The House on Downshire Hill
Page 1
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Urbane Publications Ltd Suite 3, Brown Europe House, 33/34 Gleaming Wood Drive, Chatham, Kent ME5 8RZ
Copyright © Guy Fraser-Sampson, 2018
The moral right of Guy Fraser-Sampson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-912666-11-9
MOBI 978-1-912666-13-3
EPUB 978-1-912666-12-6
Cover by Author Design Studio
urbanepublications.com
The House on Downshire Hill is the fifth volume of the Hampstead Murders. Readers are invited to sample the series in the correct order for maximum enjoyment.
Death in Profile
Miss Christie Regrets
A Whiff of Cyanide
A Death in the Night
The House on Downshire Hill
PRAISE FOR THE HAMPSTEAD MURDERS SERIES
“Comfortingly old school crime fiction with a modern twist.”
Chris Brookmyre
“Classy and sophisticated … if you thought the Golden Age of crime writing was dead, then read this.”
Ruth Dugdall, CWA Debut Dagger Winner
“Mr Fraser-Sampson has presented readers with a neatly lacquered puzzle-box filled with golden-age trickery, as warm and timeless as crumpets and honey; a murder to curl up by the fire with on a winter’s night.”
Christopher Fowler, bestselling author of the Bryant and May mysteries
GLOSSARY
RANKS IN THE METROPOLITAN POLICE FORCE
Constable
Sergeant
Inspector
Chief Inspector
Superintendent
Chief Superintendent
Commander
Deputy Assistant Commissioner
Assistant Commissioner
Deputy Commissioner
Commissioner
Note (1): All officers with a rank of Commander and above are described generically as “Chief Police Officers”
Note (2): All ranks up to and including Chief Superintendent may be prefixed with “Detective” if the officer is serving with CID.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Metropolitan Police Acronyms or Abbreviations
Slang Used BT the Metropolitan Police
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Detective Inspector Bob Metcalfe had various reasons to be cheerful as he made his way from Frognal towards Hampstead police station. First, as he took the small footpath beside the former residence of Gracie Fields which led past the graveyard and up into Church Row the sun, which had been attempting to break through some rather hazy clouds, finally did so. After the grey, damp weather of the previous few days this marked a welcome change.
Second, he and the rest of the team had recently received favourable comments from the powers that be at Scotland Yard for successfully concluding an investigation into a suspicious death at an exclusive club for female university graduates. This meant a few days of quiet as they waited for assignment to a new enquiry, and having a respite from the long hours and intense efforts which normally attended a homicide investigation was always agreeable. Last, and by no means least, he had recently become engaged to be married, a development which even a few months ago would have seemed extremely unlikely given the highs and lows (mostly lows, to be honest) of his personal life.
He crossed Fitzjohns Avenue, one of the two main roads which meet at the top of the hill by Hampstead tube station, and cut down Perrin’s Court which brought him swiftly to the second, Rosslyn Hill. From here it was a right turn and a walk down the hill to the police station, passing the King William IV pub, commonly known as ‘the Willy’, where he and his colleagues had been known to take a modest drink or two after work. He stayed on this side of the road as he progressed down the hill, since it kept him away from the window shoppers and aggressive pram wielders who tended to clog the other pavement. He crossed the road at the zebra crossing and completed his brief but agreeable walk to work.
The desk Sergeant said “good morning, sir.”
Since he would normally have used the informal ‘guv’ Metcalfe looked at him sharply, for they had been uniformed constables together, and it was always difficult to know whether someone was ‘extracting the Michael’ as DCI Tom Allen would have said. He wondered if this newfound formality was for the benefit of a trainee constable who had started work a few days previously, but a subtle jerk of the sergeant’s head indicated the presence of Detective Superintendent Collison, who was leafing through some papers away in the corner of the room in a rather desultory fashion. As he dropped them back into the tray he caught sight of Metcalfe.
“Morning, Bob.”
“Good morning, guv. Anything happening?”
“No, not really.”
“Excuse me, sir,” the desk Sergeant said diffidently, “but there is that missing person’s report.”
“Yes, I was just looking at that. Is there anything to it, do you think? It all seems a bit tenuous.”
“I saw the lady when she came in, sir. I’d say she was genuinely upset. Shall I ask someone from uniform to call on her? It’s only just round the corner after all.”
“No,” Collison said after deliberating for a moment. “On reflection I think you’re right. Let’s do the job properly and send somebody from CID. Who’s free, Bob?”
