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Pneuma Springs Publishing - Julius Falconer

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115 pages

English

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Description

Lionel Jagger, head of English at Mincliffe College in rural Worcestershire, is found dead in bed one morning, with his throat cut. Twenty-eight years old, erudite, talented, popular: an unlikely victim of murder. Inspector Wickfield and his assistant Sergeant Spooner trawl through his life, leaving no stone unturned. They interview widely, they travel extensively. The only result is bafflement, since all they meet have either no motive for murder or an unassailable alibi. In his despair at bringing the affair to a successful conclusion, the Chief Inspector hands the case to another detective team. Wickfield, however, despite this set-back, uncovers, with a flash of inspiration as clever as it is fortuitous, a devious and subtle plot that has deceived his colleagues. The joy of this book, however, lies not just in the unravelling of the mystery, but in the politico-philosophical theories canvassed, the style, the dry humour - and yes, the erudition! As always in Falconer, the reader has access to all the information available to the investigating team, and the tiny slip-up that leads to unmasking the murderer is displayed for all to see - if you're up to it! (Falconer fails to spot it; fortunately for us, the inspector is sharper.) Settle down in a comfortable chair and enjoy this latest offering from the pen of a master of the genre.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

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Thriller

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Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	30 juillet 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782281559
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Jagger

Julius Falconer
Copyright

First Published in 2010 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
Jagger Copyright © 2010 Julius Falconer
Mobi eISBN 9781907728853 ePub eISBN 9781782281559 PDF eISBN 9781782280699 Paperback ISBN: 9781905809998
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
Dedication

In memory of my much loved and respected parents

Aileen Norma (1912-1993)
and
Richard Lionel (1908-2005)

