The Winter Garden Mystery (11 page)
Read The Winter Garden Mystery Online
Authors: Carola Dunn
Piper perked up. “Right, Chief. âCourse, him saying that about coming to see Occleswich could've been a blind. S'posing he knowed the girl before and arranged to meet her, like. P'raps she worked in a shop in Whitbury for a while.”
“It's worth checking. My impression is that she went straight from school into service at the Hall, but I don't know for certain.”
Alec was both amused and pleased by the young man's imaginative reasoning. He knew how difficult it was for the average constable on the beat to earn the coveted transfer to the plainclothes branch. He himself, with a university degree, had entered the force expecting that transfer as a reward for the obligatory years on the beat. The War had interrupted the upward course, but a commission in the Royal Flying Corps and a DFC had not hurt his prospects.
Piper, under-educated product of a board school, had had a tougher row to hoe, but with a helping hand he might go far.
“Of course, it's possible the girl herself described the garden in arranging to meet him there for some reason,” Alec conceded, adding, “But don't persuade yourself of George Brown's guilt to the point where you forget the other suspects.”
“I won't, Chief. At least we know this gardener chappy's in the clear.”
“We do?”
“Miss Dalrymple says so.”
“Miss Dalrymple
believes
so.” Alec laughed. “Don't mistake even Miss Dalrymple's beliefs for evidence.”
believes
so.” Alec laughed. “Don't mistake even Miss Dalrymple's beliefs for evidence.”
Piper blushed. “No, Chief. One more thing I heard in the kitchen, Chief,” he hurried on. “All the family at Occles Hall's suspects, aren't they? Seems Miss Robertaâthat's what they call her; Miss Parslow she'd beâshe's thick as thieves with that long-haired poet chap what's staying at the Cheshire Cheese.”
“Is she indeed! That is odd. According to Dai ⦠Miss Dalrymple, Miss Parslow is the hearty, sporting, outdoor type. She doesn't sound at all the sort to consort with long-haired poets.”
“Pâraps it's a disguise,” said Piper eagerly, to Alec's relief failing to note his reliance on Daisy's description. “Or p'raps he knows summat about the murder and he's blackmailing her.”
“I'll have to talk to him. You've done very well. Now, unless you have any more tidbits for me, let's have a bit of quiet while I think.”
For the next few miles, he pondered not Piper's theories but Dunnett's astounding incompetence. Within a few hours of arriving in
Cheshire, a very junior detective constable had opened up new lines of investigation which the Inspector should have followed up days ago. How on earth was Alec to handle the Chief Constable and Superintendent without entirely alienating them and losing their cooperation?
Cheshire, a very junior detective constable had opened up new lines of investigation which the Inspector should have followed up days ago. How on earth was Alec to handle the Chief Constable and Superintendent without entirely alienating them and losing their cooperation?
Before he had worked out an approach, they came to the River Dee and crossed the bridge into the city of Chester. Alec had visited and explored the ancient town while an undergraduate studying history at Manchester, so he felt less than his usual regret on arriving in an interesting place. His work had taken him all over the country but he was better acquainted with the interiors of police stations than with historical sights.
He gave Piper the receipt for Daisy's photos. “Pick these up,” he said, “and wait for me at the desk at the station.”
“Right, Chief.”
On entering the Chester police headquarters, Alec was shown straight to the Chief Constable's office. Its furniture was upholstered in red leather, as was the C.C. himselfâat least the observable bit of him from collar to receding hairline. An ex-colonial civil servant, recently appointed, he was inclined to be querulous about the differences in the administration of justice between Blighty and her overseas possessions.
“A lot of claptrap,” he snorted, “all these formalities, warrants, solicitors,
habeas corpus
, wrongful arrest. I say, Chief Inspector, have you met the Parslow woman yet? Frightful female, I give you my word, simply frightful. Rather face a native uprising any day, what?”
habeas corpus
, wrongful arrest. I say, Chief Inspector, have you met the Parslow woman yet? Frightful female, I give you my word, simply frightful. Rather face a native uprising any day, what?”