“Just about everybody at the moment, guv. What about Priya?”
“Okay then. Have that sent up to DC Desai, will you please, Sergeant?”
“So how are the wedding plans coming along then?” Collison asked as they walked up the stairs together.
“Oh, quietly you know. We haven’t even set a date yet. It’s all been a bit sudden to be honest. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.”
“No second thoughts I hope?”
“Absolutely not, no.”
“Good. Lisa seems like a really nice girl.”
They walked past the door to the operations room, currently eerily empty since the conclusion of their most recent case.
“Now, let’s see, where is Priya? I think she’s sharing an office with Timothy isn’t she?”
He knocked briefly at the next door they came to and poked his head into t
he room. Timothy Evans was eating a large pastry, much of which he seemed to have spread across his desk. Priya Desai was watching him and trying to look disapproving. Priya never had to try very hard to look disapproving.
“Priya, do you have much on at the moment?”
“No, sir, just getting rid of the last of the filing actually.”
“Good. I was just taking a look at some papers downstairs and I came across a missing person’s report which was filed yesterday. Because it doesn’t deal with a child it wasn’t treated as a matter of urgency. There’s also some doubt about whether it actually discloses anything sinister. Apparently some lady hasn’t been able to contact one of her neighbours for a while. Do you think you might be able to pop round and have a word with her? It’s only just round the corner in Downshire Hill.”
“Yes of course, guv. It’ll be nice to get out of the station.”
As she said this she cast a pointed glance at the snowfield of sugar and crumbs on her colleague’s desk.
“Good. I’ve asked the desk Sergeant to send up the report. Ah, here it is I believe. That was quick. Thank you, Constable.”
He stood aside to let the trainee constable hand an internal brown envelope to Desai.
“Report back to DI Metcalfe, will you? Depending on how you see things, we’ll decide whether to take things further or not.”
Where a missing person’s report concerned neither a child nor a vulnerable adult the police had a wide measure of discretion as to how seriously or urgently to press their enquiries. Where the concern expressed amounted to little more than an elderly neighbour not answering the door, usually a visit from uniform was enough. There was hardly a serving officer in the Metropolitan police who had not, as a young constable, forced entry to a house to discover the natural death of its occupant. DCI Tom Allen, who delighted in regaling younger officers with the gory details of his early career, had a fund of such stories, including his pièce de résistance which concerned an elderly man who had died over a year previously and whose body had been largely mummified by the cool breeze from an open window.
Metcalfe ducked into his own office while Collison continued along the corridor. He was feeling at least as much at a loose end as the rest of the team, but was trying very hard not to show it. An old university friend who now worked at an investment bank had described to him over dinner the unnatural calm which descended on a corporate finance department once a deal completed. He had explained how everyone took the opportunity to schedule anything from a weekend away to a dental appointment as quickly as possible, since they all knew it was only a matter of time before the next merger or equity issue arrived on their desks from one of the rainmakers on the directors’ floor upstairs. He had reflected at the time that this sounded pretty similar to what CID went through when a homicide investigation closed down. He couldn’t quite decide whether it felt like the beginning of term, or the end.
One of the doors he passed was open, and he saw Detective Sergeant Karen Willis putting a file into her out tray. Presumably she, like Desai, was just tying up the few loose ends which remained in documenting the Athena Club case. She looked up at him and smiled, tossing her dark hair back as she did so.
“Good morning, guv.”
“Good morning, Karen. How are you? And how’s Peter?”
“We’re both fine, thank you.”
Karen’s boyfriend was Dr Peter Collins, who had for some time been an official psychological adviser to the Met, and whose skills Collison had used extensively since he had first come to Hampstead as a Detective Superintendent.
“That’s good,” he replied and then wondered what to say next.
“It feels strange, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I suppose it always does, but I went on leave the last couple of times so it didn’t really hit me the way it has now. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being completely committed to a big case one day, and it suddenly all being declared over the next. It’s a sort of flat feeling, isn’t it? I suppose it might have something to do with stress, and adrenaline, and all that sort of thing.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Still, if history’s anything to go by we won’t have long to wait for something else to crop up, so I should make the most of it if I were you.”
“Good, then I shall.”
“Actually, while I’m here, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
He came in and closed the door behind him.
“This is all very speculative, but every time I see the ACC he seems to have some new idea about my future. As you know, all I really want to do is to stay here and get on with solving crimes, but he seems to see things rather differently.”