who sent me to ‘Mincliffe College’
Prolegomenon
‘Have you ever killed a man?’ Jagger asked his companion.
‘No, of course not. Why, have you?’ Crudson replied with a question of his own.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I have.’
‘Are you going to tell me about it, or was that not the purpose of your question?’
‘Yes, I think I’d like to tell you – if you’ve the time to listen.’
The two men were seated in easy chairs in front of a log fire on a cold winter’s evening. While the snow-storm raged outside, all within was quiet, except for the stately tick-tock of the nineteenth-century French long-case clock that stood in the corner (made by Le Couvé in Napoléonville to celebrate the events of 24 February 1848 – although its present owner had never been able to confirm the clockmaker’s identity or location with other information). The friends each held a glass of golden cognac, which they sipped with appreciation, knowledgeably. Cigar smoke wound up to the ceiling. It was precisely the right place and moment for a story.
‘It happened a few years ago now, in Coventry. I was then an actor with the rep there, as you’ll remember, and we were doing O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh – pretty ambitious, you might say: but then it was still early days at the new – well, newish - theatre, and the management were trying out what worked and what didn’t. Also in the cast was a chap called Higgins, Ed Higgins, whom I had disliked on sight. Why? I don’t know. Was it his gloomy face, sullen frown and big ears? Or his spiky hair and restless hands? Or the misanthropy lurking in his porcine eyes? Heaven knows. Anyway, we never seemed to get on, although as members of the same cast we inevitably saw quite a bit of each other. The part of Margie was being taken by a girl called Amy, new to the company, and she was good, no doubt about it. Whether she’d ever been a prostitute in real life and could play her part from experience, I’ve no idea: I was too gentlemanly to ask. She had a good figure, an effective brassy voice and a mobile face which enabled her to put on a huge variety of expressions: surprise, hate, dejection, anticipation, knowingness, boredom – you name it. What she saw in Higgins I’ve no idea. He was, as far as I could see, an overweight, self-indulgent, spendthrift boor, although he could act, I’ll give him that. It fell out that Higgins and Amy seemed attracted to each other. The chemistry of affection will always be a mystery to me, and I don’t suppose anyone will ever fathom it. Where Higgins was morose, and ugly with it, she was vivacious and very pretty: prettier than almost anybody else I’ve ever seen. Where he was heavy and lumbering, in both physique and manner, she was slim and animated. Soon their mutual attachment made itself known to the rest of us, and most, I suppose, took it in their stride. There is, after all, nothing exceptional in a young – well, youngish - man and a young woman, thrown together in the way of their profession, making a go of it.
‘However, one of our number took great exception to their friendship. This was a bloke called Prosser, who played the part of McGloin, the ex-policeman. Ned Prosser was in his fifties, old enough to be Amy’s father, but he fancied himself a bit as a magnet for females. The fact that he’d already divorced two wives didn’t seem to strike him as working against this flattering self-image of his. If two women got close enough to marry him and then decided they’d made a bad bargain, you’d think the penny would drop, but it doesn’t seem to have done so. Prosser began to demonstrate his jealousy of Higgins, first of all, with derogatory and insulting remarks to his face, then with more general comments to the company at large, until it all got a bit of an embarrassment and, to be honest, a bit of a bore. In a repertory company, with however many extras, a stupid feud is not just a nuisance: it’s unsettling. The director had a word with Prosser; so did the manager; but neither seemed to do much good, except temporarily.
‘Eventually the manager told Prosser that he’d have either to master his dislike of Higgins or to quit the company. Things calmed down a bit with this ultimatum. You know those two bits, one in Act II and one in Act IV, when McGloin and Mosher square up to each other? Mosher’s a one-time circus artiste. The first time, Rocky and Chuck dive in between them to prevent fisticuffs; the second time, it’s Rocky alone who prevents further trouble. The scenes took on such realism that the cast were increasingly worried that a sort of I Pagliacci dénouement would take place before their very eyes. And talk about exciting the audience!
‘Well, one day Higgins took Amy out to lunch at a café in Hertford Street. Prosser followed them. They had not long begun their meal, when Prosser came up to their table and started a scene. First of all he told Higgins that he was nothing but a “cockered earth-vexing pignut” – Shakespeare! – a lousy actor, a fat, ugly peasant, a blot on the landscape and I don’t know what else besides. He didn’t shout but spat his words out. Then he flourished a fist and threatened Higgins with violence if he didn’t leave Amy alone. And then – and this, of course, riled Higgins more than anything – he laid a hand on Amy’s arm and said something like, “Come on, love, you’d be much better off with me”. Well, Higgins jumped up and pushed Prosser in the chest, hard. Prosser lost his balance and fell on to the table behind him, breaking it, before leaping to his feet and making for Higgins. Higgins was ready, and in seconds a fight was in progress round the café. At the first sign of trouble, the café owner had phoned the police, and within a few minutes a couple of constables arrived to put an end to it all. Witnesses testified that Prosser was the aggressor, but because Higgins wasn’t willing to press charges, Prosser got away with a caution and paying for the damage. As soon as news got back to the theatre, the manager sacked Prosser and told him to go away and find something to do that would enable him to get over his feelings.
‘Prosser had no choice, particularly as Higgins had treated him with something approaching generosity, perhaps unexpected in such a lumbering, clumsy oaf, and of course the police had cautioned him as well. Prosser left, and that was the last we saw of him – for a time. I heard later that he was out of work for some months and then got a job at Nottingham rep. The Belgrade manager must have said in his reference that Prosser wasn’t normally a troublemaker.
‘Prosser, however, hadn’t finished with his attempt to wheedle Amy away from Higgins. About six months after his dismissal, he reappeared in Coventry and asked for his old job back. The manager naturally refused. Prosser hung around Amy’s lodgings, accosting her on her way to the theatre, attending performances and applauding excessively – we were then playing Arsenic and Old Lace , and Amy was, of course, Elaine - sending up messages to meet her after the show. Eventually the manager told the police, and they warned him off. He disappeared again.
‘In due course, Higgins and Amy got married. Although I still thought Higgins a quite intolerable lout, I admit that Amy did induce in him a slight improvement. He lost weight, shaved more often, became slightly more civilised. They bought a small terraced house in Queensland Avenue off Hearsall Common and settled down to the tedious life of repertory actors: new parts to master, endless rehearsals, performance after performance, no social life to speak of. Every so often one of them would be laid off temporarily, and it was more likely to be Higgins, as the management recognised that Amy was a popular figure. Not many plays call for a hulking brute, however theatrically talented.
‘It all came to a head when they’d been married about a year. I think they were happy enough, in so far as happiness is possible in this vale of tears - or, as Shakespeare has it, this world of vile ill-favour’d faults. Prosser suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He was raddled: blear-eyed from drink, paunchy from lack of exercise, stupid from unemployment. He looked as if he were sleeping on the streets, which I daresay he was. It’s sad to see a man let himself go, even, or perhaps particularly, one so unattractive as Prosser, and to embark on the decline from which salvation is so difficult. He had clearly been lurking about the theatre, waiting for an opportunity to accost Higgins, and his vigil paid off one night as his quarry left the theatre alone after a performance. Prosser followed Higgins as far as Spon End – a quieter part of town than Corporation Street! - where he grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him round and challenged him. Either he gave up Amy or he, Prosser, would kill him there and then. Now Prosser had run to seed: he was flabby and half-drunk to boot, but the anger in his eyes testified to his determination. At one time