The Curious Death of Henry J. Vicenzi (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 5)

by R. A. Bentley

  'You get out.' His voice was tight with pain.

  'What do you need?' she repeated.

  'All right, another bit of wood. Six foot.'

  'Here, Dad,' said Dennis, sliding one in to them.

  'Thanks, son.'

  'What do I do now?' said Dottie.

  'I'm going to fit it in place of the broken one. Then I need you to lift your end very carefully and chock it up. Keep lifting until I say stop.'

  Dottie did as she was told. It seemed impossible until it occurred to her to use the broken piece as a lever. She was working left-handed, the bricks above her shifting ominously, but with the help of frequent rests she managed it. In the distance a fire bell could be heard, coming nearer.

  'That should do it,' he said. 'Now get out.'

  This was easier said than done. Bricks had settled around them, partially blocking their exit. Dottie had to awkwardly twist round and chock up one of the earlier supports before she could wriggle out. Someone is getting an eyeful, she thought, for there was no space to push her frock down.

  They emerged, blinking away dust. Jessup, with one arm useless, had to be assisted to his feet. Behind him the wall finally collapsed, breaking into several pieces as it did so.

  A fireman appeared. 'You ought to get off there, sir,' he said severely. 'And you, missus. It's not safe. Where's this trapped kid?'

  *

  Felix sat back and observed sardonically the two battered people before him. The butler's right arm, broken in two places, was in plaster and his sprained left wrist was bandaged up. Both of them were lavishly ornamented with lint and sticking plaster.

  'Well now, Captain George Jessup, of the Royal Engineers,' he said. 'What have you to say for yourself?'

  'That I'm very sorry, Inspector,' said Jessup contritely. 'I have no excuse to offer, except that I feared for my son.'

  'He was going to tell you, Inspector,' said Dottie. 'Truly he was.'

  'Well I'll give him the benefit of the doubt,' said Felix. 'which is more than I should do, because thanks to him we're about back where we started. Now if you don't mind, Miss Pickles, I must ask you to leave, while we get a good, full statement from this gentleman. All the details.'

  'You won't be cruel to him will you?' said Dottie. 'He is a hero, you know.'

  Felix rose to open the door for her. 'That depends on how forthcoming he is. My thumbscrews are always at the ready for those who won't cooperate.' He leaned out and checked the hall for listening ears. 'And I must ask the pair of you not to mention the booby-trap to anyone. That's important. We might just catch someone out.'

  *

  Every woman in the house not otherwise employed was in Stella's bathroom, watching Dottie have her hair washed.

  'Could you get a bit closer, Dottie?' said Mabel. 'That's if it doesn't hurt too much.'

  Clad only in a slip, Dottie complied. 'Everything hurts anyway. You wouldn't think ten minutes under a pile of bricks could wreak so much havoc.'

  'Look at that water!' said Mary. 'It's absolutely filthy.'

  'There was soot, among other things,' said Dottie, 'It's a good thing I'm bobbed. Last year it was down to my waist.'

  'So was mine,' said Mabel. 'How we suffer for fashion.'

  'Do you miss it, then?' asked Stella. 'I'm happier without it.'

  'I do a bit.'

  'Your arms are a mass of bruises,' said Ida, awestruck.

  'So is the rest of me,' said Dottie. 'No more swimming until they're gone.'

  'What will Mr Lewis say when he sees them?'

  'Mr Lewis is not going to see them.'

  'Did the bricks actually fall on you, then?' said Stella, swiftly changing the subject.

  'Some did, when the wall shifted. Only one on my head, fortunately. Ouch! Yes, there.'

  'Sorry,' said Mabel.

  'Well I think you were very brave.'

  'Not really, not compared with poor George. Is anybody going to wash his hair? He won't be able to do it himself, not with that bandage on.'

  'You could do it,' suggested Ida, archly.

  'Ida, isn't there something you should be doing?' demanded Stella.

  'Sorry, Mrs Andrew,' said Ida, and departed.

  'Honestly! That girl. You like him though, don't you? You must do.'

  'Of course I like him,' said Dottie. 'He's a nice chap.'

