Christmas Mourning (The Falconer Files Book 8)

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘I found her once in full make-up and evening dress at three o’clock in the morning, apparently waiting for a taxi to take her on a date with me. She started getting argumentative, too. She blacked my eye recently. No doubt you just took my story that I’d slipped over in the snow at face value, but the truth is, she thumped me one when she couldn’t get her own way.’

  ‘How on earth have you coped with all this on your own?’ asked Carmichael.

  ‘I haven’t really. I’ve just tried to contain it and keep a lid on it. This weather’s really been the straw that broke the camel’s back, imprisoning us both in the house without any chance of summoning outside medical or psychiatric help.

  ‘I even found her in the church one day giving that Jeffries chap what for. Of course, I apologised and got her away, and when I asked what it was all about she was all muddled up with Kerry having a baby, and Kerry’s mother expecting Kerry. She didn’t seem to know whom she was defending; whether it was Kerry, or whether the poor man had been upsetting the girl’s mother sometime in the past.

  ‘I know I’m not explaining this very well, but she’d also seen that old creep feeling up some kids one day when we were in the shop, and everything got muddled in her head. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It was Marian who was responsible for those two deaths over Christmas.’

  ‘She couldn’t have done it!’ exclaimed Falconer, aghast. ‘She’s nowhere near strong enough to have done what was done in that church. She would’ve needed considerable help. And why kill the vicar?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. She did have some help. Me!’

  ‘You? Alan! You don’t know what you’re saying. This all sounds so impossible. Wait until you’re feeling better. You’re probably all confused from the knock on the head.’ Falconer was shocked to his roots and assumed that the man was rambling due to his fall.

  ‘I’m perfectly lucid: if you would just listen to me. I’ll tell it from where things got really serious, and I didn’t know what to do for the best any more,’ he said, his face a mask of misery.

  ‘When we went to church on Christmas Eve – the crib service – Marian kept muttering about Jeffries (God rest his soul) and what she called his “perverted tendencies”, complaining that the vicar should never have let him anywhere near children. I tried to hush her up as best as I could, but she started again during Midnight Mass. Trust him to be daft enough to wear the costume to that service as well.

  ‘When he came into the pub wearing it and sat at the table next to us, I thought she was going to blow a fuse. Then the vicar came downstairs and joined us, calling out some sort of … Oh, I can’t remember what he said, but he said something to Jeffries, and that was it for Marian. She was up and off home.

  ‘I thought I’d got her settled down for the night, but something – I’ve no idea what – woke me about half an hour after I’d got off to sleep, and Marian wasn’t in bed. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere in the house, but the door to the garage was wide open. That’s when I really started to worry.

  ‘I got a torch and looked outside the front door, and there were footprints leading down to and out of the gate. That’s when I realised she’d gone wandering, and I was worried sick about where she might have gone. I donned my outdoor gear and headed for the village centre. I didn’t dare call on anyone at that time of night, and the only light shining anywhere was from the church.

  ‘I went in to see if she was in there, and that’s when I realised what she was up to. I found her in the vestry. She’d managed to drag that big wooden cross from Stoney Cross away from the wall and get it flat on the ground. She must have been in such a rage that she didn’t know her own strength.

  ‘When I went in there she had Jeffries, already dead, and was using my cordless nail gun to fix him to the cross. It looked like she’d shot him in the head, then dragged him in there to crucify him, and her only reaction when I spoke was, ‘Give me a hand, darling. I’ve got to get him propped up against the wall in the church so that everyone can see that he won’t be a problem any more.’

  ‘What could I do? By the time I’d got her home and settled, and waited for her to fall asleep, there was no way of contacting anyone. Everything was down. It’d taken hours, and I was in a complete panic. In the end, I actually slipped her a couple of pills to get her off. All I could think of doing was containing her until I could call for outside help. What else was there to do? I had to help her, or she’d probably have started on me; which she did the next day, but that’s further on in the story.

  ‘I got her unconscious as best as I could, and simply put the nail gun back in the garage. Once the tablets started to kick in, she went to sleep like a lamb, and so pleased with ridding the world of someone she considered didn’t deserve to live.

  ‘When I got back downstairs again and began to gather my wits about me, I decided that I needed a stiff drink, and went to the sideboard where we keep the bottles. That’s when I noticed that the amaretto bottle was empty, and it was over half-full only a couple of days ago. I thought Marian had drunk it, but when she woke up I asked her, she denied it vehemently, and that’s when she thumped me one.

  ‘When I’d recovered from the shock, I put the bottle in the bin and decided that I needed a snifter even more, so I went back to the sideboard and found that my hip flask had gone, too. Again, I asked her if she’d moved it, and she started to laugh like a maniac. When I’d calmed her down, she started to look sly and cunning with a little hint of amusement. I couldn’t work out what she’d done. Then she told me.

