Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9)

by Andrea Frazer

  Toby jollied her into the sitting room, where a bottle of red sat, already open to breathe, on a fine but, given the size of the room, rather overpowering credenza. It was the only large piece in there, and dominated it, commanding attention as soon as one entered the room.

  ‘Come on in, beautiful lady,’ he welcomed her. ‘Sit yourself down and take a glass of wine with me, and then I shall put a little plan before you for our amusement this fine evening.’

  Gwendolyn shrank inwardly, hoping he was not going to propose that they started a physical relationship. He was OK as a friend, but the thought of being intimate with him disgusted her. Her fears were unfounded, however, for, after handing her wine to her in a – good God! It was a seventeenth-century glass with a gorgeously twisted core running up the middle of the stem. Surely these weren’t for everyday use? He then said, ‘Let me explain to you a rather fun pastime, which we’ll both enjoy.’

  ‘I’m not up for grabs, Toby, if that’s what you think,’ she offered, boldly.

  ‘Heaven forfend, dear lady. No, I merely propose that you should have a look at some of my finer bibelots and give me a rough valuation, then, perhaps, we could go round to your place, and you could show me your current stock of itsy-bitsy beauty. I may be in the market for a bibelot or two: something new to refresh my jaded sensibilities.’

  ‘The tortoiseshell box wasn’t a sufficiently tasty morsel?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, no. It’s a beauty. I just haven’t acquired anything for some time, and thought it was time I treated myself. If I buy from you, I’ll get my purchases at “mates’ rates”, and neither of us has to go out of our way to execute the transactions.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. If I can make sales without having to pack everything up into that horrible little van, I’m all for it. Now, what do you want to show me? I’m happy to have a stab at valuation on anything. It’ll be much easier than having to convince punters, on a windy field, that what I’m asking is fair. They seem to think that I buy everything at a quarter of what I’m trying to sell it for, and feel rooked if they can’t knock the price down substantially.

  ‘They never think of all the time and petrol spent looking for the stuff – it doesn’t just fall into my lap, you know – and they completely ignore the iniquitous amount I’ve had to shell out for the pitch, and the effort of packing up all the stock, and transporting it there, only to then have to make an attractive display of it.’

  ‘Oh, we are a grumpy old bunny this evening. Here,’ he distracted her. ‘Take a look at these Stanhopes I’ve managed to get together. One of them is rather racy. Rare, I’d imagine. Here, I’ve got a loupe for you as well.’ So saying, he handed her a group of ivory, silver, and wooden articles, and removed a jeweller’s loupe from his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘Oh, these are darling, Toby. How long has it taken you to collect them?’ She was instantly enchanted.

  ‘It’s taken quite a while. They seem to be getting rarer, and they have to be within my budget restraints, too. Look at this one,’ he exhorted her, picking one out of the little pile on her lap. ‘Just take a look through that, and tell me what you think.’

  Gwendolyn raised the small object to her eye and looked through it, using the ceiling light to aid her vision. ‘Oh, “what the butler saw”, or what?’ she exclaimed, smiling. ‘That is a rather naughty one, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you’ve got any of those bronze ladies who are outwardly respectable, but when you move a piece of bronze, they’re buck naked underneath?’

  ‘By that chap who spells his name backwards on the naughty ones? No, I’m afraid they’re way beyond my means, but I can lust after them, can’t I?’

  You can lust after anything you like, she thought, as long as it’s not me. There isn’t a fee in the world big enough to persuade me to take a roll in the hay with you.

  An hour later, the wine bottle empty, he suggested they go round to her house, so that he could take a little look over her stock. ‘Not a covetous eye, I assure you, my dear lady; merely a collector’s eye, with a view to purchase.’ How could she refuse him?

  Back at Carpe Diem, Gwendolyn opened another bottle of wine, and brought a few boxes of trinkets for him to inspect, fetching her own loupe from her handbag so that she could point out any particularly fine work to him.

  The first one he opened elicited a crow of delight, as he espied a nest of small boxes. ‘Are they what I think they are?’ he asked, his eyes alight with anticipation.