  *

  'Got all that?' asked Felix

  Rattigan nodded. 'All down, sir. Can I ask Mr Jessup what happened to the box of scraps? Is it still in the garage?'

  'Yes, it is,' said Jessup. 'I was going to suggest you look at it for dabs. Isn't that what you call them?'

  Felix went to the door. 'Yardley! Job for you. Get thee to the garage and dab a box of bits. It's the one the gun and solenoid came from. You'd best bring it back here, I think. Where exactly is it, Mr Jessup?'

  'There's a little bench, not the main one, in an alcove at the back. The box lives under it mostly, or it might be on top.'

  'Got that? Actually on second thoughts, do it tomorrow. It'll take you a while, I expect. Can one of you nip the gun back to Ballistics?'

  'That should keep them quiet for a bit,' chuckled Rattigan.

  'Well, you never know,' said Felix. 'Is the garage ever locked?'

  'Only at night. I usually open it first thing and lock it again at bedtime.'

  'Where do you keep the key?'

  'One in my pocket and one in the key cupboard in the servant's hall. Anyone could take that if they knew where to look, though they might have to try several to get the right one. And someone would have to know the box was there in the first place, and what was in it.'

  'Do many people wander in?'

  'I don't know about many. Visitors sometimes garage their cars if they're stopping overnight or if it's raining. Miss Pickles has her little Austin in there, for example. And people will stop to chat if I'm working on an engine or something. Someone could quite easily have driven off with the bits, or popped them in a pocket. Am I free to go, Inspector? Only I'd quite like to get cleaned up.'

  'Yes you are. If you did but know it, you're one of the few people involved in this business who is not now a suspect.'

  'Why is that? I had as much chance of planting the confounded gadget as anyone, and more than most.'

  'Well for one thing, you would hardly have used your own gun for the job, or have left your son's dabs all over it. And why would you hide everything afterwards? If you were the murderer, you'd want us to think someone else did it.'

  'A blind perhaps?'

  Felix grinned. 'Get along with you, Mr Jessup. What happened to the boy you rescued by the way?'

  'The little beggar ran off!'

  'He needs to get out of this,' said Felix. 'He was never meant to be a butler.'

  'He won't be one much longer, unless Lewis keeps him on,' Rattigan reminded him, 'and I doubt he'll do that; he'll be pretty useless to them for a while. Shall I start another list?'

  'I don't know that it's worth it. It's still the same bunch of suspects. We'd best put Drake back, though, which ought to please you. Pipe time, I think.'

  The air grew dense with smoke as the two men struggled to get to grips with the new state of affairs.

  'What have you got?' said Felix after a while.

  'Well, I didn't bother with motive as we presumably still agree on who and why. As to means, I suppose it's a matter of securing the necessary equipment, and knowing or learning how to put it together. Not the commonest of skills.'

  'Having first taken the risk of raiding young Dennis's come-in-handy box.'

  'And why would they do that, exactly? Just a convenient source of materials or a deliberate attempt to implicate Jessup? Or both? Also they'd need to know there was a gun there in the first place. How many folk keep a gun in the garage?'

  'Maybe noticing it gave them the whole idea. Then, of course, there's setting it up in here.'

  'I have that under opportunity.'

  'So have I. And when would it be
? The daytime is out, I'd have thought.'

  'Yes, I agree, unless the murderer were to lock the room on some pretext, but then they'd risk being seen through the window or garden door. Henry spent half his life in here by all accounts and there would be servants in and out.'

  'In that case I suggest we start with the night-time. Those not resident would have to obtain a key, assuming they hadn't already got one.'

  'Only Drake would need that, unless he was lying about the key or had a confederate in the house.'

  'Which is by no means impossible. However, it's safer to work alone.'

  'There's an argument, assuming patricide is no bar, for the larcenous Andrew Vicenzi. Not only has he cleared off, he might now consider himself beyond the reach of the law. And his missus maybe gave away more than she meant to.'

  'A parting shot, so to say. Yes, one can imagine that. Though it would be very easy, you know, to kill the wrong person, including another family member.'

  'Yes, that's true. If there was no-one in this chair to stop the bullet it could have hit anyone.'

