Death in High Circles (The Falconer Files Book 10)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘How on earth did you come across that little gem?’

  ‘Stella’s been out shopping on the parade, on the hunt for gossip. A woman’s got a nose for that sort of thing that simply eludes us men. She also found out that our Mr Dixon has been involved in secret trysts with a mysterious unknown woman.’

  ‘The little tinker! Anything else?’

  ‘There’s word abroad that the Maitlands aren’t kosher. Oh, and the thug that attacked Ferdie Schmidt has been identified.’

  ‘And she found out all of this, since breakfast?’

  ‘Sure did. She’s a fast worker, and no mistake.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll be over this afternoon to talk to her. Perhaps she can point me in the right direction for Shergar and Lord Lucan while she’s at it.’

  ‘Nothing would surprise me, Harry boy. Just give her a tinkle. I don’t think she’s planning on any more detective work, but you’d better just check.’

  ‘Tell her not to get involved. She may think it’s fun, but I feel there’s real danger lurking somewhere in that village. There’s more to come; I can feel it in my bones, and I’d hate for anything to happen to her, not least because you’d kill me if it did.’

  ‘Give her a ring, make a date, then give her a rocket, with my blessing.’ Doc Christmas ended the call with a smile in his voice.

  Calling Carmichael abruptly to heel, like a dog that needed careful watching, they made their way downstairs to the ground floor of the station, only for Falconer to stop dead on the bottom step, causing Carmichael to bump into him. ‘Pay attention, Sergeant. You nearly had me over there!’

  ‘I didn’t know you were going to stop. It’s not as if you have brake-lights, you know. Anyway, why have you stopped?’

  ‘Shh! I’ve just seen Dr Dubois.’ Hortense Dubois, known as Honey, was a psychiatric consultant for the police, and Falconer had fallen in lust with her flawless coffee-coloured skin, neat corn-rows of hair, and her hypnotic, amber eyes. This was an opportunity to ‘accidentally’ bump into her that was irresistible.

  ‘You slip out the back way. I’m just going to glide up to the front desk and engage her in casual conversation.’

  Carmichael disappeared, sighing at Falconer’s shyness and inability to take the bull by the horns, and just sweep her off her feet; but knowing the inspector, he’d have to take an inventory of the whole broom cupboard before he could even choose the right broom.

  Falconer was more concerned, with his target now in view, with making a good impression, as he ran a hand over his hair and buffed the toes of his shoes on the back of his trouser legs. He then sauntered, in a mock-nonchalant fashion, in her direction and hailed her as if he had only just espied her.

  ‘Good day to you, Dr Dubois. What brings you to this uncivilised neck of the woods?’

  ‘Oh, Harry, it’s you. Now, didn’t I tell you to call me Honey? How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, if busy, so no change there then,’ As he answered, he noticed that she looked rather down in the mouth, and that her eyes were tired. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘So-so. Life can’t be all beer and skittles, can it?’

  ‘You look as if life’s not been terribly good to you lately,’ Falconer stated, with more honesty than tact.

  ‘I am a little down. I could do with a friend to talk things through with.’

  ‘One friend, reporting for duty, and ready for action. How do you fancy a bite to eat in that little Italian round the back of the station? I’ve got to go out and conduct some interviews this afternoon, but I could meet you there about half past six?’ He was chancing his arm, but maybe it would be worth it.

  ‘Actually, I’d love to. I’ll see you there, but make it seven. I’ve got a meeting that won’t finish till after six, and I’d like to get out of my work clothes first.’ Now, there was an image to conjure with! Falconer wiped the scene from his mind, and replied,

  ‘It’s a date, then.’

  As she turned her attention back to the reception desk, Falconer left the building, then proceeded to skip all the way through the car park to where he had left his Boxster that morning, drawing a look of frank disbelief from Carmichael.

