Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (18 page)

Chapter 11

“I’m afraid I have something of a confession to make, inspector. I haven’t been completely straight with you.”

Seymour Cummings took his seat in front of the library desk with an air of a schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s study to account for his
misdeeds. Beneath his tan, he looked pale.

Andy Constable gave a faint smile. “To be frank, Mr. Cummings, in my experience, hardly anybody is ever completely straight with us during an investigation, particularly when it’s a question of murder. But I have to say that it’s a refreshing change to have a suspect actually volunteer the information.”

“A suspect? So you think that I might have …?”

“Suspect purely in a technical sense, Mr. Cummings,” explained Constable in soothing tones. “As someone who was present at the scene of the crime, you fall into the same category as everyone else in the house. Perhaps I should have said ‘person under investigation’. Or ‘person helping us with our enquiries’. Does that help?”

Seymour still looked anxious. “In all honesty, inspector, I think it makes it sound worse,” he said ruefully. “And Helen says you were asking about my movements this morning, and I suddenly realised that I thought I had an alibi, but I haven’t. Mind you, don’t they say that the people with the strongest alibis are usually the chief suspects?” He gazed hopefully at the two detectives.

“Suppose you just tell us what it is you haven’t been completely straight about, Mr. Cummings, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Of course, inspector.”

“Shall we take it from mid-day today, sir, when I understand Lady Lawdown’s little party was due to begin and Mr. Cope arrived on the premises.”

“Ah, well that’s the thing, inspector. I should have been in the drawing room at twelve for this little drinks thing of Sandra’s, but I didn’t really fancy having to be nice to Horace, so I went for a bit of a walk round the grounds to kill time. I needed to think.”

Andy Constable exchanged a glance with Dave Copper. “And would you like to tell us what it was you needed to think about, sir?”

Seymour sighed. “It’s this blasted television show – you remember, ‘Seeing Stars’. I’d thought it was all cut and dried that Horace was going to get the presenter’s job, which didn’t really worry me overmuch, because I’ve got plenty of other irons in the fire. But then somebody, and I can’t remember who it was, said that my name had also come up as a possibility, so I started to get quite excited about that. That was when it started.”

“Sorry, sir. When what started?”

“Horace’s campaign.” Seymour frowned. “Yes, I suppose you would have to call it that. Oh, we’ve never been friends – we would meet socially and be superficially polite, but that was as far as it went. But then word got around that he was dripping poison into the ears of anyone who would listen about me, and generally trying to put a spoke in.”

“In any particular way, sir?” asked Constable blandly, eyebrows raised.

Seymour blushed. “Well … um … not that I can think of specifically, inspector.”

“Would it help, sir, if I mentioned that we’ve seen an email to Mr. Cope from your editor?”

“To Horace from Kelvin? What on earth is Kelvin Hastings doing sending emails to Horace?”

“It was actually a reply, sir,” explained Constable. “But I think that that shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, should it, sir? I think you knew that Mr. Cope had been in touch with your newspaper, and I think that you weren’t too pleased about it, were you? From what we’ve been told, that is.”

“Well, I don’t know who’s told you that, inspector,” blustered Seymour. “I know Horace used to derive a lot of pleasure from little bits of gossip, but you really mustn’t believe everything you hear.”

Constable sighed patiently. “Mr. Cummings, we shall get on a great deal better if we stick to the truth. You did say that you were going to be straight with us, so I’ll be straight with you. We know very well that you had a row in the church the other day with Mr. Cope. We know very well that you knew all about his approach to your editor regarding the allegation that your work was – well, shall we say, not all your own work. We know very well that in fact you virtually threatened Mr. Cope. And the reason we know all this is that your conversation was overheard by Mr. Pugh, who was in the church at the time.”