Alec escaped as soon as he could and went to see the Superintendent of the Cheshire Constabulary Criminal Investigation Department. Mr. Higginbotham, a neat, spare Yorkshireman who must barely have met police height requirements, was delighted to welcome him. Nearing retirement, he found himself caught in the middle of a triangle composed of an inexperienced superior, a rash subordinate, and an influential termagant. Alec didn't envy him.
“I don't say I'd have called in the Met,” he said defensively. “I
could have sorted out the hugger-mugger, but I'm glad enough to have you on my patch since you offered. Here are the full reports.” He pushed a slim folder across his desk. “Anything I can do to help, Mr. Fletcher, just ask.”
could have sorted out the hugger-mugger, but I'm glad enough to have you on my patch since you offered. Here are the full reports.” He pushed a slim folder across his desk. “Anything I can do to help, Mr. Fletcher, just ask.”
“Thank you, sir. Of course it was your request for a tracer on the commercial traveller which brought us into the case.” That should keep Daisy out of it. “I understand he may have been doing business in Whitbury before he went to Occleswich. I'd like permission to have some of your people check appropriate businesses in Whitbury to try if we can't get a line on him from this end.”
Higginbotham groaned and clutched his head. “You've already discovered something Dunnett missed? If anything in this world is certain, it's that before I retire I'll put paid to any hope that man has of promotion. I've taken him off the case, by the way. He wouldn't even have known the fellow existed if it weren't for a young lady who laid evidence. A Miss Dalrymple. I'd like to have her on the force!”
“Oh no you wouldn't,” Alec exclaimed incautiously.
“Aha, know her, do you? I did wonder just what it was brought the Met to our doorstep.”
His eyes were twinkling, Alec noted with relief. “Miss Dalrymple seems to be developing a bad habit of falling over bodies,” he responded ruefully, “and she ⦠shall we say she has more respect for her notion of justice than for the forces of the law.”
“No bad thing in this case,” said the Superintendent, equally rueful, “but you might remind her that curiosity killed the cat. If the lad we have in custody is innocent, there's a killer out there.”
“I have pointed that out, though perhaps not in sufficiently forceful terms.”
“It'll bear repeating. Now, I'll have some men put onto the Whitbury search. What else can I do for you?”
“I'd like to speak to Owen Morgan, sir. He has a solicitor, I take it?”
“No. He was offered one at public expense but he refused. He won't say a word to anyone. I hope you'll have better luck. He'll come
up before the beaks on Monday and unless there's some hard evidence by then, we'll have to let him go. Then the Press will scrag us either for letting a murderer loose or for arresting the wrong man. Either way ⦠.” He shrugged.
up before the beaks on Monday and unless there's some hard evidence by then, we'll have to let him go. Then the Press will scrag us either for letting a murderer loose or for arresting the wrong man. Either way ⦠.” He shrugged.
“Out of the frying pan into the fire,” said Alec with sympathy. The Met was by no means immune to such situations. He stood up. “I think that's all for the moment, sir.”
“I'll call down and have Morgan taken to an interview room.” Higginbotham rose and shook Alec's hand. “You'll keep me informedâand do try not to make my people look too bad.”
“Of course, sir. Oh, one more thing. Do you know of any way George Brown could have been familiar with the Winter Garden?”
“Yes, the Parslows used to hold an Open Day to show it off, before the War. Always being postponed because of bad weather and they haven't started up again since. That's the way you're looking, is it?”
“I wouldn't go so far. It's not by any means the only line of enquiry I have to pursue.”
Higginbotham grimaced. “Well, Occles Hall is a good deal farther off from London than from Chester. Good luck, Mr. Fletcher. If there's anything else you need, ask for me or Sergeant Shaw.”
Alec found Ernie Piper in the lobby, chatting with the desk sergeant. He had Daisy's photographs, which Alec added to the thin file of police reports. A uniformed constable took them to a small, dingy room furnished with a bare desk and several hard wooden chairs lined up along the walls.
The desk chair, Alec was glad to see, was at least padded, if not the height of comfort. He sat down. Piper set one of the straight chairs to face the desk, and took his place on another in a corner where he'd be inconspicuous from the prisoner's point of view. He extracted his notebook and three well-sharpened pencils from the inside pocket of his modest brown serge suit jacket, placing two of the pencils in the outer breast pocket. Learning shorthand had been one factor in his promotion to the detective branch of the force and he was duly proud
of it. Alec nodded approval of his arrangements.
of it. Alec nodded approval of his arrangements.
