Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  “Should I take my shoes off?” Megan asked as she unwrapped two scarves from round her neck and brushed herself down.

  “No need,” Fabia said.

  “I told the others I had some shopping to do in Newport,” she said, running her hands through her untidy hair. “I didn’t want them to know where I was going.” She took a deep breath and, lowering her voice, asked, “Is she here?”

  “Who?” Fabia asked, knowing she had to tread carefully.

  “Father’s– our – his granddaughter? John Meredith told Rodi she was staying with you.”

  “She is. Come through to the kitchen, I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Obediently Megan followed her along the corridor, looking around as she did so, as if Anjali would spring out from some corner or other. Fabia was glad she’d stayed in the dining room. While she switched on the kettle and got mugs out, she said to Megan. “How are things at home? It must be very difficult for you all.”

  “Oh Fabia, it’s so awful. The police questioned us all yesterday, asking so many questions. It was so confusing, my head was buzzing, and when they’d gone, I tried to remember what I’d said and couldn’t remember a thing. Nonna said it wasn’t the same officers that came and took Mike in for questioning on Saturday.”

  “Mike? Delma’s brother?”

  “Yes, they came really early. I was still asleep. I don’t know why they came at that sort of hour.”

  Fabia found this very interesting, but all she said was, “Probably so they could be sure to catch him, before he went to work or out or something.”

  “I suppose so. But he doesn’t work, he’s on holiday; at least, that’s what Delma calls it. She says he’s between jobs, but I suspect he’s not desperately keen on proper work. He came back mid-morning and wouldn’t tell us anything about it, just demanded to know where Delma was and went out to the stables to find her. When they got back into the house, she looked dreadful – poor girl. I actually feel a bit sorry for Delma, having such a – well – such an awful brother.”

  That was pretty critical for Megan, Fabia thought as she put a mug of coffee down in front of her visitor and pushed the sugar bowl across the table towards her.

  “I really don’t like him. I always like to find something positive about a person, but I’ve completely failed with him,” Megan said.

  “I’ve only met him the once, when I spent the weekend with you, but I have to say I’m inclined to agree with you.”

  “He’s a bit scary, isn’t he? Do you think he had anything to do with Da dying?”

  “I’ve no idea, Megan,” Fabia said firmly.

  Megan gulped down some coffee then looked at Fabia, looked away again, then back. Fabia expected her to say more about the police and their questions, but she didn’t.

  “Rodi told me that Da changed his will, that he’s left lots of things to– to Anjali. I don’t really mind, I’m not that bothered about possessions.”

  Fabia thought this was probably true.

  “But Rodi does mind. He says he was going to try to persuade Da to sell some of the paintings and stuff, and now we can’t sell any of it because soon it won’t belong to us anymore,” Megan continued.

  “It’s very difficult for you both,” was all Fabia could find to say.

  “But still, I’m sure we’ll find a way through. And part of me is so pleased to find Anjali. I know that may seem strange to you, but I don’t think Rodi and Delma are intending to have children, and I just feel that finding her, our niece, has to be, well, positive.”

  “It’s good of you to look at it that way.”

  “The thing is, Fabia,” Megan went on in a rush, “I really think it’d be only fair if you could introduce me to her.”

  Fabia couldn’t think how to respond to this, so she said nothing and waited for Megan to go on.

  “I know Rodi has met her, when he was in John Meredith’s office, but I got the impression from what he said that he wasn’t very welcoming, and I thought, well, we should welcome her, shouldn’t we? Because she’s family, isn’t she? And she came all this way to see Da and then he was in hospital, and then he died, and, well, it must be awful for her.”

  Fabia had known Megan for a long time and never found her devious, but this surprised her, and she wondered how honest she was being; maybe even deceiving herself. Was it curiosity that was prompting her? Or self-interest? It was hard to tell.

  “All of this must have been a terrible shock for the whole family,” Fabia said, feeling that she was stating the obvious.

  “It has been. Everything’s been turned upside down. I expect the police will come back again and again. I wish they’d just leave us alone.”

  “But, as I said yesterday, Megan, they do need to find out what happened.”

  “I realise that, but I think they’ve got it all wrong.” She leant forward across the table. “They’ve taken all our laptops and computers. How am I going to go on with the book if I haven’t got my laptop? It’s really not fair.”

  “I don’t think fairness comes into it,” Fabia said quietly. “It’s all part of the investigation into your father’s death. They must find out who killed him, and why.”

  Megan winced and Fabia decided it was time to be firm. “Megan, love,” she said gently, “a post-mortem has been done which proved that your father didn’t die of natural causes, he was poisoned. I really think you need to accept that.”

  Megan gazed across at Fabia. “I know, I know,” she said, her pale blue eyes anguished. Then she seemed to perk up a little. “But that’s partly why I want the distraction of getting on with the book. Have you managed to get a meeting with the agent?”

  Fabia was getting used to Megan’s birdlike habit of flitting from one thing to another, one moment talking about the will, then anxious to meet Anjali, then the next moment eyes full of pain over her father’s death, and now back to her book. She had a habit of almost childlike changes of mood from dark to light.

