Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5)

by Andrea Frazer

  Without prompting, she offered them an explanation of sorts. ‘It’s been worse being here than in prison. He’s used our pasts against all of us, you know. When he first contacted me, after such a long time, I was living in a bed and breakfast, and surviving on benefits.

  ‘Then he came along, out of the blue, and offered me a job as a housekeeper, my own quarters – board and lodging and a wage. It seemed like a dream come true, but he made us all train, seven days a week, and get fitted for those awful uniforms – except for his precious partners, of course. No thank you, I’m perfectly all right standing, and here is as good as anywhere else,’ she commented, when Falconer asked her if she would like to go somewhere else; somewhere where she could sit down.

  ‘Then, when I saw my room,’ she continued, ‘it was just an unloved old attic room, and he said there would be no days off until we were open and in profit, and then it would only be two afternoons a week. And as for the wage! It was more like pocket money – an absolute pittance. It’s no fun being at someone’s beck and call all day every day, and after a while I just saw red.’

  Falconer signalled for Carmichael to keep still, and not say a word, in case he interrupted the flow. The dogs had slumped into an exhausted heap, and were snoring gently, and not likely to be any further bother.

  ‘It was seeing that man Newberry that really set me off. No doubt you’ve investigated my past, and know what I did, and why I did it. Well, he was a very near identical case. He picked me up at Goodwood Race Course, where I’d gone for a little flutter, worked out what I did, asked me back to his hotel room, and we came to an arrangement. I’d go back with him after each day’s racing, for the duration of the week, and he’d settle up with me then, with a little bonus, if he’d had a bit of luck.

  ‘What a stupid bitch I was! Once bitten, twice shy, didn’t seem to be in my vocabulary. So there I was, on the last day of the races, scanning the faces of the crowd, and looking everywhere, but I couldn’t find him. Right after the races were over, I went back to his hotel, thinking maybe he was waiting for me there. Of course he wasn’t, the skunk. He’d checked out the night before, and there I was, with a whole week wasted, and not a penny piece to show for it. I decided there and then that, if I ever saw him again, I’d give him what for.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to tell your story down at the Station, with a solicitor present?’

  ‘What’s the point? I’m in the frame, and I can’t see any way out of it, so I might as well come clean.’

  ‘Beatrix Ironmonger, aka Ursula Freebody,’ – that made her look up! – ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Jocelyn Freeman, Frederick Newberry, and Nigel Cooper.’

  ‘Who the hell is Nigel Cooper?’ she asked, clearly puzzled.

  ‘That was Chef’s real name,’ Falconer informed her.

  ‘But Chef was French,’ she retorted, sounding quite sure of her ground on this one.

  ‘Chef was no more French than you or I. He was just a damned good kidder. Now, let’s get on with this. Anything you say will be taken down …’

  The official caution rolled on, followed its usual course, and she accompanied them downstairs without further resistance.

  The police van had arrived, and they passed her gratefully into the custody of PC Green and PC Starr, returning to the hotel to complete their business there with relief. Both headed unerringly to the staff sitting room, where they arrested Chastity Chamberlain on suspicion of theft, and Steve Grieve with the possession of skunk cannabis, which had been of a sufficient quantity for them to suspect he was intending to deal. Both looked as shocked as Beatrix had done when their real names had been used, and, realising the gaff had been blown, Chastity came without a murmur.

  Steve, however, claimed that he only had so much ‘grass’ because he was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, and had no chance of getting his hands on any more for some considerable time. He’d had to stock up, he pleaded, as he was stuck here for God knows how long, and was only making sure that he didn’t run out.

  Falconer actually believed his story, and when all the circumstances were explained to those with the real power, they would probably let him go with a caution. The laws on drug use and possession were somewhat less stringent than they had been in the past, and there was little else they could do with him, except, maybe, confiscate his stash, and he was glad he wouldn’t be there when that happened. Steve would no doubt go ‘mental’.