Another uniformed constable brought in Owen Morgan. Alec studied the slight, dark youth who stood before him in a shabby coat, his shoulders drooping hopelessly, sallow face drawn, seeming to hold himself upright by a huge effort of will.
“Sit down, lad,” he said gently. Morgan slumped onto the nearest chair. “Cigarette?” A weary shake of the head answered him. “Coffee? No, tea,” he guessed. “Officer, three cups, please.”
The constable saluted and went out.
“I'm Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, from Scotland Yard. You know, I could have you out of here today.”
Morgan looked up, a momentary flash of hope in his reddened eyes. Then he shook his head again. “What's the use, sir? I can't go back there and she'll never giff me a reference. It's home to Merthyr I'll haff to go and down the pit. It'll break me mam's heart, look you. I might as well stop here.”
That didn't sound like the answer of a murderer, Alec thought, as the tea arrived, slopped in the saucers. He sipped from his cup. It was stewed, tepid, and over-sugared, and white flecks suggested the milk had seen better days. He abandoned it, but Morgan drank his thirstily.
Alec waited till he had finished before he said, “Tell me about Grace.”
Silent tears began to course down Morgan's face. He scrabbled in his pocket, came up empty-handed. Alec moved around the desk and gave the boy his handkerchief, hoping his mother, a quick-packing expert, had remembered to put in a spare. He perched on the corner of the desk.
“You saw her on the day she disappeared?”
“No, sir. Busy all day she wass. After tea at the Hall, her evenings off, she'd go down to the fillage to make her pa's tea.”
“And then to the Cheshire Cheese. You didn't go with her?”
“Saving to be married I wass.”
“You didn't mind her chatting with other men at the pub?”
“I loved her,” Morgan said with a defiant air. “It's not I will tell tales on her.”
“You can't hurt her now,” Alec said brutally. “Everyone knows she was expecting a child. The only question is, whose?”
“Not mine, but gladly I'd haff giffen the babe my name.”
“You knew before the inquest that she was pregnant?”
“She told me.”
“And she told you the name of the father?”
“No need. Wassn't she in love with the young master, and him promising to marry her?”
Alec glanced from the corner of his eye at Piper, to make sure he hadn't broken the leads of all three pencils at the wrong moment. “The young master?” he probed.
“Mr. Sebastian.”
“Sebastian Parslow.”
“Aye, him.”
“How do you know?”
“Didn't she tell me everything? How her ladyship wass always after pushing her at him and ⦠.”
“Wait a minute. You're saying Lady Valeria encouraged her parlourmaid to chase her son?”
“Grace told me,” said Morgan stubbornly. “Her ladyship ordered her to take up Mr. Sebastian's early morning tea, because the housemaid was a silly girl who embarrassed him with her giggling. And his whisky nightcap, too, when he rang for one, which Mr. Moody ought to haff done, or Mr. Thomkins, who's so careless and lazy he cannot be relied on to answer the bell.”
“Good Lord!” Alec said, flummoxed. The only explanation that came to mind was that Grace had made up the story to excuse herself to her suitor.
The boy was in full flood now, reticence forgotten. “And Grace thought it meant her ladyship liked her. She wouldn't believe me when I said her ladyship'd neffer let her precious son marry a servant,
whateffer he promised. You can't blame her, sir, with her pa after her too.”
whateffer he promised. You can't blame her, sir, with her pa after her too.”
“You mean she told you her father also encouraged her to ⦠ah ⦠sow her wild oats?”
“All
he
cared about wass making trouble for her ladyship,” said Morgan bitterly.
he
cared about wass making trouble for her ladyship,” said Morgan bitterly.
That at least was more explicable than Lady Valeria's behaviour, if hardly paternal. According to Daisy, Stanley Moss had a virulent grudge against Lady Valeria. He'd expect his daughter's affair with her son not only to cause trouble but possibly to lead to a monetary settlement.
On second thoughts, maybe Lady Valeria felt the same way about Grace's fall bringing trouble on her father. Had the girl's reputationâand eventually her lifeâbeen sacrificed to the unforgiving malevolence of two cold-blooded egotists?
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