Deadly Plot

Bunch slid the MG next to the police cars and ambulance, waved to Wright’s driver, and strode towards the knot of men gathered near the Westmere clubhouse. Wright peeled away from the group and came to meet her.
“William,” she called. “We must stop meeting like this.”
“Or people will talk?”
“People will always talk,” she replied. “Good thing too, or your job would be a great deal harder.”
“True.”
“Let’s put that to one side, hey? What’s happening here?”
“A body in a lake.”
“Oh my goodness? Who?”
“It’s yet to be confirmed but it looks like the owner, Reginald Tallboys.”
“Heavens.” She stared down at the lake and blew out her cheeks. “I was only talking to him yesterday.”
“Is there anything I should know?”
“Not sure. I glimpsed a side of Tallboys that the great and good of Wyncombe wouldn’t like very much. He has always been full of himself but generally ingratiating. Oleaginous, as Granny would say. Yesterday, that mask was categorically slipping.”
“In what way?”
“He was very rude to me. Quite aggressive, I’d say. He was a man on the edge of blowing his top, if ever I saw one. His wife Pamela seemed positively frightened of him.”
“Do you think he was violent towards her?”
“I don’t know. Before yesterday I’d never seen any evidence to suggest that, though to be honest I haven’t seen much of Pamela since the wedding. Us spinsters rather fall off the married woman’s guest list. Unless it’s out of pity or they have a bachelor to be entertained. We’re an ever-present threat to husbands, so I am reliably informed by Granny.”
“She avoided you? Hard to imagine.”
Is he making fun of me? Bunch thought. Damned cheek. Except that she knew he was perfectly correct. “I was away a lot and we just stopped seeing each other,” she said. “Reggie was very keen to curry favour but Daddy didn’t much like him so he was never terribly welcome at Perringham. One has to admire the man’s persistence: he was on every committee going.”
“Do you think it’s possible this tension between the Tallboys was recent?”
“That’s possible. I hadn’t heard suggestions of any tension before, and in a place like Wyncombe tongues would wag however quiet they tried to keep it.”
“That I can well believe. It’s something we can ask Mrs Tallboys later. For now, let’s go to the scene. It’s…”
“I know where the lake is,” she snapped. “Where is Pamela? And the children? They all know, I take it?”
“The greensman came to find Mrs Tallboys when the body was discovered. We have a WPC with her now, and the doctor’s given her something for the shock. I’m not sure if the children have been apprised. As you know Mrs Tallboys, it would be useful if you could help with an interview.”
That explained why she had been called in such a hurry. She nodded. “Later, though. Shall we get down to the lake first?”
“By all means.”
“Has your other case been closed?” she asked. Wright looked grimly ahead of him and she feared the worst. “It ended badly?”
“The child was recovered,” he said. “More or less unharmed, no thanks to her fool father.”
“What happened?”
“He went behind our backs and paid the ransom.”
“Presumably that was part of the kidnappers’ deal. One can hardly blame a parent wanting to avoid giving villains the excuse to harm their child.”
“We suspected he’d do just that or we wouldn’t have put a watch on him. It all ended out on the marshes at the backend of Stanmer village. He had handed over the cash but the kidnappers clearly had no intention of leaving witnesses. Left him and the child trussed up like Christmas geese and sinking rapidly in the mud.”
“You found them both alive. That has to be good news.”
Wright sighed. “Yes, we got to them in time. But he’s had the brass neck to make an official complaint. Claims we’d made such a hash of things that he’d been left with no choice but to take matters into his own hands. Your uncle is looking for heads to sever.”
“Oh dear. Uncle Walter is a sweetheart but he can act up. Fortunately for you, it’s Christmas Eve and he has a Christmas lunch ahead of him, with all the appropriate wines and after-dinner brandy to guzzle, and then a few days at home to calm his nerves.”
“I can only hope he’s too short on inspectors to actually bust me down to constable, as he’s been threatening.”
“He actually said that?” Bunch pulled a face. “He’s venting spleen. Don’t take him too much to heart.”
“Finding a rapid answer for this new case is rather important. Which will not be easy over the holidays. People will find all the excuses possible to postpone making statements.”
“Then we shall have to make sure we succeed by other methods.”
As they neared the dip in the land that led to the lakeside a gaggle of people came into view. They had gathered some yards from the water’s edge in two distinct groups. PC Botting and a second younger constable with a couple of estate workers, and closest to the body were two ambulance crew waiting to remove the corpse, and the pathologist Dr Letham with his assistant.
“Miss Courtney, hello.” Letham doffed his hat and beamed at her. “I wondered if I’d see you, with this being your neck of the woods. How are you my dear?”
“Very well, thank you, Letham. A little cold.”
“It is, but I see you’ve come dressed for the conditions.” He grinned at her. “I gather it is supposed to snow tonight so the quicker we get this poor chap tucked up in my mortuary the better. Hello, Wright. I heard about your other case. Bad do when people go off half-cocked. That’s the best thing about my subjects. They tend to stay put. Charming hat by the way, Miss Courtney, wouldn’t you agree Wright?”
“What?”
