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

by Roger Keevil

  “Now look here, inspector,” interrupted Bernie, “it's all very well chucking accusations around, but you seem to forget that some of us have lost a friend here.”

  “I don't forget that for one moment, Mr. Rabbetts,” rejoined Constable, “but it's worth remembering that sometimes an apparent friendship can conceal a deep hostility and hatred. Call 'Othello' to mind once again, just as an illustration. Not that I'm suggesting anything so convoluted here.

  “So having looked at the question of opportunity and failed to come to any conclusion, we have to consider the matter of motive. What reason could any of you have for murdering Wally Winker? Again, there appear to be simple and obvious reasons, but they tend to shrivel up as soon as we shine a bright light on them. Let me take you one by one. Trixie Marr? Admittedly, her personal problems had affected her work, and not through any fault of her own, but as she has pointed out to me, Mr. Winker's reaction to her revelations had meant that her job was safe, and her persecutor looked set for retribution.”

  “Persecutor?” asked Carson Laurie. “Trixie, what's that all about?”

  “Interesting that you should ask that, Mr. Laurie,” continued Constable, “because you were in a similar situation to Miss Marr's, in that you also felt that your job might be jeopardised by what you had done.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Carson. “Let's have it all out, if it's got to be that way. Everybody, you might as well know, if you haven't caught up with the papers already, that I'm getting a driving ban. One speeding ticket too many, and now I'm the guy with the criminal record. So you can't blame me for worrying that Wally was going to kick me out. After all, who's gonna resist a good laugh at the expense of a Transport Manager with no driving licence?”

  “And the simple answer to that,” replied Constable, “was that Mr. Winker was the one man who could resist that temptation. Again we have one of those unexpected acts of kindness. We know that Mr. Winker had set your fears at rest over your job, and that he intended to arrange a chauffeur for you during your driving ban. He must have held you in very high regard, Mr. Laurie – I believe he even gave you some friendly advice regarding your future with the company.

  “Let's move on to Mr. Sweetman and Miss Kane, since I bracketed them together a few moments ago. Ivor Sweetman? Well, he told us himself that he has friends on the board – if ever he feels his position as senior director, perhaps even heir apparent to the company, to be at risk, he can muster enough support to cause sufficient trouble to safeguard his position, without going to the unpleasant lengths of murder. And Candy Kane had only to let slip a few details of her relationship with Wally Winker in the right quarters for his reputation as a pillar of the community to be in tatters. Hardly worth even risking breaking a nail for, I should have thought.

  “So let's come back to Bernie Rabbetts – the man who had the most obvious, and the most public, conflicts with Wally Winker. This was nothing new – it had been going on for years. It seems that probably everyone had overheard rows between the two at some time or another – it was Val Hart who told us about the stormy relationship between them, but she believed there was no harm in it, and in a place like this, I'll take the tea lady's evidence every time. She always knows what's going on. So the last person we have to consider would be Heidi Lockett, who seems alone in having nothing to fear from Mr. Winker. In fact, the opposite – her knowledge of everybody else's weaknesses appears to make her invulnerable. Or at least, it did, until yesterday. Because perhaps she had misused that knowledge. Did she decide to take advantage of it to earn a little extra income? And did Miss Marr's revelations to Mr. Winker spoil her fun and put her in danger?”

  Ivor Sweetman had been shifting restlessly in his seat for some time. “Mr. Constable,” he said, “this lecture of yours is all very fascinating, but are we actually getting anywhere? You've called us all here, and so far all you've told us is that anybody could have been on the factory floor when Wally died, and that any one of us might have had some sort of reason to kill him, or not, as the case may be. And I have to say that some of your reasoning is highly debatable. Not only that,” he blustered on, “but I for one take a dim view of you repeating unsubstantiated gossip about people's personal lives which has no bearing on the matter at all. Aren't you supposed to be looking for some sort of evidence?”

  “I'm very grateful to you, Mr. Sweetman,” returned Constable calmly, “because you've put your finger on the very point I was intending to raise next. Evidence is the key. And not necessarily the sort of concrete evidence you probably mean – the overlooked fingerprint, the tell-tale lipstick on the wine glass, the suspicious blonde hair on the jacket. We tend to leave those to the realms of detective fiction. In the real word, evidence is very often what people tell us, even though you may dismiss it as 'unsubstantiated gossip'. And here, I believe that it is the evidence we heard from Val Hart which is crucial, and I don't believe she was even aware of it herself. She saw the truth when she said that she was surprised that it wasn't Heidi Lockett who was murdered.”

  “Me?” Heidi was startled. “But why would she say that?”

