The Murder Cabinet: an Inspector Constable murder mystery (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 7)

by Roger Keevil

  “Other than the fact that nobody wants anything about this one to get out, guv,” put in Copper.

  “Yes, thank you, sergeant,” responded Constable with a touch of asperity. “I’m assuming that fact has already been made quite clear to Mr. Knightly.”

  “Yes. Inspector Deare said that I wasn’t to say a word to anyone.”

  “Which of course excludes us, sir. So, if you can cast your mind back to this morning, can you tell us exactly what happened.”

  Phil gave a slightly helpless shrug. “There isn’t really that much to tell. I got up this morning about half past six as usual …”

  “You live on the premises, sir?” interrupted Copper.

  “Yes. I’ve got a small flat in the old servants rooms up in the attics.”

  “Just you, sir? Nobody else lives in?”

  “Normally, yes, they do. The chef and the housekeeper have got rooms up there as well, but I was told to give them a few extra days paid leave at the government’s expense, so they went off quite happily yesterday morning.”

  “Were they told what was due to take place here?”

  “No,” replied Phil. “I was ordered to keep everything completely secret. They’ll be back on Monday.” A grimace. “They’ll get a bit of a shock when they find out what’s happened.”

  “And just to clarify, sir, what about other staff?”

  “The cleaners and waiting staff and so on all come up from the village. But they’re all off until Monday too.”

  “Which is why, presumably, it was necessary to bring in one of the catering staff from Number 10,” said Constable. “Well, we shall be speaking to him in due course. But for now, let’s carry on with what happened this morning.”

  “Well, as I say, I got up, had my shower, and came down for seven o’clock as usual to get the breakfast ready.”

  “Is that normally your job, Mr. Knightly?”

  “Not normally, inspector. That’s usually the chef’s province, of course. I can if I need to. It was all part of my degree in hotel management. But the orders were that breakfast was mostly going to be a continental cold buffet, with the majority of the stuff brought in from Downing Street. But I would have got the dining room ready with Jim – that’s the chap from number 10 – and then just overseen everything while he got on with things in the kitchen.”

  “So, you came down …” prompted Constable.

  “Yes. I came down the servants’ stairs into the kitchen …”

  “I remember those from when we were here before, guv,” put in Dave Copper. “You don’t get many houses with secret passages and whatnot. Not that they had anything to do with the case, but I remember being quite tickled at the time.”

  “Actually, you’re not the only one, sergeant,” said Phil. “Some of our guests are rather intrigued by them, especially the Americans. They start asking silly questions about priest’s holes and treasure, and I’m afraid some of the staff do lead them on rather, showing them the hidden doors and making up a few stories. I don’t encourage it, but it’s all quite harmless.”

  “And totally irrelevant to this investigation, sergeant,” said Constable severely. “We’ll stick to the point, if you don’t mind. So, Mr. Knightly, you were saying. You came downstairs …”

  “Yes, inspector. Sorry. Well, I put the water heater on for the tea and coffee, and then, as Inspector Deare and Jim hadn’t arrived, I thought I’d have a quick check around the rooms to make sure they were in good order – see that nobody had left any wet glasses leaving sticky rings on the tables last night, that sort of thing – so I went around the rooms in turn. Dining room, drawing room, morning room, and lastly into the library.” Phil stopped short at the recollection.

  “And …?”

  “And there she was. Mrs. Ronson. Lying there, face down, with the knife in her back.” A pause. “My knife.”

  Constable sat up in surprise. “Yours, sir?”

  “Yes.” Phil gestured. “It lives here, on my desk. It’s silver – Swedish – it was a present from my parents when I got my degree. I recognised it straight away.”

  “So what then, Mr. Knightly?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t like to touch her, but I could see she wasn’t breathing. And then I came out into the hall, and I could see Inspector Deare and Jim just arriving at the front door, so I went to unlock it to let them in, told them what I’d found, and the inspector took charge straight away.”

  “So the front door had been locked up until this time?”