Bunch smiled grimly, as much at Letham’s gallows humour as at Wright’s perplexed expression.
“Miss Courtney’s hat?” Letham arched a brow at Bunch, who hid a smile.
“Oh yes, very fetching.” Blissfully ignoring the exchange, Wright gestured at the body lying under a pale canvas. “Cause of death was drowning, would you say?”
Letham rolled his eyes at Bunch with another impish grin. “Straight to business, hey? Jolly good. I won’t know if this poor chap breathed in any water with his last gasp until I’ve conducted the postmortem. Did he die by drowning? That’s highly unlikely – my money’s on the bullets through his thorax. They made a bit of a mess.”
“Could it be suicide?” Wright asked. “Rose seems to think he was acting out of character yesterday.”
“Not unless he was a contortionist,” Letham replied. “Damned hard to fire two rounds into your own heart from behind. A third projectile severed the spinal cord, which is unusual. Most assassins prefer the head. The weapon was held close to the neck and destroying vertebrae four, five and possibly six. Not the heavy calibre weapon used for the lethal shots or his head might have been blown clean from his shoulders. No call for precision, however. When a gun is fired at such close range my cat couldn’t miss. Doubtless intended as a warning for his associates. I’ve seen it before.”
“How ghastly. What sort of message could they possibly want to give?” said Bunch.
“That he lacked spine my dear.”
“There’s no sign of that weapon?” Wright said.
“None.”
“And that’s another murder on our hands.”
“More of an execution I’d say. A professional job. I would say two perpetrators from the marks remaining on the lakeside, after your people have clumped around the scene like a herd of bullocks.” He glared across at Botting and his sidekick. “The victim was most likely walked to the site and made to kneel by the water’s edge where his killers stood behind him and…” Letham held his arm out straight and mimed a gun “… pow, pow, and that was that. By the time he was in the water he was almost certainly dead.”
“Has anyone taken photos of the scene?”
“Already on their way to be developed. Some of us have been here for a few hours. I’ve done my job and told you as much as I am able. The who and why is your department.”
“I got here as soon as I could, Letham.” Wright walked carefully across to the bank, examining the ground as he went and pulled back the sheet.
Bunch could see Tallboys lying on his back and not face down as Letham had described. His head and upper body were streaked with mud and frosted duck weed, which gave Bunch the bizarre image of a macabre kind of toffee apple, one half-covered in sticky goo and the other pristine white. His face was turned away from her so that she could only see a partial profile, but it was unmistakably Reginald Tallboys, a man, the locals said, who could persuade an Eskimo to buy an ice chest. She felt sorry that a person had died but no sorrow for a man like Reginald Tallboys. She considered whether her fifth murder investigation was making her callous. It’s still a horrible way to die, even if he wasn’t a terribly likeable person.
“Do we know the time of death?” she said.
“Five and twenty past nine,” Botting had wandered over and piped up. “Those two blokes heard the shot.” He gestured at the two workmen. “They came running because there’s still the odd pheasant left over from when the estates had shoots and there’s poachers in every thicket this time of year.”
“Instead of which they found their guvnor already dead.” Wright let the sheet drop and stood up, scanning the ground around them. “I don’t suppose they saw the gunmen?”
“They say there were a few people on the links but none of ’em was acting suspicious.”
“If these were professional hit men then all they’d need would be a golf bag and decent windcheaters to fit right in.”
“Yes Sir.”
“All right. Statements from the groundkeepers and anyone booked to play this morning. Miss Courtney and I will go and talk to the wife. Anything more you need from me, Letham?”
“These charming ambulance ladies need to stretcher our Mr Tallboys back to the van so they may require a little help. It’s going to be a four-handed job to get across that fairway. Or more accurately eight-handed.” He chortled at his own joke.
“PM tomorrow?”
“On Christmas Day? My dear chap, you may have no life but my good lady wife would not forgive me if I spent my time carving golfers in lieu of a goose. But never fear, I should get it done on Monday. I shall let you know my findings as quickly as possible.”
“Monday? Letham! I have a murder to investigate I need answers—”
“Chief Inspector.” Letham glared, more annoyed than Bunch had ever seen him. “Half my staff are off for the holidays and I already have two poor sods waiting in my mortuary from last night. They died of natural causes, so no drama involved, but their families also need answers. When people get themselves murdered on Christmas Eve, in the middle of a war, things tend to get delayed.”
“Sorry Letham.” Wright lifted his hat to pass his hand over his head. “It’s not an excuse but I am rather tired. Had about six hours sleep since Sunday. It would be useful to have an idea of the weapon they used.”
“Quite understandable. I doubt the postmortem will tell you much more than I have already stated. Two rounds went straight through his chest. We may be lucky and find one still lodged in his skull that we can identify, but do not hold your breath. At an educated guess, I would say .38 calibre handgun. Impossible to give the make.”
“Thank you, Letham. When you can. Happy Christmas and enjoy your goose.”
“Happy Christmas, Wright. Miss Courtney.” Letham raised his hat briefly, grabbed his bag and started off towards his car.
Wright pulled the tarp firmly back in place and stood to stare across the water. “Come on Rose. We have to go and speak with the widow.”