  ‘You told me what you were interested in, so I got a group together, so that you wouldn’t have to rake through all my packed stock. There may be a few other bits and pieces in the rest of the stuff, but I thought I’d start you off with a bang.’ She finished speaking abruptly and blushed behind his back, hoping he didn’t misinterpret what she had just said.

  Toby, however, was not even aware of her presence, as he began opening boxes and examining their contents, puffing with delight at some of the tie and lapel pins she had offered for his inspection. ‘I can see already that you are going to relieve me of some more of my precious stash of cash,’ he said, but he said it with a smile, and the glint in his eye of the true collector.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a stash,’ she replied. ‘You’re always pleading poverty.’

  ‘That’s because I only have money for pretty things. As far as anything else is concerned, I’m flat broke. If I were to let it fritter away on things that weren’t important to me, I wouldn’t be able to view this little treasure box with the certainty that I can make some of these exquisite objects mine.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ commented Gwen, the glint of profit shining in her eyes. ‘Any interest in seals or watch fobs?’

  ‘Bring ’em on, my girl. Bring ’em on. I say, why don’t you come round for afternoon tea tomorrow? My collection extends well beyond what you’ve seen. The sitting room’s not even a quarter of what I’ve got. Yes, that’s the ticket. Come for tea; daylight hours, you see, so that you know I don’t have any lecherous tendencies towards you. Three o’clock for three-thirty all right?’

  ‘Done, you charmer. I’d be really interested to know what else you’ve got tucked away. It’ll give me a better chance of finding things that suit your tastes when I’m out buying,’ replied Gwendolyn, realising that she had an enthusiastic customer in Toby.

  Market Darley

  In the hospital, now on a general ward, Roberts tried to find a comfortable position, from which to inspect what had just been delivered to him. Failing in this respect, he sought the least uncomfortable one, for his bruises were really beginning to give him some pain now, and his head still throbbed where it was stitched under its dressing.

  On the bed in front of him was a small pile of papers, the sum total of the notes on the case so far. He’d asked to use the ward phone earlier, and had called Bob Bryant, to see if Bob would print out everything on the case so far and have it dropped round to him by a patrol car, so that he could go through the notes and statements to see if anything jumped out at him.

  He was, naturally, frustrated at being injured again so soon after he had returned to duty, and thought this mental exercise would aid in making him feel a little more connected, and not excluded by this unexpected return to a hospital bed.

  First, he reread the notes of his own interviews, refreshing his memory of the characters he had spoken to, then moved on to those spoken to by Falconer and Carmichael, and his interest was pricked by the circumstances of the two families spoken to, the Yaxleys and the Haygarths.

  Both families were in dire straits, financially: Mrs Yaxley because of the sudden departure of her husband from the marital home, the Haygarths because their business was in the process of falling victim to the current economic climate. The acquisition of a large sum of money would be a godsend for either household, and the tensions within those households might be enough to create a mood of reckless abandon.

  Neither family, however, seemed likely to have underworld connections that could produc
e a fence capable of shifting such identifiable objects. Actually, that applied to everyone who had been interviewed and, although he had read the notes of those with some sort of form, he still couldn’t see a connection between the two deaths. The only really shady character in the village was Colin Twentymen, who conveniently lived next door to the second murder victim.

  The only conclusion he could come to was that Twelvetrees had committed murder number one for the contents of the safe. Maybe Twentymen had smelt a rat, gained access to his neighbour’s house, and confronted him, and then seen him off, perhaps after a furious argument, before realising that he couldn’t call the police about finding the jewels, because that would put him in the frame for what he had just done . Roberts would have to discuss that one with the inspector when he came in to visit next, he thought, as his eyes slid closed, and he slid off the cliff of consciousness down the slope to sleep. Being hit by a car left one uncommonly tired, it seemed.