  These other two bodies also now transferred to the van, Falconer banged on the side to send it on its way to Market Darley, where he would catch up with it later.

  ‘Is that it, sir?’

  ‘Not quite. Remember I said I wanted to have a word with that smug, supercilious, pompous old sod, Grammaticus? Well, I’m going to do it now, and if you want to learn the significance of the little black book, you’d better come with me.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday 21st June, – a little later

  Grammaticus was back in his office, and sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, not so much from the pain from his head wound, as at the thought that he had lost another three members of staff, and that left him with only a sous chef and a gardener and one partner. And without his handy reference guide to future staff, he was completely stumped. He was bemoaning the fact that he had never felt the need to make a copy, when Falconer knocked sharply on the door, and the two detectives entered, and sat without invitation.

  Lifting his head, he immediately brightened up, asking, ‘Have you found my little black book?’

  ‘Not all of it, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean, not all of it? Either you’ve found it or you haven’t.’

  ‘We have found the charred remains of what seems to have been a black-covered, pocket-sized book in the grate of the housekeeper’s room on the second floor, and assume that this is the book to which you are referring.’

  ‘The bitch! The absolute bitch! And after all I’ve done for her!’

  ‘I think she’s done you a favour,’ Falconer stated baldly.

  ‘Done me a favour? If you only knew what I had in that book …’

  ‘Oh, I think I’ve worked that one out, sir, and finding it would have been more of a curse than anything else, especially if I’d been dishonest and devious enough to read it, don’t you?’

  Jefferson’s genial smile slid from his face, as did the colour from his cheeks, and even the flesh under his beard paled to a chalky white. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he blustered, but there was a catch in his voice, and a few buds of perspiration blossomed on his forehead.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that book contained the names, addresses, and contact numbers of quite of few of your former clients who are finding life rather tough at the moment, due to their criminal records. Am I correct?’

  Grammaticus sank down deeper in his chair as he listened, his eyes focused about three feet to the inspector’s left, no attempt made at eye contact.

  Falconer continued. ‘I think you used some of these contacts, initially, to staff your hotel. They were, no doubt, living in dismal conditions and receiving benefits. I surmise that you offered them some basic training, followed by a job and accommodation. The only conditions were that they worked for an absolute pittance – I’d be willing to bet that there isn’t a member of staff here who wouldn’t have been overjoyed to receive the minimum wage, and consider it a considerable boost to their salaries – and that they changed their names.’

  ‘You can’t prove any of this!’ challenged Jefferson, now slightly bolder and not quite so much on the defensive. ‘This is just speculation on your part. You’ve got no evidence to back that up.’

  ‘I have not, Mr Grammaticus, but I do have the opportunity to interview three members of your staff about a number of incidents that occurred in this hotel, and no doubt they will be extremely anxious to provide me with any information they can to defend their own positions. No doubt the
y will explain your little naming game to me with no coercion whatsoever.’

  ‘Oh, what the hell! I’ll tell you. You’ve obviously checked the records to see what their original crimes were. Steve Grieve and Dwayne Mortte I named to remind them of what they had done, every time their surnames were used – I just took a bit of a liberty with the spelling of that last one. Chastity Chamberlain’s husband beat her because she was sleeping around, so Chastity seemed a particularly apt moniker, especially as she did away with her old man actually in their bedroom. And I got a bit Dickensian with Beatrix. I made her ‘wear the chain she forged in life’, as did Marley’s ghost, and that lady is more guilty than any police records show. When I met her for the first time, I insisted that she shouldn’t keep any secrets from me, and she was younger then, and more trusting than she is now. She confided in me that she had pushed her father under the wheels of a bus, then, two years later, she had pushed her mother down the stairs. And when that didn’t kill her, she dragged her back to the top of the staircase, and pushed her down it again, just to make sure. There were shades of Lizzie Borden there, and I’d never have trusted her with an axe, of that I can assure you.

