TTR: Murder at Mill Cottage - Part 2

[thisbluespirit]

A This Time Round entertainment in which Harry and Sarah find themselves in an Agatha Christie-type story.  (See Part 1 for disclaimers, credits etc.)

Chapter Two
Murder at Midnight

I was woken far too early the next morning, still half dazed by sleep and slowly realising that the telephone was ringing, its shrill voice shattering the grey peace of the pre-dawn hours.

I got out of bed and made it down the stairs in time to grab the receiver.  “Yes? Sullivan here.” There was no doubt but that it would be bad news – some sudden illness, most likely. 

“Sullivan?” barked a voice at the other end of the line. I couldn’t quite place it yet, although I knew it was familiar. “We need you out here as soon as possible – I’m sending a car. It’ll be with you shortly, so be ready.”

I was left with the phone in my hand, slowly realising that it had been Inspector Mackenzie. Knowing how impatient he was, I got dressed as speedily as I could, grabbed my bag and coat and was ready just as the car pulled up the drive.

I was right. This was serious.

*

A few minutes later, I was with the Inspector himself, crouching over the dead body of Polly Wright.

*

The Inspector led me up the hill and then down into the copse of trees by the mill cottage and on to the spot where she was lying, near to the stream, her face mottled and her eyes bulging. It didn’t take too detailed an examination to confirm that she had been strangled. 

I was feeling awfully bad about the whole thing. The poor girl had come to me and warned me that this might happened. It seemed obvious now that I could at the very least have given her the train fare out of here.

"Well?” prompted the inspector.

I turned. “She’s dead, sir.”

He looked back at me. “I can see that much for myself, Sullivan. I was hoping you’d fill in some of the fiddly details.”

"Oh,” I said, “yes, of course, sir. It’s a bit of a shock. I’m sorry. She seems to have been strangled – some sort of thin cord – you can see the marks quite clearly here.” I pointed to the tell-tale marks around her neck.

He nodded, pulling out his notebook and pencil. I couldn’t help feeling that there was something a little bit old-fashioned about our inspector. “And time of death?”

“She can’t have been here more than a few hours – I’d estimate three.”

He wrote that down, muttering, “Three hours,” under his breath. “Right. That gives us time of death at about -.”

“Midnight,” I said for him as I worked it out. “A murderer with a sense of timing, eh?”

He wrote that down. “And there’s no sign of the murder weapon.”

“No,” I agreed, glancing around instinctively at his words. I thought about our conversation again. “I should say, Inspector, that this poor girl came and told me she thought this might happen.”

He paused, his pencil hovering above the narrow notepad. “She did, did she? And did she suspect anyone?”

“No, not specifically – well, me, actually, but of course -.”

Inspector Mackenzie frowned. “Dr Sullivan, you haven’t been drinking, have you?”

“No,” I said, insulted and then explained the whole thing to him.

*

I went back home afterwards, intending to catch a couple of hours sleep before the day began in earnest, but all I landed was a nightmare or two.

I got up and set about trying to make myself some breakfast, which rattled Mrs Hudson when she arrived. She went on about horrible murders and men in the kitchen for the rest of the morning, in between telling me I looked a sight. I thought wistfully about getting a new housekeeper.

I still had some calls to make, so I set off as usual, the episode in the night feeling unreal by now, but it clearly wasn’t as no one I met wanted to talk about anything else. I have to admit that most people seemed to vaguely feel that it must have been Polly’s fault. Her dead face in my mind and the guilt still trailing me, I felt tempted to hit the next person who hinted as much.

*

As it turned out, the next person to corner me was Miss Smith. She was leaving the village shop and crossed over to me. 

“So,” she said, “I hear there’s been a murder and you know all about it.”

I paused. “Who told you that?”

“Miss Rumford, Miss Marple, Miss Smythe, Mrs Magister,” she said with a smile, “and then your Mrs Hudson was in the Chancellors’ shop. You did say that news travels fast here.”

“I’m afraid I do have some visits to make, Miss Smith.” I tried to look stern, but it failed (as usual) since she wasn’t noticeably daunted. 

“Yes, but I was thinking that, since I’m on the spot, you could help me write something up.”

I couldn’t help but be disturbed by the idea. “Miss Smith, some poor girl has been murdered and you want to let the papers know?”

“So it was a girl,” she said, taking notes, rather like Inspector Mackenzie. “And, yes. That’s what I do, Dr Sullivan. Besides, someone will come down and put it all in the papers anyway. If you let me know the details, I promise not to write the sort of scandal-mongering thing you’re so worried about.” Then she smiled at me brightly.

I supposed it made sense, but I hesitated.

“Who knows?” she said. “Maybe we can solve the mystery?”

I gave in. “It was Polly Wright,” I informed her, “as I expect you already know. But there’s nothing exciting about it. It’s all pretty dreadful. She came to see me weeks ago and told me that she was afraid she might be strangled and now she has been.”