  Shepford St Bernard

  Krystal Yaxley knocked on the door of Ace of Cups with rather less trepidation than she had on the day of her tarot reading. That day, she had returned home considerably spooked after what had happened with the turning over of the last three cards, but she had spoken with Wanda Warwick on the phone since then, and felt much more comfortable returning to the cottage than she would have expected.

  Wanda, also feeling very disturbed by how things had turned out on Saturday afternoon, had explained it to herself with the theory that the cards were as they were because of someone on the other side, trying to warn her that something tragic was about to happen in the vicinity. This, she was quite comfortable with, and was able not to dwell on it anymore.

  She was also used to calling on Bonnie Fletcher a couple of times a week. Bonnie was the only friend she had managed to make so far in the village, and Bonnie had simply not been around. With a vague idea that she ought to say something to somebody about that, she had decided to ring Krystal Yaxley, and extend the hand of friendship.

  She had had one of her ‘feelings’ that they would get on, and, even if they didn’t, it would while away an evening, while she waited for Bonnie to return from wherever she may have gone. As Krystal used the door-knocker, she was straight up on her feet to answer the summons. Company at last! She really must get out more.

  Tonight she was wearing almost normal clothes, in various shades of purple, and received an approving glance from her visitor when she let her in. She wore none of her symbolic dangling, jingling jewellery, and had a bottle of white wine waiting in a cooler beside two glasses. On the table beside it sat a bowl of peanuts and another of pretzels.

  When Krystal sat down she felt almost at home, as if they had had a baptism of fire together which had bonded them. She had not been long in the village, and she, too, thought she might have found a friend at last.

  By the second bottle of wine they were chatting away as if they had known one another for years, and it was Wanda who brought up the topic of murder for discussion. ‘Who do you think has been bumping off our neighbours?’ she asked, apropos of nothing, startling Krystal slightly.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t really know anyone well round here, but that Asquith woman from Coopers Lane is a nasty piece of work. I had a run-in with her in the shop one day about who was next in the queue, and I wouldn’t put anything past her, the way she spoke to me.’

  ‘She’s a spiteful old gossip,’ agreed Wanda, ‘and she did her best to get into Lettice’s good books, in the hope that the old dear would leave her something when she passed over.’

  ‘Was Miss Keighley-Armstrong naïve enough to fall for that?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Wanda reassured her new friend. ‘She was a shrewd old biddy who had everybody’s number. She knew exactly what our Maudie was up to, and she knew she had a spiteful, wicked tongue. I’d have thought Miss K-A would rather have stuck pins in her eyes than leave that old bitch anything.’

  ‘Who were her friends?’ asked Krystal, genuinely curious.

  ‘She got on like a house on fire with the Bingham woman, but then she’d known her for donkey’s years. She came round to Rev. Florrie very quickly as well, after hating her like poison when she first took over the parish.’

  ‘What about that woman dealer, and her neighbour, the collector. I heard tell the old lady had some fine pieces of furniture. Did she have anything to do with those two?’

  ‘Pass your glass. You’re empty again, and so am I,’ replied Wanda, reaching for the last of the second bottle. ‘I do believe the old fella might have bought a couple of bits off her. Let me see …’ Wanda poured the wine as she thought, upending the bottle over her own glass as she surveyed its emptiness with a rueful eye.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Krystal, closing one eye to focus on her new best buddy. ‘I’ve got some in the fridge over the road. If I can use your phone, I can get one of the twins to run it over. Now, you were telling me …’

  ‘That’s right, I was. A card table for definite. Oh, and what was the other thing? Think, think! That’s it! A wine cooler, also Georgian. Rather chop ’em up for firewood, myself. What use are they in the twenty-first century, when we’ve got fridges, and you can play cards on your computer?’ she asked, slightly belligerently, due to the amount of wine she had consumed.

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. Just old stuff. No use at all today,’ agreed Krystal, as there sounded a knock on the door. ‘That’ll be our wine delivery. You stay there. I’ll get it,’ she said magnanimously, rising slightly unsteadily to her feet and weaving her way to answer the summons.

