Murder at Teatime Read online

  “Even recently, just before her death, was there anything unusual?” the Sergeant asked as he scanned the banking history.

  “I have not read the recent statements yet,” the Inspector said as he returned to his desk.

  In only a few pages, he spotted an anomaly on the statement, a cheque that was written for 1500 pounds and cashed within a week of Mrs. Tamarland’s death. “Sergeant, what do you make of this?” he asked as he showed the suspicious entry to Sergeant Webster.

  “Let’s see, I would say that is out of the ordinary. Did she make a purchase, a donation to charity perhaps, pay more of Thomas’s debts than he admitted?”

  Inspector Crothers turned his attention to the message on his computer, and saw an additional attachment that he’d neglected to print. Clicking the icon, he walked to the printer as the documents slid into the tray. Glancing at the pages, he quickly located the digital image of the cheque, “There it is, the recipient of the 1500 pounds,” he said as he handed the page to the Sergeant.

  Sergeant Webster looked at the cheque as he said, “Ruth Hedley, that’s the maid’s name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, I would say that is out of the ordinary for Mrs. Tamarland.”

  “Could it be a bonus, a gift, what about a loan?” asked the Sergeant.

  “It may be, but that is a large sum of money for an employer to give a woman that comes in to clean the house once a week, especially just before that employer ends up dead in her own home days later. I will contact the account manager tomorrow morning for the details but I doubt he can answer our questions. Sergeant, you and Diane are right, it is time we paid the maid a visit.”

  Chapter 7

  “A cheque for 1500 pounds? That is a lot of money,” Diane replied as she powered off her laptop, “Were there any other cheques like that written out of the account or to the maid?”

  Light filtered through the limbs of the oak tree overhead, shading Diane and the Inspector as they sat at the wrought iron table in the garden. Their conversation centered on the latest development in the Tamarland case.

  Temporarily distracted by the view of the roses and the water fountain, the Inspector hesitated before he answered Diane’s question, “No, that was the only one in the banking history. There were one or two cheques that were cashed for a couple hundred pounds over the years made out to Mrs. Hedley, but this one was unique in the amount.”

  Diane nodded her head as she asked, “Inspector, do you think that Mrs. Tamarland wrote it? Is it possible that the maid stole a blank cheque, wrote in the amount that she needed and cashed it, hoping that her employer wouldn’t notice?”

  Inspector Crothers smiled at Diane as he said, “It never ceases to amaze me how much you and I think alike. I had the same thought but the account manager provided digital copies of the cheques that Mrs. Tamarland wrote every month and the handwriting and signature match.”

  “Perhaps the maid forged the handwriting?”

  “That is always a possibility but unlikely. According to the account manager, Mrs. Tamarland kept a close watch on her accounts and was not the least bit surprised that 1500 pounds was paid to her maid.”

  “It is still strange that the cheque cleared her account a few days before her death.”

  “I agree, which is why Sergeant Webster and I are going to pay Mrs. Hedley a visit this afternoon.”

  “What about the nephew, have you uncovered anything that might lead to an arrest?”

  Inspector Crothers involuntarily shuddered at the mention of the nephew. “Thomas Tamarland is still on my list of possible suspects.”

  “The interview with him, what happened?”

  “He was cavalier about his aunt’s death, unapologetic about his gambling problem and lives in squalor. He is also one of the calmest suspects I have interviewed in my career. In my experience, even innocent people are nervous around me when I start asking questions.”

  Diane frowned. “He sounds unsavory, but do you think he killed his aunt or had anything to do with her murder?”

  “He seems like the type, a con man that swindles pensioners finally striking it big, but I don’t have any solid evidence that places him at her house at the time of her death. At this stage in the investigation, I am not ruling him out.”

  “Honestly, Inspector, do you think he hired someone to do it? He could have lied about his knowledge of the contents of the will, promising to pay the killer a hefty sum?”

  Inspector Crothers rubbed his chin, a gesture that Diane noticed he did when he was deep in thought.

