“Anything else, Loveheart?”
“Go and visit Mrs Charm. Her chutneys are wonderful,” and he throws himself off the carriage, nearly catching his foot, and, lucky as a cat, lands quite gracefully into a bed of primroses as our cart judders onwards. Walnut smells his flowers and smiles.
We arrive at three thirty exactly at the Grubweed residence. We are taken straight to the body by Mrs Treacle and her daughter, Sally, the maid. A white bed sheet has been laid over him with a tea towel over the head.
“I just couldn’t bear looking at it, sorry.”
I remove the sheet and tea towel.
“Suicide?” Walnut remarks. Mrs Treacle gazes at him, horrified.
I slap Walnut round the back of the head and turn to Mrs Treacle. “Who found the body?”
She averts her eyes from the corpse. “I came down at six this morning and found him exactly as you see him, sir. He was a dinner guest and business associate of Mr Grubweed. Stayed the night. His room was on the second floor, with the blue door.”
The head has been cleanly chopped off. I go through the man’s pockets and find a small notebook, a pair of pound notes and a pipe, some tobacco and a key, all of which I remove. There is no sign of a struggle. The head has been taken off in one swipe by an axe or long knife and it was a surprise attack, judging simply by the man’s expression. It would have taken someone strong to get a head off in one blow; it was most expertly done. I search the kitchen for the possible murder weapon, but to no avail.
“Walnut, arrange for the removal of the body to the coroner’s and start a search of the house and surrounding area for an axe or large bladed weapon.”
“Yes, sir.”
I take Mrs Treacle and Sally outside into the herb garden and we sit down on a set of chairs around a table.
“Tell me the events of last night?”
“He arrived at eight and had dinner with Mr Grubweed and the children. I believe he retired for the night about midnight.”
“How?”
Sally answered, “I passed him on the stairs going into his room. I had just been checking on Grandpa. Their rooms are next to each other.”
“Did either of you notice anything peculiar happen during the evening?”
Sally answered, “Not really. Mr Grubweed and Mr Hookeye retired to the study to discuss business after dinner. There was a fight that broke out between the children soon after but apart from that nothing unusual.”
“What sort of fight?”
“Miss Boo Boo attacked Miss Prunella, stuck her head in the trifle dish. I didn’t witness it, just heard about it after.”
“But Mr Hookeye didn’t have an argument with anyone that evening?”
“Not that we know of sir,” replies Mrs Treacle.
“And your opinion of Mr Hookeye?”
They glance at one another doubtfully. Mrs Treacle responds first. “He wasn’t very friendly.”
“He was a rude bugger,” snaps Sally. Her mother glances worriedly at her. “I only met him a few times, but he was never nice to anyone. Smug and slippery.”
“What sort of business were Mr Grubweed and Mr Hookeye involved with?”
“Something to do with the Professor. Mr Hookeye visited us every few months,” says Mrs Treacle.
“And the work?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Sally also shakes her head.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to have harmed Mr Hookeye?”
“No,” they say in unison, both shaking their heads.
“Thank you, ladies. And now I would very much like to interview Mr Grubweed.”
“He’s not here, sir,” says Sally, “He’s visiting the Professor, but he should be back for his dinner. Mrs Grubweed and Grandpa are in the lounge though. I’ll take you there.”
Blind Grandpa sits on an old rocking chair in the centre of the room, a knitted blanket on his lap. His daughter, Mrs Grubweed, sits demurely beside him, staring at the wall.
“Good afternoon. I am Detective Sergeant White from Scotland Yard.”
“Where’s Waxford?” says Grandpa.
“He’s broken his foot. If I could ask you some questions?” Mrs Grubweed is still staring at the wall. “Mrs Grubweed?”
“Oh, ignore her,” Grandpa replies, and points at his brain with his finger. “Gone with the fairies.”
“Excuse me?”
“You won’t get anything out of her. She’s always been this way. Never said a word from the day she was born. Never cried as a baby.”
I look at her carefully. She still avoids my eyes. “Well, is there anything you would like to tell me Mr…”
“Richard Applecore. That is my name but I am usually referred to as Grandpa. I spend most of my time in my room upstairs or in the garden. I am looked after by my daughter and Sally. I was brought down here after the murder. I tell you, this village is cursed, but it’s never boring.”