymour Cummings might have dropped it by accident when he went out for his walk this morning. Or it’s possible that whoever killed Horace Cope isn’t still in the house at all, and they let themselves out of the Secret Garden gate after killing him and chucked the key down as they left.”

“Yes, but that’s not really likely, is it,” objected Constable. “For a start, if the murderer wore the rubber gloves, they wouldn’t dump them in the garden and then use the key with bare hands, would they? It would be too much of a risk. And anyway, we’ve got quite enough suspects without dragging in half the villagers who were setting up the fete. So what’s your third option?”

“The murderer might have come in through the gate, done the murder, and then thrown the key over the wall to make it look as if they’d gone out rather than coming in.”

“Except, sergeant, that the only person we know of who was outside with the key was Seymour Cummings, and he had to get Amelia Cook to let him back into the house through the kitchen back door.”

“So he says, sir.”

P.C. Collins cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I’ve mucked things up, sir. I didn’t realise that the key would make things more complicated. I thought it would help.” He looked downcast.

“That’s fine, Collins,” said Constable. “Don’t worry about it. You did exactly the right thing. I’m just getting grouchy. You’re probably right about the fingerprints on the key, but it won’t do any harm to let SOCO have it.”

“That was the other thing, sir,” said Collins. “SOCO have arrived and they’ve been working on things in the kitchen, and they’ve taken a look in Amelia Cook’s handbag. It was hanging on a hook on the back of the door under her coat, which is why nobody noticed it before. But they’ve found this piece of paper with something written on it, and they wondered if it might be relevant.”

Collins handed the folded paper to the inspector. On it were written just a few words in Amelia’s spidery old-lady hand. Constable read them, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and gave a long sigh.

“What does it say, sir?” enquired Dave Copper.

“It says, ‘She gets smothered in the end’, sergeant,” replied Andy Constable. He paused for several long moments, gazing unfocussed into the fireplace, and then stood, his eyes darkening. “Come on, Copper. Let’s finish this.”

“What, sir?” Dave Copper was startled. “Do you reckon you’ve got it? Just like that?”

“Yes, sergeant,” replied Constable grimly. “Just like that.” He led the way from the room.

Chapter 13

The atmosphere in the drawing room of Dammett Hall was profoundly gloomy,
hardly relieved at all by the two table lamps which had been turned on to counteract the steady fading of the daylight, as the rain poured down outside from low charcoal clouds. Sandra Lawdown rose.

“I hope very much, inspector,” she said with a sort of nervous haughtiness, “that you have come to tell us that you have finished with us at last.”

“In many respects, your ladyship, yes,” replied Constable.

“Thank heavens for that. I know you’ve had your duty to do, inspector, but for the rest of us, life has to go on, and I for one need to make some arrangements. For a start, someone has to organise a meal for this evening.” She took a step towards the door.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but that won’t be possible just at the moment,” said Constable. “Please take a seat.” And, forestalling the words of protest which were already forming on Lady Lawdown’s lips, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to use your kitchen for some time, not until my colleagues have finished in there. It is now being examined as a crime scene. I have to tell you that Miss Amelia Cook has been murdered.”

Gasps and murmurs of shock rose all round the room, as Lady Lawdown sank on to a sofa. “Amelia murdered?” she said with an effort. “But how? When? Who would have …” She tailed off in seeming bewilderment, as Laura Biding came to sit alongside her and put an arm round her shoulder.

“Inspector,” said Laura, “Do you mean that Amelia’s been killed by the same person who killed Uncle Horace?”

“It appears so, miss.”

“And you think you know who it is?”

“I believe so, miss.”

Seymour Cummings could not contain himself any longer. “This is ridiculous, man!” he barked. “Are you trying to tell us that there’s some sort of lunatic assassin going about? In Dammett Worthy, of all places? The idea’s absurd.”

“I grant you that, sir,” replied Constable. “On the face of it, Dammett Worthy is the perfect English village. So who would have thought that it was such a hotbed of secrets? Oh yes,” he said in response to the murmur of protest which arose from the six as they exchanged uneasy glances. “The difficulty of an investigation like this is that during the course of it, we tend to uncover so many secrets, even among the innocent, that we can have something of a problem sorting the wheat from the chaff. And who would have thought that such a popular character as Horace Cope could have so many enemies?”

“How could Horace have had enemies, inspector?” protested Albert Ross. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. He was a fine man, a fine journalist and an outstanding clairvoyant – he was a visionary.”

“Well, let’s not overdo things, Mr. Ross,” said Constable. “He may have been all those things, but I can assure you that, from what we’ve learnt, he did have enemies. People over whom he had a hold, because of what he knew about them. Now that may be the way to influence people, but it’s certainly not the way to make friends. So I have to ask myself, how come Mr. Cope didn’t foresee the trouble he was storing up for himself? Perhaps it’s because he wasn’t a very good clairvoyant.” He permitted himself a small dry smile.

“You said something about people’s secrets,” said Helen Highwater.

“I did, Miss Highwater. Because we’ve discovered that what Horace Cope was very good at, was getting hold of other people’s secrets and using them for his own ends. Yes, even against his own cousin, the only other member of his family. Because he had Albert Ross round his neck, sponging off him all the time, cluttering up his house and showing no signs of wanting to move on.”

