by Roger Keevil
“Copper,” said Constable, getting to his feet, “that is a delightfully melodramatic scenario, but it may have a kernel of truth in it. And it's certainly one aspect we've overlooked.” He rubbed his hands together. “Right. Back in the car. We shall go and pay Mrs. Dwyer a little visit.”
As the detectives made their way out of the building, the head of the SOCO team poked his head out of the library. “Oh sir, we're finishing up in here. And they've just taken the body out to the van, sir, so I don't know what you want us to do.”
“Lock up the room and leave the keys on my desk,” replied the inspector. “Then, unless you've been told otherwise, I assume you'll follow the van round to our other scene of crime and see what work there is for you there.” With a brief glance at the anonymous black van which now carried the body of Phyllis Stein, the detectives climbed into Copper's car and set off back down towards the bottom of the village.
A knock at Barbara Dwyer's door brought no response. Dave Copper, returning from a fruitless foray into the back garden of the cottage, reported, “No sign of her, guv. I expect she's at work. After all, it is a weekday.”
“You're probably right, sergeant. One tends to forget people have ordinary lives.” Constable looked at his watch. “You could try ringing, find out what time she's likely to be home. I assume you've got the number of the place she works at.”
“Trust me, sir. Got a note of it here.” Copper consulted his notebook, and then swiftly dialled the number. “Hello … this is Sergeant Copper of the County Police. I'm wanting to get in touch with Mrs. Barbara Dwyer. She's one of your instructors there … Yes, of course you know that. So might it be possible to speak to her? … Oh. Until what time? … And when does that one finish? … Right. Could I just leave a message for her then, please? Could you ask her to call me back on this number, or get in touch with me at the village library as soon as possible? … That's right – Sergeant Copper. Thanks. Bye.” He put the phone back into his pocket. “No luck, sir. She's just started a class, and then she's got another two straight after that, so she's not going to be available until much later on. We might have to leave her until tomorrow.” As he finished speaking, the phone rang. “Blimey, that was quick. They must have gone and interrupted her or something. Hello … speaking. Oh ... It's not her,” he mouthed silently to the inspector. “I see. And what are they saying? … That's good news, at least. Tonight? Wow! Okay, I'll pass that on. Thanks.” He hung up again. “Word from the hospital, sir. About Sam Booker. Apparently it's not as bad as they feared. Obviously he didn't ingest as much of the poison as was first thought, and he's much better than expected. They wanted to keep him in overnight for observation, but it seems he wasn't too keen on the idea, so they're holding on to him for a few hours and letting him come home later this evening.”
“Something else for tomorrow,” said Constable. “Well, at least the potential body count is down by one.”
Copper's phone rang yet again. “Suddenly everybody wants me,” he quipped. “I never knew I was so popular. Hello? ... Oh, great. That was quick … Yes, he makes me jump about a bit too. But it's there at the station? Thanks.” He disconnected. “The search warrant, sir. It's ready and waiting on your desk.”
“Excellent. We'd better go and pick it up hadn't we? Yet another thing for tomorrow's to-do list. By the way, sergeant … 'jump about'?”
“Oh … er … just talking about a mutual friend at the station, sir,” replied Copper hastily. “Nobody you know. So, I presume it's back to the library so's you can pick up your car.”
*
Andy Constable pulled on to the old school playground, to find Dave Copper standing waiting for him, alongside a patrol car containing three uniformed officers. The inspector wound down the car window.
“Morning, guv,” the sergeant greeted him. “I've been calling the station about you. I thought you'd be here yonks ago.”
“And so I would have been, if I hadn't made the mistake of leaving the crucial paperwork sitting on my desk yesterday. So, I thought, I'll nip in on my way and pick it up. Won't take a second. Huh!” A derisive snort. “I got collared by the chief superintendent, who wanted a nice casual informal chat about clear-up rates. And you know what he's like when he gets going. Half an hour later, nothing of any value has been said and I'm biting the carpet, but fortunately he got a call from someone even higher up the food chain, and I managed to escape. So now we can actually get on with some proper police work. Hop in, and we'll go and rummage Adelaide Knight.”