“Really?”

I was feeling downright miserable about it all – the sight of Polly’s staring dead eyes, the fact that there must be some lunatic loose about the village and the guilt of wishing I’d done something when I had the chance. “Yes. The whole thing sounded unlikely to me.”

“What did she say?”

I told her what Polly had said about this being a murder mystery story and the nonsense about me being the narrator and all the rest of it.

She looked thoughtful. It suited her just as well as smiling, I noted. Not actually, of course. I didn’t have a pen handy and anyway, it would have been a pretty odd thing to do.

“Well,” she decided, “I’m in the right place – I’m going to carry on with Professor Smith’s interview.”

I smiled then. “In that case, I may as well walk along with you, Miss Smith. He’s decided that he does want to see me today.”

*

The professor was in a crotchety sort of mood this morning. I thought that was perfectly understandable, given what had happened to his young secretary. However, it turned out that Smith’s pity was all for himself.

“It’s very inconvenient,” he said, as Sarah sat herself down and I placed my bag on the small table and opened it up. “I shall have to find a new secretary now. Young people these days, never thinking of their elders and betters before they go out gallivanting and getting themselves murdered.”

I was thinking to myself that if Polly had killed the old boy it wouldn’t have been half so surprising. “I say,” I put in, “I hardly think that’s fair.”

Both of them ignored me.

“Can you think of anyone who would have had a reason to kill her?” Miss Smith asked (Sarah Jane, as I’d learned half way up the hill towards Mill Cottage).

He narrowed his gaze and said, “I thought you were here to talk about my work, young lady – not scandal and tittle-tattle.”

“Of course,” she returned demurely. “But I thought you might have some idea – you knew her well, you’re clearly observant and I’d guess that you’re a good judge of character.” 

I was beginning to realise that she was a pretty determined sort of girl and an adept at getting her own way.

Professor Smith waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it was probably one of those young fellows of hers – I’m afraid she was a flighty young thing.”

“Oh?”

He tapped his stick with impatience. “Now, where were we? I believe I’d reached the turning point in my work with the institute.” He glanced up at me. “What are you doing, hovering around like that?”

“You said your back was troubling you,” I reminded him. “You sent for me.”

He glared. “Nonsense. Really, I’m going to change practice if you keep up this sort of thing. There’s nothing wrong with my back and I don’t want you littering up my study with your medical whatnots.”

“I’ll be on my way, then,” I said, maintaining a cheerful tone as I replaced the thermometer I’d accidentally left out beside the bag. “Miss Smith.”

She nodded distractedly, her attention on Professor Smith. As yesterday, I was in the way, so I removed myself. This time there was no Polly to show me out of the door and give me a sympathetic grimace at the old man’s unreasonable behaviour. There never would be again.

I didn’t take his threat to change practices too seriously. It would be nice if he did, but the only other doctor around here is Dr Solon and he’s a little too eccentric for most people’s tastes, and, besides which, a lot of them insist there’s something foreign about him, although I don’t think it’s true. Miss Maren thinks he’s the devil, but that’s Miss Maren for you.

*

Inspector Mackenzie was waiting for me at the bottom of the hill, despite the drizzle. 

“Sullivan,” he greeted me. “Have you got a minute or two? I could use your help.”

“Of course,” I said.

He coughed. “Turns out that the girl’s fiancé, Mr Jackson, arrived yesterday evening and is putting up and the Bell and Boat. Maybe you could come and break the news to him? You’re used to that sort thing, I imagine.”

I nodded, although I didn’t like to remind him that I’d only been in practice a couple of years and you could hardly say that people had been dropping like flies since. And a good thing, too – as I said to Polly when she came to see me, that sort of thing doesn’t do a doctor any favours. However, I’d be better than Inspector Mackenzie. He’s said to be good at his job, but he’s not exactly tactful.

“Good,” he said, marching off ahead of me. “And then I shall arrest him!”

“What?”

“It’s always the husband or wife,” he explained, “or the boyfriend or what have you. Saves a lot of trouble if we get on and arrest him now.”

I paused, wondering if I could believe my ears. “Don’t you need proof, that sort of thing?”

“Oh, we’ll find it,” he barked. “The girl’s dead, Dr Sullivan. Isn’t that proof enough?”

*

I can’t say that I was happy about this arrangement, but I followed him along to the Bell & Boat. What made it worse was that, when we arrived, and the landlady fetched him for us, it turned out that he was a naval man.

Ben Jackson came across to meet us eagerly. “What’s this about? Has something happened to Polly? People keep saying things, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

I felt sorry for the poor chap. “I’m afraid it’s true, old thing. There’s no easy way to say this – she was found dead on the hillside last night.”

“Strangled,” put in the Inspector abruptly. “Nasty bit of work.”

