Murder Comes To Call: three Inspector Constable murder mysteries (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 4)

by Roger Keevil

  Copper sighed. “Sorry, guv. Well, it was just a thought.”

  “Do not be discouraged, sergeant,” consoled Constable. “I enjoy your flights of fancy. Sometimes, without them, we would get nowhere. Think of yourself as a human catalyst – you stay the same, while all the reactions occur around you.”

  “Thank you for that, guv,” said Copper, faintly embarrassed. “Anyway, you wanted to get on. If Miss Kane can't tell us where to find Val Hart, shall we go a-hunting?”

  “Let's.”

  As the detectives proceeded along the corridor, they could hear a faint murmur of voices coming from Ivor Sweetman's office.

  “You were right, guv,” mouthed Copper. “Sounds as if she's in there with him. Want me to pop in and break up the party?”

  “No, leave them to their tête-à-tête,” said Constable. “Perhaps, if people are having quiet conversations in odd corners, it might mean that someone's getting jumpy. Carry on with Plan A and the great Val hunt.”

  “Here, look at this, guv.” Copper indicated a display case containing various chocolate items, together with a large poster captioned 'Proposed Easter Promotion'. “This must be one of Bernie Rabbetts' projects.” The illustration showed the Mad Hatter's Tea Party in full swing, with Alice, the Hatter, and various creatures, including the Dormouse peeping out of the teapot. Chocolate cakes and biscuits provided the fare. And in front of the poster were various of the products which were obviously under consideration – a large rabbit in a collar and tie, a number of Easter chicks in varying shades of yellow, and a chocolate teapot.

  “Hmmm. I suppose at a stretch you could get away with casting the Easter Bunny as the March Hare,” remarked the inspector. “But I'm not absolutely convinced about the rest of it.”

  “Onwards and upwards, then?”

  “Downwards,” corrected Constable, and started down the stairs. The foyer stood deserted, with only the silhouette of the uniformed officer standing guard outside the frosted-glass front doors as the sole sign of human presence. The detectives joined him on the front step.

  “Any activity to report, Collins?” asked the inspector.

  “No, sir, it's all gone quiet,” reported the young P.C. “All the SOCO team have gone now, and there's been nobody out or in. And the barrier man has gone over the road to have a chin-wag with his mate in the other booth, so I thought I'd just take station out here to keep an eye on things.”

  “Very resourceful,” commended Constable. “Keep up the good work. We're off for a walk around the factory – if anything occurs, that's where we'll be.”

  “Right, sir.”

  The factory floor stood eerily deserted. In a space which would, Constable assumed, normally be filled with the hum of equipment, the clank of machinery, and the exchange of human voices, nothing was to be heard except a subdued rumble which appeared to be coming from the ventilation system. A pool of congealed chocolate on the floor, marking the position of Wally Winker's body, was the only indication of anything untoward. Suddenly, at the far end of the factory floor, Dave Copper caught a momentary glimpse of a white-clad figure moving behind the machines.

  “Hey, you!” he cried, launching himself in the direction of the unknown person as the inspector followed in his wake at a less frenetic pace. “What are you doing here?” He rounded a piece of packaging machinery and came face to face with his quarry.

  “What's up, dear?” asked a familiar voice. “Were you looking for me?” The features of Val Hart looked up at him amiably from beneath a white hair-netted hat.

  “Er, yes, Mrs. Hart, we were, as it happens,” replied Copper in slightly disconcerted tones, as Constable joined the pair, making a strenuous effort to keep a smile off his face at his junior's discomfiture. “I … I didn't recognise you for a moment.”

  “Oh, what, you mean all this lot, dear?” Val indicated the white coat and shoe-covers she wore. “No, I'm not surprised. It's all a rigmarole, I know, but rules is rules, and Mr. Winker does insist – did, I should say – that everyone wears them on the factory floor at all times, so we all have to do it. That's why there's these rails all over the place.” She pointed to what the detectives had not previously noticed – at each point of entry to the factory floor, by the doors from the foyer, at the foot of the stairs leading up to Wally Winker's office, by a large metal roller shutter which Copper surmised led to a loading bay, and at various other locations, stood a clothes rail bearing a number of white coats and sets of over-trousers, while in bins alongside appeared to be heaps of overshoes, gloves and headwear identical to those which Val was wearing. “I don't really know why I bothered to put them on now, what with all the to-do this morning, but it's force of habit, isn't it? Anyway, dears, what can I do for you?”