  After a few minutes of silence, he answered, “My first impression of Thomas is that he is a loner, doesn’t like to share or work with others. However, Mrs. Tamarland left him a small fortune which might have changed things. He may have been willing to share a cut to get his hands on it. It would be the biggest payout of his career and for that he may have been willing to branch out of his comfort zone and hire someone that didn’t mind violence.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I did a little nosing around town. Regrettably, I haven’t uncovered a single piece of useful information. Everyone liked Mrs. Tamarland but didn’t know a lot about her. I didn’t uncover one shred of gossip or even a negative remark. Her life was as it appeared, quiet, orderly and predictable.”

  “Which leaves us with the interview this afternoon with the maid. I am counting on it. If she can provide some insight into Mrs. Tamarland’s life or proves to be a suspect, we may be able to solve this case. Whether it is the nephew or the maid, what we know is that someone sat down to tea with the woman and then shot her to death, Mrs. Hedley was with her once a week, maybe she knows something we don’t,” Inspector Crothers said as he stood to leave.

  “I hope so,” Diane replied as she turned the computer on. “What about forensics, anything that we may have missed? What do you know about the gun used in the murder?”

  “All the evidence indicates an older gun – most likely from the Second World War. This might indicate an old solder from that war, or at least somebody who might have lived with such a person.”

  “Did they turn up anything else of interest?”

  “There isn’t much to report on that end, just a few strands of hair from the couch.”

  “Hair? What kind of hair?” asked Diane.

  “Canine.”

  “Mrs. Tamarland didn’t have any pets, could that be a clue?”

  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in it, someone she knew may have a dog. Finding canine and feline hair are common to any investigation,” Inspector Crothers said, dismissively. “I will keep you posted.”

  Diane waved to Inspector Crothers as he left the garden. This case was proving to be frustrating; every new clue turned into a dead end. Turning her attention back to her work, she tried to concentrate on the flashing cursor on the blank screen in front of her, but her mind was consumed by the facts of the case, facts that were not leading to an arrest. With her hands on the keyboard of the laptop, the cursor blinking at her, she tried to remain optimistic that Inspector Crothers would learn something useful when he spoke with Mrs. Hedley.

  Chapter 8

  Inspector Crothers drove down the lane headed back to the station. The afternoon interview with Mrs. Hedley was the biggest lead in the case. Mrs. Hedley worked for Mrs. Tamarland for several years and was the one person that might be able to shed some light on the secretive life of the victim. If the maid didn’t have any relevant information, he was going to be stuck at a dead end. When he thought of Mrs. Tamarland and the cold-blooded way she met her end, he felt that he owed it to her, owed the community by solving her murder.

  Returning to his office, he was met by Sergeant Webster, his jacket in his hand. “I finished the witness statements. Thomas was at work the day of the murder, just like he said. His co-workers and his boss gave detailed testimony. He doesn’t like to work, but they all saw him that afternoon, in the break room or smoking a cigarette.”

  “They are willing to testify th
at he was being lazy, is that it?” asked Inspector Crothers.

  “You are right on the mark, according to his boss there is a security camera on the premises. He volunteered to provide footage of that afternoon if it was necessary.”

  “Not at this stage of the investigation,” answered the Inspector as he glanced at his watch. “We’d better get going if we want to make that appointment with Mrs. Hedley.”

  Sergeant Webster slipped on his jacket, “I am ready to go when you are.”

  Mrs. Ruth Hedley did not live in Apple Mews, but in the nearby town of Tynemouth on Haye, a quiet hamlet nestled on a river. As Inspector Crothers drove through the town, he was struck by the scenic beauty of the small village. “Sergeant, this place makes Apple Mews look like a bustling metropolis.”

  “It looks like a travel poster for Shropshire, every building is historic and every garden well-tended,” Sergeant Webster replied. “Look at that church, will you? It has to be a few hundred years old and that pub probably saw a lot of history.”

  “I don’t know why there aren’t tourists swarming all over this place,” Inspector Crothers said as he turned the car down a narrow street.

