by Roger Keevil
“Isn't 'lickerish' an old-fashioned term for 'randy', guv?” quipped Copper. “How dangerous would it be to link the words 'tasty bit' and 'Lady Mayoress'? Since I assume that's where we're heading next.”
“You might very well think that, if Colin N. Lisson is to believed,” responded Constable. “I of course couldn't possibly comment. Let's go and find out.”
*
The detectives climbed the stairs of the Town Hall, in accordance with an extremely surly 'Up there' from the taciturn individual in a peaked cap at the inappropriately-named Welcome Desk in the foyer, and pushed open the door marked 'Mayoral Suite'. Perched on the front of a desk in the reception area, long fishnet-clad legs crossed, sat an attractive woman with blonde hair in an elfin cut, liberally high-lighted, wearing an abbreviated fur-trimmed Santa costume with a dangerously revealing neckline.
“... and if you're a very good boy, Justin, I'll bring your present round for you to unwrap tonight,” she breathed into the mobile phone held to her ear. She turned and noticed the newcomers. “Whoops! Got to go, darling. See you later.” She looked expectantly at her visitors. “Yes?”
“Excuse us, we're looking for the mayor,” said Constable.
“Well, you've found her.” She registered amusement at the detectives' evident surprise. “Lady Mayoress, if you want to be more correct about it, but I'm not surprised you don't recognise me without the official robes and chain.” She gestured to her outfit. “This get-up's all in aid of the kiddies' Christmas Carols later on. I don't normally dress like this – well, unless it's a special occasion. So why were you looking for me?”
Constable introduced himself and Copper and explained their presence. “So if you can spare us a few minutes...”
“You'd better come into my parlour, hadn't you?” She opened a door to a lofty chamber, part-office, part-sitting-room, and arrayed herself on one of a pair of leather chesterfields, waving the detectives to the other. Dave Copper took the opportunity to study their hostess a little more closely. Mid-forties, but a very plausible attempt at a playing age of mid-twenties, he judged.
“So, Madam Mayor … -ess.” Constable fumbled for an appropriate form of address.
“Oh, don't bother with the formalities, inspector – save those for the Council Chamber. It's Isla … Isla Wright … Mrs., although my husband's gone now, bless him, but he was a lot older than me. Well, they all were.”
“So I understand, Mrs. Wright.”
“Oh, I expect you've heard all the gossip,” said Mrs. Wright cheerfully. “People can say what they like, and what they don't know, they usually make up. But if you want the official version, here it is. Born Isla Egg in nineteen-hundred-and-never-you-mind, changed my name when I went on the stage – well, wouldn't you? - so then I was Isla Skye; married André while I was in one of his shows when his marriage fell apart - that was just after he got his knighthood - but then that didn't work out either, so I decided to leave the profession and turn respectable.”
“Which is what brought you to Camford?”
“That's right. I'd met Quentin – that's Lord Camford – when he came backstage after the show one night. A real old-fashioned gentleman, he was, and he seemed very taken with me. And after all, what girl can resist a title and a lovely house in the country? No, that's not fair – I was very fond of him, but nothing lasts, does it, and he died. But by then I'd already met Joe – that's Joseph Wright, the former Lord Mayor, in case you didn't know. Sweet man, and not so old, really. He was a widower, and he persuaded me that it was no good sitting around moping, and a Lord Mayor needed a Lady Mayoress, so we sort of fell into it, as it were. And after he passed away last year, the council asked me to step into his shoes.”
“It's quite a mixture of good and bad fortune,” remarked Constable.
“Well, it gives people something to talk about,” replied Mrs. Wright. “I've even heard people calling me the Merry Widow when they think I can't hear them. Jealousy's a terrible thing, but it's all water off a duck's back to me. Here I am, and here I stay!”
“And one of your official duties,” said Constable, bringing the conversation round to the purpose of his visit, “is to serve on the board of the Camford Trust, I think.”