  “Yes. All the doors were. Inspector Deare insisted, seeing that she wasn’t going to be on the premises after she left yesterday evening.”

  “And how many keys are there?”

  “Just two master sets. I keep one, and the other is usually in my safe, but I’d let Inspector Deare have it last night, just in case. And all the external doors are alarmed anyway. I mean, you can get out in an emergency.”

  “But nobody could have entered or left the premises without your knowledge between the time that the ministers returned last night and the time you came down this morning?”

  “No, inspector.”

  Constable thought for a moment. “Hmmm. I’m wondering if that’s going to make our job harder or easier,” he remarked in an aside to Copper. “So, just to rewind for a moment, Mr. Knightly, let’s go back to yesterday. I take it you knew who was coming.”

  “Of course. I’d had to allocate the rooms.”

  “And the ministers all arrived more or less together around teatime yesterday, I think. Tell me, had you met any of them beforehand?”

  “Met them? No. Well … Not really. I mean I’d seen them all on the news at various times, so I knew who they were.”

  Constable frowned. “I may be mistaken, but you seemed a little unsure for a moment. Sir?”

  “Well … I don’t actually know any of them. It’s just that I recognised one of them from my college.”

  “Oh yes, sir?”

  “Yes. Mr. Grade.”

  “The Education Secretary?”

  “Yes. I mean, I didn’t really know him,” Phil explained hastily. “We weren’t friends or anything like that. We were a couple of years apart, and anyway, he was on a different course. Engineering, or some such – well, something mechanical, I think. One of those things involving metalwork, anyway. Being on the hospitality course, we didn’t really mix with people from that side of things. We were the Foodies, and we called them the Spannermen. But it’s years ago. I almost didn’t recognise him, and I doubt if he’d remember me.”

  “Did you mention this to anyone? Mrs. Ronson, perhaps?”

  “Only in passing. Talk of funny coincidences – that sort of thing.”

  “But you knew none of the others? You’re quite sure, sir?” pressed Constable.

  “Positive.”

  “So, after everybody arrived …?”

  “People went up to their rooms for a little while to unpack and settle in, and then they came back down to the drawing room for drinks. We’ve got a small bar set up in a corner. The Prime Minister gave a short speech – well, it was more of an announcement, really. She said that despite the fact that the government had only been in for a short time, she felt for various reasons that it was time to consider a cabinet reshuffle. She said that one of the most interesting things about being P.M. was the fact that you were constantly making new discoveries. I’m not sure anybody quite understood – there was a lot of exchanging of looks. And then people broke up into twos and threes in there and in the morning room, and I got on with serving the drinks.”

  “I don’t suppose,” hazarded Constable, “you would have heard anything while you were doing so which might have had a bearing on what happened later?”

  “You mean, did I hear anybody threatening to kill Mrs. Ronson?” said Phil in disbelieving tones.

  “I think you’d probably have volunteered that fact by now, Mr. Knightly,” replied Constable with a grim smile.

  “The
only person I heard Mrs. Ronson speak to was Miss Laye.”

  Constable wrinkled his brow for a moment.

  “Foreign Secretary, guv,” prompted Copper helpfully.

  “Thank you, sergeant.”

  “And as far as I could hear,” went on Phil, “the conversation was completely innocent. Mrs. Ronson said that she wanted to hear all about Mrs. Laye’s trip, because she’d just got back from an overseas visit, so they’d need to have a quiet talk later, but now wasn’t the time. The P.M. said something about taking a great interest in foreign affairs because they could sometimes be very dangerous. Something of a minefield, she said. And there was some mention of the Gulf. But that was about as threatening as it got.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so. Oh … wait a minute. I went into the morning room, and Deborah Nye and Marion Hayste were talking in a corner. They didn’t actually notice me when I went in, because there’s a screen by the door to stop any draughts. But Mrs. Hayste was saying something about needing a boost, and Mrs. Nye made some remark about ‘that’s what all your prison inmates would say, wouldn’t they?’, and the regime would have to change right now or there’d be trouble. Someone would have to pay, and not just the usual people. I thought, I don’t think I’m supposed to be hearing rows about government policy, so I gave my best manager’s cough and asked them if I could get them anything to drink. And Mrs. Nye snapped ‘That’s the last thing she needs right now’, so I just turned round and got out double quick.”

