Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (19 page)

“Oh, not at all,” said Robin hastily. “No, no, it’s just that – well, people are becoming a little uneasy, not knowing what’s going on, so I just said that I’d mention …” He tailed off, then took a breath and resumed in a more confident tone. “So, inspector, how can I help you?”

“Rules, Mr. Allday.”

“I’m sorry?”

Constable leaned forward across the desk and gazed steadily at Robin. “You spoke about rules, Mr. Allday. Funnily enough, Sergeant Copper and I were talking about rules a little while ago. And I believe you and I had something of a discussion about rules when we spoke earlier. Rules of your profession, I think, wasn’t it?”

“Er, yes, I believe so.”

“Anyway, sir, back to the matter in hand,” said Constable briskly, rubbing his hands together. “Now, we’ve been asking people about their movements from around twelve o’clock, which is when Mr. Cope arrived on the premises. And, I understand, when you were due to arrive on the premises, but didn’t.”

“No, but I think I explained that to you before, inspector. I was invited for twelve, but I got held up at the office doing some paperwork. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how time-consuming paperwork is.”

“Indeed sir. And …?” Constable sat back and waited.

“And? Oh, yes, and I had to make a couple of phone calls which Laura had asked me to do.”

“Miss Biding asked you to make some calls, did she, sir? Anything you’d like to tell us about those? If it’s within the rules, of course.”

Robin hesitated for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision, and sighed. “All right, inspector. I don’t suppose the question of client confidentiality matters much now, so you may as well know that Horace had wanted me to put his new flat in London in Laura’s name.”

“Really, sir? And why did he ask you to do that? Did he explain?”

“He said something about it being a purely business arrangement.”

“A business arrangement between Mr. Cope and Miss Biding? So how did that work out, sir?”

Robin flushed. “I really don’t know anything at all about any arrangements, inspector. That wouldn’t be any of my business. And as long as a property is correctly registered, there is no restriction on who actually pays for it. Why, has somebody implied that there is?”

“Not at all as far as we know, sir. I’m sure that you’re far better informed on property law than we are,” replied Constable smoothly. “But I’m grateful that you mentioned the matter, because it ties up a couple of loose ends. As it happens, we had already been told about a little exchange between you and Mr. Cope on the subject of this flat.”

“What exchange? I hope you’re not going to place too much reliance on what you may have been told about a private conversation between a solicitor and his client, inspector.”

“I’m not sure to what extent talk overheard in a pub can be described as private conversation, Mr. Allday, but let’s not pursue that point too closely.”

“In any case,” continued Robin, “it’s all rather academic now, isn’t it, because that particular property transaction won’t be going through now, will it?”

“And possibly just as well, from what we gather from Miss Cook.”

“Amelia?” Robin sounded baffled. “What on earth has Amelia got to do with it?”

“Oh, nothing at all, sir. It’s just a bit of confirmation of what you told us about the proposed arrangement with Miss Biding over this flat. We had a chat with Miss Cook earlier, and she was able to fill us in with some helpful detail. But, as you say, that transaction won’t be going through, so we won’t need to look any more closely at it, will we?”

“No.” Robin sounded relieved.

“At least, not that particular transaction.” Robin’s head came up sharply. “Anyway,” said Constable, moving on before Robin could ask what he meant, “let’s talk about these phone calls which the young lady asked you to make. These were also about this same flat business, were they?”

“Er, yes, of course.”

“So not relevant then, would you say?”

“To the murder, you mean? No, no, I can’t see that they could be.”

“So in that case, what was the other phone call about?”

“Other call?”

“Yes, Mr. Allday. You mentioned another phone call from Miss Biding. Copper?”

Dave Copper thumbed back through his notebook. “Yes, sir – got it here. You told us that Miss Biding called you this morning.”

“Oh yes, of course. That. Yes, Laura phoned this morning – I suppose it must have been about twenty past twelve or so, I think. I’d totally lost track of time, and she called me to say she needed my help.”