As the little convoy drove past the Three Blind Mice, Constable caught a glimpse of the pale face of Sam Booker at one of the windows. “I see our invalid appears to be up and about. I must say, he seems rather eager to get back to work. If I'd been him I would have taken some time off to lie around at home.”
“Apparently he lives there, sir. Well, I gather he rents one of the flats over what used to be the stables. Lucky, really. It can't be easy, a young chap like that, finding somewhere to live in a place like this. You know how they're always going on about affordable housing on the news.”
“And handy for his job. Mind you, he still looked a bit peaky. Oh well, up to him. We have other fish to fry. By the way, anything from Mrs. Dwyer?”
“Rats!” exclaimed Copper. “I knew there was something else. She came into the library just after I arrived, sir. I didn't know how long you'd be, and she said she couldn't wait, because she was expecting one of her private training clients at home, so she left you a note. Something about never being asked about seeing Rex Hope. I meant to pick it up. We could go back for it.”
“Leave it for now. I'll take a look when we've finished down here.”
On the forecourt of the Sword and Dagger, Anna Prentiss was just laying aside the broom with which she had been sweeping the area, preparatory to picking up a bucket and scrubbing brush with the evident intention of washing down the wooden tables. At the sight of the police vehicles, she cast an uneasy look over her shoulder towards the open door of the pub, before stepping forward.
“Inspector? Is something the matter?”
Constable ignored the question. “Is Miss Knight here, please?”
“Yes. Yes, she is. She's round the back in the brewery.”
“Good.” Constable took a step towards the door, but was forestalled by Anna as she put a hand on his arm.
“Is it … is it about Sam?” queried the young woman hesitantly. “We heard last night. Is he …?”
“Mr. Booker has been discharged from hospital,” said Constable, not unkindly. “He's not in any danger. We aren't here to discuss him, at least, not directly. We have a warrant to search these premises.” He turned to the uniformed officers emerging from the patrol car. “You three, make a start inside. I assume Sergeant Copper has explained what this is all about?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Copper, would you go round and find Miss Knight, please. Tell her I'd be glad of her company.”
“Righty-ho, guv.” Copper loped off round the end of the building.
It seemed only a matter of seconds before the sergeant reappeared. His former cheery manner had deserted him, and his face was grim. “Sir ...”
“Well? Where is she?” asked Constable testily.
“Round in the old brewhouse, sir. But you'd better come and see ...”
Adelaide's body lay face-down on the floor, half-in and half-out of the room where Constable had first seen the equipment which had roused his suspicions. Her white top was sodden with the blood from the stab wound in her back.
The inspector let out a deep growl of frustration. “O fool, I shall go mad!” he muttered under his breath.
“You what, sir?”
“Sorry, Copper. It's a quote from 'King Lear'. It just about sums up my feelings at present.” Constable gave a deep sigh and began to pace up and down. “This is lunatic!” he raged suddenly. “Who, in the name of all that's holy, could possibly have a reason to murder Adelaide Knight? I'll tell you
who,” he continued, as Copper drew breath to answer, but then thought better of it. “Rex Hope, that's who, to get revenge for when she beat him up and humiliated him. But we aren't really in a position to tackle him about it, are we? On account of the fact that he's not exactly available to answer questions!” He paused, realised that his junior was looking at him quizzically, and abruptly calmed down. “Sorry about that, sergeant. Sometimes this job gets to you.”
“You too, guv? I thought it was just me.” The two detectives exchanged small smiles of understanding.
“Right. I don't need to tell you what to do. Doctor ... SOCO ... get the uniform lads to stop what they're doing and tape the whole place off.” He retraced his steps round to the front of the building, where Anna still stood uncertainly.
“Where's Addy?” she asked. “I thought she'd be with you.”