“That’s hardly surprising is it, guv? You’ve been marked out as a high-flyer, everyone knows that. They’re grooming you for a top job, perhaps the top job. They’ll want you to be sitting on committees, briefing civil servants, that sort of thing.”
“You’re right of course, but I wish you weren’t. It’s all very flattering being apparently held in high regard by the ACC but I’d much rather just take my chances like everyone else.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, other officers are going to see me being promoted ahead of them and they’re likely to resent it, aren’t they? It’s only human nature.”
“I would have thought you’d be used to that by now, guv. Wasn’t that an issue when you first came here to Hampstead?”
“You know it was. And it put me under a lot of extra pressure, I don’t mind admitting. If we hadn’t been able to crack that first case it would have been extremely embarrassing – not just for me, but for the ACC as well.”
“Well, you did crack it. So what’s the problem?”
Collison gave a wry smile.
“Why is it you sound like my wife so often?”
“How is Caroline? And the baby?”
“They’re both very well thank you, but listen: this is what I wanted to talk to about.”
He sat down, glanced out of the window to marshal his thoughts, and then went on.
“I said that the ACC seems to have lots of different ideas about my future career. Well, that’s true, but there’s one that he keeps coming back to and it involves quite a senior post with Special Branch.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be as bad as sitting on a committee now, would it? And the branch is a traditional route to the very top, as I understand it. Didn’t the present Commissioner used to be Commander there?”
“Yes he did, as everyone keeps reminding me. But here’s the thing. As a sweetener, he’s suggested once or twice that I might be able to take either you or Bob with me. How would you feel about that? It would mean a promotion, I assume.”
“I’m very flattered, guv, but why are you asking me? Bob is a much more experienced officer.”
Collison shifted awkwardly on the chair.
“Bob’s got a natural leg up coming here as a DCI on homicide. He’s overdue for it in my view, as I’ve told the ACC repeatedly. That’s not true of you. If you wanted it, I think this could be a great opportunity for you. Like I say, I think if I press them they might make you a DI immediately.”
“Have you had this conversation with Bob?” she asked quietly.
“No, I haven’t. To be perfectly honest I think you would be my number one choice. That’s why I wanted to hear your reaction first. Bob’s a great copper and he knows his way around a homicide enquiry with his eyes shut, but the branch is different. It needs a flexible, imaginative approach, and I don’t think that would be playing to his strengths. Also, he’s a really nice bloke and that might not be a good fit with what goes on at the branch.”
“What does go on?”
“Well I can’t be sure, but don’t forget I got quite involved with them over that business at Burgh House. So I know some of the things that went on, and I can guess at others. Let’s just say that once you move into the security world you need a rather different perspective on things. You need to be able to do t
hings because you’re comfortable that they’re in the national interest without worrying too much about the ethics of it all.”
“And you think that I could do that? I’m not sure whether to be flattered or not.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m putting this very well am I?”
“No, I see exactly where you’re coming from, guv, and I think you’re right to be concerned. I’m not sure how I’d handle that, to be honest. If this ever becomes a serious enquiry then I’d need some time to think about it.”
Collison gave a little laugh.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling the ACC for the last six months or so.”
CHAPTER 2
If Hampstead has every claim to being the most beautiful area of London, then Downshire Hill has an equal claim to being its most beautiful Street. The police station actually nestles on the corner of Downshire Hill, and the entrance to its attached Magistrate’s court gives onto the street itself. It was from this doorway that Priya Desai emerged, shutting it securely behind her, as she went in search of Wentworth House, the inhabitants of Downshire Hill being naturally far too refined to make use of anything so vulgar as a house number.
She passed a number of breathtakingly elegant houses on each side of the road, some large and some small, but all set back from the street behind gardens which could for the most part have held their heads up proudly in any leading horticultural show. ‘For the most part’ since there was one garden which, as she approached it, stood out from all the others. Though she was no gardener she could see very plainly that it was horribly neglected, little more than an overgrown tangle of grass and weeds in fact. Once she could make out the name on the gate, badly faded and in need of repainting as it was, she realised with a shock that she had in fact arrived at her destination.
As she stood there for a moment and surveyed the scene it became apparent that the house seemed every bit as neglected as the garden. Tiles were missing from the roof, the woodwork appeared not to have been painted for some decades, and an old television aerial had become partially detached from the chimney and hung dejectedly down at one side of the building. She shook her head, opened the gate, and walked up the pathway.