  “And that was it? Nothing else from anyone else?”

  “Pretty much,” said Phil after a moment’s consideration. “A few remarks about the weather. What the view was like from people’s rooms. That sort of thing. But it wasn’t too long before they all got organised to go off down to the village inn for dinner, and they came back a couple of hours later.”

  “And then?”

  “Well, at that point, Mrs. Ronson said that nobody else from the staff would be needed, so she sent Inspector Deare off. I gathered that the plan was for the Prime Minister to have individual talks with the ministers, so I suggested that she’d probably like to use the library, and I said that I’d leave the bar open in the drawing room for anyone who wanted to use it. Then I took myself off up to my flat and settled down with a couple of glasses of wine and a video. And I went to bed about half past eleven, I suppose.”

  “And you heard nothing to give you any concern during that time?”

  “I’m up in the eaves, inspector. You could fire a gun down here and I probably wouldn’t hear it.” Phil stopped short and closed his eyes. “Sorry, inspector. That was a pretty stupid thing to say.”

  “Don’t let it worry you, sir. Thankfully, nobody’s been firing any guns. Your knife seems to have been quite sufficient to commit the crime. And I imagine that we shall find your fingerprints all over it. Which may not look too good for you.”

  “But I didn’t …,” spluttered Phil. “I mean, I wouldn’t … I’d have no reason …”

  “Calm down, sir,” interrupted Constable. “That wasn’t an accusation. Merely an observation. But for now, that would seem to bring us full circle, so we’ll leave it there for the moment. I’d be obliged if you’d stay put and not communicate with anyone else for the time being.” The inspector stood, and made his way back out into the hall, Copper in his wake. A thought struck him, and he turned to his junior colleague. “Copper, get on your phone to your friend Sergeant Singleton at SOCO. She is back on our turf from Westchester, isn’t she?”

  “Una, sir? But Inspector Deare said …”

  “I don’t care what she said. This is my investigation, and if I have to ignore one or two orders, I shall do so. But discreetly. So get on the phone to Singleton and get her up here. In civvies, and not a word to a soul. I don’t want speculation running round the station.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, guv. It’s her day off anyway. But she’ll be at home. So I’ll just …” Copper broke off, blushing.

  Constable smiled slowly. “Is there by any chance something you’ve been forgetting to tell me about your domestic arrangements? Well, no matter now. But get on to that, and then prime Sergeant Collins at the gate to let her through. Oh, and you’d better tell him to expect a nice anonymous black van to collect the victim, if the doc hasn’t already done so.”

  “Righty-ho, guv.” Copper turned away and began to murmur into his phone.

  As Copper was speaking, the sound of footsteps was heard above the detectives, and Sheila Deare appeared as she descended the stairs. She looked worn.

  “All well?” enquired Constable.

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” replied Sheila with a wan smile. “But I’ve explained to everyone what’s happened – just the bare bones – and I’ve told them to expect you shortly. I’m afraid they’re getting a bit restive – not having had any breakfast, the pangs of hunger are starting to kick in. Is there any chance of at least sorting out that problem?”

  “Ignoring the political and international implications of what we’re facing? Why not? They say the longest journey begins with a single step,” responded Constable with a wry laugh. He thought for a moment. “Well, I’m not having anyone wandering about the house ad lib until I’ve had a chance to talk to them. I don’t want any cross-contamination or collusion. So, as Mr. Knightly was supposed to be organising breakfast, why don’t we get him to do just that? Tell him to get himself into the kitchen and put up something on a tray for everyone, and then he can take it up to their rooms. And no chat – just in and out. That’ll give him something to occupy himself while Copper and I are doing the rounds.”