  “Sheena’s away for the rest of this week, she’ll be back on Saturday. I could arrange a meeting for next week, say Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Oh, please do that. It’d help so much to have that to concentrate on.”

  “Fine. I’ll get on to her and let you know.”

  “I hope you don’t feel I’m being unfeeling, Fabia.”

  “No, of course not.” But before she could say anything more, there was an interruption.

  “I– I’m sorry to but in.” Anjali was standing in the doorway with Fabia’s mobile in her hand. “It’s just that your phone, Fabia, it’s rung three times and I thought it might be important.”

  Megan jumped up and said, “Oh!” then put a hand to her mouth.

  Fabia took her phone and glanced quickly at the screen. The missed calls were all from someone who’d commissioned her to do a painting of her house, a rather pushy woman Fabia hadn’t taken to. She put her mobile down on the kitchen table. “I’ll deal with those later.” She took a deep breath, “Anjali, this is Megan Mansell, Caradoc’s daughter.”

  “And,” said Megan quickly, “I think I can call myself your– your aunt, can’t I?”

  “I suppose you can,” Anjali gave her a cautious smile, “if you believe your father was right about our relationship.”

  Anjali held out her hand and Megan took it between both hers. “Rodi told me that you’ve agreed to a DNA test, but he said he didn’t have much doubt that you’re our niece. He told me about the signet ring. I don’t really think a test is necessary. Can we talk a little?”

  “Of course,” Anjali sat down.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Fabia suggested, getting up.

  “No, no,” Megan said as she sat down again, “please stay, Fabia. After all, this is your house.”

  Fabia noticed that Anjali looked relieved at this.

  “I’ll make some more coffee.”

  As she switched the kettle on again and took down another mug, Fabia studied the two women sitting opposite each
other. They couldn’t have been more different, the one darkly elegant – her eyes wary but her hands still and calm on the table before her – the other untidy, with wild hair and clothes in a mess, her anxious eyes flicking from Anjali to Fabia.

  Megan was the first to break the awkward silence. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she said in a rush. “I was hoping I would if I came to see Fabia. Sorry Fabia,” she added with a sideways glance.

  Fabia just smiled as she handed over mugs and pushed a packet of biscuits into the middle of the table, then she sat down and prepared to take it all in.

  * * *

  On Wednesday morning Matt had, as usual, got into his office before dawn and now, in the early afternoon, he was feeling the effects. He was going through several transcripts of the interviews with the Mansells, when the phone on his desk rang. Without taking his eyes off the papers he was studying, he reached out his hand and picked it up. “Lambert.”

  “Matt, it’s Alun Richards, have you got a moment?”

  “Alun,” Matt exclaimed, pleased to hear the voice of his friend who was an inspector in the traffic division. “Absolutely. I’d be delighted to take ten minutes off from this case I’m on.”

  “What case is that?”

  “An old chap called Caradoc Mansell from White Monk Abbey, you know, up Castellgwyn way. Someone decided to pump him full of animal tranquiliser. Nasty.”

  “Ah,” said Alun, “interesting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Look, give me five minutes, I’ll come to your office.”

  A few minutes later a thickset man with closely cropped grey hair appeared at the door of Matt’s office. He grinned. “So, this is what you get when you make Chief Inspector, your own office. Tidy.”

  “Well, naturally we senior members of staff have to be treated with due respect.”

  “Bollocks.”

  Matt returned his grin. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Alun sat down, serious now. “There was a nasty RTA on the M4 yesterday morning, just past junction 24. Initially we thought it was a case of speeding and losing control, but now we’re not so sure. One of the witnesses we interviewed saw a very distinctive Porsche, turquoise with a black line down the side and a black roof...”

  Matt gave Alun a sharp look but didn’t comment.

  “The witness says it was all over the place, going at a hell of a lick down the fast lane then veering across to the middle lane, then back again. This went on for a minute or two, then the Porsche simply ploughed into the back of a lorry. The driver didn’t have a chance.”

  “Killed?”

  “Outright.”

  “Any idea who he was?” Matt thought he knew.

  “Yes, confirmation has just come through. He had several credit and debit cards in the name of Michael Cotter.”

  “I thought so.”

  “How come?”

  “The car, I recognised your description. That explains why he wasn’t at the Abbey when we wanted to interview him.”

  “I’m not with you,” Alun said.

  “We’re interested in his activities.” Matt gave Alun a quick run-down of their surveillance of Cotter and the interview a few days before, and about his connection to the Mansells.

  “What you say fits with what we found on an iPad in the car. We got Aidan Rogers on to it. He’s that new whizz-kid who can open up any device; it’s like he’s got some kind of can opener no-one else has access to.”

  “You’re showing your age, my friend.”

  “Piss off,” Alun said good naturedly.

  Quickly Alun went through the information they’d gleaned from Cotter’s iPad and mobile phone and Matt went through all the different personalities, ticking them off on his fingers as he did so.

  “Good lord. Sounds a bit like something out of some TV drama,” Alun said, shaking his head.

  “Tell me about it. What’s more, the Mansells are friends of Fabia’s.”

  Alun gave a bark of laughter. “Trust Fabia to be involved, bless her.”

