Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘What is, Carmichael?’ he asked, wondering whatever could have happened to fire up his sergeant to such a level.

  ‘Well, first thing is, Chef’s dead. And all the staff at The Manse are murderers.’

  ‘What on earth are you blethering about? Is this some sort of joke to wind me up?’

  ‘Of course not, sir. Antoine de la Robe,’ – here, he gave a little snicker at what he considered a ridiculously la-di-da Froggified name, then recovered his serious face to continue – ‘suffered a fatal heart attack at eight-thirty this morning, and all attempts to revive him were in vain. It seems that his system couldn’t cope with the damage it had suffered. And what’s more, he’s just as English as you and me! The doctor from the hospital said that just before he pegged it, he had a few lucid moments, and he spoke with a real thick Cockney accent. I said it wasn’t natural for him to speak English when he was barely conscious, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did,’ admitted Falconer, wincing at his lack of insight and, remembering the fake accent he had applied to PC Starr’s message from the hospital, his face coloured for the second time that morning. ‘But what’s all this, about every one of the staff at The Manse being a murderer?’

  ‘I put those prints from that new electronic machine into the system, when you went downstairs to see Bob Bryant, and they’ve all come back as being on record. And what’s more, they’re all using false names.’

  ‘That seems far too much of a coincidence, for them all to land up at the same place, and all with an alias.’

  ‘Spot on, sir. I’ve printed out all the details for you to read, but I also checked up on who defended them at their trials, and guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was that Grammaticus chap. He was a barrister before he retired. Not a famous one, or anything like that, but he must’ve made a fair few bob in his time – hence the posh hotel, and what that must have cost to refurbish.’

  ‘I knew I’d heard that name before!’ exclaimed Falconer, rubbing his hands with glee. ‘Tell me all about it, Carmichael. This is all your own work, and I’m very pleased to hear some good news connected with this case at last.’

  ‘You would’ve got the same result if you’d put the prints into the system, sir,’ commented Carmichael generously, but he was beaming from ear to ear, like a child on Christmas morning.

  ‘Don’t be so modest, and before it slips my mind, have you spoken to the vet about your randy little dogs?’

  It was Carmichael’s turn to blush, as he found anything of a sexual nature highly embarrassing, and this seemed to apply to his pets as well. ‘I made an appointment for next week.’

  ‘Good!’

  Carmichael knew that there would be an encounter with the two dogs and the inspector before the day was out, but decided to keep that to himself, until he couldn’t avoid telling him. Kerry was going into the school this afternoon, to help out with the heats for next month’s sports’ day. As a consequence, he had been cajoled into picking up Fang and Mr Knuckles at lunchtime, to keep them from chewing everything within their reach, which was a favourite game of theirs when left unsupervised. After all, it would be cruel to leave them outside, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Out with it then. Who are these members of staff, what are they really called, and what did they do?’

  ‘I’ll start with Antoine de la Robe, as we know him. His real name was Nigel Cooper. He’d been to catering college all right, and come out top of his class, but he lost his rag one night when a drunken customer followed the waiter into the kitchen, to complain that his soup was cold – it was gazpacho, if that means anything to you, sir.’

  ‘It’s a chilled soup, and I don’t blame the man for being angry. I would be too, if I’d made it, and had it returned for being cold,’ Falconer informed his sergeant.

  ‘Chef – I can’t seem to see him as Nigel, even though I know it’s his name – was boning meat at the time, and he says he slipped and lost his balance, accidentally plunging the knife into the customer’s heart.

  ‘The police charged him with manslaughter, as they could prove no premeditation, but Grammaticus went for accidental death, played his fairly respectable background, his clean record with the police, and the effect that all this would have on his career. He must have really poured out his heart on this one, and the jury found him not guilty on a split decision.