  “Bear with me, Miss Lockett,” said Constable. “All will become clear. Because what if Mrs. Hart was right? What if we'd been looking at the case upside-down? What if Wally Winker wasn't the intended victim?” Murmurs of puzzlement arose around the table. “And what if the murderer's target was in fact Heidi, because of what she knew about someone – knowledge that made it too dangerous to let her live? Do we come back to those famous investigations of hers? I think we do. Now, we know that, as far as Mr. Winker was concerned, Trixie Marr had nothing left to conceal. Ivor Sweetman and Candy Kane were the subject of gossip all round the factory, and they have both shared with me their thoughts regarding the strengths of their own individual positions, so what real danger were they in? And Bernie Rabbetts' habit of coming up with ideas which were, let's face it, not one hundred percent thought through, was well-known too – indeed, his bumbling approach was viewed with some affection - so how could he hope to conceal that? But what about Carson Laurie?”

  Carson's head shot up. “Inspector, surely we've covered all this already. I'd told Wally all about this court case business – you know that. And now I've told everybody here as well, so it's not as if I've been trying to keep secrets. So why would I have anything against Heidi?”

  “As to that, Mr. Laurie,” continued Constable, “we know that you and Miss Lockett were not exactly friendly. The words you were heard to exchange at the door to Mr. Winker's office tell us that. And we also know that you were to meet on the factory floor in the aftermath of this little confrontation. And now I'm going to move into the realms of speculation, but please, feel free to correct me if you think I've got anything wrong. What if the two of you did in fact meet on the factory floor, both dressed in the white overalls, hat and all the other all-concealing paraphernalia which made it difficult to distinguish one person from another? And what if Miss Lockett revealed that she had further information regarding your past – information which would destroy you, and which could lead to ruin, prison, and expulsion from the country?”

  Carson Laurie gazed at him mutely.

  Heidi Lockett spoke up. “But inspector, I didn't have any such thing. I never got a reply to the ...” She tailed off.

  “To the email you sent out seeking additional incriminating information, do you mean, Miss Lockett? Information which you could have held over a second victim, and perhaps increased your own income from personal extortion? Is that what you mean?”

  Heidi's eyes were wide with apprehension. “No … I mean I ...” She stumbled to a halt.

  “No, Miss Lockett, you never got that reply,” said Constable. “And the reason is, I have it here.” He held up Mike Rowe's sheet of paper. “And it's all down to the simplest of reasons – human error. Because the email was sent to you, but it never arrived. The person who sent it intended to address it to you as the Head of Security at Winker's – hs@winkerchoc.com �
� but they mis-keyed. They typed in one character to the left, so in fact it went into the General Accounts files - ga@winkerchoc - which led to Mr. Rowe's accidental discovery of it while he was checking through his systems. Such a trivial error, but without it, no doubt that email would have disappeared into your files, and we should have been none the wiser. Not that you needed it to issue your threats to Mr. Laurie, but it would have been useful confirmation of the facts which he probably already knew. Shall I read it to you?” Silence answered him. “I'll take that as a yes. 'Farther to earlier D.C.D.A report on fraud charges, confirm Carson Laurie being sought regarding embezzlement of research funds at Satsuma Motors. International warrant to be issued. Thanks for tip-off.'

  “So let me continue my speculation. Somehow Heidi Lockett had come across a hint of this in her constant searches for information on her colleagues. And although she didn't have this absolute confirmation, she had enough to confront Carson Laurie with what she knew and demand substantial hush-money. He made some sort of excuse to leave, promising to return shortly, and in fact did so – but in the meantime Trixie Marr, and then Wally Winker, had come down the back stairs to the factory floor. Heidi had to make herself scarce. Trixie and Wally had their conversation, and then Trixie left – Val saw her go. Carson returned, saw Wally leaning over the chocolate vat, mistook him for Heidi because of the all-concealing clothing and, on the spur of the moment, and with only self-preservation on his mind, came up behind the unsuspecting man, grabbed him, and killed him by dunking him in his own product.”

  “You were ready to kill me?” Heidi was aghast. She jumped to her feet. “Then I hope you get what you deserve, you murdering b...”

  “Don't think I was the only one!” snarled Carson over the top of her. “I reckon if I had, it would only have been doing everyone else a favour. I'd have gotten a round of applause!”

  “That will do!” Constable's voice over-topped the rising volume and halted the two in their tracks. “Carson Laurie, I am arresting you on a charge of the murder of Mr. Walter Winker. Sergeant Copper, would you please take Mr. Laurie in and have him formally charged. Leave me the car keys – I'll follow on. I still have one or two things to deal with here. Collins will drive you.”

  Carson gave a gentle smile as he calmly held out his hands for Copper to apply handcuffs. “Money. That's all it was. But it sure makes you do dumb things. It even makes you kill the guy who turns out to be your best friend in an ugly world.” He raised his head and looked at the people assembled around the boardroom table. “And for what it's worth, I am truly sorry that it all went so wrong.” He turned and followed Copper from the room.

  “Miss Lockett.” Constable addressed the rather shaken-looking Heidi. “I think you had better come with me. We need to have a conversation about some of your activities which are not completely connected with your security duties for Winker's. There is a very unsavoury odour of blackmail in the air. And in the light of what we know, I shall be applying for a search warrant covering the material in your office and the data on your computer. You seem to have had one lucky escape so far, but I don't believe that you should rely on your luck continuing to hold.” He surveyed the rest of the company. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think this has been a very instructive instance of the dangers of concealment. Without wishing to sound too sententious, learn the lesson. Let some of the secrets out. As St. John said, the truth will set you free. You'll probably sleep better. Miss Lockett, shall we go?” He took Heidi by the elbow and led her towards the door.