Seymour crumpled. “I see. Well, if you know all that, inspector, there isn’t really a lot of point in my denying it, is there?” He thumped his fist on his knee. “Blast!” He looked up at the detective and seemed to be searching for words. “Inspector … just how widely known is this? I mean, the vicar’s told you, and if my editor’s had Horace on to him with all the gory details …”

“I think you can rely on Mr. Pugh not to go spreading talk, Mr. Cummings,” replied Constable. “And as for your editor, from the tone of the reply, it looks as if Mr. Cope’s approach to him was couched in fairly oblique terms, and in fact, from what I can recall, your editor speaks of you quite confidently. So perhaps Mr. Cope was saving the gory details, as you put it, for the meeting itself.”

“What meeting?” Seymour sounded surprised. “I don’t know anything about a meeting.”

“Do you not, sir?” Andy Constable was carefully neutral. “It seems that Mr. Cope was due to have a meeting with Mr. Hastings next week.”

“And that’s probably when he would have … oh hell.” A thought seemed to strike Seymour and he looked suddenly hopeful. “So that means that nobody’s actually said anything yet?”

“It seems not, sir.”

“Well, thank heavens for that, at any rate. It’s not as bad as it could have been. I’m sorry, inspector – you’ll think I sound heartless,” explained Seymour, “but it’s all a matter of reputation, you see. What’s that bit in ‘Othello’ about ‘he who steals my good name’, or something like that? In my business, it’s really all a matter of reputation, and it’s not easy to get that back if somebody’s threatening to destroy it.”

“Which Mr. Cope was about to do, it seems. Now there’s a motive. So the timing of his death is a bit of luck for you, in a way, sir. Not, of course, wishing to sound heartless.”

“No.” Seymour seemed lost for words.

“So, on the question of timing,” continued Constable, “let’s get back to your own movements. Sergeant, I think you’ve got some notes on that?”

“Yes, sir.” Dave Copper thumbed back through his notebook. “You told us you went out for a walk in the grounds before twelve, so you didn’t see Mr. Cope when he arrived. The next thing we know is that you returned to the drawing room at half past twelve. So can you tell us where you were during that time?”

Seymour sighed helplessly. “Actually, sergeant, I probably can’t in any detail. I don’t suppose that does me any good at all, does it?”

“Then let’s just do it bit by bit, sir. You left the house …”

“Yes. I took the key from the flower room and went out through the gate in the Secret Garden because I didn’t want to run into anyone arriving through the front door.”

Dave Copper turned to his superior. “In which case, sir, that means that the gate was left open while Mr. Cope was setting up. That’s not going to help us, is it?”

“No, sergeant, it wasn’t,” said Seymour hastily. “I locked it behind me. It’s never left open. Sandra’s got us all well trained, ever since they had that break-in.”

“I see, sir. So, what next? You went for a walk …?”

“Yes. I can’t tell you exactly where, because I wasn’t paying too much attention – somewhere up through the woods at the back of the house, I think, because everybody was getting things ready for the fete at the front of the house, and I wasn’t really in the mood for mixing with people. But I do know I looked at my watch and I thought that I ought to get back indoors and do my bit for Sandra, so then I came back in through the kitchen. I think that must have been getting on for twenty-five past twelve.”

“Can anyone vouch for that, sir?”

“Amelia. She had to unlock the kitchen door to let me in. Sandra’s rules again, but I suppose that’s quite a useful thing this time. You know, alibi and so on.”

“Assuming you need one, of course, sir,” remarked Copper, smiling blandly. “Can I ask – just out of interest, why didn’t you come back into the house the same way you left?”

Seymour seemed taken aback. “Um … well, I don’t really know. I suppose I could have …” He took a deep breath. “I just didn’t, sergeant. I suppose I probably didn’t want to run into Horace. So I went round the back. If you don’t believe me, ask Amelia. She’ll tell you. Alright?”

“Not a problem, sir,” replied Copper calmly. “Absolutely no need to get belligerent. We just have to check everything. And we intend to have a word with Miss Cook anyway, so we can ask her then.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m just a bit jumpy. It’s all the questions.”

“Well, sir, if you can just tell us what happened after you came back into the house, and then I imagine that we shan’t need to ask you too many more. You say Miss Cook let you into the kitchen, and then what?”

“I went up to my room.”

“And did you see anyone else on your way upstairs, sir?”