Albert Ross jumped to his feet. “That is simply not true, inspector,” he riposted with an unusual display of vehemence. “I’ve told you, Horace was very good to me, and I will not have him insulted in this fashion. Horace was a great believer in family loyalty, you take my word for it.”

“Sit down, Mr. Ross,” said Constable wearily. “I wish we could take your word for it, but I’m afraid that from what we’ve been told from sources that we’re quite happy to rely on, family loyalty was not exactly in plentiful supply in Mr. Cope’s household. Oh, I don’t doubt that you had quite a cushy number for quite a while, but I think you went and blotted your copybook, didn’t you?”

“I really don’t understand you,” muttered Albert uneasily.

“Oh, I think you do, Mr. Ross,” replied Constable. “And in fact, if there was any possibility that hearsay evidence might stand up in court, we might well want to have a long talk with you about certain antique items which went missing from Mr. Cope’s cottage. And possibly even some other pieces of silver which disappeared a little closer to hand.”

Lady Lawdown looked up. “What?” she said sharply. “Do you mean the silver we had stolen from the Hall? Are you trying to tell us that Albert was responsible for that?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything, my lady,” responded Constable. “I can’t spare the time to think about that incident just at the moment. We have more important things on our minds. But it may well have been on Mr. Ross’s mind. It seems that Mr. Cope was just about to pull the plug on his cousin. Albert Ross was about to be thrown out on to the streets.” And as Albert seemed to be about to protest again, “Please don’t deny it, Mr. Ross. We are pretty sure of our facts. So what I have to consider is, did you take drastic action to turn yourself from an unwelcome guest into the owner of a very comfortable home, as Horace Cope’s only heir?”

As Albert sat there stunned and silent, Andy Constable turned to Laura Biding.

“Miss Biding, you told us quite a lot about your … what did you call him? Your ‘Uncle Horace’.”

“Yes,” said Laura impatiently, “but of course you know he wasn’t actually my uncle. That was just what I’d always called him. I don’t know what you’re trying to imply. I’ve explained all that.”

“Indeed you have, Miss Biding,” soothed the inspector. “We aren’t implying anything other than that he was an old friend of the family as you told us. But of course, that’s just it. If Horace Cope wasn’t too free with his expressions of family loyalty within his own family, there would be no reason to suppose that that loyalty would extend to anyone who wasn’t family, would there? Now you started out telling us all about your dear generous Uncle Horace, but you’ve changed your tune since then, haven’t you?”

Lady Lawdown looked at her daughter. “Laura …?”

“Oh Mummy,” sighed Laura, “you don’t know the half of it.”

“Darling, what is Mr. Constable driving at? What does he mean, you’ve changed your tune? Inspector, what on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid it’s all a little delicate, Lady Lawdown. You see, we have to consider the question of lifestyle.”

Sandra Lawdown seemed baffled. “What lifestyle? Whose?”

“Ah, well, there you have it, my lady. In fact, it seems that the whole business is tied into the question of lifestyle. Not just Mr. Cope’s, but everybody in this room. But I think we’ll stay with yours, Miss Biding, for the moment. Now, you don’t have a job, do you?”

“No,” replied Laura, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes it’s helpful to know people’s sources of income, miss,” said Constable blandly. “It can be relevant.”

“Well, if you must know, although I can’t see why you should, I have an allowance from a trust which was set up for me by my stepfather, Lord Lawdown.”

“I assume it must be quite a generous one, miss, if it enables you to run that very smart little car of yours.” And as Laura did not reply, “Which is probably as well, because it seems that the estate these days doesn’t have a great deal of spare money at its disposal. I think that’s correct, isn’t it, your ladyship? From what we’ve been told.”

“And who, may I ask, has been bandying my private business around?” demanded Sandra Lawdown. “Has Amelia been gossiping again, as usual? Is that what this is all about? Do you suppose I killed her because she let some sort of cat out of the bag about my financial state?”

“Oh Sandra,” said Helen Highwater, “I’m so sorry. I think I was probably the one who told the inspector that money was a little tight for you. But I didn’t mean anything by it. I never thought for a moment that it would cause trouble for dear Laura…” She tailed off.

Inspector Constable turned back to Laura. “So, miss, an allowance. Would that be your only income?”

Laura seemed oddly evasive. “I do a little modelling work from time to time, inspector.”

Helen Highwater seemed eager to recover lost ground. “Oh inspector, Laura shouldn’t be so modest. She’s been in several of the fashion magazines, and she looked absolutely gorgeous on that cover of ‘County Living’. I’m sure there’s a copy here somewhere if you’d like to see.”

“We’ll leave that for the moment, Miss Highwater, I think. But we’ll agree that Miss Biding is a very attractive young lady. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why Mr. Cope was so generous in taking her out dining or to the theatre. I’m sure many middle-aged men in the public eye are always happy to be seen out and about with a glamorous young woman. But it seems that Mr. Cope went rather further than that, didn’t he? There was talk of him putting the flat he was planning to buy in London in your name, wasn’t there, miss?”