  ‘Chastity Chamberlain was the alias of one Emma West, who was a cheating wife who suffered constant beatings at her husband’s hands for her unfaithfulness. It says here that, after a particularly bad beating while the husband was very drunk, she waited for him to go to bed, and then took a hammer to his head. Medical evidence and the superb acting skills of our Mr Grammaticus got her off with ‘justifiable homicide’.

  ‘Next, we have Dwayne Mortte, the sous chef, aka Michael Little, who was done for giving a friend an Ecstasy tablet that led to the friend collapsing at a club and dying three days later, without recovering consciousness. Although Grammaticus did his best, his client went down for a couple of years for his reckless behaviour in supplying and possession of an illegal drug, but he only served fourteen months.

  ‘Steve Grieve, the barman, otherwise known as Trevor Smith, had been in trouble for TWOCking since he was thirteen. He’d done some time in young offenders’ units, but the last time he nicked a car he lost control of it and killed a pedestrian. He only did eighteen months inside, because Grammaticus produced a witness that said the woman had run out in front of the vehicle, and the driver could have done nothing to change the outcome of the situation.

  ‘And finally,’ Carmichael announced, still grinning at the thought of his own serendipitous success, ‘We come to Beatrix Ironmonger. She used to be a tom, you know, sir, name of Ursula Freebody, if you can believe that. I don’t, somehow, think that records got to the bottom of that one, but anyway, when she first started on the game, she was daft enough to give credit. Can you believe that, sir? And she had this punter who was her first regular, visited her for the best part of six weeks, three times a week, then buggered off without paying.’

  ‘Quelle surprise!’ muttered Falconer, shaking his head in disbelief at such naivety.

  ‘Silly young woman lost her bedsit over it, and had to conduct business up alleyways and in cars after that, till she’d saved enough to get a new place. Anyway, one night she spotted this character going off with one of the other toms, so she followed them across a building site to the shell of a garage for one of the properties being built, picking up a brick on the way, and lying in wait for him as he emerged.

  ‘Once the other tom had scarpered in search of new business, she dotted him one, and he died from his injuries. Grammaticus did a good job with the medical evidence again, putting it to the court, that the man had an unusually thin skull, and that she’d only wanted to teach him a lesson, but they weren’t having any of it, and she went down for manslaughter, and served seven years. That’s the lot, sir, but it’s plenty to be going on with it, don’t you think?’

  ‘An embarrassment of riches, in fact,’ agreed Falconer. ‘And they were all there, under the same roof: all cozied-up with their defence barrister. I tell you now, Carmichael, if there isn’t something more to this, I’ll not only eat my hat; I’ll eat yours, too.

  ‘I’m going straight off to get a search warrant for The Manse, and I’ll not be satisfied until we’ve turned the whole place upside down. There must be something for us to find, even if it’s only Grammaticus’ little black book, and I’ve got a pretty fair idea what we’ll find written in it, if this new information is anything to go by.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Monday 21st June, – afternoon

  I

  I don’t see why we have to go via Castle Farthing, Carmichael. Have you got to pick up something?’

  ‘Sort of,’ was the sergeant’s cryptic and brief reply.

  ‘What on earth does that mean, ‘sort of’? You’ve either got to pick up something or you haven’t. W
hich is it?’

  ‘I’ve got to take the dogs for the afternoon,’ replied Carmichael, his voice barely above a whisper, and his face a mask of apprehension. ‘Kerry’s usually at home for them, to let them in and out, and keep an eye on them, so that they don’t escape. Today she’s got to go to the school to help out with something, and I said I’d have the dogs. I didn’t think we’d be leaving the office, as everything seemed so conclusive yesterday evening. I thought they might just have a snooze under a desk, or something.’

