Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (7 page)

The inspector blinked. “I think we’d better start with your name, please.”

“Sorry, inspector. I’ve got used to everybody knowing who I am. It’s living in a village, I suppose. I’m Helen Highwater.” Inspector Constable’s face registered no recognition. “The author …”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Highwater …”

“Miss.”

“I beg your pardon … Miss Highwater.” The inspector was apologetic. “I’m afraid I’m not terribly well up on authors.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you must have heard of my books about my schoolgirl magician, Carrie Otter. But of course, that’s under my pen name of Jake A. Rawlings.”

“You’re Jake A. Rawlings?” interrupted Copper, astonished. “You wrote the Carrie Otter books? That’s amazing. Those books are great!”

“Do you have children then, sergeant?” enquired Helen.

Dave Copper blushed. “Actually, no, Miss Highwater. I mean, I read them myself.” And in response to Inspector Constable’s quizzical look, “I happen to think they’re very exciting. I reckon I must be one of your biggest fans.”

“That’s very kind of you to say so, sergeant. I have to confess, sometimes I can’t believe how successful they’ve become myself. I’ve had so many awards for my latest book – ‘Carrie Otter and the …’”

“… Half-Boiled Pants!’” joined in the sergeant in chorus. “Oh, that one was brilliant. I loved the bit where Carrie, Don, and Evadne drink the Multimix Medicine and then …”

“Of course we’re very familiar with your works, Miss Highwater,” broke in Inspector Constable, determined to regain control of an interview which seemed in danger of wandering from the point, “but I’m afraid we don’t really have time to discuss them now. We have the rather more pressing matter of Mr. Cope’s death to investigate.”

“Ah, yes, Horace.” A note of reserve entered Helen’s voice. “Of course, you can’t please everyone all the time, and I’m afraid Horace was not quite as kind about my last book as you, sergeant. In fact, I thought that he could have been more polite in his review column, but of course we authors have to put up with a little criticism from time to time. But I’ve never been one to hold a grudge.” She smiled brightly. “So, yes … Horace. I suppose you want to ask me where I saw him and when, and all those other searching questions. I’ve read all those detective books, you know. Of course, I’ve never actually written one, because I don’t know that I have the sort of mind to work out all those intricate things about alibis and motives and forensics and so on. It’s so much easier with Carrie, you see. If she gets into a tight spot, I just get her to do a bit of magic, and it seems to solve everything. I expect you wish you could do that sometimes, inspector. It would make your job so much easier, wouldn’t it, as well as …”

“So what can you tell us about Mr. Cope’s movements today?” Inspector Constable forced his way into Helen’s increasingly rambling flow.

“Well … hardly anything, really.” The inspector barely stopped himself sighing. “As I say, I was here first, and then Laura came in, and the poor dear was absolutely worn out because she’d been rushing about all morning – it’s always like that on the day of the fete, and really it’s a miracle that she stays as calm as she does, and I know for a fact that I could never do half as good a job with all the organisation …” She tailed off. “Now, where was I?”

“You had just arrived, madam.” Sergeant Copper’s calm voice was a contrast to Helen’s breathless twittering. “And Miss Biding had come in …”

“That’s right. It’s so important to be clear, isn’t it? Oh yes, and then Mr. Pugh appeared, and he was quite puffed out because he’d walked all the way up from the village, and the walk up from the front gates is a lot steeper than it seems when you’re driving, and if only I’d noticed him I could have given him a lift in my little car. Ah … yes!”

“Yes, Miss Highwater?” enquired Constable.

“Yes!” Helen was triumphant. “That was when Horace arrived! Just after the vicar. And he had Albert with him. But he didn’t stay long, because he said he had to get his things set up, and he wanted Albert to do his make-up for him, but Laura persuaded Albert to stay for a drink, so off Horace went, and so that was that.” She looked at Constable expectantly. “Will that do, inspector?”

There was one thing puzzling the inspector. “Make-up?”

“Oh, something about eyebrows,” explained Helen airily. “I didn’t really pay attention. All to do with his ‘character’, apparently. I don’t understand all this showmanship. But I suppose people have their own ways of looking at things.”