“Oh yes. Camford City Council have very close dealings with all the University bigwigs, not just the ones at Harde-Knox College - that's why Lord Ellpuss invited me on to the board of the Trust. And sometimes people prefer to make a more indirect approach when it comes to offering donations, just in case they get rejected for some reason, and then it's humiliating for them. That's why very often they like to go through me. And I do know a lot of very wealthy people in show business.”
“Very helpful, I'm sure. Which brings us round to the meeting yesterday evening, which you and the other trustees attended.”
“Yes, over in the college.” Mrs. Wright giggled at the memory. “Yes, that was fun.”
“Really?” Constable was surprised. “We'd got the impression from the others that it was a fairly routine meeting.”
“They told you that, did they?” laughed Mrs. Wright. “Honestly, the lies some people tell! No, you take it from me, inspector, the fur was really flying. Lord Ellpuss really had his dander up, and he went all round the others at the table. Mind you, a lot of what was said was just hints and innuendo – I dare say it meant more to the people concerned than to the rest of us.” She noticed the inspector's growing interest. “Now you're going to hate me, but I don't think I can say anything about what was said. Lord Ellpuss swore us all to secrecy, because he said that if anything were revealed prematurely, it would do a great deal of harm to the college's reputation. He wanted to keep control of the whole thing.”
“Something of a strained atmosphere, then?”
“Well, yes and no. The funny thing is, it all seemed to pass off, and then we moved on to the little party – well, I say party, if you call a warm glass of sherry and a few limp sausage rolls a party – and everybody seemed to be quite normal again. Well, normal for Camford, anyway.”
“So nothing was said after the meeting closed – nobody did anything unexpected – no odd tensions from anyone in particular.”
“Not a thing that I can think of, inspector. Sorry to disappoint.”
Just as Constable drew breath to attempt to carry the questioning further, there came a knock at the door, and a young woman with serious glasses and a serious demeanour to accompany them put her head into the room. “The children are just starting to arrive, Madam Mayoress,” she said severely, completely ignoring the two detectives. “I'm sure you won't want to keep them waiting.”
Mrs. Wright got to her feet. “Well, I'm afraid I have to go, inspector. My city needs me, and all that, and Janet here never lets me forget it. Ah, the burdens of civic responsibility!” She smiled in mild self-mockery. She gazed Dave Copper up and down in frank assessment. “Do let me know if there's anything else I can do for you – anything at all. I'm quite easy to find.” With a flash of teeth, and adjusting the neckline of her costume to a more modest level, she tripped from the room.
“Well!” said Copper, somewhat taken aback by the entire performance. “That was a whole lot of something and nothing, wasn't it, guv?” He rose from the sofa, along with Andy Constable, and the two began to make their way down the staircase, under the beady eye of the mayoral secretary.
“On the contrary, sergeant,” countered the inspector, “it was quite a lot of several things. For a start, on one hand we have a lady with several dead, or at the very least disposed of, titled husbands in her past, and on the other, we have a dead titled gentleman whose demise is at the very least fishy. Not that there's the slightest reason to link the two facts at the moment, but I've always been very uneasy about coincidences. Secondly, she told us that there was a great deal more to this meeting than we've been told. Everybody's tried to tell us that the whole thing was very dull, and all about columns on a balance sheet. Now we learn that Lord Ellpuss, as Mrs. Wright put it,
went round the table having some sort of a go at everyone.”
“And you'll have noticed,” put in Copper, “that she carefully excluded herself from that list.”
“So she did. But apart from that, she was very up-front about everything.”
“As you might say,” grinned Copper. “Justin, whoever he may be, seems to be a lucky boy.”
“I shall ignore the unsavoury implications of your remark,” said Constable loftily, as the two emerged once more into the square, where a group of rather pinch-faced children, huddled in coats, could be seen posing for a photographer in front of the Christmas tree in the company of an exuberant Lady Mayoress, her bright smile undimmed by the chilly weather. “I have more important things on my mind. Let us return to the locus in quo.”
“The which, sir?”
“Locus in quo, Copper. You really are going to have to pay closer attention next time you're giving evidence in court. It's Latin – lawyer-speak for 'the place in which'.”
“Or, if you're a normal human being, 'the scene of the crime', I assume,” said Copper. “You'll have to forgive me, sir – we never did Latin when I was at school.”