  Matt grinned ruefully, “You don’t know the half of it. But what made you come to see me?”

  “For a start, one of the e-mails on his iPad referred to you, and not in complimentary terms, but that’s explained by you hauling him in for questioning. And it’s obvious this Garan Price is a gambler and he owes Cotter a pretty packet. There are texts on Cotter’s phone threatening to get some of his pals to sort Price out if the money isn’t forthcoming – threats to Garan’s wife and mother as well. And now you’ve told me about the case you’re on, and the old man being poisoned, there’s something else you’d be interested in.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We had a blood test done. We wanted to check if he’d been drinking or was on drugs. The pathologist says he had alcohol in his bloodstream, which fits with a hip flask we found in the car; we’re getting the flask done for prints, but the interesting thing was the test also showed up a hefty amount of nitrazepam.”

  “Sleeping tablets?”

  “That’s it. The pathologist said there was enough to knock out a bull.”

  “So, you think someone drugged him with a view to causing an accident?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  Matt looked across at his friend and frowned. “I was about to arrange another interview with his sister. She’s got some more explaining to do when it comes to the animal tranquiliser.”

  “You said that was what was used on her father-in-law. Could she have any reason to get rid of her brother as well?”

  “I don’t know. He was a thoroughly unpleasant character, and it’s always possible he had some hold over her,” Matt said.

  “And over this Garan Price bloke, it looks like, from what we found on his phone.”

  “Yes, those debts give him good reason to want Cotter dead.”

  “True.”

  “I’ll have to do some pushing with Delma Mansell, but maybe not immediately,” Matt said. “I think perhaps Garan Price comes first. But how the hell would he have got the stuff into Cotter’s system at that time of day?”

  “No idea. That’s your department,” Alun said.

  “Thanks, mate.”

  Alun grinned at him but was soon serious again. “I’ll have to inform the family this afternoon. I can’t put it off any longer.”

  Matt pushed his hair back from his forehead and sighed. “Maybe I should do that. It might give me the chance to put his sister on the spot.”

  “Are you sure? What reason can you give?”

  “I don’t think I have to. They probably won’t know it’s anything unusual,” Matt pointed out.

  “Okay, you go ahead. It’s not a job I relish, whatever the circumstances.”

  “Not one I particularly enjoy either,” Matt said, “but studying the family’s reactions to the news could turn something up in relation to both deaths, don’t you think?”

  “Possibly. Before you get going, I’d better copy you in on the accident report, and the pathologist’s?”

  “Thanks, Alun. And could you get me copies of the fingerprints on the flask?”

  “Will do,” Alun said as he left.

  * * *

  When the reports and other information came through from Alun half an hour later, Matt called Dilys in and brought her up to date with what he’d been told. They read through the reports and compared the fingerprints with those they’d taken from the family.

  “These on the flask are interesting,” Dilys said.

  “They are?”

  “Do you want me to come with you when you go to the Abbey?”

  “Yes, it’d be good to have a female officer on hand, better you than Chloe, I think. The sooner we get it over, the better.”

  But Dilys didn’t get up immediately. “Before we do that,” she said, “there’s something else that fits in with all this. Chloe and I went to interview the vet, Stewart Parker, this morning; we drove up through Castellgwyn. As we were going past the Mynach Arms
, she remarked on a car parked just outside, it was a blue Porsche with black trim.”

  “Was it now?” Matt said, eyebrows raised. “What time was this?”

  “About half nine.”

  “But the pub wouldn’t have been open then.”

  “Doesn’t stop him knocking up Garan Price for a chat, does it?”

  “It doesn’t. It’s not looking good for Price, is it?”

  “You could say that. Or for Delma Mansell for that matter,” Dilys added. “I must tell you about the vet. It was an interesting conversation, and not just what he said, his receptionist was quite forthcoming as well.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, when we arrived, I asked her if I was right in thinking that Mr Parker looked after the horses at the Abbey, and her reaction was pretty revealing. She said, ‘well, you could say that’ with such a look on her face – sour as a bag of lemons – that I couldn’t resist probing a little.”

  “What was her problem?”

  “She said that she thought it wasn’t just the horses he looks after at the Abbey.”

  “What do think she meant by that?” asked Matt.

  “We had to do a bit of a pincer movement with our questions, but in the end, she admitted she thought he’d got the hots for – her words, not mine – Delma Mansell. By the end of our conversation both Chloe and I got the strong impression she, her name’s Helly or Hetty, something like that, tried it on with Stewart Parker and got the brush off. She’s definitely smarting and doesn’t seem to mind who knows.”

  “So, did you pursue it with Parker?”

  “I did indeed. I started off by asking him about the tranquiliser and he told us what we know already, that it’s licensed for use by vets and they must carry the antidote. He categorically denied that he would ever let anyone unqualified handle it. When I suggested that he might have allowed Delma Mansell access to it because she trained as a vet, he blustered around, said he had no idea that she’d done so, and then contradicted himself and pointed out she’d never qualified. This backwards and forwards went on for a while and, in the end, I’m afraid I ran out of patience.”

  Matt’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

  “I asked him outright if he was having an affair with her.”