“Help, sir?”

Robin shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “With the guests, you know,” he said. “Just … well, keeping the conversation going, looking after the vicar, pouring oil, that sort of thing.”

“Oil, sir?”

“On troubled waters.” And in response to Copper’s raised eyebrows, “I imagine you’ve been told by now, Horace could quite easily raise a few hackles, even when on the surface he was appearing to be at his most charming. In fact, especially when he
was being charming.”

“But Mr. Cope had left the gathering by the time Miss Biding called you, hadn’t he, Mr. Allday?”

“But I wasn’t to know that, was I? Anyway,” he hurried on, “Laura phoned me, and I was at my office in the village which is only about five minutes away, so I dropped everything and drove up to the Hall straight away. I didn’t bother to ring the bell when I got here – I just came in through the front door, because that one’s never locked, and found everyone else in the drawing room.”

Dave Copper consulted his notebook again. “Which would have been what time, sir?”

Robin gazed at the ceiling. “It would have been about ten minutes before Mr. Pugh went out to check on Horace, so it would have been about twenty to, I suppose. And I didn’t leave until after he came back and told us what he’s found. And then I called 999.”

“From in here, sir?” asked Andy Constable.

“Yes, inspector,” replied Robin, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason, sir,” smiled Constable. “My colleague just likes to make sure all the details are correct. So if there’s nothing else that strikes you, Copper …?”

“No, sir.”

“ … then I think we’ll leave it at that for now. But if you’d ask Miss Biding to come in here, we can just verify this business about the phone calls and a few other things. Just to make sure all the details are correct. Right, Copper?”

As Robin Allday made his escape from the library, Andy Constable couldn’t help laughing at the look of consternation on the solicitor’s face. “And what, sergeant, is your assessment of Mr. Allday’s state of mind at this present moment?” he asked.

“If you’ll pardon the expression, sir, bricking it,” responded Copper. “But at least we’ve got an explanation now for how that letter of his came to be here. I reckon he told Miss Biding about it when they spoke on the phone, and then he brought it up here to show her. To try and work out what to do, I suppose. But … how about this? He tells Miss Biding about the letter, but before he gets here, she nips out to put a stop to Horace’s little plan, but they never get a chance to talk about it when he arrives because they’re all together in the drawing room, so when the body gets found he dumps the letter in here when he phones us. And he thinks she’s done it, and he’s afraid of being brought in as an accessory!”

Andy Constable nodded approvingly. “Nice theory, sergeant. But there’s one thing I’d like to know. If Miss Biding called him at twenty past, and he came straight here, which takes five minutes, how come he didn’t arrive until twenty to? Did Mr. Allday find something unpleasant to do to fill in those missing minutes? Or has somebody got their timings wrong?” He smiled grimly. “Let’s hope Miss Biding can help us.”

Laura Biding took her place facing the inspector with an air of outward calm, belied by the hands which twisted together in her lap.

“We’re sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Miss Biding,” said Constable.

“That’s perfectly all right, inspector,” replied Laura. “I do understand that you need to find out everything that everybody knows if you are to find out who killed Uncle Horace.”

“Hmmm,” mused Constable. “Uncle Horace. And that’s what you usually called him?”

“Yes,” said Laura uncertainly.

“Not the ordinary uncle-niece relationship, though, was it? Even allowing for the fact that Mr. Cope wasn’t actually your uncle, was he?”

“But I told you before, inspector, it was just a sort of courtesy title. It started when I was quite young. Everybody does it, don’t they? I mean, you can’t call your parents’ old friends Mr. or Mrs. so-and-so, can you?”

“Ah, now we come to the other point, Miss Biding. Old friends. So you’d describe you and Mr. Cope as old friends too, would you?”

