Murder Most Frequent: three more Inspector Constable mysteries (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 5)

by Roger Keevil

  “Let's get back to the events of yesterday. You say that you came past the Sword and Dagger on your way to church, but you saw nobody else?”

  “Only that Anna girl who works there.”

  “Of course. She's one of their team for the run. As is Mrs. Dwyer. We've spoken to all three, and as far as we can tell, there seems to be no reason to connect any of the three with Mr. Hope's death.”

  “Hmph!” Phyllis snorted derisively. “Well, I wouldn't put it past that Barbara Dwyer, for one!”

  “Really?” Constable was surprised. “Why, is there something we aren't aware of?”

  “I should think there is,” retorted Phyllis smugly. “I'm quite amazed it didn't come out in conversation. Of course, I'm sure you know all about Rex Hope.”

  “We know he was very interested in the ladies,” said Constable carefully.

  “No, no, no, not that at all,” said Phyllis impatiently. “I mean his job.”

  “He worked for some sort of bank or investment house in the City, I believe. Isn't that right, Copper?”

  “That's correct, sir. Morgmann Brothers, it was.”

  “So how is this relevant, Miss Stein?”

  “Well, inspector,” Phyllis leaned forward and lowered her voice, “it's not exactly a secret, but I don't suppose Barbara would have wanted it known too widely. You see, Rex used to offer a little what you might call professional advice on investments to friends from time to time ...”

  “Are we talking insider trading here, Miss Stein?”

  “Oh, I don't know about all the technicalities, inspector.” Phyllis pushed aside all questions of business ethics. “The point was, Barbara had received a rather large sum as part of a divorce settlement ...”

  “Yes, she mentioned that she was divorced from her husband.”

  “He was something in oil. Out in the Gulf. Ridiculous amounts of money. Anyway, Barbara was awarded a huge quantity of cash, and she went to Rex for investment advice. And I don't know what went wrong, but it all evaporated! I don't know if it was part of the crash, or whether somebody had embezzled it, because I didn't like to pry too closely – I'm not that kind of woman. All I know is, she was left with hardly a bean, and it was apparently all Rex Hope's fault. He must have thrown all her plans into turmoil. There! Wouldn't that be a good reason for her not to be too well disposed towards him?”

  *

  “That's given us a few things to follow up, hasn't it, guv?” remarked Dave Copper as he perched on the edge of a table in the incident room. “Motives starting to come out of the woodwork in all directions. Jealousy … revenge … ”

  “Oh, I have a horrible feeling we shall discover a few more before this business is over,” said Andy Constable. “That's the trouble with these picture-postcard-perfect villages – they look so charming on the surface, but underneath there are all sorts of undercurrents. As we have had occasion to discover not so very far from here.”

  “True, sir. Well, it looks as if this lot probably isn't going to be sewn up in an afternoon, so where do you want to make a start?”

  “I think we'll begin with the jealousy angle. Let's follow Miss Stein's suggestion and go and have a little word with Mr. Farmer at the Three Blind Mice.”

  “Righty-ho, sir. Do you want me to drive?”

  “Certainly not, sergeant. We spend far too much time sitting in a car as it is. It's only just round the corner. We'll walk.”

  “Bloody ridiculous!” said Bob Farmer shortly. Obviously not a man to mince his words, thought Constable. “And if you've been round at the library, I can guess who told you that. Damned woman should keep her long nose stuck in her books instead of poking it into other people's business!”

  “So no truth in the suggestion that your wife might be the centre of attentions which you might not be happy about, sir?” persisted Constable mildly.

  “I didn't say that, inspector.” Bob continued his task of wiping down the copper surface of the Three Blind Mice's lounge bar. “Look, it's obvious. Penny's a pretty girl. Anyone can see that. Probably far too pretty for the likes of me, according to some.” A wry smile suddenly transformed a face which had previously been set in an unprepossessing scowl into one which showed the rugged good looks of a mature and attractive soldier. “They can think what they like. She gave a lot up for me, and we're happy together. And in a pub like this, you're going to get people coming in, seeing a beautiful woman behind the bar, and they're going to try it on. Not seriously – it's just a traditional game. Flirting. Everybody does it, but nobody makes anything of it. Least of all my wife. Or me. So if you're looking for a motive to kill Rex because of jealousy regarding Penny, you're going to have to look somewhere else.”