  Constable took over. “We wanted to have a chat about things in general, Mrs. Hart. You said you had things to tell us, over and above what you saw when you arrived this morning, and we wondered if this might be a good time.”

  “No time like the present,” agreed Val promptly. “I was on my way to get my cleaning things to see if I could clear up the floor where they'd put poor Mr. Winker after they pulled him out from where I found him, but I dare say that can wait. Tell you what, dears, you come and have a sit down in my little cubby-hole, I'll put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, and then we'll have our chat.” As Copper wondered whether his system was up to coping with what Val evidently believed to be the British policeman's standard capacity for cups of tea, she led the way through a door into a small store-room filled with cleaning equipment, with one end fitted out as a kitchenette with a table and a couple of elderly armchairs. “Sit yourselves down, dears, and I'll sort myself out.” Val busied herself removing her protective clothing and preparing the tea things.

  “I think I gathered from what you said earlier that you may have some confidential information for us, Mrs. Hart,” began Constable. “Do you mind if Sergeant Copper makes some notes? I mean, we wouldn't want to make any mistakes as a result of remembering things incorrectly.”

  “Oh, you go right ahead, dear,” said Val comfortably. She looked Copper up and down. “You seem a nice reliable young man – I'm sure you're not the sort to go repeating things out of turn.”

  “Oh … er … right. Thank you.” Copper seemed unsure how to take the compliment.

  “I suppose you'll want my full name for your records, dear, won't you,” said Val, plonking three cups of tea on the table and seating herself in an upright chair alongside, as Copper opened his notebook. “My actual first name is Beatrice, so when I was a child the family all called me Beattie. Now that was all very well, but when I married my husband, I changed it.”

  “Your surname, you mean?” queried Copper.

  “No, dear, I was talking about my first name. Because of course I was marrying Mr. Hart, and I couldn't go around with a name like Beattie Hart, could I? I mean, people would laugh. So then my husband George, God rest him, suggested that I could use my second name, which is Valentine. I think Valentine Hart has a much nicer sound to it, don't you? But everyone calls me Val anyway.”

  “And you've been with the company for a considerable time?”

  “Oh, forever and a day, dear. I remember the old days, going back to old Mr. Winker – that was Wally's dad. Oh, a right tartar, he was. Wouldn't ever stand any nonsense. Now Wally was a much nicer man, but for all that, he still had a bit of his old dad in him.”

  “We were talking about the possibility of you having some information for us,” prompted Constable in an effort to bring Val back on track. “You said something about secrets.”

  “I did, dear. And I have. When you've been here as long as I have, there's not much you don't know about people. In fact, I think the only one who knows more about that lot upstairs would be Heidi, but then she would in her job, wouldn't she?”

  “Ah.” Constable was intrigued. “So Heidi Lockett has a lot of information on people, has she?”

  “Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it?
I mean, Head of Security and all that, she'd want to know all the ins and outs of people, wouldn't she? And I happen to know for a fact that she keeps files on the staff – I've seen them.” Constable's eyebrows went up in enquiry. “Oh, I don't mean I've been snooping in the actual files,” explained Val hastily. “I'd never do a thing like that. But, you know, when I'm taking the teas round or collecting cups and so on, sometimes I've seen things lying about on her desk. But I'd never look inside,” she concluded virtuously.

  “But dossiers do exist,” mused Constable, half to himself. “Hmmm.”

  “In fact, dear,” continued Val, “I'd have thought if anyone was going to get bopped on the head, it would be Heidi – it just goes to show, doesn't it? But I can't really think why anyone would want to kill Mr. Winker. Unless they wanted to stop him finding out something, of course. He didn't like people not being honest. He was a bit like his father in that respect.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Now, here's an example. I was going around collecting the tea things yesterday teatime, and I was in Candy's office when Carson went in to see Mr. Winker.” She sipped her tea.