  *

  “So come on, guv – cards on the table. How did you figure it out?” Dave Copper sat at his desk, his notebook open in front of him. “I've been ploughing through all my notes, and I can't see what it was that made you put your finger on it. I mean, I know about the email, which pretty much gave it away, but you were on the track before that, weren't you?”

  “That was certainly one of the things that set me thinking. Right at the start of it, the use of the word 'farther'. We don't usually say that – in the U.K. we normally say 'further'. So that drew my eye to the American connection. But there were various indications, sergeant. I'd have hoped you might pick at least some of them up.”

  “Well, there were a few things that caught my eye, sir. I've highlighted a couple of them.”

  “Such as?”

  “For a start, I couldn't figure out why Candy Kane had two identical pass cards for the car park barrier on her desk.”

  “Then you should have looked at them a little more closely. They weren't identical at all. One had 'MD' on it – the other 'MDS'. Obviously, as Mr. Winker's secretary, she looked after his card, the one with 'MD' on it, whereas her own, the one with 'MDS', was completely surplus to requirements, since she always got a lift with Ivor Sweetman. Like so much else, the initials are crucial.”

  “'Managing Director's Secretary' – got it!” Copper leafed through his notes. “Like that memo – everything was addressed to people by their job title rather than their name, so you had DSP for Bernie Rabbetts and HS for Heidi Lockett, and so on. By the way, what's happening to her?”

  “At the moment,” replied Constable, “the lady is cooling her heels downstairs doing a little thinking. 'Helping with our enquiries' is the way we're putting it. I've left her to consider whether it might be to her advantage to tell us everything we need to know, rather than having to crowbar it all out of her computer files. Let's carry on with this, for the moment. Where were we?”

  “The memo, guv.”

  “Which of course told us two things. Firstly there was the obvious conclusion we could draw from the contents, which was that when they were on the factory floor, everyone was dressed the same, giving the possibility of mistaken identity. You proved that yourself when you went haring off after dear old Val Hart under the impression that she was some sort of sinister intruder.”

  “Well, anyone can make a mistake,” said Copper, but then, anxious to redeem himself, went on, “but I've just realised the other thing the memo told us with the initials business. It was about that unsigned note which was addressed to 'TM'. It wasn't to Trixie Marr at all, which is what I thought it was, first off – it was to Carson Laurie as Transport Manager.”

  “Exactly. Like the other note you picked up inadvertently.”

  “The one that said something about colour. I thought it must be something about those yellow Easter chicks that Bernie had been going on about.”

  “And it might have been,” replied Constable, “except for one thing. 'Color' was spelt the American way, without the 'u'. It was probably something to do with the project to turn all the company vehicles into various manifestations of chocolate, but it was another straw in the wind which drew my eye towards Carson Laurie. Like that newspaper on Wally Winker's desk. It was a reminder that Winker kept a close eye on wrong-doers within the company, and in the end, their sins would probably find them out.”

  “So Bernie and his yellow chicks were never in the frame?”

  Constable chuckled. “Oh, they were in the frame, all right. The display frame that we saw in the corridor with the proposed Easter products – don't you remember? Dear old Bernie Rabbetts – I could get quite fond of him, with his Mad Hatter and his March Hare, and his equally hare-brained ideas for yellow chicks. But how could you take seriously as our murderer the man who invented the chocolate teapot!”

  ***

  THE DEAD OF WINTER

  “Lord Ellpuss.”

  “Who?” enquired Detective Sergeant Dave Copper.

  “Lord Ellpuss.” Inspector Andy Constable replaced the telephone on his desk as he repeated the answer to his junior colleague's question. “Found dead in suspicious circumstances, which is why our services are required. Get your coat – it's bloody freezing out there.”

  “That'll teach me to come in on a Saturday instead of staying nice and snug in bed.”

  “That reminds me,” said Constable casually, “how is that lovely girl you were foolish enough to introdu
ce to the chaps in the pub the other week? She seemed very smitten with you.”

  “Charlene? Alas, guv, smitten no longer, I'm afraid. Probably something to do with me being called away in the middle of what was supposed to be a romantic dinner at home for that all-nighter surveillance job in the drugs case. Came home to find a rather short note and a very congealed Chicken Kiev. Anyway, enough about me,” said Copper, anxious to change the subject, as the two detectives made their way towards the police station car park. “Who is this Lord Ellpuss anyway? I've never heard of him.”

  “I'm not entirely surprised, sergeant,” replied Constable. “He's one of those alarmingly powerful men who prefer to pull the strings of everyone around them while keeping their own light hidden firmly under a bushel. He's chairman of MegaMedia Worldwide.”