“O tempora! O mores!” riposted Constable with a wicked smile. “Look it up! Perhaps you need to go back to college. In fact, let's both do exactly that.” He headed for the Harde-Knox gatehouse.
*
Copper's mobile rang as the two climbed through the door and entered the arch. “Yes … oh, hello, doctor … yes, he's here. Hold on a second while I put it on speaker.” He handed the phone to his superior.
“Hello, Doc. What can I do for you?”
“It's more what I can do for you, Andy,” came the voice from the other end. “A piece of information which may help you in your endeavours.”
“And what may that be?”
“I've got Lord Ellpuss's stomach on the bench in front of me.” Constable grimaced in distaste. “Never seen anything quite like it. It's heavily inflamed – almost looks as if it's being eaten away by something. No idea what – the contents don't respond to any of the obvious instant tests.”
“But you're saying it's definitely a poison of some kind?”
“Stake my reputation on it,” boomed the doctor cheerily. “Not the foggiest what it is at present, but I thought you'd appreciate an update.”
“Thanks, Doc. Much obliged.” Constable handed the phone back to Copper. “You heard that?”
“Certainly did, sir. Puts us on a bit of a firmer footing, doesn't it?” The sergeant had been idly browsing the contents of a noticeboard mounted on the wall, dotted with flyers on every subject from holistic healing to a planned rugby club drinking contest. String quartets vied for attention with the forthcoming offering of the university Shakespeare society. A suggested bridge tournament looked likely to clash with an open lecture on 'Yoga and its place in Education'. Bicycles were offered for sale – obscure reference books, unobtainable from the library, were sought. A highly-coloured art-nouveau-themed poster for the recent Ewell Hall Yule Ball was still very much in evidence. “It's all a wild social whirl for these students, eh, guv?” he remarked. He indicated the selection of events advertised. “I'm surprised they have any time left to study. Mind you, some of these gigs I wouldn't mind going to.” He pointed to a modest black and white handbill, marked 'Special Event', which read 'Black Sabbath! Sunday 3.00! Don't miss out!'. “I must say, I do enjoy a good rock band.”
“Sadly, sergeant, you do not have the leisure for frivolous pursuits at the moment,” the inspector reminded him. “In case you've forgotten, we have what now definitely looks like a murder to solve, which I'd like to get on with, before Lord Ellpuss is spread all over the doctor's lab in little bits.”
“You and me both, guv. Yuk!”
“So I suggest we see if the family are in any fit state to be spoken to.” Constable turned left into the quad and made for the door bearing a shiny brass plate which carried the simple words 'The Master'. The jangling doorbell was answered by an elderly woman, overall-clad, with eyes which looked to be red from weeping – perhaps a housekeeper, guessed the inspector.
“We'd like to see Lady Ellpuss, if that's possible,” he said gently.
“I'm afraid she's with the chaplain at the moment, sir,” said the woman. “I don't really like to disturb her.”
“No, of course not, we wouldn't want to do that, Mrs. ...er ...?”
“Maggs, sir – Eileen Maggs. I come in to do the cleaning for Her Ladyship.” The soft Scots burr was gentle on the ear.
“We're police officers, Mrs. Maggs.” The detectives showed their identification. “And we're looking into the events of yesterday.”
“Oh, sir, isn't it awful.” Mrs. Maggs pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and seemed inclined to begin weeping afresh. “Oh, what am I thinking of? You'd better come in. I suppose you could wait, or of course there's always Mr. Ellpuss – what about him?”
“What?” Copper was startled. “But I thought ...” He gestured wordlessly in the vague direction of the exterior.
“No, sir, I mean young Mr. Ellpuss – His Lordship's son. He's upstairs. I could get him if you like.”
“I think that would be very helpful, Mrs. Maggs.”
“If you'd like to wait in here, gentlemen, I'll go and tell him you're here.” The housekeeper showed the detectives into a book-lined study, and then disappeared towards the staircase, closing the door behind her.