  “Yes?” said Copper in encouragement.

  “Well, it just so happened that Candy's door through into Mr. Winker's office was ajar, so I couldn't help overhearing, could I?”

  “And what was it that you couldn't help overhearing?” asked Constable.

  Val leaned forward and unconsciously lowered her voice. “Carson said he wanted to make a confession.”

  “Which was …?”

  “That he'd been done for speeding.” Val seemed conscious of a slight anticlimax. “Ah, but you see, it wasn't the first time, and because of that, he'd been up in court for it ...”

  “That must be what Mr. Winker was reading about in the newspaper,” broke in Copper. “I said you should have let me go on reading the court reports, guv.”

  “Let Mrs. Hart finish, sergeant,” said Constable sternly. “This is her evidence, not yours. So, Mrs. Hart, was there more?”

  “Yes, dear. Because Carson said, he had so many points now that he was going to lose his licence.”

  “So the company was about to have a transport manager without a driving licence. I imagine that wouldn't go down too well. How did Mr. Winker react?”

  “Actually, Mr. Winker was very nice about it. He said that it would be all right because Carson had owned up, and that they'd get Carson a driver. To be honest, I think Mr. Winker had a bit of a soft spot for Carson – I think he saw a bit of himself when he was young in him, and Carson's done a very good job since he's been here. And Mr. Winker said to him, 'Never keep secrets, and you'll be quite safe here'. And I think Carson was just so grateful – he didn't seem to say much after that, and then he left just afterwards.”

  “So, in fact, what you might almost call a reverse motive, guv,” remarked Copper to Constable. “Job secure, and every motive for keeping Mr. Winker alive.”

  “As you say, sergeant,” agreed the inspector, “but I get the impression that isn't all Mrs. Hart has to tell us. So what other secrets are there?”

  Val took another sip of her tea. “Of course, Ivor and Candy have got their big secret affair, but I have the feeling that Mr. Winker had just found out about that from somewhere.”

  “I wonder who might have told him, Mrs. Hart?”

  “Don't look at me, dear,” replied Val, affronted. “You won't find me going around passing on gossip. Anyway, it's not as if they're that clever about things, and I'm sure pretty much everybody knows, although it's funny that it's always the one at the top who's the last to know anything, isn't it. But I don't think it would have taken much doing for Mr. Winker to find out the truth – he wouldn't have needed one of Heidi's monthly meetings for that. But I do know that he's very fond of Ivor's wife – I think he went to their wedding, so he wouldn't have stood for any nonsense from either of them, Ivor or Candy. It's that religious background again, you see – it makes some people very strait-laced.”

  “I see.” Constable considered for a moment, mentally reviewing the list of people. “How about Miss Marr? Anything you can tell us about her?”

  Val furrowed her brow. “I don't really know about Trixie. She's one who keeps herself very much to herself. The only thing is, I know she was up for promotion to the Board.”

  “But I seem to remember her telling us that she isn't actually one of the directors.”

  “That's the thing, dear - she's not,” confirmed Val. “It was talked about – you know how these things get about. At the time, some of her staff were quite excited about it, and someone even put up a banner on one of the machines saying 'Welcome to Marr's Bars', but in the end, it never happened. The word was, Mr. Winker refused for some reason, but I never heard what it was.”

  “And that, I think – correct me if I'm wrong, sergeant – that just leaves us with Mr. Rabbetts.”

  “That's right, sir.”

  “What, old Easter Bernie?” Val chuckled. “That's what they call him on the shop floor, you know. Now, if we're talking about being on the Board, it's not as if that's been a bed of roses for him. Not that he doesn't deserve it – I've seen him work his way up through the firm, and he's not been like some people you hear about, treading all over others to get to the top. No,” she said firmly, “Bernie's a very nice man, and I won't hear a word said against him, but for all that, it's no secret – everybody knows Mr. Winker was always going on at him about something or other, but I think that was just because they'd known each other for so long. A bit like an old married couple, always moaning on about each other, but I reckon he thought the world of him really.”

  “'Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'?” quoted Constable, to be rewarded by a puzzled stare from Val. “No matter. So, coming on to the events of yesterday, it seems you were here late, like everybody else, which of course gave you the chance to see and hear what was going on.”