  Fat chance of that happening with those two. ‘Great! Well, you may have to take them, but I don’t. I don’t mind following you home, so that we arrive together at the hotel, but they’re not – repeat not – getting into my car, and I expect you to keep them under complete control when we get there. Understand? And I hope that reference to yesterday evening wasn’t a snide comment about my decision-making, either. I’ve had to eat enough humble pie to do me for months, and I haven’t even seen Chivers yet.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything when I mentioned about yesterday. I wasn’t being snide, honestly, sir. I was only saying what we both thought,’ which was perfectly truthful, for Carmichael didn’t have a snide bone in his body, and Falconer knew that, in his heart of hearts. He was just a little over-sensitive after what had occurred that morning. ‘And I promise to keep the dogs fully under my control.’

  Even fatter chance to this last! – in fact, it would have to be a morbidly obese chance, with pigs flying across a blue moon, the day that Carmichael demonstrated full control over those boisterous bundles of tumbleweed, but Falconer made no comment. He would believe it when he saw it, and he didn’t think that would be today. There was certainly no sign of Carmichael’s iron control, when he reappeared from the inside of his cottage with a water bowl and a blanket in his arms.

  The dogs romped out in joyous disorder, and proved, once again, their magnificent ability to bounce as if on springs. As Falconer abruptly closed the driver’s window of his car, two happy little faces appeared, one at a time, as if being juggled, into his field of vision, tongues once more lolling in their joy at making the acquaintance, once more, of Uncle Tasty-Trousers.

  Flinging the blanket and bowl into the boot of his car, the sergeant caught each of them mid-bounce, and deposited them through the back door of his car, and onto the rear seat. The sheer energy of the little tykes didn’t bode well, for when both men and dogs were out in the open, and Falconer could almost feel the cuffs of his trousers cringe as he followed Carmichael’s battered old Skoda to The Manse.

  His trepidation was, however, unfounded as once given their freedom, the dogs caught sight of Perfect Cadence and, boxing considerably over their weight, size for size, hared off in her direction, in the hopes of a good old-fashioned chase.

  ‘Let them go, Carmichael,’ advised Falconer. ‘The cat will probably take refuge in a tree and, with any luck, they’ll stay at the bottom, barking, until we’ve finished our business here.’

  ‘But what if they get out on to the road and get lost?’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to take me to the gate and use my trousers as bait, won’t you? Leave them. The grounds are huge, and they’d probably get exhausted just getting to the perimeter, given their size.’

  ‘Kerry will kill me if anything happens to them.’

  ‘And Chivers will kill us if anything else happens at this place. Quit worrying and let’s get ourselves inside. The sooner we start searching the place, the sooner you’ll be back to bath them and tuck them up in their little doggy beds for the night. We’ll leave the door open for them, so that when they come back, they’ll be able to get inside. I’m sure someone will field them for us, and let us know they’re there.’

  ‘If you say so, sir, but I’m not happy about it.’

  ‘We can’t be happy about everything we do in life, Sergeant. Sometimes we have to take something on faith, and I’d bet my shirt – or rather my trousers – that those two little tykes will come galloping in to investigate the place if they get bored.’

  You’re probably right, sir. They are very nosy.’

  Once inside, they found Jefferson Grammaticus at his desk, the dramatically large bandage still wrapped round his head, and an accounts book open in front of him.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector, Sergeant. Everyone’s checked out, but I have got home addresses and telephone numbers for you. I’m just having a little tot up to see how much we’ve lost on this opening venture. I think I might have been a bit rash, including drinks in the price. It was a bit like having a shoal of fish to stay, with the amount they put away. But it could be worse. I didn’t expect to make a fortune, and they say that no publicity is bad publicity, don’t they?’

  ‘I don’t imagine that would extend to going away for the weekend and coming home in a coffin, do you, sir?’

  ‘No, maybe you’re right, but there must be a positive spin I can put on that. I just haven’t thought of it yet, but give me time. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I have a warrant to search the premises. We haven’t yet located the knife, or the other sharp implement used to assist Mr Newberry down the stairs, and I have a feeling that they must still be here.’

