Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery

by Roger Keevil

  “Of course I didn’t,” said Seymour hotly. “The idea’s ridiculous.”

  “Sadly, not that ridiculous, sir,” responded Constable. “And there might be some who would suspect that you gave yourself away with your choice of murder weapon. We’re back to the final words of your altercation with Mr. Cope in church. As the vicar so delicately put it, ‘Balls!’”

  “But inspector!” Seymour sounded exasperated. “I wasn’t anywhere near at the time.”

  Constable smiled. “You know, sir, it’s interesting you should say that, because I’ve found the business of alibis in this case quite fascinating. In fact, if I were given to a belief in conspiracy theories, I should probably be coming to the conclusion that I should be arresting all of you, because you’re all in it together. On the face of it, everybody’s movements are all accounted for, and everybody ought to have an alibi, because they were all together in the drawing room. Except of course that, the second you look at these alibis more closely, they all fall apart. Everybody has some time when their movements can’t be accounted for. You were out in the park, sir. Miss Biding went off to get more drinks and later made a phone call, and Miss Highwater went with her. Mr. Ross went out to the Secret Garden and then went looking for you, but none of the timings dovetail precisely. Mr. Allday didn’t put in an appearance until later, but there’s some time we can’t account for there, and Lady Lawdown was left alone for a while, and there’s no proof that she remained here during that time.”

  “So what are you saying, inspector?” asked Sandra Lawdown. “That it was all of us? None of us? What is the point of all this?”

  “I’m simply trying to explain, your ladyship, that there are almost too many threads to this case. Normally, we look at the three factors in any murder case – means, motive, and opportunity. And as I’ve pointed out, what is crucial here is not the motive or opportunity, because we have plenty of each. Far too many for comfort, in fact. Not to put too fine a point on it,” said Constable with grim humour, “it’s something of a wonder that you didn’t all do it.”

  “So?”

  “So we have to look at the means. Mr. Cope was brained with his crystal ball. Not particularly heavy, so capable of being used equally well by a man or a woman. No help there. The crystal ball has had an initial examination, and bears no fingerprints, so obviously the murderer wore gloves. And what did we find in the Secret Garden but a pair of kitchen gloves? No doubt we shall be able to get some DNA from those, and that will put this case beyond doubt. But here’s a thought – Seymour Cummings told us that he re-entered the house through the kitchen, and Amelia Cook had to let him in. Amelia Cook, who has also been killed, we believe, to stop her supplying us with a crucial piece of information. I imagine she would have thought it extremely odd if Mr. Cummings, on his way through the kitchen, had made off with a pair of Marigolds.

  “Of course, there is one other place you find marigolds, and that’s in the flower room. A pair of rubber gloves are very useful for stopping your nicely manicured hands getting dirty when you’re cutting flowers in the garden – or when you’re up to some other kind of dirty work. And the gloves we found in the Secret Garden still have the remnants of some leaves and petals adhering to them – enough to show that the flower room is where they came from. We only know of one person who went to the flower room.”

  “Oh,” said Sandra Lawdown breathlessly. “My lilies …” She turned to the piano where a bouquet of lavish but drooping blooms was beginning to leave a film of pollen on the polished wood.

  “Yes, your ladyship,” said Constable. “Your flowers. Lilies – a symbol of death. Probably not what Horace Cope had in mind when he brought them here for you. And now those flowers are themselves dying for lack of water. Because they never did get put in a vase, did they? The vase that you went to the flower room to fetch. Didn’t you, Miss Highwater?”

  Helen Highwater drew herself up to face the detective. “As you say, inspector.”

  “But the vase never arrived, Miss Highwater. And I believe the reason to be that you didn’t stay when you reached the flower room. I believe you carried on to the Secret Garden where Horace Cope was preparing for the fete. And I think you knew what you were going to do when you got there, because I think you had given up all hope of preventing Mr. Cope from destroying your greatest triumph. I think this has all been about your final Carrie Otter book. Am I right?”

  An air of calm dignity seemed to settle over Helen. “Yes, inspector,” she replied calmly. “You are right, of course. Horace Cope was a thoroughly unpleasant man who always knew how to twist the knife. I never knew how unpleasant he was until I heard everything that you have told us today. I believed I was alone. And I know that there is no justification for what I have done, but it makes it easier somehow to know that my friends were suffering from Horace’s … attentions too.

