Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 1, page 51
part #1 of Detective Inspector Skelgill Series
‘But how did Jacobson get the gun, Guv?’
‘I think we’ll find he’s got keys to every lock in the school. Remember, after Querrell, he was by far the longest serving master. He’s had well over twenty years to look for opportunities to make copies.’
The fire is now crackling reassuringly, and Skelgill lowers himself into the most adjacent pew. Just then there is the barking of the dog – still inside DS Jones’s car – followed by a polite knock on the wooden door. The pale face of a tall man peers through the opening.
‘Inspector Skelgill.’
‘Correct.’
Although Skelgill answers, the man in fact was making an introduction.
‘We’ve met before, of course. I’m Copeland – from the inn.’ He steps inside and holds out a hand. Skelgill remains seated. Then he turns to address DS Jones. ‘Sergeant Jones. Very pleased to meet you.’
‘How can we help you, sir?’ Skelgill sounds a little nonplussed. This man knows their names.
‘I saw the smoke, Inspector.’ He studies Skelgill’s still-damp attire. ‘It appears that you have been somewhat tested. Rather than try to keep warm in here, may I suggest that when you have finished you come over to us? There’s a log fire in the snug, and we have a night porter. He does an excellent line in hot steak sandwiches, cocoa... something stronger – be our guests.’
Skelgill turns to DS Jones. She has her lips slightly parted, and an unfamiliar look of mild awe in her eyes. ‘Okay with you, Sergeant?’
‘Er – sure, that would be great.’
‘That’s settled then, Inspector. I shall leave the front door on the latch – just ring the bell at reception when you are ready.’
And with that the man nods discreetly and backs out, closing the door carefully behind him. Skelgill and DS Jones exchange glances, as if each is waiting for the other to speak first.
After a moment, DS Jones says, in hushed tones, ‘Guv – you know who that was?’
‘Copeland, he said.’
DS Jones nods in an exaggerated manner. ‘Guv – Lord Copeland. He’s the biggest landowner in Cumbria. Top of the local rich list.’
Skelgill shrugs his shoulders. ‘People are all the same to me.’
DS Jones shakes her head in exasperation. ‘And how did he get our names?’
‘He must know the Chief. She could have phoned ahead of us.’
‘Strange though, Guv.’
Skelgill grins. ‘Still – gift horse and all that. Let’s take these papers down the road. And we’d better feed blooming Cleopatra.’
‘Guv?’
‘Aha?’
‘Cleopatra?’
‘That’s what she’s called. Jacobson’s a history teacher. Daft name for a dog, I know.’
‘It’s not that, Guv – I studied the Ancient Egyptians for A-level. You know how Cleopatra came to power?’
‘Poison?’
‘Drowning, Guv. Her brother the pharaoh drowned in the Nile.’
*
‘Decent ale this, Jones.’
‘It’s alright for some, Guv.’
‘Aye, well – one of us has to keep our wits about us.’
‘I could murder a glass of Chardonnay.’
‘Let your hair down – we can kip in the bothy – it’ll be cosy in there now. You can have the sleeping bag.’
‘Ha-ha, Guv – oh, look – here comes the food.’
Skelgill sits back in anticipation while DS Jones gathers together the haul of paperwork rescued from Querrell’s climbing hut. Cleopatra has been obediently lying at their feet beneath the low table, but now the scent of grilled steak proves irresistible, and she springs to attention. Fortunately she has been catered for, and the avuncular night porter makes a great fuss of presenting an expensive-looking selection of meaty offcuts. They congratulate him for his sterling efforts, and spend the next few minutes eating in contented silence. DS Jones finishes half of her portion, and slides the remainder to Skelgill, who raises an approving eyebrow as he tucks into the last of his own sandwiches.
‘Guv – it's quite a pattern – now we know the history of Dr Jacobson. These drowning-related incidents.’
‘His favoured M.O.’