  ‘They could be in the river, for all any of us knows, but be my guest. I have nothing to hide.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that was strictly accurate, Mr Grammaticus, but let’s bide our time on that one until we’ve been through this place with a fine-toothed comb. Murderers, in my experience, usually overlook some trivial detail, and that’s what we’ll be looking for today – something that’s inconsistent with its position, or difficult to explain away.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you’d direct us to the staff bedrooms, and ask the staff to gather in their sitting room, so that I can speak to them later.’

  ‘Their usual bedrooms are on the second floor, but our housekeeper has had a room on the guest floor for the last couple of nights. It was a way of vetting the rooms from an inside point of view, so you’ll find that room to your right as you get to the top of the first staircase – it’s number six, the dove grey room. The rest of them are up the other staircase, and turn to the right. That’s the only side of the building that’s been renovated, so far, for staff occupation. The left hand side is still in an uninhabitable state, being full of old furniture that may come in handy someday, pots of paint, and a load of old junk that was there when we bought the place, and that we haven’t had the chance to sift through yet. Everything’s covered in dust, and the whole place was hung with cobwebs the last time I went up there, so I’ll probably have to give you a good brushing down if you spend any time up there.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning, Mr Grammaticus. We’ll get on with it then, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘No problem.’

  II

  ‘We’ll get the housekeeper’s room on the first floor out of the way, first. That way we can concentrate on the upper floor,’ declared Falconer, pointing, quite unnecessarily, at the door of number six, as they got to the top of the stairs. ‘I really don’t like that woman – I can’t explain why – but she gives me the creeps, and I don’t fancy her coming across us riffling through her things.’

  ‘She is a bit spooky, isn’t she?’ replied Carmichael. ‘I think it’s that old-fashioned dress she wears, with that weird old chain that hangs from her waist. It’s got more stuff on it than a Christmas tree. It’s like a great clanking old charm bracelet, but with none of the charm.’

  ‘Damned good description,’ Falconer agreed, briefly remembering how it had appeared in his dream the previous night. ‘And as I just said, she gives me the willies, too.’

  The bedroom was as tidy as one that had never known human habitation, and it took them a very short time to search it. All that the wardrobe contained was a spare black dress of the same rustling material as the one the woman wore for her duties, and the chest of drawers was the possessor of only a pair of knickers and a pair of stockings. There were no
toiletries in the bathroom, and nothing under the bed, under the mattress, or behind any of the furniture. There were no rugs (not even some of the sinister little furry ones) under which to conceal incriminating letters, and no loose floorboards under which could have been hidden a weapon of any sort, and they soon mounted the smaller stairs to the second floor.

  Having decided to start with Chastity Chamberlain’s room, and work their way round to the housekeeper’s normal abode, they entered the young woman’s room without holding out too much hope, but as Carmichael crossed from the bed to the dressing table, Falconer bade him stop.

  ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘That floorboard you just trod on. It made a slight clunk, as you put your foot on it. Reach down and see if it’s loose, will you? Many a piece of incriminating evidence has been hidden under a floorboard, before now.’

  ‘You’re right, sir. And just look what a pretty little magpie’s nest we’ve got here, then.’

  Falconer joined him on his knees on the floor, and in the space now exposed to daylight were all sorts of little goodies. ‘Just look at this: a brooch, a stick pin, a silver ring, a lipstick, a tiny bottle of perfume, a pair of earrings, a silver bookmark: all small, and likely to be overlooked by their owners when packing, and possibly not missed for quite some time. It’s a clever little haul, and I think we’ll need to have words with this young lady when we’ve finished.’

  As they scrambled to their feet, a voice was discernible, calling for their attention. ‘That sounds like Grammaticus, sir. I wonder if he wants to tell us anything.’

  ‘It sounds more like he’s in a bit of a temper, to me. Come on, we’d better go and see what he wants.’

  Jefferson was indeed trying to attract their attention, and as they bustled down the stairs, it became obvious that he really was rather out of sorts about something.