The Murder at Redmire Hall

by J. R. Ellis

  ‘It’s a huge embarrassment, Tim. It’s not your wife watching that concerns me; it’s who else has seen it – probably Tom Walker, Watkins and God knows who else. It’s my fault: I’m a sucker for a bit of magic. Redmire – that’s the victim – invited me to come and watch his re-enactment of his father’s famous trick. He didn’t say anything about the television being here.’

  Groves laughed. ‘Well, never mind, you’re actually being super-efficient. Witnessing the murder means you’re on the spot ready to go with the investigation . . . again! They should be pleased.’

  ‘Well, I hope they see it that way,’ said Oldroyd ruefully. ‘Anyway, there he is.’ He pointed to the body. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be a hard one for you; the knife’s still in his back, and we all saw him alive less than an hour ago.’

  ‘OK. I’ll have a quick look and then we’ll get him back to the lab. I take it no one’s touched anything?’

  ‘No one’s been in there except my DS, Stephanie Johnson. She went to check that he was dead. She had the privilege of accompanying me this evening,’ he said ironically.

  ‘Righto. Good for her.’

  More officers were arriving now from Harrogate HQ, much to Oldroyd’s relief. Quickly and very professionally the yellow tape went around the locked room, which had never, reflected Oldroyd grimly, held a more shocking secret than it did now. Detective constables began the task of taking statements.

  Tim Groves finished his first rudimentary examination of the body. ‘You’re probably right, Jim,’ he said, pulling off his rubber gloves. ‘Can’t see any complications at first sight; not been dead long; deep knife wound to the back, probably penetrated the heart. Anyway, I’ll send you a report as soon as I can. We’ve got the murder weapon, but we’ll be lucky if we get any prints. By the way: what was he doing in there? What was supposed to be happening?’

  ‘He went into the room, which was then locked. When we reopened it, he’d disappeared. When we repeated the process of closing and locking the door, he reappeared, but in the state you see now.’

  ‘Yes – not part of the act, you might say. So you’ve not only got to find out who killed him, but how they did it?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And obviously someone else must have known how the trick worked and used it for their own purposes.’

  ‘So it would appear.’

  ‘Well, best of luck. You don’t get the easy cases, do you?’ observed Groves. He and Oldroyd had worked together a number of times on equally baffling murders.

  ‘No, but it keeps the little grey cells going, as my fictional hero would have said.’

  Groves departed with the body and Oldroyd and Steph went back into the main house to find somewhere they could set up an HQ. There was going to be a large amount of questioning of suspects about their movements and possible motives.

  Richard Wilkins reappeared. ‘I stayed in the relay room until your people arrived, and I think they have everything under control now, Chief Inspector. Can I be of any further assistance?’

  Oldroyd explained that they were looking for somewhere to establish an incident room as a base for the investigation.

  ‘Well,’ said Wilkins, ‘I think the office behind reception will be best. It’s got computers and desks and stuff and it’s linked to a small sitting room. I’ll move the people who work in there into the general office temporarily.’

  ‘Right, let’s take a look, then.’

  Wilkins led them to the room in question and Oldroyd pronounced himself satisfied. The sitting room would be good for interviews. There was the added benefit of having a good view of the entrance and part of the grand borders.

  ‘This will be fine. Now, can you ask all the members of the family and the senior staff to gather in here briefly? There won’t be chairs for everyone but I just need a quick word with them.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Wilkins went off to gather everyone. Oldroyd sank into a sofa.

  ‘Well, Steph? Any initial thoughts?’

  Oldroyd had a collaborative approach. He liked to know what his detectives were thinking. Steph seemed to like that.

  ‘At the moment, sir, we assume that it’s one of the family or someone who works here, because the killer must know the house well and a disgruntled family member or employee is likely to have a motive.’

  ‘Yes, which is why I’ve asked to speak to them. We’ll keep them here for questioning over the next few days. The rest of the audience, caterers, TV crew and so on, we’ll allow to go for the time being. If any evidence crops up implicating any of them – which is unlikely – we’ll track them down. I disagree with only one thing you said, which was that it’s a person, singular: almost certainly there would have been more than one person involved. However that trick works, it’s fiendishly clever and complicated and I just can’t see only one person and Frederick Carstairs involved in this. Many of the great illusions had teams of people operating them.’

  ‘I wonder if he’s despised by the whole family. Apart from his daughter, they didn’t seem that upset, did they?’

  ‘No, although that could be shock. If any member of the family is responsible, of course, that person must have had at least one accomplice, as all the family were with us watching Redmire perform the trick.’

  At that moment, the family started to file into the room, mostly looking stunned and subdued. Some sat on the available chairs and others stood around. When all were assembled, Steph shut the door and Oldroyd got up. Before he could say anything, Dominic Carstairs intervened.

  ‘Chief Inspector, what is the point of this? We’ve all had a terrible shock. We need to be left in private to . . . to gather ourselves.’

  ‘I won’t keep you long, but I just need to explain one or two things. First of all, I want to express my condolences to you all concerning what has happened; I understand how awful it is for you.’