  “Well, I think that's clear enough, Mr. Farmer,” said Constable. “But since I gather you used to be in the same line of work as ourselves, perhaps you'll let us know if any helpful thoughts strike you,” he continued with a smile.

  “Yes, used to be,” said Bob. “Not for a while. Not since the accident.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

  “Chinook,” replied Bob succinctly. “They're not supposed to crash. Well, this one did. Could have been worse. At least everyone walked away … more or less. In my case, less. But it left me with no kneecap and one leg an inch shorter than the other. Not too clever when it comes to the business end of policing a bunch of squaddies who decide to get a bit playful. I could have stayed on behind a desk, but it wasn't for me, so I took the Queen's very large cheque and opted for a change of scenery. And here I am running a pub.”

  “But not running on its behalf, sir. Sorry, that was a joke in extremely poor taste. I apologise.”

  “No need, inspector. I've heard worse. You should hear some of the cracks the locals make involving my beer and the word 'limp'. Water off a duck's back. Actually, none of it's as bad as what some of them say about Addy's beers down at the Dagger. It's all in fun. She does brew some pretty fine ales, but for goodness sake don't let anyone know I said that.” Bob chuckled.

  “But seriously, Mr. Farmer, the fact that you weren't able to take part in the run, and your wife was, could be relevant to our enquiries. She was after all one of the last to see Mr. Hope alive.”

  “Well, at least you can be certain she wasn't responsible. She was with Sam and Mark all the time. They'll confirm that, surely.”

  “We intend to give them every chance to do so, sir. In fact, now might be a useful opportunity to do just that. Are your wife and Mr. Booker around?”

  “Penny's lying down,” said Bob. “She's still a bit shaken up after finding Rex yesterday. But Sam's about somewhere, if you want to talk to him. I'll give him a shout.” He opened the door at the rear of the bar and let out a resounding bellow of 'Sam!'.

  A few moments later, the amiable features of Sam Booker appeared in the doorway. “Sorry, I was down in the cellar checking stock for the next order. Did you want me?”

  “I don't, but these gentlemen do,” replied Bob. “They want to ask you about yesterday. I'll leave you to it, inspector. If anyone wants me, I'm in the kitchen doing the paninis.” He looked at his watch. “Should just about get them done by twelve. I haven't got the kitchen staff in today – they only do Sunday lunches, which is what I was also doing yesterday, just in case you wondered - and somebody has to keep this place going.” He vanished through the door.

  “Shall we sit down, Sam?” said Constable pleasantly. “That's if you've got time. I don't want to drag you away from your work.”

  “No, that's all right, inspector. What is it you want to know?”

  “Just wanting to confirm a few things we didn't really have a chance to cover yesterday. Understandably, considering the circumstances. Now, to begin with, you obviously knew Mr. Hope.”

  “Of course. Ever since I started work here.”

  “And you were friends?”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “And rivals, of course.”

  “Sorry. I … I don'
t understand.”

  “The race. You were both rivals for a place on the pub team, I gather.”

  “Oh, that. Yes, of course.”

  “Now, coming back to yesterday, the four of you were out for some sort of training for the run proper next Sunday. Can you remember whose idea this was?”

  “Penny's, I think. Mrs. Farmer's, I mean. She obviously wanted us to be at our best because she was determined to beat the Dagger's team. Me too, of course.”

  “Oh?” Constable raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. I used to work there, before I came here.”

  “With Miss Prentiss?”

  “Anna? Oh, just for a bit. Not long.”

  “But now there's this friendly rivalry between the two pubs?” said the inspector. “Nothing wrong in that, I suppose, as long as nothing gets out of hand. Unfortunately, yesterday, something did. So take me back, please, to the time when you left the Sword and Dagger to continue your training. Mr. Hope stayed behind, didn't he?”