‘But his own brother, Guv? And aged fourteen.’ DS Jones shakes her head disbelievingly.
Skelgill seems preoccupied with his second helping.
DS Jones frowns pensively. Then she reaches for her attaché case and retrieves the Oakthwaite leavers list. Adeptly she works her way through the pages, folding a corner here and there. When she finishes, she looks questioningly at Skelgill.
‘Guv – his male line could be Derwen.’
‘How come?’
‘Look at this.’ She holds out the stapled papers and flicks through to the pages she has marked. ‘Our Jacobs left in nineteen seventy-three. Then there was one in nineteen fifty-one, and the last before the list ends left Oakthwaite in nineteen twenty.’
‘We don’t know they’re all the same family.’
‘Still, Guv – it’s not a common name. And the time intervals are about right.’
Skelgill nods, pursing his lips. ‘So what are you suggesting – he committed good old-fashioned fratricide?’
DS Jones opens her palms in exhortation. ‘He was the younger twin, Guv. Wouldn’t the family place on the Derwen’s council have gone to his brother?’
‘That assumes he knew about it. The guy I met at Castlerigg said they don’t tell the next generation until they come of age.’
‘It’s by no means unlikely, though, Guv. And what about that school in Norfolk – the Deputy Head – what if that were all about ambition? Say he wanted his job.’
Skelgill has a twinkle in his eye. He is clearly impressed by the deductions his Sergeant has made. ‘Okay – so take it a step further – say he wanted Querrell’s job.’
‘Exactly, Guv.’
‘I mean among the Derwen. What if he were after the position of Grand Master? There’s a motive for murder. At the rate Querrell was going, he was likely to outlive him.’
But now DS Jones bites her lower lip. ‘Thing is, though, Guv – wouldn’t the others have been wise to him?’
Skelgill is undeterred by this possibility. He shakes his head. ‘Not necessarily. I think had they known, they would have acted. Snyder is obviously in the dark – whatever his connection. And Querrell might only have suspected that Dr Jacobson was Jacobs the schoolboy – even if he’d known him as a young teacher. Maybe he recognised him – maybe not. People can change a lot between their early teens and adulthood. I was a right ugly little squirt.’
‘Now you’re fishing for compliments, Guv.’
Skelgill affects diffidence, and declines to reply.
‘That might have been what the argument was about, Guv.’
Skelgill nods. ‘Perhaps Jacobson was pushing Querrell to stand aside. If Querrell refused to cooperate – told Jacobson he’d expose him as a fraud – he wouldn’t have appreciated the danger he was in.’
‘The boy may have overheard Jacobson threaten Querrell, Guv.’
Skelgill nods.
‘Guv, it would explain why Querrell decided to hide the original materials and the key.’
‘Pity he didn’t get a chance to tell anyone. It might have saved Hodgson’s bacon.’
DS Jones sighs. ‘At least he had the presence of mind to do it.’
Skelgill puts his hands behind his head and stretches his back, a pensive glaze clouding his eyes. ‘Just think – with those cuttings destroyed and Querrell gone, Jacobson could have laundered his past. The boy Jacobs left over forty years ago. He’s history – his name’s off the radar. And the school has no records – Snyder told us the archives were destroyed in a fire in the early nineties.’
‘Could that have been Jacobson, Guv?’
‘If I were a betting man, I’d say odds on. And once he’d got control of Querrell’s alumni files, the Jacobs family would have become the Jacobsons. The Derwen are in turmoil as it stands. He’d be just the man they need – hails from Derwen stock, favours the old-school traditions, eyes and ears on the ground. They’d probably have welcomed him with open arms.’
‘He’s played a long hand, Guv. I wonder if he had his sights on the Head’s job?’
Skelgill nods. ‘We’re talking a serial killer, here. Causes the death of his brother. Makes an attempt to drown one rival and succeeds with another. Blasts a blackmailer. Abducts the boy with intent to murder him.’
‘It’s going to be some size of court action, Guv.’