  There was no response to this.

  ‘Second, it will, unfortunately, be necessary for you all to stay here at the Hall for some time while we undertake some further investigations and questioning.’

  There were murmurs of surprise and resentment.

  ‘Is that necessary? We all need to return home after this horror, surely?’ said Dominic.

  It was Alistair who first realised the implication of what Oldroyd was saying. ‘Chief Inspector, you surely don’t suspect one of us, my father’s friends and family, do you? I mean, we were all there watching the act.’

  ‘I realise this adds to the unpleasantness,’ replied Oldroyd kindly. ‘But I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that the immediate suspects in cases like this are always people known to the victim. I don’t think any of us really thinks that a crazed lunatic found their way into the house, knew what was happening with the trick, got into that room somehow and killed Lord Redmire for no particular reason. This murder was most likely the work of more than one person, so even if none of you could have actually wielded the knife, that doesn’t mean you weren’t involved.’

  ‘But . . .’ Alistair looked round at the others, but they looked away uncomfortably. It was clear that some of them would have liked to protest, but that they found Oldroyd’s logic grimly inescapable.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ muttered Douglas Ramsay, but without any conviction.

  ‘That makes everything worse,’ said Poppy. ‘So not only is he dead, but you think one of us killed him!’ She burst into tears again.

  Antonia went over to her daughter and put an arm across her shoulder. ‘Of course we’ll all cooperate with you, Chief Inspector. Just tell us what you want us to do,’ she said to Oldroyd, which seemed to prevent any further rumblings from the others.

  Thank goodness for those sane sentiments, thought Oldroyd. It was always much easier if people cooperated from the outset in these circumstances.

  ‘Thank you. It’s really very simple: just remain here, in the rooms you were allocated, and we’ll start the formal statement-taking and questioning tomorrow. Y
ou are now free to go to your rooms.’

  They all started to file out – looking, if anything, worse than they had when they’d walked in.

  Alistair Carstairs was last and at the door he turned to Oldroyd. ‘Chief Inspector, can I have a word, please?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could I ask you not to say anything to my grandmother until I’ve told her what has happened? It will be a great shock to her and it ought to come from me or Uncle Dominic.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t realise she was here.’

  Alistair explained about her living arrangements, then glanced down the corridor as if nervous about something and continued in a half-whisper. ‘I have to say, Chief Inspector, I don’t trust that James Forsyth; he and my father had a business venture together that went wrong and I know Forsyth blamed my father. And, of course, he’s with Alex; she had a long affair with my father and, well, who knows how Forsyth feels about that, especially when it was always plain to see that the spark between her and my father was still very much alive.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’ll be talking more with you all tomorrow, so let’s leave it until then.’

  Alistair looked a little crestfallen, but left without a word.

  Oldroyd sat down with a sigh. He felt exhausted.

  ‘What do you make of that, sir?’ said Steph. ‘Trying to deflect attention from himself?’

  ‘Maybe. We haven’t even begun to sort out all the relationships between these people yet – all their little rivalries, grudges and jealousies. Those exist in all families, of course, but in my experience they’re always worse among the rich, where there’s money and property to inherit.’

  ‘Yes – do you remember that case on the other side Ripon? Hunstone Hall, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I do. One of the younger members of the family, spoke like a young toff; he was steadily working his way through his more senior relatives so that he could inherit the estate, like Richard the Third in Shakespeare’s play murdering his way to the crown. He was quite clever about it, but the nearer he got to his prize, the more suspicious the deaths became, until eventually he overreached himself and we caught him trying to poison one of his elderly aunts. Poor thing.’

  ‘Do you think any other family members are at risk here?’

  ‘Possibly. When we see the will and who benefits, that could be enlightening; he may have been threatening to change it. Anyway, let’s finish up here for the night and get home. We need some rest, and maybe we’re missing something tonight that we’ll see with fresh eyes tomorrow.’

  By the time Oldroyd arrived back at his flat overlooking the Stray in Harrogate, it was late in the evening and the last of the bars were closing. A few late revellers were wandering the streets.

  He opened the door and switched on the hall light. There was everything exactly as he’d left it. Not surprising, as he lived alone, having separated from his wife, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sharp stab of loneliness that hit him every time he came home and was reminded of his isolation.

  At this time of year it was particularly hard. The days of family holidays were over, at least for him. His son, Robert, his partner, Andrea, and their small daughter, Rosie, were currently camping in France. Oldroyd suffered a keen pang of regret when he thought of them and how little he saw of them these days. His estranged wife, Julia, was in a villa in Spain with some friends, and his daughter, Louise, was in Morocco, although he was due to pick her up at Leeds Bradford airport tomorrow. Even his sister, Alison, a vicar in a nearby village, was currently away at a retreat on a remote Scottish island.

  He went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine and saw the postcard his wife had sent him stuck with a magnet to the fridge. He picked it up and read again:

  You’d love it here: we’re up in the Sierra Nevada near a mountain village. Lovely square with cafés and plenty of medieval architecture, great restaurants and great wine! Make sure you get away for some kind of break this summer.