He sat slowly on the chair in front of us, taking a while to let that sink in. “No,” he said eventually. “It can’t be. Who’d do that to Pol?”

I interrupted here because the Inspector seemed to be about to swoop in and follow that piece of bad news up with an accusation and arrest. “That’s a good point. Did she have any enemies, Mr Jackson?”

“Call me Ben,” he said and then shook his head. “No, not what you’d call enemies. I mean, there’s the odd Dalek and Cyberman, but you’d know right off if one of them had done her in.”

Inspector Mackenzie reached for his notebook again and coughed, pencil at the ready. “And what about you, Mr Jackson? Where were you between 11 and 1 o’clock last night?”

“Where d’you think?” he returned. “I was here, asleep in bed. I’d had a long journey and Pol said the professor had a load of work on, so she’d see me in the morning. Wasn’t much else to do.”

The police inspector scribbled something down on the pad. Sitting next to him, I couldn’t help but notice that it looked suspiciously like a grocery list. “And can anyone verify that, sir?”

Ben paused and looked back at Mackenzie in disbelief. Then he turned to me. “Is he saying I did it?”

“It’s his job to ask,” I said apologetically.

He leaned back in his chair and glared at both of us. “Well, I didn’t. And yeah, I was here, by myself. I told you, Pol said she couldn’t come down this evening. I suppose you could ask the landlady or the other guests if they saw me leave, but I can’t give you more than that. You ought to be out there, chasing the murderer, not pestering me.”

“And do you know anything about this other fellow of hers?” continued the inspector relentlessly. I winced. People have been known to comment on my lack of tact sometimes, but compared to the detective I was nothing.

Ben stared at him. “What?”

“Several of the women around the village seem to think -.”

He clenched his fists. “You’ve got no call to be sitting there, saying things like that about Polly. I don’t care what a load of old gossips say. It’s not true.”

I had a try at peacemaking. “Some other fellow could have been bothering her, though. Maybe that’s who killed her.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, “but I don’t know anything about it. Like I said, I only got in last night and she never said anything about some bloke giving her trouble.”

I patted his shoulder as the inspector and I got up to leave and he propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, looking glum. 

“Let’s go, sir,” I said to the inspector in an undertone. “It’s clear he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He looked at me and shook his head slowly. “It’s as well you’re not in the force, young Sullivan.”

*

My walk back along the road towards my practice coincided with Sarah’s return from Mill Cottage.

“Miss Smith,” I greeted her. “Did you have any luck with the professor?”

She smiled back at me. “Not about the murder, but I have got nearly all I need for my other article.”

“I’ve seen Inspector Mackenzie,” I returned. “He seems rather determined to arrest Polly’s fiance, Ben Jackson, and I don’t believe he’s the one behind this.”

She tapped my arm. “So you see, Dr Sullivan, it really is up to us to solve the mystery. We can’t have the wrong man getting arrested and hanged. Now, what shall we do next?”

“Well,” I said, “I need to pay a call on Miss Marple. Why don’t you come with me?”

“I hardly think that’ll help,” she said, giving me a puzzled look.

I tried to explain. “Oh, but Miss Marple’s a whizz when it comes to solving mysteries. You know, when Miss Smythe had lost a valuable brooch, she’d quite given it up and then Miss Marple worked out the whole thing – it was almost uncanny.”

I stopped, because she was giving me that vaguely pitying look again. “Well, you go visit your little old lady, Dr Sullivan – I think I’ll see if Ben Jackson will talk to me.”

"Be careful,” I said, not quite liking the idea. I was as sure as I could be that the chap wasn’t the murderer, but after all, who was I to set myself up against Mackenzie? Maybe I was wrong and he was the killer. Miss Smith shouldn’t go putting herself in danger.

She laughed at my concern. “Dr Sullivan, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I promise I won’t go down any dark alleyways with him. Now, how about we meet up afterwards and compare notes – what do you say to 3.30 at the tea shop?”

I was horrified. “The tea shop? Miss Smith, you don’t know what that place is like!”

She rewarded me with yet another amused look. “Yes, I do. I went there yesterday. They do very good cakes.”

“That woman who runs it,” I said, lowering my voice, “she’s enough to put anyone off their cream buns, and the waitresses are a pair of gorgons. I avoid the place like the plague.”

She sighed. “There really isn’t anywhere else, Dr Sullivan.”

“If you must,” I said, “but I warn you, if we meet up in there, it’ll be all over the village that we’re seeing each other. Probably be engaged by Saturday and married off before the month is out.”

Sarah shook her head and smiled at me. “In the first case, Dr Sullivan, I’ll protect you, and in the second, well, I promise to jilt you nicely!”

With that, she left me and headed off back to the Bell and Boat, still laughing to herself at my provincial peculiarities. I sighed.

***

To be continued.