Skelgill groans. ‘And I thought we were just investigating a bent Headmaster.’
DS Jones grins sympathetically. ‘What of him, Guv?’
Skelgill shrugs. ‘I think we’ll leave that one up to the Board of Trustees. I suspect he’s nearing the end of his shift in Cumbria. If they want to report him, we have a file ready.’
DS Jones nods. ‘So the Chief was right to be suspicious about Querrell’s death, Guv – but for the wrong reasons.’
‘I think we’ll find all the answers we need in here.’ Skelgill reaches out and taps the manila file that lies on the table. ‘But that’s tomorrow’s job.’
‘Inspector, it is tomorrow.’
The voice is that of Lord Copeland, and he has silently approached bearing a tray with two filled liqueur glasses and a small decanter. He smiles benignly at DS Jones, for she is unable to stifle a sudden yawn that comes upon her.
‘Since it is three a.m. I thought you might both appreciate a nightcap, Inspector. This is our secret family recipe sloe gin – guaranteed to give a good night’s sleep, of which I am sure you are in need.’
DS Jones, as the designated driver, begins to hold up protesting palms, but Lord Copeland continues.
‘We are fully booked, as we tend to be at this time of year. However, we keep a VIP suite – the Derwent Room. You are welcome to use it – perhaps to snatch a few hours’ sleep. It has a large double, and a very comfortable chaise longue. I shan’t press you – but if you decide to avail yourselves, here is the key.’
He places the small tray carefully on the table. A key with an ornate oak fob lies between the two glasses of ruby liqueur.
‘And now I bid you goodnight, officers – if and when you do leave, if you would kindly pull the main door closed behind you?’
He bows courteously and turns away, a satisfied smile creasing the corners of his mouth.
Skelgill leans forwards and casually hands a glass to DS Jones. She appears to be daydreaming, her eyes fixed upon the table, but then she reaches out and picks up the key. She lifts it to eye level, dangling the fob.
‘Look at this, Guv.’
Skelgill blinks several times, as if with the pendulous motion she is succeeding in hypnotising him. Then he realises what she is showing him: the wooden carving has the shape of a Celtic letter ‘d’.
‘Well, that explains a thing or two.’
‘He’s one of them?’
Skelgill shrugs, and then laughs, as DS Jones suddenly downs her drink in one.
‘Guv – you know in your text – the one where you said ‘Screw Smart’...?’
‘Aye – cancel that.’
‘I did delete it, in case he saw it.’
‘How did you get away in the end?’
‘The operation got pulled. The Chief wasn’t happy with the evidence.’
Skelgill tastes the liqueur and smacks his lips approvingly. ‘Shame for Smart.’
DS Jones suddenly raises her hand to cover her mouth.
‘Oh, Guv – I’ve just thought.’
‘Aha?’
‘What will we do with Cleopatra?’
‘She can have the sofa-bed.’
***
Next in the series...
THE TIES THAT BIND
When a man is found strangled by a climbing rope beneath the Lake District's notorious Sharp Edge, it is assumed he is the victim of a tragic accident.
But Detective Inspector Skelgill suspects otherwise, and his fears are borne out when a second corpse is discovered close to Striding Edge. Soon it appears that a ritualistic serial killer stalks Cumbria's fells.
As the body count increases, Skelgill must determine the connection between the seemingly randomly selected targets – for it is the only hope of ending the reign of terror and unmasking the perpetrator.