  ‘She’d decided at the crib service that that old vicar – I can’t even remember the poor old chap’s name – would have to go too, because of the licence he’d given Jeffries to touch children, so she’d put what was left of the amaretto in the hip flask, and topped it up with something she’d come across in the garage from the boxes of junk that were left behind when we moved in. I’ve searched it out, and it was poison all right. It’s all there waiting for the police.

  ‘She said she’d made up a little parcel for the vicar that he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, and he’d have no more opportunity to do anything so irresponsible ever again. That’s when I realised that if the weather conditions didn’t improve soon, that I’d be as mad as she was when it all cleared up.

  ‘I was scared stiff from that moment onwards. I watched her like a hawk, and I slipped her more Valium and sleeping tablets to try to keep her sedated until I could get a doctor or the police to her. She woke up once, when you two called round, and I thought she’d mouth off about how clever she’d been, but I think she’d forgotten she’d done it by then.

  ‘Then this morning, when the phones came back, I rang you at Jasmine Cottage, trying to summon help to get her restrained. I’d checked that she was asleep, but she must have been pretending, because I made the call, and the next thing I knew, she’d pushed me down the stairs. I remember how much it hurt, bouncing all the way down the flight, and then I don’t remember another thing till I came round in the ambulance.

  ‘I’ve had hardly any sleep since Christmas Eve. I was too scared to do anything more than doze in case she came for me with a hammer or something ghastly like that. She had no idea who I was and seemed to think she was staying in a hotel. I was at my wits’ end.’

  ‘Good God, man. You’ve had a real time of it, haven’t you?’ murmured Falconer, stunned by what he’d just heard.

  ‘It was a nightmare. And I didn’t dare leave her to get help. There’s no telling what she might have done if I’d left her on her own, and what could anyone else have done? Locked her in a coal shed? We don’t have a police station in the village, and we were totally cut off from the outside world. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. And this is all my fault, you see.’

  ‘How on earth do you make that out, Alan?’ asked Falconer, shocked by this final sentence.

  ‘It was all my doing. Because I used to be a church warden, Jeffries got the contact deta
ils of the locum vicar from me. And everything stemmed from that. If I’d given him the brush-off, which I felt like doing, but didn’t want to seem ill-mannered, then none of this would have ever happened: so you see, it really is all my fault!

  ‘Calm down, Alan! The man would no doubt have badgered the information out of someone else. He’d have found out whatever. He was that sort of man,’ Falconer comforted the distraught man.

  ‘What am I going to tell Kerry?’ asked Carmichael, his face ashen at how his wife would react to the news that her godmother was a double murderess and her godfather thought that it was all his fault.

  ‘You’ll just have to tell her the truth. It’s better she hears it from you than from the television or a newspaper. Just tell her I’m sorry there was nothing else I could do, and that her godmother loved her very much. It’s just that the Marian we all knew and loved isn’t here any more. She’s long gone, and I miss her. God! She went downhill so fast, and they’d warned me she could get sneaky, or even violent, but it wasn’t supposed to come on this quickly.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Superintendent Chivers when I get back to the office and see what he thinks. I would suspect that only a very hard-hearted judge would deem you responsible for any of this. Yes, you helped her, but that was really an act of self-defence. If you hadn’t have done, she would probably have turned on you, and you’d be dead, too.’ This was all Falconer could think of saying, and he believed it, but couldn’t even imagine how the man in the hospital bed was feeling, after all that had happened to him in the last few days.

  When they left Alan, now dozing lightly, they returned to see how Marian was getting on, only for Falconer to spot a familiar and very welcome sight just outside the ward doors. Talking to the doctor who had been assigned the case and PC Starr, was the dark-skinned figure of Dr Honey Dubois.

  Falconer felt his insides jiggle around as if he were on a rollercoaster, and a sweat of fear and longing break out all the way down his back. He’d need to apprise her of what he had just learnt, before she could make any assessment. He wanted to do it on his own. Now. Immediately. It couldn’t wait!

  Dispatching Carmichael to get himself something to eat in the hospital cafeteria, he tried to swagger up to her, but realised he must have looked more like an eager puppy desperate to have his tummy tickled, as he, with a mouth as dry as the Sahara, muttered, ‘Hello, Dr Dubois. I believe we have some consultation to carry out over a new case which involves both of us?’

  ‘Oh, Harry, don’t be so dry and dusty. I thought you were calling me Honey now. Relax!’ Her voice was like rich chocolaty velvet, and her eyes … That was enough of that! Taking his courage in both hands, he managed to squeak, ‘Nothing to do with work, but would you consider having dinner with me some time?’