  “And yes, it was all about my book. I dare say that sounds foolish, but my books have almost been like my children. I created them. They gave me so much unexpected pleasure.” She smiled faintly. “They were even going to look after me in my old age. But then Horace stepped in, just at the moment when everything seemed to come to a perfect conclusion. Just when my final book was about to be published.”

  “And Horace Cope somehow got hold of a copy,” put in Dave Copper.

  “Yes, sergeant,” said Helen. “I have no idea how, and I don’t suppose it much matters now. But he was intent on spoiling the whole thing for me. He said that he was planning to reveal the ending in his newspaper column the weekend before publication. I begged him not to – I asked him why he would wish to do such a thing, but I didn’t get a proper answer. He just sneered. I suppose it was simply because he could. He wanted to wreck everything I have worked for over the years.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand how a person can set out to be so destructive.”

  “And in the end, it turned out to be self-destructive,” said Constable. “In effect, Horace Cope signed his own death warrant.”

  “I couldn’t let him do it, inspector,” insisted Helen. “Not just for myself – for all my readers. All those children whose enjoyment would have been spoilt, just for the twisted pleasure of some horrible little man. So yes, I went out to the Secret Garden fully intending to put a stop to Horace and his plan. When I came through the flower room I suppose I noticed the gloves, and I think I must have picked them up almost without realising it. When I reached Horace’s tent I tried one last time to persuade him to think again. Even then I gave him a chance, I really did, but it was no good. He just laughed at me and went on laying out those silly bits and pieces of his. So when I went behind him, I put the gloves on, caught hold of the crystal ball, and hit him with it. Just once. It was so odd – I felt strangely calm. And then I took off the gloves and threw them down outside and came back to the others in the drawing room. And I never did pick up that vase for your poor flowers, Sandra.”

  Sandra Lawdown moved to her friend, knelt down in front of her, and took her hands. “But Helen darling,” she said gently, “I still don’t understand why? Why poor Amelia?”

  Suddenly, Helen Highwater’s facade broke. Her face crumpled, and tears began to run down her cheeks. “Oh Amelia!” she gulped. “Oh, Sandra, that was … I wish I’d never …”

  “I think I can explain, your ladyship,” said Constable. “It was all to do with the book again. Horace Cope was killed because he knew the ending and was intending to reveal it. In fact, the clue was in the title of the book itself – ‘Carrie Otter and the Deadly Pillows’. And Horace Cope was overheard to boast that he knew the book’s final twist. Carrie Otter dies. Horace said exactly what happens – ‘she gets smothered in the end’. And that’s what Amelia Cook overheard him say to Miss Highwater in the teashop. The tragedy was that Miss Cook probably had no idea of the significance of what it was that she’d overheard, but the fact that she had done so emerged during our investigations today. And I think when you knew t
hat, Miss Highwater, you decided that Amelia’s death was the only way to protect your secret.”

  Helen had pulled herself together. “I panicked, inspector. That is my only explanation. Once I realised that Amelia knew about Horace’s words, I knew that you would understand their significance if you found out about them. So when I left the library after speaking to you, I went to the kitchen and spoke to Amelia. She was actually excited because she’d finally remembered what Horace had said that day. I realised that there wasn’t any hope of persuading her that she’d remembered it wrongly, or that it didn’t have anything to do with the case. I knew she would tell you, and I couldn’t let that happen, so I … well, you know what I did.”

  “And all so pointless, I’m afraid,” replied Constable. “Because Miss Cook had written us a note. And so she ensured that she passed on to us what she knew, even though it probably seemed so trivial to her. It was the final piece to the puzzle.” He paused and turned to Dave Copper. “So, sergeant, if you would …”

  Dave Copper stepped forward. “Helen Highwater, I am arresting you …”

  Andy Constable interrupted his colleague. “Outside, sergeant, I think. Miss Highwater, please.”

  “Of course, inspector.” Helen Highwater stood and looked down at Sandra Lawdown still kneeling at her feet. “I just wish I could say how sorry …” She turned to Laura Biding. “Laura darling, look after your mother. She’s going to need you.” She picked up her handbag. “I’m quite ready now, sergeant. Would you like me to go first?” With a firm step, not looking backwards, she led the way into the hall.

  As the car, driven by Sergeant Copper with Inspector Constable and Helen Highwater in the back, turned out of the rain-swept drive of Dammett Hall, it passed the now limply-drooping banner advertising the Dammett Hall Garden Fete. One of the ropes supporting the banner had come loose, and the hastily hand-written sign which had been taped to the banner had detached itself and come to rest in a puddle. Although the words were beginning to run, they were for the moment still legible – “CANCELLED DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES”.