  ‘Even taking into account her miserable home life, which consisted mainly of beatings and alcoholic rages, there was no need to resort to such desperate measures, but she’s very independent, and likes to sort out her own problems. And so I collected all the little silver objets, and I hung them from that chain for her, so that she, too, could be reminded of her past.

  ‘And Chef? He just liked, now and again, to dress up in ladies’ clothing, so I thought I’d give him a little reminder of this, whenever anyone used his new name. All of this stuff kept them bound to me, but it wasn’t a prison. I told them that if they made a reputation for themselves in their allotted jobs, I would release them from their contracts.’

  ‘Contracts that existed only in your head, Grammaticus, for with those terms and conditions they would never have stood up in court; in fact, they would have put you in a very serious position with regards to their personal freedom. When I leave here, I want you to know that I’ve got your number, and I shall be keeping my eye on you in the future. You can’t just use people like slaves and expect them to be grateful. Look at what employing Mrs Ironmonger did for your little business venture. Not only did she make an attempt on your life, but she killed two members of staff and a guest. How’s that going to look when you’re trying to entice guests to stay here?’

  Grammaticus was up and out of his chair in a trice, shouting, ‘That’s it! That’s it! I’ll not advertise The Manse, I’ll advertise ‘Murder at The Manse’. Percy can alter the script so that we don’t need to hire any fancy costumes. We’ll still do a murder mystery dinner of course, but we’ll get a clairvoyant in as well, and get her to sit in the exact places that the murders took place, and see if we can’t work up a bit of a spooky atmosphere. We can use the attics for a game of ‘hunt the murder weapon’. A few more buckets of dust up there, some spray-on cobwebs and a sound system that can produce creaking floorboards and doors, and the odd moan, and we shall have a real hit on our hands. I must speak to Percy. She should be home by now. And I know Jerome will agree to come in on it. With his brother’s death, we each inherit a fifty per cent share of his part of the business, and he’s not as soft-hearted as his brother was. Look at the way he tackled that foul old northerner over that piece of land. Yes, he’ll be up for it, no problem.’

  ‘Before we leave, did you have any trouble with your outgoing guests?’

  ‘Them! They all demanded a full refund, of course, but I told them to claim on their holiday insurance, and managed to fob them off with a voucher for a fifty per cent discount for the next event; which they will find means absolutely nothing, as the full price is twice the discounted one, so they’ll pay exactly what they paid for this weekend. No, I don’t think I’ll be seeing any of those characters again. It’s onwards and upwards for this place, from now on. I’ll have to get weaving, but let me see you out first,’ he said, hustling towards the door of his office.

  As they reached the front door, they met Alison Meercroft, standing just inside it, a costume over one arm, and a look of absolute fury on her face. ‘Don’t you dare try to avoid me, Jefferson Grammaticus. There’s no point whatsoever slipping back into your office, because I’ve already seen you. I want a word with you about this costume the police have kindly released to me. Not only are there tears on the lace, where the gentleman fell down the stairs, but there are two – I repeat, two – holes in the seat of the trousers, and it’s going to cost me to have that little lot put right. What do you propose to do about the damage? We have a contract!’

  Pausing on the top step, Falconer and Carmichael shamelessly eavesdropped.

  ‘I think that, if you take the trouble to look at the terms and conditions of our contract, you’ll find that the hotel will only cover repairs or cleaning if the bill exceeds two hundred and fifty pounds. That is the specified amount of excess.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds? How did you get that one past me, you bastard?’

  ‘And as for any future events, again, in the terms and conditions, can be found a clause that allows me to go elsewhere to satisfy my needs, if the goods you offer don’t satisfy the dress code for the event, and I shall make sure that yours don’t.’

  ‘You devious, swindling bastard! How dare you treat me like this!’