“I … I suppose so. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, there’s the thing, Miss Biding. You see, from one or two things we hear, your relationship with Mr. Cope wasn’t entirely friendly, was it? In fact, we gather that there had been some tension between you and Mr. Cope only a couple of days ago. You met up, I believe, and had a conversation which wasn’t exactly amicable? Didn’t Mr. Cope make some suggestions which seemed to upset you? And weren’t there some unfriendly remarks about your mother?”

Laura’s calm exterior vanished. “Who the hell …?” she exploded. “Oh, of course! Amelia! Blasted gossip! I might have known she’d be listening in. And what else did she tell you?”

Andy Constable hesitated. “I think we’ll keep the rest of our conversation with Miss Cook private for the moment, Miss Biding,” he said. “That is, unless there’s any further information which you’d like to volunteer?”

“No.” Although Laura flushed slightly, she pressed her lips together and seemed determined to say nothing further.

“Very well, Miss Biding. So let’s move on to what happened this afternoon.” Andy Constable turned to his colleague. “Copper, I think you’ve got some details you need to check up on.”

“Right then, miss.” Dave Copper opened his notebook again. “It’s the timings, miss. Once we’ve got those clearly sorted out, then we can have a better idea of who had the opportunity to kill Mr. Cope. Sorry, ‘Uncle Horace’, if you prefer.”

Laura snorted with irritation. “All right, sergeant, you’ve made your point. So maybe Uncle Horace wasn’t quite the dear old family friend I said he was, but I couldn’t have killed him, could I?”

“How so, miss?”

“For a start, you know where I was all the time. I was in the drawing room with Mother and the others to start with, and then I went out to get more drinks, but Helen was with me then, and after that I came in here to make a phone call to Robin Allday – you know all about that, I suppose?”

“We have been told about the call, yes, miss,” confirmed Copper. “Whether we know all about it, I couldn’t say.”

“Oh … right.” Laura paused, disconcerted. “Anyway, after I spoke to Robin, I went back into the drawing room, and I didn’t leave the room after that. And then Robin arrived a bit later, and then Mr. Pugh came back, but he went out again to open the gate to the Secret Garden at about ten to one. So that’s it,” she finished triumphantly.

“So then, Miss Biding,” resumed Inspector Constable, “According to your reckoning, nobody could have murdered Mr. Cope?”

A sudden thought seemed to strike Laura. “Unless you count dear Mr. Pugh, of course. After all, he was the only one who went out to the Secret Garden on his own. Why don’t you ask him if he did it.”

Chapter 12

“Do you know what, Copper,” sighed Andy Constable, running his hands through his hair. “There are two things I’m getting heartily sick of.”

“What’s that, then, sir?”

“People not telling us the truth, and this damned library. I have the stupidest feeling that it’s
sitting here looking at me smugly, thinking ‘Well, I know what happened, even if you don’t’.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, isn’t that just ever so slightly paranoid?”

Constable smiled. “You’re absolutely right, sergeant. These people are driving me loopy.”

“In which case, sir, I have a solution. I reckon it’s all down to lack of fluids. What you need is a cup of tea.”

“Oh hell!” Constable leapt to his feet. “Amelia Cook! She’ll be hopping up and down. I promised we’d go and see her to find out what it was she was going on about. Come on, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. We’ll see if we can persuade her to make us some tea while we’re at it.”

As the two detectives emerged into the hall, P.C. Collins was just coming back through the front door.

“The vicar’s safely back at the vicarage, sir,” he reported. “Sorry I’ve been quite a time, but he would ask me in and insisted on making me a cup of tea. I don’t know why it is, but people always seem to think that a policeman wants a cup of tea.”

The inspector laughed. “That is because, Collins, on this occasion they would be absolutely right. Come on – you can come and join us in the kitchen for another cup, if you’ve got room, and a bit of Miss Cook’s famous cake, if there’s any left. And we’ll make sure she doesn’t blame you for us keeping her waiting and making her late.” He pushed his way through the baize door from the hall and on into the kitchen, stopped short, and groaned.