“Miss Knight has been killed,” said Constable brusquely. Anna's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes widened in shock. “Can you tell me when you last saw her?”
“It was … it was about half an hour or so ago,” stuttered Anna. “Maybe three-quarters. She said she was going to make a start on a new batch of brewing, so I said I'd get on with the cleaning.”
“I'm surprised to find you here at all. I thought you said you were a student.”
“I am. But I had a free morning, and Addy said she'd pay me if I did some extra work.”
“And has there been anyone else on the premises?”
“Not that I've seen, inspector. Since we came down this morning, it's just been Addy and me.”
“Came down? So … are you saying that you live here?”
“Yes.”
“With Miss Knight?”
“Yes … No!” Anna flushed. “No, not together … nothing like that!” She sounded embarrassed. “I've got my own bedsit at the other end of the building from Addy's flat. It's Sam's old place – I took it over when he moved out.”
“Mr. Booker used to live here?”
“Yes, until the trouble.”
“What trouble would that be?” enquired Constable carefully.
“When they had the row about the still …” Anna broke off. “Oh. That's why you've come to search, isn't it? You've found out about that.”
“Yes,” confirmed Constable. “Tell me about the row.”
Anna slumped. “Sam helped to set it up,” she explained. “He's good with stuff like that. But then he told Addy that she was making more than her fair share out of it, and he wanted a bigger cut, and she told him that there was no chance of that. Then he threatened to go to the police, but she said he was as deep in it as she was, and she'd have no trouble throwing most of the blame on to him. Then she fired him, and he went and got the job up at the Three Blind Mice.”
“But you haven't seen him or anyone else this morning?” persisted Constable.
“No. I thought I heard someone inside, just after I came out here to start work, but when I looked there was nobody. I thought it must have been Addy.” Anna gulped. “Inspector, do you mind if I sit down. This is … this is horrible.” She subsided on to a bench.
“Yes, it is,” said Constable in kindlier tones. “Would you like some water?”
“No, I'll just sit here for a bit.” Anna sat gazing into the distance, clearly bewildered.
Dave Copper emerged from the front door of the Sword and Dagger, closely followed by two uniformed officers. “All in hand, guv,” he reported. “I've left one of the chaps on guard out the back. I've called it in to Control, so they've set all the wheels in motion.” He made to put his mobile back into his pocket.
“Sergeant, what's the flashing light on your phone?” asked Constable. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”
“Oh.” Copper took a look at his screen. “Voice-mail. Something must have come through when I was on the phone, or else I just didn't hear it ring.” He tapped the screen and listened. “Actually, sir, it's a message for you. Mrs. Dwyer. Hold on, I'll put it on speaker and start it again.” He tapped the screen once more.
“Sergeant, it's Barbara Dwyer again. Could you give your inspector a message for me?” came the voice at the other end. “Could you tell him that I've remembered something. When you came round to see me, you never asked me if I saw Rex on Sunday morning. Well, I did. I looked out of the window, and he went running past with Sam. I don't know if it helps ...” She broke off at the sound of a doorbell in the background. “Sorry, got to go. That'll be my morning victim, or should I say client. But if the inspector wants to ask me anything else, I'm in all morning. Bye.” The message ended.
“She's obviously got some sort of a tale, guv. Shame it got cut short.”
“I'm going round there,” said Constable. “There are loose ends here. You'd better stay on the spot and wait for the technicals to arrive. With a bit of luck, I shouldn't be long. I hope.” He turned and made for the cottage in Church Lane.
The door to Number 8 stood open. Barbara Dwyer lay on her back in the hall, her eyes still wide open in surprise, the blood from the wound in her chest staining the obviously extremely expensive oriental rug beneath her. It took only a moment's inspection for Constable to verify that she was dead. He fumbled in his pocket for his own mobile.