  “Oh, nothing unusual about any of that, dear,” said Val. “Just another ordinary day at Winker's.”

  “But the fact is, Mrs. Hart,” pointed out Constable, “is that it wasn't an ordinary day – far from it. Your Managing Director has been killed. So it isn't the ordinary we're concentrating on – what I'm interested in is the out of the ordinary.”

  “Well ...” Val hesitated a moment in reflection. “The only thing I can think of that was odd about yesterday evening was that I saw somebody go through into the factory with all the white clothes on, some time after seven o'clock.”

  Constable leaned forward intently. “And where was this, Mrs. Hart?”

  “I was out in the foyer, dear, because I was just clearing up to go home. I'd finished through here, and I'd got my coat on and I was on my way out to wait for my bus, and then I got to the doors and it was just starting to drizzle, so I thought, 'I might as well wait here in the warm instead of out there at a draughty bus stop', because it wasn't due for another ten minutes anyway, and then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and somebody came down and went straight through to the factory. Oh, no, wait a minute, I'm lying – it wasn't one person, it was two, about five minutes apart. Funny sort of time to be going into the factory, I thought, what with there not being a night shift on or anything.”

  “And can you tell us who these people were?”

  “Sorry, dear,” shrugged Val. “I've got no idea. You see, I only saw them from behind, and in the coat and hat and whatnot, you can't tell one person from another. And let me tell you, it's no joke keeping all those coats and what-have-you clean, you know. There's so many of them. I mean, you've seen all the rails in there ...” She gestured towards the factory. “... plus everyone keeps a coat in their office, so I've got my work cut out doing all that laundry every day. That's why I said to Mr. Winker, it's no use expecting me to cope with an ordinary washing machine. I told him I needed one of those big industrial ones, and give him his due, he got one put in for me.”

  Constable, in an effort to stop Val straying any fu
rther from the point, intervened. “But in essence, Mrs. Hart, you can't help us with the identities of these two people at all?”

  “Oh!” A thought struck Val. “I can, dear. I've just remembered. One of them must have been Trixie, because I saw her come out a couple of minutes later, and she came out and realised that she still had all the whites on, so she took them off and just popped them back through on to the rail, and then off she went. And I looked at my watch and thought, goodness, my bus'll be here any second and I don't want to have to wait another twenty minutes for the next one, so then out I went to the bus stop. And that's about it. More tea, dear?”

  *

  “Are you sure you won't have another cup, dear?”

  “No, honestly, thanks, but two's my limit,” said Dave Copper hastily, putting his hand across the top of his cup. “Any more and I'll go pop. In fact … is there a loo round here?”

  “Just outside the door on the left, dear,” said Val, smiling at the speed of the sergeant's exit. “Well,” she continued, “I can't hang around here chatting all day – I've got work to do, you know.” A polite smile of acknowledgement seemed to Andy Constable to be the only possible response. “I'd better carry on and see if I can get all that chocolate off the floor next door. No, stay where you are dear,” she said, as Constable made to get up from his seat. “You finish off your tea.” She gathered up a selection of cleaning materials and, with a rattle of mop and bucket, disappeared out into the factory.

  When Copper returned a few moments later, he found his superior gazing unfocussed into the middle distance. “Any thoughts, guv?”

  “A few,” replied the inspector, “but nothing that really amounts to anything. Motives seem a bit thin on the ground. The only person we know who had a stand-up row with Wally Winker was Bernie Rabbetts, but that's just too obvious - according to Val Hart, it doesn't seem to have been anything unusual, so why would he suddenly snap now? Carson Laurie has what you might call an un-motive – he expected to get the chop, and instead was on the receiving end of an act of kindness. No, it seems to me that we have to go looking among these secrets that Val has been talking about – Ivor Sweetman and Candy Kane might have been batting on a stickier wicket than they were aware, and there's something that we don't know about Trixie Marr that could be relevant. And Heidi Lockett is the keeper of the keys on all this information, so to speak – if Val knew that, how many other people did? And how afraid was someone that Winker might be about to use that information against them?”