  'Someone would have to press the bell-button.'

  'Anyone might do that; they wouldn't need to be sitting at the desk. But if you wanted to avoid mistakes, what would you do? I'd say plant the thing the night before. Henry hobbles in from breakfast, gets settled down and probably doesn't move until he rings for a servant. Then, bang! Not too much risk of anyone getting in the way, provided they weren't standing directly behind him at the time.'

  'Yes, I agree with all that; though you wouldn't have to do it all then. You could set it up at any time and make the final connection when you're ready.'

  'Always a chance of it being spotted in the meantime though. I think we should work on the basis of it having been done entirely the night before. He could still have fitted the gun and solenoid together elsewhere, so there wouldn't have been that much left to do.'

  'Call it Sunday night, then,' said Rattigan, starting a new page. 'At least it's something we can ask people about; then work backwards as necessary.'

  Consulting his watch, Felix stood up. 'Tomorrow for that, I think. We'll leave 'em in peace now. Fancy coming back tonight, Teddy? I said I'd bring fish and chips, as it's late. Daisy will be pleased to see you.' They made their way to the front door. 'Good night, Mabel. That's Mr Drake's car isn't it?'

  'Yes it is, sir. Are we getting a constable tonight?'

  'Yes, you are. He'll be along shortly.'

  *

  'Charles, is this some sort of joke? . . . Well I'm very sorry, but no!'

  'He's really asked her!' said Stella, amazed.

  'Told you he would,' said Dottie.

  Standing on the darkened landing, the two women strained to hear what Drake was saying, Esme having closed the drawing room door.

  'No! Absolutely not!' they heard her cry. 'Then you thought wrong I'm afraid . . . I most certainly did not! . . . No, never!'

  'Talk about bad timing,' said Stella. 'What was he thinking of?'

  'Shush! Listen!

  'You're serious aren't you? You really thought I would. I don't know how you've got the brass. And with my poor father not yet buried! How dare you insult me so? . . . Protect me! If I need protecting it's from the likes of you!'

  'I'd kick him out.'

  'So would I. Listen!'

  'No! I'd sooner die! I'd sooner drink ink! . . . Love! You don't know the meaning of the word. The only person you've ever loved, Charles Drake, is you! . . . No I will not think it over. I will never think it over . . . You're not listening, are you? Don't you understand plain English? The answer is no! . . . No I don't! Not even slightly. Quite the reverse! You disgust me if you want to know. You revolt me! Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me! Get out of here! Get out this instant! Leave!'

  'Attagirl! You tell him.'

  'Careful, they're coming. They're in the hall.'

  'But Esme dear—'

  'Don't you dear me! I'm not your flipping dear. Get out! Get out!'

  'I think she's hitting him,' said Stella, wide eyed.

  'One feels almost sorry for him.'

  'Don't be. Skin of a rhino, that one.'

  'Esme, will you just listen to me? You're overwrought. You're not thinking clearly. Let me come back later and we'll talk this over.'

  'No!' yelled Esme. 'Never come back. Get out of this house and stay out! Go on, get out! Get out!'

  'What was that?'

  'Vase, I think.'

  'Blimey!'

  'All right I'm leaving. You're going to be sorry for this, young lady!'

  'So will you be if you don't get out! Out! Out! Out!'

  The front door slammed and they rushed to Stella's window.

  'Can't start the car.'

  'No, there he goes.'

  'Lights! Put your lights on you idiot.'

  'Oops! Something's off.'

  'Bumper, I think. He's turning round! Why is he turning round?'

  They watched amazed as Drake attempted a three point turn in the dimly lit avenue, backed with a crash into a tree, slammed the car into gear, flew forward and rammed another before driving off, leaving debris scattered across the road.

  'Well that was just temper.'

  'Lucky there was no-one coming. Quick, the door!'

  Bounding across the room, Stella swiftly closed the bedroom door as Esme came thundering along the landing. 'I know you're listening,' she shouted. 'Go on! Have a good laugh! Have a good giggle! See if I care!'

  Minutes later they heard the doorbell.

  'Hello Constable, come on in.'