  Julia

  P. S. Don’t forget to pick Louise up from the airport!

  As usual he found it difficult to interpret his wife’s behaviour. Sending a postcard was a quaint thing to do in these digital days, and how many estranged wives sent postcards to their husbands, even if the message contained no signs of endearment? She seemed to be concerned about him but somehow at a distance. He put the postcard back and shook his head. He’d just poured out his wine when his phone rang.

  It was Alison. ‘Jim! I’ve heard the news and been trying to ring you at the flat. Whatever have you been up to now?’

  ‘I’m fine – just got in. Tired, of course. How come you know about it? I thought you weren’t allowed access to the news or even to talk to each other on these retreat things.’

  ‘Not at all; we enjoy the discipline of quiet and meditation for part of the day, but we also keep in touch with the outside world and talk about what’s going on. People think these things are otherworldly, but they’re quite the reverse. We are helping each other to perceive more of the underlying truths beneath world events.’

  Oldroyd smiled; he was used to little lectures from his sister on moral and spiritual matters and they were never dull.

  ‘Dear me, I’m going on a bit,’ she laughed. ‘So much for mellowing in old age!’

  ‘You’ll never mellow,’ laughed Oldroyd. ‘I hope. Anyway, what are they saying on the telly? I’ve not seen any news. It’s been a long evening.’

  ‘I’m sure it has. Well, all I know is that this Lord Redmire was murdered during a live-broadcast performance of some kind of trick that his father invented. And you were there! There was a clip from the programme and you were examining this secret room or whatever it is. Now the family are all being kept at the Hall. That’s it, really. Endless reruns of the same sequences: history of the family, lots of speculation, but no more facts.’

  ‘That’s because there aren’t any; we’ve no idea yet what actually happened, never mind who was responsible. Of course, the family are the main suspects – that’s why I’m keeping them there.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you were there.’

  ‘Redmire persuaded me to go along. I’ve always loved magic tricks; he didn’t say anything about the whole thing being televised. I’m going to have some explaining to do tomorrow at HQ.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll talk your way out of it, as usual. I suppose you’re right about the family being under suspicion, but it’s a strange affair, isn’t it? The killer had to know how the trick worked, and you’d think, if that information was passed down, that Lord Redmire as the eldest son would be the one to know – but apparently he didn’t until recently, when he claims to have discovered things. So who told him and how did they know? Anyway, I won’t keep you; I’m sure you’re ready for bed. Take it easy and don’t go into any more secret rooms.’ She laughed again.

  ‘I won’t,’ replied Oldroyd, and ended the call. He always regarded Alison as a Mycroft to his Sherlock. What she said about his cases was always worth listening to. In this instance she’d managed to sum up the situation in a few words.

  When she got back to their waterfront apartment in the centre of Leeds, Steph rang Andy, who was staying with his mother in Croydon.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine, except it’s too bloody hot and the air’s disgusting; it stinks of car fumes all over the place. I can’t understand why I never noticed it when I lived here! I suppose you just get used to these things.’

  ‘Yes. Is everyone OK, then?’

  ‘Yeah. Mum’s good. I don’t think she’ll ever get used to living by herself. Clare and the kids aren’t far away, though; she sees a lot of them.’

  ‘Good. What’s their new house like?’

  ‘OK but small. Ridiculous rent; typical for down here – I don’t know how she and Sam survive. Anyway, what the hell have you and the boss been up to? I can’t go away for two minutes without something ridiculous happening.’

 
Steph laughed. ‘You must have seen it on the news, or didn’t it get down there?’

  ‘Just briefly. Some toff got bumped off doing a magic trick and you and the chief inspector were there? Sounds weird to me, but typical of the boss, I suppose. How come you two were involved anyway?’

  ‘He was invited by Lord Redmire, the man who was murdered. Apparently he likes magic, but he didn’t expect it to be on the telly. He might get into trouble now.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Don’t worry: he’ll talk his way out of it. So I suppose you’re going to be camped out at that big posh house for a while, interviewing rich people with titles? “This is very inconvenient; I’m having lunch with the Queen and I need to get my Bentley valeted . . .” That sort of stuff. I don’t envy you.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. It’s going to take some sorting out. We don’t even know how the murderer managed to commit the crime. It’s all bound up with that magic trick, never mind who did it, and there must have been more than one person involved.’

  ‘Things are never straightforward with him, are they?’

  ‘No, but that’s what makes it interesting.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. OK, enjoy! I’m out with Jason at the moment, just taking your call outside the bar. Nice to get a bit of air; it’s stifling in there.’

  Jason Harris was an old friend of Andy’s. He worked in the City and had a reputation for fast living.

  ‘Not too wild, I hope! You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Oh no, he’s changed a lot. Got a girlfriend now – living together and talking about having kids.’

  ‘Jason! He’d never come home!’

  Andy laughed. ‘Well, we’ll see. Should be a fairly sober affair tonight.’

  ‘I think “sober” will be stretching it a bit.’

  ‘Maybe! Anyway, bye for now – love you.’