“No, because I went up the servants’ stairs.”

“What servants’ stairs are these, sir? We haven’t seen any stairs other than the main staircase in the hall.”

Seymour smiled wanly. “This house has secrets, sergeant. You’d be surprised.”

“I think we’re finding that out, sir.” And as Seymour’s smile faded, “So perhaps you’d explain.”

“There’s a little door in the corner of the kitchen. It looks like a cupboard, but it leads to a tiny stair which goes right up through the house to the servants’ rooms in the attic. They used to use it so that the servants didn’t come face-to-face with the Lawdowns during the day, or for taking morning tea up to the bedrooms or what-have-you. So I just popped straight up there and came out through the door on the landing near my room. You wouldn’t have noticed it – it’s hidden in the panelling. And when I went in, there was Albert sitting on the bed. Actually, he made me jump out of my skin, because I was thinking of other things so of course I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.”

Dave Copper made a show of consulting his notes. “Yes, sir, Mr. Ross mentioned that he spoke to you. Would you care to tell us what you remember of the conversation.”

“He … er … well, it was just that he wanted a bit of advice about something.” Seymour sounded evasive. “Family matters, I think, but to be perfectly frank, sergeant, I tend not to listen too closely when Albert’s talking. I’m afraid he does have a habit of droning on a bit, so I think I just gave him ‘the soft answer that turneth away wrath’, or whatever the saying is.”

“And then?”

“And then we came back downstairs together, and went into the drawing room with Laura. And the dear girl had a life-saving bottle of scotch with her, so I’m afraid I didn’t waste too much time in wrapping myself round some of that. So there we all were – oh, except for Robin Allday, but he turned up a couple of minutes after that – and there we all stayed. Apart from the vicar, of course, because Sandra asked him to go out and check on Horace about ten to one, and he came straight back and told us what he’d found.”

Dave Copper snapped his notebook shut. “Which, of course, we’ve already heard in some detail, sir, so we shan’t need you to go into that.”

“So that’s it?”

“For the moment, yes, Mr. Cummings,” said Andy Constable. “So if you’d like to rejoin the others in the drawing room, please do, and I’d be grateful if you’d ask Mr. Allday if he could come through.”

As Seymour escaped, Dave Copper raised an eyebrow in the direction of his superior. “I think Mr. Cummings was a lot more rattled about Horace Cope and what he knew than he was letting on, sir. What do you reckon?”

“I reckon that Mr. Cummings has a great deal to be rattled about, Copper. If his whole career was about to go down the pan, you can understand why. But you have to admit that he seemed pretty relieved when we told him that, as far as we can tell, the information, whatever it was, that Horace Cope held hadn’t got as far as his editor. But I have trouble working out what Seymour Cummings is all about. For a man who was talking about being perfectly frank with us, getting information out of him first time round is like pulling teeth. And there’s another thing I’m really not clear about.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“What’s his relationship with Lady Lawdown? Or Laura Biding, for that matter. Is he just out for himself, or is he close enough to the family to kill in order to protect them from … whatever it was that Horace Cope knew. He knew something, that’s obvious.”

“Maybe Mr. Allday can help out on that front, sir.”

And right on cue, a brisk knock at the door heralded Robin Allday’s arrival. Inspector Constable indicated that he should take the seat in front of the desk, but then sat back, gazing over steepled fingers, for long moments. Robin, initially calm, began to fidget.

“I hope you won’t think I’m being obstructive, inspector,” he said, “but I’m sure you realise that there are rules about questioning people and the circumstances under which you do it, and I doubt that you would wish to step outside them. I’m not at all certain that it’s proper to keep everyone cooped up next door for all this time. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh yes, I think I understand very well, Mr. Allday,” replied Constable. “Of course, you will appreciate that there’s been no question of coercing anybody at all. We’ve merely asked you and the others if you wouldn’t mind remaining in the house for a time while we have a chat with each of you. After all, I’m sure everyone is as anxious as we are to clear up this business of Mr. Cope’s death as quickly as possible. Why, has somebody made a complaint about our conduct?”