  ‘Did you just win the lottery, sir?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Yes; in a way I did. Guess who’s got a date with Dr Honey Dubois this evening?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! Fortune favours the brave,’ replied Falconer with an ear-to-ear grin, with not a thought given to her less-than-cheerful mood.

  Then his brow creased in disapproval as he stared at Carmichael’s face in disbelief. ‘Have you had that filthy thing through your nose all day?’ he asked, wrinkling his own nose in disgust. Carmichael seemed to have acquired a nose-ring, and this, after discussing the possibility of having a tattoo.

  ‘And what if I have?’ Carmichael replied belligerently. ‘After all, it’s my nose, and none of your business what I do to my own body.’

  ‘And what sort of impression is that going to make on members of the public with whom you come into contact?’ Falconer was really furious with his partner.

  Carmichael appeared to cough into his hand, after which he revealed his nose to be ring-free. ‘Wind-up, sir; just a wind-up. I borrowed it from Kerry just to see how you’d react to it.’

  ‘Tell Kerry that I nearly had a coronary, to think that you’d be parading yourself in public with that abomination adorning your face. I shall be having words with her. She’s evidently worked out how gullible I can be,’ he retorted, his face suddenly breaking out into a smile as he remembered what awaited him that evening.

  In Fallow Fold, a quick visit to Stella Christmas confirmed what had already been disclosed, with a lightning verbal trip round the shops that had constituted her morning’s activities. The fact that she had been so successful in her newsgathering was no skin off the inspector’s nose, as it enhanced his understanding of the people he was interested in, and meant that he could get on with finding out what the hell was going on in this pretty little place.

  Moving on to Rose Tree Cottage, they found Ferdie Schmidt in subdued mood, with a dressing still on the back of his head, to cover his stitches, and after the preliminary niceties, he announced in a doleful voice, ‘I know who it was who hit me.’

  ‘Has your memory returned, sir?’ asked Falconer, as Ferdie had had no memory of what had happened to him from going outside for his lone vigil, to waking up in hospital.

  ‘I remember the voice, and what it said. I never saw who did it, but what I heard has come back to me, and it makes me sad.’

  ‘What did it say, Herr Schmidt?’ Falconer was nothing if not punctilious in his mode of address.

  ‘It was a racist remark which I don’t understand. Do I have to repeat it?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir.’

  ‘He said, “That’s for my daddy, you filthy Kraut!” I do not even know this man’s father. Why should he single me out for a punishment for something I have not done?’

  Falconer cringed inwardly at the racist hatred in the remark, then asked, ‘Whose voice was it, sir?’

  ‘That American man they call Duke, although he does not appear to be very aristocratic to my eyes.’

  ‘Do you want to press charges, sir?’

  ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble here. I will not press charges, but I think Heidi and I will look for another home. I cannot feel comfortable when there are feelings like that about.’

  Carmichael sighed as he made a note of this. He found any sort of bigotry incomprehensible. We were all the same under the skin, and religion, colour, or nationality made no difference to that. That an American could act in such a foolhardy way towards a person who had not been born when the last war ended shocked him, and he felt anger growing inside him.

  ‘Thank you for your generosity of spirit, Herr Schmidt. I’ll see what I can do about scaring the living daylights out of him, with a caution down at the station, and at least you’ve helped us to solve one of the li
ttle mysteries that are occurring in this village. We’ll have a word with him about wanton vandalism as well.’

  ‘And don’t move away because of that ignoramus, Mr Schmidt. You’re settled here and part of the community. Don’t let his ignorance and prejudice drive you away.’ Carmichael felt he had to add something. These two, from their previous questioning, belonged to the village more than one surly American who joined in nothing. Let him move, if anyone was going to.

  When Madison Zuckerman opened the door to Falconer and Carmichael’s summons, her face drained of colour when she recognised they were plain-clothes policemen. ‘Come in,’ she hissed, ‘before anyone sees you,’ and she grabbed them, each by an arm, and pulled them through the doorway.