  “They just don’t know about it, is all. I’ve lived in Shropshire all my life and I can’t say that I can recall having a reason to come here.”

  Inspector Crothers parked in front of a row of clean but small two-story houses. The street was barely wide enough to allow for parked cars and traffic. As he stepped out of the vehicle and stood on the cobblestone street, he estimated that the road beneath his feet, like the houses, dated back a few centuries.

  “It’s a nice little street, there isn’t much to it, but it’s clean, the houses all look well kept,” said Sergeant Webster as they walked up the front steps of a narrow single-family dwelling.

  The Inspector pushed the button on the door frame, and a doorbell cheerfully rang inside the modest home. A dog barked a high-pitched warning from somewhere behind the door.

  “Sounds like a yippy little dog,” whispered the Inspector.

  “’Bet it’s an ankle biter, what do you think, a tiny dog that thinks he’s a wolfhound?” Sergeant Webster replied as the door slowly opened, revealing a middle-aged woman.

  “May I help you?” she said as she squinted at the men on her doorstep, her face softening into a friendly expression as she recognized Crothers and Webster. “Inspector, please forgive me, I can’t see without my glasses.”

  A diminutive mixed-breed dog stood shaking behind its owner. Its teeth bared, it was growling and barking its displeasure at the intruders on its well-guarded perimeter.

  “Sampson! Go lie down, don’t wake daddy up, you hear me?” the woman said in a low voice.

  The little dog bowed its head as it growled, “You will have to excuse Sampson, he gets excited when we have visitors, he won’t hurt you, he is all bark,” she assured the officers as she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a pair of glasses held together by tape. “That’s better, please, come in. I’ve just put the kettle on.”

  “Has he had all his shots?” asked the Sergeant as he eyed the dog warily.

  “Oh my, yes, he gets more trips to the doctor than I do, please come in.”

  Ruth Hedley was a middle-aged woman with wiry gray hair crammed into a bun at the back of her head. The glasses on her face gave her a faint resemblance to a well-fed pigeon, the Inspector observed as he followed her to the sitting room.

  “Have a seat. I was expecting you, I have biscuits and tea, but I can make sandwiches if you prefer,” she replied as the little dog lay in the doorway, its gaze fixed on the strangers in its house.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hedley. We are on duty and don’t want to be a bother. We regret that we must decline your hospitality,” Inspector Crothers said as he sat down on the narrow couch.

  “I understand, I have never been interviewed by the police before and I didn’t know what I should do, tea always seems like a good idea for guests.”

  “It was very nice of you,” said the Sergeant with a smile.

  Mrs. Ruth Hedley sat on a well-worn upholstered chair in the modest sitting room of her home. A fireplace was the prominent feature of the room that was immaculately clean and sported family photographs in frames carefully arranged on the mantle. The furniture, like the rug on the floor, looked as though it had seen better days, but had been kept clean. Inspector Crothers did not see a single cobweb or speck of dust anywhere in the room, a detail that illustrated the pride she had in her home and her work.

  “I hope you will excuse the mess, it is so hard to keep my own house clean and work the hours I do,” she apologized.

  “Mrs. Hedley, there is no need to apologize, we are not home inspectors and if we were, I would give you the highest marks,” said Inspector Crothers as he tried to ease into the questioning that was to follow.

  “Thank you for that,” she said with a faint smile. “I know you didn’t drive all this way for an afternoon chat, what can I do to help you? Mrs. Tamarland was my favorite employer and I will do anything I can to help you find the person responsible for what happened to her,” she said as she removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with her hand.

  “Mrs. Hedley, before we discuss Mrs. Tamarland, can you tell us something about you, just a few details for the record,” Inspector Crothers asked to begin the interview.

  Mrs. Hedley looked uncomfortable as she bit her lip and wrung her hands together, “There isn’t much to tell that you don’t know. I am married, have been for nearly thirty years now. My husband, Eddie, is a pipe fitter when he can find work.”