  “Don’t forget, guv, Inspector Deare said that waiter chap is in the kitchen,” intervened Copper. “If you don’t want anyone talking to anyone …”

  Constable sighed. “Good grief. This is like a game of chess. Right. Is there anyone in the morning room?” Sheila shook her head. “Good. Put the waiter in there, and we’ll speak to him once we’ve faced these various lions in their dens. Do you want to come and sit in on that, Sheila?”

  “Best not,” she replied. “I don’t think I’m especially popular upstairs at the moment, and I don’t want to distract from your enquiries. Besides, I have things to do. I’ve got to keep the Deputy P.M. up to date with what’s going on. That’s my main job at the moment. Although whether I’ll still be in post at the end of the day is anybody’s guess. Careers like mine probably don’t survive events like this.”

  Constable nodded in sympathy. “Well, we’ll leave you to your duties, and we’ll get on with ours. Notebook at the ready, Copper – I have a suspicion you may be about to take copious notes.” He set his foot on the first tread of the stairs.

  Chapter 3

  “So where do we start, guv?” asked Dave Copper.

  “Excellent question, sergeant,” said Andy Constable, standing at the head of the stairs. “To which the only answer is, I have no idea. I don’t suppose Mr. Knightly mentioned which rooms these people are in?”

  “Sorry, guv, no. I’ve just got the names.”

  “Then we shall start at the end and work round. Let’s go along here to the left. I think that was the room we saw the vicar in before, if I’m not much mistaken.”

  “That’s right, sir. Full of Chinese furniture wasn’t it?”

  “I think it was. That’s probably where they’ve put the Foreign Secretary. Well, let’s find out.”

  A tap at the door, which bore a small decorative ceramic plate with the words ‘Chinese Bedroom’ in confirmation of Copper’s recollection, produced no reply.

  “Maybe they’re in the bathroom, sir.”

  After a further fruitless knock, Constable opened the door with a tentative ‘Hello?’ There was no response. He advanced into the darkened room and with a loud ‘Ow!’, barked his shins on a low table in front of the fireplace. “Copper, get those curtains open,” he ordered in irritated tones, and the sergeant hastened to obey.

 
“So whose room is this, guv?” wondered Copper. “And if everyone’s been told to stay put, where are they?”

  “I think we have our answer to that, sergeant,” said Constable. He pointed to a large briefcase lying open on the foot of the bed. Square and sturdy, it was covered in bright red tooled leather and bore, in embossed gold lettering, the simple legend ‘Prime Minister’. “As to the occupant, we know exactly where she is. Lying on the library floor. And the fact that the curtains were closed, and the bed hasn’t been slept in, tells us something else. We can now make a pretty good guess as to when Mrs. Ronson was killed. It was obviously some time last night rather than this morning, which ties in with the doctor’s comments.”

  “Do you want to check the room out, as we’re here? There may be something helpful lying about,” suggested Copper hopefully.

  “I think on balance not. I get the impression from Inspector Deare that we’ve got a bunch of politicians hopping about like cats on hot bricks, and I’d rather not have them any more unhappy than they already are. So we’ll come back here once we’ve done the circuit.” Constable turned and made his way back out into the corridor, knocked on the next door whose plate read ‘Blue Bedroom’, and, in response to the brisk ‘Yes?’ from within, entered.

  The room did not belie its name. The carpet and the profusion of cushions scattered on the bed provided a palette of pale blue shades and patterns, while the mantelpiece bore several statement pieces of classic Wedgwood china. At the window were swagged blue curtains featuring a design of eighteenth-century Arcadian scenes. And beneath them, in a regency armchair, sat a woman. She looked to be in her fifties, slim, with chin-length iron-grey hair swept to one side across her brow, and piercing grey eyes. Her jacket and skirt were severe, black with touches of white trim. She rose to her feet with an enquiring look.

  “Good morning, madam,” began Constable. “My name is Detective Inspector Constable – this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Copper.” The two proffered their warrant cards. “I wonder if we might have a few minutes of your time?”