  ‘I know why you’re here. Duke told me.’ Her husband had finally confessed to what he had done, when her anxiety grew to a level that even he could not ignore, and his growing sense of guilt had done the rest. ‘Well, you won’t find him. He’s flown back to the States and, if necessary, he’ll have to stay there as a fugitive, rather than come back here and face arrest, and perhaps even prison.’

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Mrs Zuckerman. This is Britain, not the United States. We are well aware of what your husband has done, which amounts to common assault and actual bodily harm, but we’ve just spoken to his victim. Herr Schmidt remembers what your husband yelled before hitting him, and I must say I’m disgusted at the sentiments.

  ‘However, the gentleman involved has, very magnanimously in my opinion, declined to press charges. When you speak to your racist husband, perhaps you could tell him that his victim is a great deal more civilised in his approach to the matter, and does not wish to seek revenge via the process of law.’

  That was it for Madison, and she broke down into sobs, subsiding into a large deep-cushioned sofa with her head in her hands. ‘His daddy was involved in the D-Day landings, and he was badly injured. In the end, he lost a leg, and was never able to work again at his old job, which was as a builder,’ she explained through her weeping.

  ‘He had to take whatever he could, working on factory lines and stuff like that. He was no intellectual, and could never have done office work. From then onwards, he was a very bitter man, and he passed that bitterness on to his son. Duke was indoctrinated from a very early age. It was like it was bred in the bone with him.

  ‘All I can do is apologise with all my heart. As for Duke, he’s gonna have to decide whether he’s coming back, now I can tell him he won’t be arrested at the airport. I hope he’ll seek some psychiatric help before he returns, and tries to come to terms that it was his father who was injured by someone he never knew.

  ‘You can’t direct your hatred against someone who wasn’t even born when something dreadful happened. Those were other people, and other times, and we need to live in the here and now, and try to be better people than those who went before us.

  ‘I didn’t realise he still felt that strongly about it, but it must be defused. You leave it with me, and I’ll let him know, in no uncertain terms, why what he did was unforgivable. I mean, how would he feel if a person of Vietnamese or Korean origin suddenly attacked him just because he was American? Duke never served in the army. He has flat feet. Oh, I’m beginning to ramble. Please forgive me, but the strain of the last few days has taken its toll.’

  ‘You tell Duke that he can come back, but that one of my superior officers will be issuing him with a police caution. If he steps out of line again, he won’t be treated so lightly, and it’s only due to the generous decision of Herr Schmidt that he won’t be appearing in court on a very serious charge. Ring me when he returns.’

  Back in the car, Carmichael looked at Falconer with a new respect. ‘Blimey, sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘You had me feeling guilty and worried for a moment, there. That wasn’t ’alf bad! Firm, but fair.’

  ‘I only hope Duke doesn’t come looking for me when he gets back.’

  ‘Why’s that, sir?’

  ‘He’s huge! I wouldn’t stand a chance!’

  When Falconer returned home, he was pleased to note that his home appeared to be, at last, cat proof, and he sang in the shower at the sheer joy of enjoying Honey’s company for a whole evening. He had it all planned out.

  First, he’d entertain her with some little anecdotes about the more bizarre and amusing incidents that he had experienced in his time in the force, maybe he’d even cover her hand with his on the table.

  Then he’d take her home for coffee, put on some seductive music in the background, and see if he couldn’t live up to the mood of the music. Tonight would be a landmark in his life, if all went according to plan, and who knew what it might lead to?

  He dressed with extraordinary care, ensuring that everything he wore, right down to cufflinks and tiepin, were coordinated. He had splashed a citrus-based cologne on after his shower and felt that he looked, and smelled, the best that he could for their rendezvous.

  He had no trouble finding a parking space, and put this down as a good omen for what was to come later, arriving at the restaurant door at exactly the appointed hour, to find Honey already there, ensconced at a corner table, away from the hurly-burly of the window tables.