  ‘It’s only business, dear lady. Don’t get so worked up about it. Now let me …’

  But neither Falconer nor Carmichael waited to hear how he was going to talk his way out of this one. The man was as slippery as an eel, and obviously had no conscience whatsoever. They had three bodies waiting for them, and there were interviews to be done and reports to write.

  ‘That makes my flesh crawl, now we know exactly where he was coming from,’ growled Falconer, getting in to the car.

  ‘He’s definitely evil, sir, and he doesn’t have any conscience at all. How can he live with himself?’

  ‘I don’t know, but if he takes one tiny step out of line in the future, I’m going to have him nicked so fast, his feet won’t touch the ground. And I’ll make it stick, no matter what it takes.’

  As the car headed down the drive for the last time, they both took what they hoped was a final look at the impeccable grounds, and from the seat on a ride-on lawnmower, Henry Buckle raised a hand in a lazy wave. In his opinion, given the current renovated state of The Manse, business would go on here. It might go on with Mr G in charge, or it might have new owners with quite a different business venture, but one thing was for certain – the lawns would still need to be mowed, and the weeding done. With any luck, he’d see his days out working in the grounds of this place, and that didn’t seem too bad to him, when he considered the size of his old age pension. He was a perfectly contented man, and he intended to maintain the status quo for as long as possible.

  Henry waved, too, to Alison Meercroft, who shot out of the double doors like a cork out of a bottle, turning to shout something and wave her fist, before she got into her vehicle and sped away with an angry squeal of tyres. She didn’t look best pleased, he thought, but that was Mr G’s business, and nothing to do with him.

  Back in his office once more, and lowering himself into his chair, Grammaticus’ phone rang, causing his gentle descent into a seated position so as not to joggle his injured head, to end in an uncontrolled ‘flumph’. ‘Damn that bloody phone!’ he expostulated, but answering it anyway. ‘The Manse, Jefferson Grammaticus speaking. How may I help you?’

  A feminine voice that sounded just a tiny bit familiar answered, ‘Hello, Mr Grammaticus. My name is Penny Trussler. I’m a freelance journalist, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I did an article on the extraordinary events that have occurred recently at your fabulous new hotel? An interview with you should provide me with all I need to produce a story of real public interest. What do you say?’

  Publicity! Just what he
needed to drum up business, and the perfect start to the advertising campaign for his new ideas. ‘I should be delighted to oblige, Penny. Shall we say tomorrow, at three o’clock? That will give us adequate time for afternoon tea a little later.’ Mr Smooth was on the case.

  ‘That would be most convenient, sir. I shall look forward to it very much. Until tomorrow.’

  ‘Until then,’ confirmed Jefferson, putting the phone down and yelling, ‘Yes!’ Life was good!

  As Penny Trussler ended the call, she, too, yelled, ‘Yes!’ She knew the man would lap up the publicity, and that he hadn’t yet sussed out who she was. She’d been shadowing ‘Chef’ since he’d been released, and had used the guise of a Frenchwoman to try to get to know him, already aware that she was safe, as he was English right through, like a stick of rock. And she already had some very useful notes on The Manse from her visits there in the guise of Alison Meercroft’s assistant.

  Now she had the opportunity of access to Grammaticus himself. If she lowered her voice a little tomorrow, and brushed her hair differently, maybe wearing sunglasses and different make-up, she’d have him done up like a kipper before he realised what was happening, and all her previous investigations would not have been in vain. She could see the headlines now – Manager of Hotel of Death Admits he Employed Murderers. Life was good!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday 21st June, – afternoon segues into evening

  I

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in the recording of interviews with the three people they had removed from the Manse ‘on suspicion’. Falconer asked Carmichael and Starr to deal with Steve Grieve and Chastity Chamberlain, while he tackled Beatrix Ironmonger, with Merv Green in attendance. Aware of his apprehensions about the lady, Falconer couldn’t help himself, when he chose the tall well-muscled frame of Green to stand in with him.