  “He was just having a quick coffee. But he said he'd catch us up.”

  “But he didn't.”

  “No. We ran on … Penny was ahead of us, with Mark and me a bit behind … and Rex was nowhere to be seen. Mark cracked some gag about the old bloke not being able to keep up with us younger guys, but that was all. I don't think anybody gave Rex much thought, until we came back round into the wood and Penny found him.”

  “But still within sight of you when she did so,” clarified Constable. “She was slightly ahead of you at that point.”

  “Oh yes,” confirmed Sam. “She screamed. She was really upset. She couldn't have had anything to do with it.”

  “You seem eager to exonerate her,” observed Constable.

  “Of course I am,” said Sam. “She's not the kind of person who'd do something like that. She's just … well … nice to everyone.”

  “So not the kind of woman to take offence at any attempt by somebody like Rex Hope to, shall we say, go beyond the bounds of normal friendship?” probed the inspector.

  “Of course not,” said Sam hotly. “I mean, Rex was a bit of a sleaze, but Penny didn't take any notice really. She was used to it. She's pretty good at handling people. Like some others I could mention.”

  “Oh yes?” Constable's interest was aroused. “Please don't leave us in suspense, Mr. Booker. Go ahead and mention them.”

  “Well, there's Adelaide Knight,” replied Sam.

  Constable felt slightly deflated. “We've already had words with Miss Knight. We know that Mr. Hope might have made advances to her, but she told us that they were rebuffed.”

  “I bet she didn't say how. She was telling everyone she was sick of him making remarks and suggestions when she'd told him he was wasting his time, and in the end, she got so fed up with him that one night, just at closing time in the Dagger, she gave him a good seeing to. Thumped the living daylights out of him, from what I heard. I wasn't there at the time, of course, but the next time I saw him, he had a cut lip and a pretty spectacular black eye. But then, she's the kind of woman you don't want to get on the wrong side of.”

  The inspector mused for a moment. “Thank you for that, Mr. Booker. No, that particular snippet of information hadn't come our way. Was there anybody else who might have had any sort of grudge against Mr. Hope?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Mr. Lowe?”

  “I don't see why. He's never said anything to me.”

  “And you're good friends with him?”

  “I … I guess. I mean, not specially, but we talk.”

  “And he'll confirm everything you've told us about the events of yesterday?”

  “Should do.”

  “Fine.” Constable turned to his junior colleague. “Copper, can you arrange to do just that. You've got his mobile number, haven't you?” A nod from the sergeant. “He's probably tied up at school now, so send him a text and ask him if he can come in to the library as soon as possible.”

  “On it, sir.” The sergeant took out his phone and started tapping the screen.

  Constable rose to his feet. “I suppose, just for the sake of form, I ought to ask you whether you had anything against Mr. Hope yourself, Sam?”

  “Me? No. Why should I?”

  “Good. Oh, just one thing. Is there by any chance a plan of the route of the race? It might be useful to know the details.”

  “Yes, of course, inspector. We've got some behind the bar somewhere. We have them for the race teams who don't come from the local area. Saves them getting lost in the village back lanes. Hang on, I'll get you one.” Sam dived beneath the counter, produced a sheaf of photocopies, and handed one over. “See, the route's marked with a dotted line.”

  “That all seems clear enough. I'll take another, if I may. And then we'll let you get on. I dare say Mr. Farmer could do with your help. Tell him we'll be in touch.”

  *

  Back out in the Three Blind Mice car park, Dave Copper's phone bleeped. “Reply from Mark Lowe, guv,” he reported.

  “That was quick. Obviously teachers aren't as busy as I thought they were.”

  “Says he's got a couple of free periods tomorrow morning. He could come in at half-past nine if that would be convenient.”

  “Highly. Get back to him and confirm. And then I want you to go back to the incident room and bring everything up to date. Take this copy of the route. You can mark it up – see if you can get pictures of all the relevant people and plot where they were at the relevant times – oh, all the usual stuff. And you can write up your notes so far and let me have a copy to browse through. That should keep you busy for a little while.”