  On the doorstep stood a twin. Krystal wasn’t sure which one, because she had to squint to see only one of him, but he carried a bottle of white wine, so it didn’t really matter which one it was. As she took possession of his delivery, he gave her a disgusted look and said, ‘Drunk again, Mother?’

  ‘You shu’ yer face,’ she replied, with as much maternal feeling as she could muster. ‘Cheeky li’l mon … hic! … key!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early hours of Tuesday morning – Market Darley

  Falconer moaned and turned over. As far as he was concerned, he was sitting immobilised under a pile of giant gemstones, while Nanny Vogel – a character from the early part of his life, whom he would rather forget – threw what looked like round, unknapped flints at him, yelling, ‘Open your eyes, Dummkopf! Open your eyes!’

  Eventually, he obeyed her command, and found himself in his own bed, sweating from the evil that had radiated from his old carer (!) in his dream. What on earth had brought her to mind, he wondered, lying there, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down to normal. The giant gems he could understand, but the flints, like Nanny Vogel, were a mystery to him. Still, that was the subconscious for you, ever oblique.

  Turning over, he tried to get to sleep again, but every time he closed his eyes, Nanny Vogel threw another stone and yelled, ‘Dummkopf!’ at him.

  Later that morning

  When Falconer arrived at the office, he found a bleary-eyed Carmichael already seated at his desk. ‘Have you been on another bender with your family?’ he asked, surveying his sergeant’s grey skin and baggy eyes.

  ‘Baby woke up so many times last night I stopped counting. Kerry said it was because I was home too early from work, and got her all excited before she went to bed. She’s got a point, I suppose. I usually go up to talk to her before she goes off, but she was still up when I got in, and I wanted to play with her for a while.

  ‘In the end, I gave up trying to get any sleep, and left the house about half-past seven. What happened to you, sir? You been out with my brothers?’

  ‘Not a chance!’ replied Falconer, with a rueful smile to indicate that he, too, looked like he’d been out on the tiles the night before. ‘Nightmares,’ he explained.

  ‘Nanny Vogel again?’ asked Carmichael.

  ‘Got it in one,’ answered Falconer, groaning as he eased himself into his chair. ‘I don’t suppose you feel up to fetch
ing us some coffee, do you? I’ve got this gemologist coming in this morning, and I can’t face him feeling like this. By the way, I’ve arranged for him to come here, rather than for us to troll around with a king’s ransom on us, just asking to be robbed.

  ‘Then we can go off to the insurance office, and I’ve a good mind to just barge in on that solicitor as well. Damned cheek! Can’t see us until tomorrow. I ask you? This is a double murder investigation, and I won’t have him put us off just for the hell of it, because he fancies a power trip.’

  ‘Take it easy, tiger,’ said Carmichael, rising to fetch a large dose of caffeine for his boss. ‘It’s hardly his fault that you dreamt about your old nanny last night.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. Bring me big-big kalabash of magic juice, for make me feel better-better, boy!’

  ‘Yassir!’ replied Carmichael, tugging his short forelock, and bowing his way out of the office.

  The gemologist arrived at nine-fifteen, a short, portly man in his early sixties with a completely bald pate, a bow-tie, and, of all things, a monocle. He knocked sharply at the CID door, and bustled straight in without being invited. ‘Good morning, good morning, good morning, gentlemen,’ he uttered. ‘How may I be of assistance on this bright and beautiful day? I’m Chester Field – no laughter, please – the gemologist.’ Catching sight of Carmichael, he exclaimed, ‘Good grief, what are you wearing, young man? Are you in fancy dress?’

  This last was addressed to Carmichael, who had worn the same trousers as he had the day before, but with a red, orange, and pink Hawaiian shirt today. ‘You’ll have to forgive my colleague’s attire,’ Falconer answered him, ‘but he’s not right in the head, and there’s nothing I can do about it, equal rights for the disabled being in force here.’

  Carmichael stared at him, but while the newcomer huffed and puffed about not knowing what the police force was coming to today, Falconer winked at his sergeant, eliciting a complicit smile in return.