  'Do you know anything about a motor accident, miss? There's one of your gates off its hinges and bits of car everywhere.'

  Chapter Eight

  It was Mary who let them in next morning, looking, as Nash remarked, like the cat had died.

  'Now then, what's up with Mary?' said Felix kindly. 'Getting you down, is it?'

  'It is a bit, sir. It's the not knowing. You just think, someone shot poor Mr Henry, and you probably know them but you don't know who it is. It's horrid. And you don't know either, sir, do you?'

  'No we don't,' admitted Felix, leading her into the study. 'But we'll get them in the end; we always do.' He glanced at Rattigan. 'That's not really what's bothering you, though, is it? Not entirely anyway.'

  'Not entirely no, sir,' admitted Mary. 'Oh, sir! Everything's upside down! We've got Mr Jessup can't do nothing for himself, and Denny is worried about his dad and just mopes about, and Miss Pickles . . . it's not right, sir! She oughtn't to be nursing and shaving him and everything like she's doing. I mean, she's a lovely, sweet girl and friendly and everything, but she's a lady! She's not one of us. She shouldn't be doing it!'

  'Mary, Mary,' admonished Felix, drawing her gently onto a chair. 'I quite understand how you feel, but Miss Pickles is a modern and independent young woman and probably doesn't worry about that sort of thing. In fact, I'm sure she doesn't. And, you know, lots of women just like her volunteered as nurses in the war and had to look after all sorts and classes. It's not really any different. What does Mrs Vicenzi say about it?'

  At this, Mary began miserably to weep. 'It's all upside down,' she sobbed, 'I feels like leaving; I do really. Mr Henry wasn't an easy man, but you knew where you were then. There's not one thing in this house is the same any more. Not one!'

  Felix saw the light. 'Mary, there's something you know, isn't there? Something you've found out and you don't like?'

  Dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes, Mary nodded. 'It's not right, sir! Poor Mr Andrew as is so ill, and poor Miss Pickles too. It's wicked!'

  Closing the door behind her, Felix smiled and shook his head. 'Poor, sheltered little Mary. What would you do with her, eh?'

  'It's lucky she doesn't work in some of the families we've had dealings with,' said Rattigan cynically.

  'Seems the rumours are right anyway, or Mary thinks they are. Now then, whom shall we torment first today?' He turned at a knock on the door. 'Hello, perhaps they
're arriving unbidden — lambs to the slaughter. Come in! Why it's the lovely Miss Pickles, here to brighten our morning. Do sit down. How are your injuries progressing? And how is your patient?'

  Dottie perched nervously on the chair vacated by Mary. 'I know I look a fright,' she said, 'so it's no good pretending otherwise. I ache all over, since you ask. And if you mean Mr Jessup, he's being very brave.'

  'I'm sure he is, and you don't at all look a fright. Now, what can I do for you?'

  'Well, what it is,' said Dottie. 'I mean, knowing what we know – what Mr Jessup and I know – I've realised there are things I ought to tell you. They didn't seem relevant before and now they do; though of course I ought to have told you anyway, for which I humbly apologise.'

  'Then please proceed, Miss Pickles,' said Felix kindly. 'We're all ears. No need to be shy.'

  'I'm not!' protested Dottie. 'It's just that we don't seem to be helping you very much, do we? One way and another.'

  'We?'

  'Me and Mr Jessup.' She began to colour a little. 'I mean, severally — different aspects of the case. This is about Sunday night. You see, I couldn't sleep after the party. Sometimes you can't can you? So I was still awake, reading, at about three-thirty and I heard this sound coming from below. I mean, from down here. My bedroom is up above us. Well, obviously. And it sounded like scratching and I thought it was mice to begin with, and then it sounded like someone dropping something and swearing, and I looked out the window and I could see a torch beam. At least, I assume that's what it was.'

  'Coming from in here?'

  'Yes. Though not for long. And then it went out and I didn't know what to do about it. Then about five minutes later, maybe a bit more, someone came along the landing and I grabbed the coal shovel and looked out the door but they'd gone. And that's all really.'

  'That's extremely interesting,' said Felix. 'Could you, by any chance, tell the sex of the person who was down here?'