Constable browsed the shelves. “The late Lord was obviously one for his biographies,” he commented, running a finger along one section of books. “'Tolstoy' by Warren Peace … 'Emile Zola' by Jack Hughes … 'The Works of Landseer' by Monica D. Glenn … evidently something of a polymath.”
“Not quite in keeping with his position as big boss of things like the 'Splash', is it, guv? Bit of a contrast of cultures.” Copper was prowling around a large partner's desk towards one end of the room. “Oh, hallo! Here, guv, there's something here which is a bit more relevant in terms of reading matter.”
“And what might that be, sergeant?”
Copper held up a piece of paper. “It's all about last night's Trust meeting, sir. Note from Lord Ellpuss to all the other members of the Board of Trustees. Calls them to this special meeting yesterday, and then goes on about 'a particular matter which has come to my attention concerning the status and reputation of C.A.S.H., which I believe will have severe effects on our financial standing, particularly with reference to donations'. Aha! What do we make of that, then, sir?”
“Well done, Copper. Good find. And that all connects in with what Mrs. Wright was saying about gifts from her wealthy contacts.”
“Here, you don't suppose the lady has gone a little too far in her schmoozing in order to bring in the goodies, do you, guv? Now that would be something to interest your average 'Splash' reader. Because it goes on, 'I have asked the Financial Secretary to provide a detailed list of donors and cheques received for discussion at that time'. Cheques! That's all a bit antediluvian, isn't it, sir? I would have thought everything was done by direct transfer online these days. That's how I pay my bills.”
“Yes, sergeant, but you are a child of modernity. Don't forget that places like this are probably operating in some sort of time-warp. And donors can't get much kudos out of the public presentation of an online transfer, can they?”
“Suppose not, sir.”
“Well, don't stop there, man. While you're exercising your considerable talent for snooping, is there anything else lurking around that desk that relates to the task in hand?”
“I hope you're going to carry the can for me if somebody comes in and discovers me conducting an illegal search without a warrant, guv,” said Copper, beginning nevertheless to leaf through the various papers in the stationery tray on the desk. “Nothing that jumps out at the moment ...” His speech slowed, and a grin spread across his features. “Except for this, of course.” He exhaled gustily. “Were you saying something earlier about your detective's nose, sir?
”
“I may have made mention. Why?”
“I don't know how you do it, guv. Have you got a document signed in blood stashed away somewhere or other?”
“Stop rabbiting, man, and cut to the chase. We haven't got all day. What is 'this'?”
“'This', sir, is a letter which was lurking underneath the tray of papers. And it's not just the 'what' – it's the 'who' as well. This letter is addressed, not to Lord Ellpuss, but to Professor Plump, so what's it doing here?”
“Is it Trust business? Maybe the professor brought it here to show to His Lordship.”
Copper scanned the letter. “Doesn't read that way, sir. And this may be the answer to one of the questions we were asking earlier on. It's from some university in America – 'Collegiate University of Gary, Indiana', whatever and wherever that may be. And apparently, they have literate furniture, guv,” laughed Copper, as he read on. “This one's from a desk – 'From the Desk of Yukon E.Z. Lee, Dean for Academic Awards', to be precise. Don't you just love American names?”
“And? I assume there is actually some meat in this sandwich.”
“All very corporate blah, as far as I can see, guv,” said Copper. He quoted, “'We have been conducting researches through our files, and have noticed that it is some time since we received our customary renewal fees as laid out in our original terms and conditions upon conferral. We would respectfully remind you that these are due upon every third anniversary of the event in question in order to prevent any inconvenient lapse of entitlement'. Whew! What's that all about?”
“All rather oblique, isn't it? Any more?”
“More of the same, sir, if that's what you really want. 'At the same time, we are happy to advise you that, as a client of long standing, we are able to offer you additional certification from associate bodies at preferential terms, which we are sure you would find highly advantageous in any future career progression. My secretary will take the liberty of telephoning you … oh, that's what it's doing here … telephoning you within the next few weeks in order to discuss your farther requirements. Yours, etc, etc'. So, this is all to do with that call the professor had. He knew it was coming, so he had the letter with him when he took the call in here.”