  As he approached, his mind was taken up with running through his Italian pronunciation, so that he should make a good job of ordering for them, and he didn’t notice that she wore a worried frown, and was merely dressed in clean jeans and a white T-shirt, seeming preoccupied with her own thoughts.

  ‘Good evening, Honey,’ he greeted her, and was surprised to find her reaction to his arrival slow.

  ‘Oh, hello there. I didn’t notice you come in. I was lost in my own thoughts, but now you’re here, I’m sure you can make me feel better.’

  A woman would have noticed an alarm bell ringing in, not only what she said, but the way in which she said it, but Falconer was male, and his antennae were not sensitive enough for such subtleties. ‘Have you ordered a drink, yet?’ he asked brightly.

  ‘No, I thought I’d wait for you. I’ll have a large red wine.’

  Calling for a waiter, her date ordered her drink and a glass of mineral water for himself, and obtained copies of the menu.

  She was very quiet throughout the first course, and it was only when she was on her second glass of red wine that she was bold enough to ask if she could come back to his for coffee afterwards. He, of course, agreed with alacrity, but something wasn’t right. Her eyes were sad and she looked, somehow, forlorn in a way that tugged at his heart-strings.

  ‘There’s something bothering you, isn’t there?’ he asked, finally tuning-in to her mood.

  ‘You’re right about that, and I need someone to talk to that I can trust.’

  ‘Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything,’ announced Falconer, with no idea how wrong he could be.

  She sat in silence for a while, while the main course was served, crumbling a piece of bread on to her napkin, and it was only then, that he noticed she had hardly touched her first course.

  ‘Come on,’ he coaxed her. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved.’

  ‘Look, I won’t beat about the bush,’ she started, as if she had suddenly made the decision to get this over with, whatever ‘this’ was.

  ‘I went back to the Caribbean for the New Year to see family I hadn’t seen in a long time. I had some leave due, and I fancied a bit of winter sunshine to cheer me up.’

  ‘Quite natural, I would have thought,’ commented Falconer, but was immediately silenced as Honey held up a hand. ‘I need to tell this without interruption, because it’s not something I’m proud of, and I’m finding it very difficult.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll keep quiet until you’ve finished.’

  ‘While I was out there, I, sort of, met someone. He was a friend of the family, he made me laugh, and I hung around with him a lot.’

  Falconer’s face had fallen, and he felt like he had a large stone in the pit of his stomach. Something told him he was going to learn something abou
t which he’d rather know nothing.

  ‘Anyway, one thing led, inevitably, to another,’ she continued, looking down at her fingers, which were still crumbling bread, her main course sitting untouched, to one side of the table. ‘It was just a bit of a laugh at the time; some silly holiday romance that was just a short-term fling, and that was it.

  ‘Except that it wasn’t. In February, I realised I was pregnant, and I had no idea what to do about it. I couldn’t tell the father. He’d just be furious with me for missing some of my pills. I couldn’t tell my parents, because they’d die of shame. I also didn’t want to be lumbered with a baby when my career was going so well, but I had my religious upbringing to fight against.

  ‘In the end, I took the logical, what I thought was sensible, decision, and had an abortion. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, and now I just feel empty all the time, as if there’s a vital part of my body that’s simply not there any more, and I wonder if my decision was wrong.’

  Falconer felt as if he had been drenched in ice-water. He felt as if his heart would break in two, such is the shock of watching someone one adored from afar, fall from their pedestal upon which you’d placed them, and prove to have feet of clay. What she said had distorted time so much for him, that he felt that worlds had ended and others begun, since she started speaking. Certainly, his own private world would never be the same again. He couldn’t just sit here in silence, though: he had to say something.

  ‘I don’t think I’m really hungry. Shall I get the bill?’ was what came out of his mouth, although he had made no conscious plan to bring the meal to an end so early in the proceedings.

  ‘I think that would be a good idea, then we can go back to your place for that coffee you promised me.’