  “How about you, sir? What are you going to do?”

  “I, sergeant, am going to enjoy a nice healthful walk in the fresh country air.”

  “Sir?”

  “I'm going to follow this little map and walk the route of the run. A bit of old-fashioned boots-on-the-ground plod-work. It might be helpful to have an idea of the general setting. You never know what thoughts may pop up. So I will see you back at the school in due course.”

  “Righty-ho, sir.”

  As Constable strolled down the main street of Blaston Dammett, taking a left turn into a tiny side-road which led between two terraces of thatched cottages towards an imposing brick wall, pierced by an equally imposing pair of wrought-iron gates which obviously led to a house of some substance lurking behind a screen of trees, he reflected on the new information which had come his way.

  Adelaide Knight's reported clash with Rex Hope presented an intriguing question. Surely if he had been on the receiving end of a beating from her – and having met her and heard of her background, Constable could quite easily visualise the situation – then that would be more likely to give him a motive against her, rather than the other way around. Unless, of course, she considered the job only half-done. Then there was the matter of Bob Farmer – he had lightly brushed aside any considerations of jealousy, but he also had the sort of military background where actions sometimes replaced words when it came to resolving problems. And whereas he had been occupied in the kitchen today, that didn't seem to have been the case on the day of the murder. So did that free him up to be elsewhere? The question of an alibi was still to be resolved there.

  The lane twisted and turned, sometimes between randomly-scattered cottages surrounded by chocolate-box country gardens, sometimes past tall hedges which seemed intent on guarding the privacy of residents, sometimes with a vista of open fields to one side, with apparent dead ends unexpectedly resolving themselves into passages between houses which led on to the next road. Eventually Constable found himself emerging back on to the main street through a narrow alley, with on one side an old-fashioned shop, its frontage all plate glass, gilded lettering, and currently empty slabs of white marble which proudly proclaimed itself as a 'Traditional Family Butcher', and on the other a more mysterious establishment calling itself 'New Age Solutions', its windows draped in mauve voile and fe
aturing a small group of white plastic bottles bearing product names in an unreadable cursive purple script, posed among an artistically-arranged collection of large smooth grey pebbles. Across the road, on the corner of Church Lane, lay the Sword and Dagger, where Adelaide Knight could be seen, watering-can in hand, attending to the tubs of flowers on the forecourt.

  “Miss Knight. This is very convenient. I wonder if we might have another word? One or two things have come up.”

  Addy put down the can and faced Constable with a somewhat wary expression. “Certainly, inspector.” She waved him to one of the benches. “Now, as you're here with no witnesses, are you sure I can't persuade you to try a drop of one of our own special beers?”

  “It's tempting, Miss Knight. I've heard them well spoken of.”

  “We've got three – there's Hare's Breath, which is the lightest, then we have Ferret's Firkin, which is a bit chewier, but most people's favourite is Old Foozler.”

  “Foozler?”

  “Yes,” smiled Addy. “It started out as Old Methuselah, but by the time someone's got a couple of pints down them, they tend to start falling over their tongue ordering the next one. Thoroughly foozled, as they say round here. So the name got changed.”

  “I think I'll resist the temptation,” said Constable. “Under the circumstances, being foozled is the last thing I need.” His face grew serious. “I have questions.”

  “So I gather, inspector.” Addy's tone matched the detective's as she took her place on the seat opposite him. “You'd better ask them, hadn't you?”

  Constable came straight to the point. “I don't think you've been completely candid with me, Miss Knight. When we last spoke, I asked you about the situation between yourself and Mr. Hope, and you said that it was nothing you couldn't handle. I now learn that the way you handled it seems to have been by giving him a beating. You told me you didn't have dealings with him. That sounds very much like dealings to me.”

  Addy sighed. “You've based yourselves up at the library, haven't you? Well, I can guess where that particular piece of information has come from. Delivered with glee, I have no doubt.”