“I don’t think we need to keep you any longer, Miss Highwater,” said Inspector Constable. “But we may need to speak to you again later, so please don’t leave the premises.”

“Don’t worry, inspector,” replied Helen with dignity. “I don’t intend to run away. I shall be staying to support Sandra – this can’t be very nice for her. I’m a great believer in duty.” She turned to Dave Copper. “Goodbye, sergeant. Thank you so much for all those kind things you said about my books. You must look out for the new book when it comes out next month – it’s called ‘Carrie Otter and the Deadly Pillows’. In fact, if you like, I’ll sign a copy for you.”

“That’d be wonderful.”

“Well, it’s the last chance you’ll get. It is the last in the series, and I think it’s the best, but of course, we’ll have to wait to see what the public thinks. And there’s a big secret ending, but I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.” And with a twinkle, she was gone.

“I appear to be next in line for the inquisition, inspector.” Seymour Cummings entered the library with an air of calm self-assurance. “I take it this is the interrogation chair. What would you like to know?”

“I think your name would be most helpful to begin with, if you don’t mind, please, sir.” Andy Constable’s affable smile and warm tone did not deceive Dave Copper, who winced internally. He knew that his superior officer was always inclined to dislike and distrust over-confidence in a murder suspect.

“My name is Seymour Cummings.” He turned to Dave Copper. “Do you need me to spell that for you, sergeant?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, sir. I have heard of you.” He smiled in his turn. “The er … gentleman is a newspaper clairvoyant, sir,” he explained.

“Another? Well …” Constable let the sentence hang in the air. “And how did you come to be here today, Mr. Cummings?”

“I happened to be staying with Sandra Lawdown for a few days. I do that quite often. We’ve known each other for years. Oh, nothing of that kind,” he explained hastily. “We’re just good friends, if you’ll pardon the cliché.”

“And you were also acquainted with the late Mr. Cope, I assume?”

“Yes, inspector. In fact, you’re absolutely right to put me in the frame. I suppose you could say that Horace Cope and I were deadly enemies.”

“Really, sir? In what way?” Andy Constable leaned forward intently.

“Now don’t get me wrong, inspector. That was just a joke. On reflection, not a particularly funny one. But Horace had his column in the Evening Sin, and I have mine in the Daily Stir, and you know what newspapers are like. They’re always trying to get one over on their competitors – it’s all to do with circulation and advertising revenue and all the sordid financial side of things. The trouble is, so often the contributors get caught up in it and it all turns very nasty. I’m sure you’ve heard of spoiler headlines and people stealing exclusives and all sorts of dirty tricks. Nothing of that sort between Horace and me, of course. It was a friendly rivalry, really. Professional.”

“So, Mr. Cummings, what did you think of Mr. Cope?” asked Constable. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

“To be honest, inspector, I didn’t really think he was that good, but I suppose you’d expect me to say that. Sometimes he got things right by chance and pinched all the headlines, which of course drove me and all my colleagues in the business mad, but I don’t think you’ll find a motive for murder there.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“Don’t you remember that business with the jewellery, inspector? It was in London.” Seymour leaned back in his chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. “There was a French Countess of … oh, somewhere-or-other staying at the Dorchester House Hotel, and she had an emerald necklace stolen, which used to belong to the Empress Josephine, and goodness knows what else besides. And, if you’ll forgive another cliché, the police were baffled. Interviewed everyone from the manager to all the guests to the hotel cat, and ended up with not the faintest idea of who was responsible. Of course, by this time, the lady was having screaming fits, so in desperation the Count called in Horace. And damn me, but the blighter told the police where to find the jewels. I have no idea how he did it, but of course it was all over the papers, mine included, which I was not terribly pleased about, as you can imagine. Still no reason for doing him in, though. And as for his book critic’s column – well, that was complete rubbish. Just a load of bile. Not very good at all.”

“So you’re telling us that you had no reason to do Mr. Cope harm,” enquired the inspector.