  She quickly glanced towards the ceiling as she spoke, “There hasn’t been much work for him these last few years, which is why I’m cleaning houses and doing odd jobs for people. I do a bit of mending and sewing from time to time to make ends meet too.”

  From the woman’s statement to Sampson dog and her habit of looking up at the second floor, Sergeant Webster realized that Eddie Hedley was upstairs. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Has it been difficult to make ends meet in the last few weeks?”

  Her cheeks turned crimson as she stammered. From the kitchen, the kettle whistled startling her, “Oh dear, I better get that. I don’t want Eddie to wake up, he needs his sleep.”

  Jumping up from the chair, she moved surprisingly fast for a woman her age, Inspector Crothers noted as he watched her.

  She returned to the sitting room, exasperated and anxious as she sat down. Glancing at the ceiling once more, she looked at the Sergeant as she answered in a whisper, “You asked me about making ends meet, yes, it has been hard the last two months, with Eddie out of a regular job. He has had a few part-time jobs but nothing to amount to very much lately.”

  Inspector Crothers asked the question that was burning in his mind, “Is that why Mrs. Tamarland wrote you that cheque?”

  “I was afraid you would ask me about that, please don’t say another word about it, I don’t want Eddie to know,” she whispered, “He would be furious with me for asking one of my employers for money.”

  “He doesn’t know about it?” Sergeant Webster asked, quietly.

  “No, no one but you two, the bank and Mrs. Tamarland, God rest her soul, knew about it. It’s in a savings account that has my name on it, he doesn’t know about it and I pray he never does. With that money, I can keep a roof over our heads for a few more months until he goes back to work.”

  Inspector Crothers continued, “I will make this as quick as I can, was it a loan or a gift?”

  Mrs. Hedley looked uncomfortable as she shifted in her chair, “I told her it was a loan, like the ones before. I always managed to pay her back, even if it meant I had to work twice as hard. But this time, I don’t suppose I have to pay it back, do I? That is not nice to say, is it?”

  “The truth can be like that sometimes. Since you don’t have to pay it back, that must be a relief to you,” said Sergeant Webster.

  “Sir, I didn’t mean it like that, hones
t. I adored Mrs. Tamarland, she was a sweet, gentle woman and she took pity on me. I only meant that if I don’t have to pay it back, that I wouldn’t have to work so hard. With her death, I lost one of my best-paying employers and I am going to feel that loss of pay, I just know it. Finding someone like her is going to be hard in these parts.”

  Sergeant Webster lowered his voice, “I don’t mean to ask this of you, but I have to know for the record, why is your husband unable to work?”

  Mrs. Hedley blushed as she pursed her lips together, pausing before answering the question, “He has not been up to the work, he has been unwell.”

  “Unwell? Is he under a doctor’s care?”

  Ruth Hedley shook her head and mouthed the word, “No.”

  Inspector Crothers tried to be tactful as he asked, “Is it an illness or something else that has made you the sole breadwinner in the house?”

  “I don’t talk about it, but,” she said in a whisper, “it’s something else. Please don’t ask me about it.”

  Inspector Crothers did not pursue the truth about Eddie. Unknown to Mrs. Hedley, it was only a temporary reprieve from a painful conversation. He changed the subject as he asked, “Mrs. Hedley, can you tell us anything about Mrs. Tamarland, any family members, any visitors or friends she may have invited to her house?”

  “Inspector, sir, there is not much to tell about her. She kept to herself, went to church, she liked to garden. You should see her roses, I told her they needed to be entered into one of those competitions.”

  Sergeant Webster gently prodded the maid, “Mrs. Hedley, there must have been someone she spoke to, her nephew perhaps?”

  Ruth Hedley’s pleasant demeanor changed at the mention of Thomas Tamarland. She frowned as she answered, “What? Him? He wasn’t worth her time if you ask me. I know it isn’t my place to say a word about her relations but that man was in prison, though you already know that. Mrs. Tamarland told me and swore me not to tell a soul. She left her money and her fine house to him.”