‘Murder on the Edge’ by Bruce Beckham is available from Amazon
Bruce Beckham
__________
Murder on the Edge
Detective Inspector Skelgill
Investigates
Book 3
LUCiUS
Text copyright 2014 Bruce Beckham
All rights reserved. Bruce Beckham asserts his right always to be identified as the author of this work. No part may be copied or transmitted without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and locales is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition first published by Lucius 2014
Paperback edition first published by Lucius 2014
For more details and Rights enquiries contact:
Lucius-ebooks@live.com
Cover design by Moira Kay Nicol
EDITOR’S NOTE
Murder on the Edge is the third mystery in the Detective Inspector Skelgill series. It is a stand-alone novel, although its events take place immediately following those described in Murder in School.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Murder in Adland
Murder in School
Murder on the Edge
Murder on the Lake
Murder by Magic
Murder in the Mind
Murder at the Wake
Murder in the Woods
Murder at the Flood
Murder at Dead Crags
Murder Mystery Weekend
Murder on the Run
Murder at Shake Holes
Murder at the Meet
Murder on the Moor
Murder Unseen
(Above: Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates)
Murder, Mystery Collection
The Dune
The Sexopaths
1. WASDALE HEAD
Monday, early morning
‘Fancy a stretch of the legs, Jones?’
DS Jones pirouettes proficiently, crunching loose car park gravel beneath her flat rubber soles. She squints into the bright morning sun beyond Skelgill’s silhouette.
‘Oughtn’t we get these under lock and key, Guv?’ She refers to the loose bundle of documents cradled against her thorax.
Skelgill does not reply immediately. He casts about and sniffs the fresh dewy air. Then pointedly he glances at the sturdy piebald dog that stands obediently at his side, seemingly unconcerned by the fraying length of rustic yarn threaded through its collar.
‘I think you’re outvoted, Jones. Cleopatra’s up for it.’
DS Jones frowns. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
Skelgill casually flaps a hand in an easterly direction, towards the silvery grey bulk of Great Gable, its flanks attractively dappled with irregular sliding shadows cast by small fair-weather cumulus. ‘I was thinking we might stroll over to Gladis’s at Seathwaite.’
Now DS Jones’s voice takes on a distinct note of exasperation. ‘Guv – that’s miles – we’d be hours.’
Skelgill beams generously. ‘Trust me – I know a short cut. We’ll be there by eight.’
‘But what about my car, Guv – and all this evidence?’
Skelgill shrugs. ‘Lock it in the boot. Leyton needs to take a statement from his lordship. He can bring a DC to drive your motor back to the station this afternoon.’
‘And how will we get from Seathwaite to Penrith?’
‘Leyton can fetch us. It’s just down the road for him. I’ll text him now.’
DS Jones continues to protest. She tries a different tack. ‘Guv – I know the case is cracked – but won’t the Chief want to see you first thing – to congratulate you?’
Skelgill scowls. ‘That’ll be the day.’
‘Oh, come off it, Guv – you’ll be her blue-eyed boy this morning.’
Skelgill patently affects diffidence. He stoops so that he is at eye-level with the dog.
‘If I am – which I doubt – but let’s say you’re right – then now’s the time to take advantage of our magnificent surroundings.’
‘You mean breakfast, Guv.’
Skelgill looks up with an innocent twinkle in his eye. ‘You’re getting to know me too well.’
DS Jones shakes her head resignedly and pops open the car boot with her remote.
‘After all, you just ate a bacon sandwich – why wouldn’t we go to a café?’
Skelgill rises and does a little skip, to which the dog responds with a playful sideways bound of its own.
‘Mountain air will do us good. I’m still seeing double from Copeland’s sloe gin. Come to think of it, you’re probably over the limit, anyway.’
DS Jones carefully places the documents into the vehicle, leaning away from Skelgill as if to conceal the rueful grin that plays at the corners of her mouth.
‘We’d better not lose Cleopatra, Guv – doesn’t she count as evidence, too?’
Skelgill deftly wraps the dog’s improvised lead in a clove hitch around a footpath marker-post adjacent to their parking spot.
‘I bet she could tell us a thing or two.’
Now DS Jones squats to stroke the affable creature.
‘What will become of her, Guv?’
Cleopatra gives out a little whine, as if she detects the tenor of their conversation. Skelgill does not reply, and instead turns his attention to retying the laces of his trail shoes.