“None in the world, I’m afraid,” replied Seymour. “And in fact, as for today, I didn’t even see the man. I was out for a walk when he arrived, and by the time I came back, I gather he’d already gone out to his tent to set up his paraphernalia. After which I was in the house until the vicar reappeared looking like death warmed up, and broke the ghastly news to us all. So that’s about it.”

“In which case, I’ll let you go for the moment, sir, but we may need to ask you some further questions later.” And as Seymour rose and was about to leave the room, “Oh, just one thing, sir. Somebody mentioned something about a television programme …?”

There was a slight pause before Seymour turned back. “Oh … you know about that, do you? Yes, of course, “Seeing Stars”. Yes, Horace and I were both in line to present it. Something of a plum job. Well, I think I can predict that Horace won’t be getting that, will he?”

The tap at the library door was so diffident as to be almost inaudible.

“Come in,” called Inspector Constable. No reaction. “Come in!” Still nothing. “It’s one of those days, isn’t it,” he added in exasperation. “Copper, find out who that is, and get them in here before I die of old age.”

Sergeant Copper admitted Albert Ross into the library and gestured him to the chair facing Inspector Constable at the desk. Albert seemed twitchy, and his eyes darted round the room before finally settling on the inspector. He licked his lips.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.” Andy Constable spoke smoothly and without haste. It was obviously going to be necessary to keep things calm if the witness was to provide anything useful. “I’m afraid these things always take longer than they should. If you could tell us who you are, please, just so my sergeant can make a few notes.”

“My name is Albert Ross, er … inspector, isn’t it? I’m Horace’s cousin.”

“Do forgive me, Mr. Ross. I had no idea. My condolences, sir. Were you and your cousin particularly close?”

“Oh indeed yes, inspector. Horace has been an absolute rock. He’s my only relative, you see.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes, we came from a very small family. Our mothers were sisters, my father was an only child and so was Horace’s, and neither he nor I had any brothers and sisters.”

“And no family of your own?”

“No, inspector. I’ve never married, and of course, Horace … well, er, no.” He tailed off lamely.

“Thank you for that, sir.” Inspector Constable’s manner became brisker. “So, Mr. Ross, are you a local? Do you live in Dammett Worthy?”

“Well, yes and no.” Albert smiled weakly. “I apologise, inspector, I’m not making myself very clear. It’s not very easy to think straight. I’m not a local, no, because I come from London, which is where I used to live. But I’m living at Horace’s cottage at present. I’ve been staying with Horace for – oh, ages now.”

“Yes, sir?” Constable raised his eyebrows and waited.

Albert became flustered once again. “It’s actually rather embarrassing. I had some bad luck with money a little while back – well, you know how things are, it’s been the same for so many people. But I had some investments which didn’t turn out too well, and then I lost my little flat in London, so Horace very kindly said I could stay with him until I got back on my feet. I mean, it’s not as if there was anyone else I could turn to – he and I were the only members of the family left, so we only had each other. And now I suppose it’s just me. Oh dear …” He tailed off again, blinking, and dropped his head into his hands.

Andy Constable and Dave Copper exchanged glances, and the inspector nodded slightly. He leaned back in his chair, while Dave Copper moved to a low chair alongside Albert.

“Sorry to have to press you, sir, but I need you to tell me about Mr. Cope’s movements today.”

Albert sniffed, seemed to pull himself together, and sat upright.

“That’s quite all right, sergeant,” he said. “I know you have to ask. Just let me think a moment …” Albert frowned in concentration. “It started off as quite an ordinary morning, really. You know, breakfast and so on, but I don’t suppose you want to know about that. The post came, but I don’t think there was anything in it except bills. Horace does most of his correspondence by email these days – I don’t understand all that computer stuff. And then Horace spent some time getting his things together for this afternoon – his cards and crystal ball and all that. After that, he popped round to the flower shop, while I was busy doing the cleaning, because I like to keep the cottage nice for him. I feel it’s the least I can do. Then Horace gave me everything to pack into a case to bring up here, and then I made us a cup of tea, and then we set out. I suppose that must have been about twenty to twelve. Is that what you wanted to know?”