  ‘You know I’d love to, Harry. Let’s get something down in our diaries before we get down to the nitty-gritty of what you’ve got for me here …’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday 27th December (Bank Holiday) – later

  Falconer travelled back to Castle Farthing in Carmichael’s car, as his Boxster was still outside Jasmine Cottage, but it was not a convivial journey, both men sunk in shock and deep misery for the man they had left to face his future in the light of what he had gone through recently. And all this in conflict, in Falconer’s mind, about his meeting with Honey, and the thought that he would soon be taking her out for a meal a deux.

  When they arrived, Carmichael had determined that he would send the boys upstairs so that he could explain to Kerry the dreadful events in which her godparents had been swept up. Falconer went up to what had been his bedroom since Christmas Eve to pack his clothes and accoutrements, and determined to stay up there until Carmichael called him down.

  He found Mulligan dozing on the duvet, and sat down beside him to give him a pat. He may not be a big fan of dogs, but Mulligan had kept him warm in the coldest Christmas he had ever known, and he owed him some affection for that alone. And apart from that, part of his heart was singing with joy. There’d have to be meetings in the near future over this case, and he would be seeing a lot more of his current objet d’amour professionally, as well as, he prayed fervently, privately. He was like a smitten schoolboy.

  His musings were interrupted by an almost animal cry from downstairs, and first he thought that that was the result of Carmichael reporting the dreadful news to Kerry, but the cry was followed by a mighty bellow from Carmichael. ‘Come downstairs, sir. Now! Help!’

  He clattered down the stairs as fast as he could and found Kerry, her hands on the back of the sofa, leaning against it and breathing as if she had been running. ‘That backache I’ve been getting,’ she panted. ‘It must have been labour. I’ve never had it like that before. Davey’s phoning for an ambulance, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait for it.

  ‘This baby wants to come out, and it wants to come out now. I want to push. Help me get out of my knickers, somebody. Please!’

  Carmichael reappeared at this juncture, and delicately helped his wife with her underwear. ‘Don’t worry, sir. An ambulance is on its way: it shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘I haven’t got long. It’s coming now!’ yelled Kerry, and her face went red as she strained, helpless against the urges of nature. ‘You two are going to have to deliver this baby, and it’s not going to be too long before it’s out. Get this bloody thing out of my body. Now!’

  ‘Transition, sir. They always get grumpy at some point in the labour process.’

  ‘Now, you gibbering fool!’ she screamed, going purple. It’s coming out! Right this minute!’

  ‘If it’s a girl we’ll call it Harriet, sir, as you’re going to be in at the birth,’ declared Carmichael cheerfully, and then reacted in exactly the same way as he had when he had been informed that Kerry was expecting this, his first baby. He keeled over on to the settee, out cold; completely unconscious.

  ‘For a big lad, he’s not got a strong constitution,’ grunted Kerry through gritted teeth, in mitigation of her husband’s unconscious condition.

  ‘Would you like to lie down?’ asked Falconer, knowing that this was what usually happened if there were a scene like this on television – that was normally his cue to go to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He’d always preferred to remain in ignorance of exactly what happened next.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Got to squat. Use gravity to help,’ she ground out, and assumed the position while Falconer thanked his lucky stars that she’d hadn’t taken his suggestion at face value, for if she had he’d never be able to look her in the face again; or anywhere else for that matter. This was one view of his sergeant’s wife that he never, ever wanted to become acquainted with.

  Kerry began to make some very strange whimpering noises, and Falconer got down on his hands and knees and removed his jumper to put underneath her for when the inevitable happened, noting with sorrow that what he had grabbed to put on that morning had been the pale pink cashmere jumper that his mother had sent him for Christmas. Placing it just below the bit of Kerry’s body that he didn’t want to think about, he prayed that the ambulance would arrive before this went much further.

  Kerry Carmichael was delivered of a baby girl who was, indeed, named Harriet. The ambulance arrived just as Carmichael regained consciousness. Five minutes after her birth!

  As the inspector finally decamped from the cottage that had given him such an exciting and unexpected Christmas, an elderly Jaguar drew up across the green outside The Fisherman’s Flies and disgorged the figure of the Brigadier, who hadn’t made an appearance since … ooh, round about chapter two.

  ‘Season’s greetings, Inspector. Just arriving to set out my battle scene in the snooker room. Any chance of you coming? It’ll be nice to get a bit of company again, after the isolation of the last few days? What? Hope you had a peaceful Christmas.’

  Was he in for a shock when he found out what he’d missed!

  THE END

  The Falconer Files

/>   by

  Andrea Frazer