“Police, please, quickly. … This is D.I. Constable in Blaston Dammett. There's been another murder - a Mrs. Dwyer at 8 Church Lane. Look, I know the technical teams are probably on their way to the village – please pass the information through to them. Thank you.” The inspector stood for a moment, calculating rapidly, when out of the front door of the cottage he spotted the Rev. Salter in the lane. He ran out to her. “Vicar, I need you.”
“Goodness,” said the vicar, “everyone seems to be in a rush. If it's not you, it's that young man of Penny Farmer's.”
“Sam Booker? The one who works at the Three Blind Mice? You've seen him this morning?”
“Yes, running up the lane a while ago. Not exactly dressed for training, I thought. Not like last Sunday.”
“You saw him on Sunday?”
The vicar nodded. “Yes. I thought I'd told you I saw some of the runners. Mind you, I did think it was a bit odd at the time that he should be running the wrong way.”
“How do you mean, the wrong way?”
“Well, he was running towards the Sword and Dagger. The others were going in the opposite direction, towards the copse. I just thought he must have left something behind. Why, is it important?”
“I don't really have time to explain,” said Constable. “But right now, I need you here. Mrs. Dwyer has been killed.”
“Oh dear lord!”
“Yes, and I have to go. Can I ask you to stay here and keep watch over her until my colleagues arrive? She's inside. And please, don't touch anything.”
“Of course.” The vicar shook her head in sorrow. “Leave her to me, inspector. Coping with death is one of the things I'm here for. Explanations can wait.”
With a brief nod of thanks, Constable sprinted back to the Sword and Dagger, where Copper still waited on the forecourt.
“Hello, guv. That was quick. Where's the fire?”
The inspector ignored him and addressed the two uniformed officers seated on benches in the background. “You two, on your feet. One of you, stay here and take over from Sergeant Copper until SOCO arrive. The other one, get up to Number 8 Church Lane. There's been another death.”
“What?” ejaculated Copper in disbelief. “You mean … Mrs. Dwyer?”
“No time to explain now,” said Constable, climbing into his car. “Get in. We're going back to the Three Blind Mice. I want to talk to Sam Booker.” He let in the clutch and, switching on the car's blue lights, set out at breakneck speed up the main street of the village.
As the two detectives scrambled out of the car at the end of their journey, they were aware of the sound of a scream coming from inside the building. Exchanging looks, they instinctively split up, Andy Constable heading for the front door while Dave Copper ran round the side of the i
nn towards the rear entrance.
When the inspector entered the bar, he was aware of the sound of voices coming from the direction of the kitchen. Cautiously he pushed open the door. Bob Farmer stood there, every muscle in his body tensed, with Sam Booker behind him, a wicked-looking carving knife held at Bob's throat, while Penny Farmer stood, moist-eyed and trembling, alongside one of the large catering fridges.
“But Sam, he's my husband,” she pleaded.
“He doesn't love you,” snarled Sam. “Not properly. He never will. Not like me.”
“Oh Sam, don't you see? It's just infatuation. It's not really serious.”
“You don't understand how I feel.” A pathetic tone entered Sam's voice. “Nobody does.”
“Sam, just let Bob go,” Penny entreated. “Please. This isn't doing any good.”
“She's right, Mr. Booker,” said Constable, entering the room. “Things are bad enough as they are, without you making them any worse. So why don't you just calm down and give me the knife? You know you're never going to get what you wanted.” He took a step forward and held out his hand.
“And you know nothing!” Sam suddenly moved out from behind Bob towards Constable and lunged.
As Constable looked down and reflected how strange it was that so much blood could appear so swiftly from a relatively small cut, he was dimly aware of the figure of Dave Copper springing through the back door, seizing the knife from Sam, and wrestling him to the ground.
*
“There's a drinks trolley coming around. Do you want another cup of tea, inspector?”
“I think I'm all right, thanks.”
“Well, just remember you have to keep your fluid intake high to compensate for the blood loss. How about you, Dave?”
Dave Copper smiled at the pretty nurse holding back the cubicle curtain in Camford General Hospital's Accident and Emergency Department. “Thanks, Molly, but I'm fine.”