you’d call a nice man. In fact I discovered what sort of person he was when my sister got involved with him about a year ago. But if we all murdered people we didn’t like, the population would halve overnight,” Samuels said with a nervous laugh.
“Where were you at nine forty when the body was found?”
“Here with my secretary.”
“We think he died about half an hour before that. Where were you then?”
“Here in the office. Mrs Barker and I came in early to work on a report.”
“Did you hear the scream when Jonathan Pleasance fell?”
“I heard nothing. I’m rather confused, Inspector. How could he have fallen from the window if he was already dead?”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish, sir. Did he always lock the tower room door when he was working?”
“Yes. Always. He gets… er, got… extremely annoyed when he was disturbed. The chapel’s used for storage and from time to time people needed to go in there.”
“Who stores things in the chapel?”
“Mark and Jenny from publicity; the guides; myself and my secretary. At first he would let people in very grudgingly, but a couple of months ago he decided that he was sick of interruptions so he locked himself in and refused to open the door at all. But as he only worked here two mornings a week it wasn’t a major problem.”
“Did anyone go up there this morning?”
“If anyone had attempted to knock at that door, Inspector, someone would have heard Pleasance hurling his usual quota of abuse. People learned to steer well clear on the mornings he was in.”
“Did Pleasance keep the key to the tower room?”
“No. There’s only one key and it’s kept in the cupboard by the staff entrance. Pleasance always picked it up on his way in. He’ll have been locked in that room alone, Inspector,” said Samuels convincingly.
“Pleasance died at around nine o’clock. What time do your staff arrive?”
“Most of them come in at eight forty-five but the guides arrive a little later, about quarter-past nine. All the staff sign in: you can check if you like.”
“And Pleasance?”
“He usually came in just before nine o’clock. And before you ask, I didn’t see him this morning.”
“Was the key in its cupboard when you arrived at eight-thirty?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve no idea.”
Anastasia Hardy stood up and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “Thank you for your help, sir.”
After Petroc Samuels had seen them to the door, all cooperation, the good citizen anxious to help the police, Anastasia marched swiftly away from his office and down the magnificent staircase, thinking fleetingly how satisfying it would be to sweep down those stairs in an elegant period costume. She turned to Calthwaite who was trailing behind, deep in thought. “I think it’s time we spoke to those children, Calthwaite. Do you know where they are?”
“They should be back in the Great Hall by now.” He hesitated. “Er… do you mind if I go and have a word with the car park attendant, ma’am. I noticed him outside when we arrived. It’s just an idea I’ve got.”
“In that case I’ll have to tackle 8C on my own,” she said, hugging her handbag defensively to her chest. “Don’t be long will you.”
As Anastasia reached the bottom of the stairs, the noise which oozed from the Great Hall sounded like the relentless buzz of bees in a particularly busy hive. She had found 8C.
She took a deep breath before she entered the Hall. She had faced murderers and armed robbers in her time but the prospect of facing thirty exuberant adolescents played havoc with her nerves. As she walked in she could tell that 8C were in high spirits, chattering merrily; the newly broken voices of some of the boys echoing up to the great hammer-beam roof. Anastasia made straight for their teacher who was standing by the massive stone fireplace talking to a middle-aged woman in Elizabethan costume.
“Mrs Vine? I’m so sorry you’ve had to wait,” Anastasia said with a disarming smile. “I’ll get one of my constables to take names and addresses then you’ll be able to go.” Vicky Vine looked relieved as she glanced at her restless charges.
The costumed woman standing beside her fiddled nervously with the jewel which hung around her neck. “Muriel Pablos?” asked Anastasia. The woman nodded. “I’m afraid we need a statement from you. We’re interviewing all the staff: it’s nothing to worry about.”
PC Joe Calthwaite chose that moment to march into the hall and the children fell silent for a few short moments at the sight of a uniformed police officer.
Anastasia watched Vicky Vine greet the constable like an old friend. “Joe. You do look smart,” she said, touching his blue serge sleeve. “Enjoying the police force are you? It’s what you’ve always wanted to do isn’t it… ever since you discovered who started that fire in the school chemistry lab. Joe was one of my prize pupils, Inspector,” she told Anastasia with professional pride as the young constable blushed.
Joe grinned modestly and turned to Muriel Pablos. “Hello again Mrs Pablos. I didn’t have a chance to ask you earlier. How’s Francesca?” Muriel Pablos smiled weakly but didn’t answer.
Anastasia’s attention began to wander and her sharp eyes spotted a huddle of conspiratorial boys standing near the window. They were up to something. And it wasn’t long before she found out what it was.
“Miss,” said a whining female voice from the centre of the room. “Darren’s got matches, miss… and a candle.”
“I found them, miss,” Darren cried in his defence. “I found them in that window seat. I wasn’t going to keep them, miss.”
Vicky Vine confiscated the objects of desire with a weary sigh and handed them to Muriel Pablos; a small box of matches and a chubby, half-burned church candle with a blackened wick…
Joe leaned towards Anastasia and whispered in her ear. “Ma’am, can I have a quick word outside?”
Watched by thirty pairs of curious eyes, Anastasia followed the constable into the entrance hall, intrigued. “Ma’am,” he said as they stood beneath a pair of watching statues. “I’ve just spoken to the car park attendant… he told me something interesting.” He paused. “I think I know who killed Jonathan Pleasance. And now I think I know how they did it.”
Anastasia stared at him. “Well I’m baffled. A man dies at nine o’clock in a locked room then jumps or falls from the window half an hour later with the only key still in his pocket. But come on, Sherlock. Was the suit of armour computer operated? Or was the murder committed by the resident ghost? Let’s hear your brilliant theory.”
He looked at Anastasia Hardy and saw a sceptical smile on her lips. “I’ll have to ask you to do something for me first, ma’am. Something that would be… er… better coming from a woman.”
“What is it?” she asked, warily.
When Calthwaite told her she raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“Oh yes, ma’am.”
“Right, Calthwaite, you lead the way. And let’s just hope this doesn’t lead to questions being asked in high places.”
They re-entered the hall. This time the children seemed quieter, more subdued.
“Mrs Pablos, could we have a word outside in the entrance hall, please?” said Anastasia sweetly. Muriel Pablos glanced at Vicky Vine and followed Anastasia from the room, her long skirts
