Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 1 Read online

  Bruce Beckham

  __________

  Murder in Adland

  Murder in School

  Murder on the Edge

  Murder on the Lake

  LUCiUS

  Contents – Books 1-4

  Murder in Adland

  Main Characters in Order of Appearance

  1. Bassenthwaite Lake

  2. Bewaldeth Hall

  3. Room 10

  4. Mrs Groteneus

  5. Breakfast by the lake

  6. Dermott Goldsmith

  7. Miriam Tregilgis

  8. Kukri & key

  9. Police HQ

  10. Moffat and beyond

  11. Macdonald & Campbell

  12. Briefcase

  13. Julia Rubicon

  14. Elspeth Goldsmith

  15. Calton Hill

  16. Fettes Avenue

  17. Evening flight

  18. Krista Morocco

  19. Seven Dials

  20. Melanie Stark

  21. Ford Zendik

  22. Waterloo Bridge

  23. Grendon Smith

  24. Ron Bunce

  25. Hillend

  26. Dermott Goldsmith

  27. Haystacks

  28. Twitching

  29. The letters

  30. WNKR Advertising

  31. The Irish girl

  32. London by night

  33. Krista Morocco

  34. Miriam Tregilgis

  35. The down-train

  36. Telephone calls

  37. It's not cricket

  38. Reading

  39. Back on Bass Lake

  40. Flight to Edinburgh

  41. The pretty crossing

  42. Roseburn

  Murder in School

  1. The Taj Mahal

  2. Bassenthwaite Lake

  3. DS Leyton

  4. Oakthwaite School

  5. James Goodman, OBE

  6. The burger van

  7. The professor

  8. The groundsman

  9. Dr Snyder

  10. Dr Jacobson

  11. The gatehouse

  12. The pavilion

  13. The gatehouse

  14. Sale Fell

  15. The M6 motorway

  16. Flying economy

  17. Singapore

  18. Changi

  19. The bothy

  20. The burger van

  21. Dr Snyder

  22. Dr Jacobson

  23. Bassenthwaite Lake

  24. Oakthwaite School

  25. The burger van

  26. Skiddaw

  27. Oakthwaite School

  28. The press gang

  29. The Derwen

  30. Oakthwaite School

  31. Cockermouth

  32. Bassenthwaite Lake

  33. Wasdale Head

  Murder on the Edge

  1. Wasdale Head

  2. Sharp Edge

  3. Barry Seddon

  4. Lee Harris

  5. Kendal

  6. Penrith HQ

  7. Striding Edge

  8. Penrith truckstop

  9. Aspatria

  10. DI Skelgill's office

  11. Sharp Edge

  12. Penrith town centre

  13. DS Jones calls

  14. Linda Harris

  15. Walter Barley

  16. Grasmere

  17. Great End

  18. Knott Halloo Farm

  19. Scales Tarn

  20. Police HQ

  21. Follow-up meeting

  22. Border country

  23. Knott Halloo Farm

  24. Cliff Edge

  25. Crunch time

  26. The Taj Mahal

  Murder on the Lake

  1. Derwentwater

  2. The pier

  3. Dinner & after

  4. Grisholm

  5. Dr Herdwick's report

  6. Train to London

  7. Dickie Lampray

  8. RBP Limited

  9. Angela Cutting

  10. Lucy Hecate

  11. News of Burt Boston

  12. DS Leyton's findings

  13. Ms J Smith

  14. Sarah Redmond

  15. Police HQ

  16. The toxicologist

  17. The Yat

  18. Derwentwater

  19. Grisholm

  20. Beebi haug

  Bruce Beckham

  __________

  Murder in Adland

  Detective Inspector Skelgill

  Investigates

  Book 1

  LUCiUS

  Text copyright 2015 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 2012

  Second edition published by Lucius 2015

  Paperback edition first published by Lucius 2015

  For more details and Rights enquiries contact:

  [email protected]

  Cover design by Moira Kay Nicol

  EDITOR’S NOTE

  Murder in Adland is a stand-alone whodunit, the first in the series ‘Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates’. It is set in the English Lake District, London and the Scottish capital, Edinburgh. This second edition has been significantly updated and revised, and is now contemporary with the subsequent novels in the series.

  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

  MAIN CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

  DI Daniel Skelgill

  Detective Inspector, Cumbria Police

  DS Emma Jones

  Detective Sergeant, Cumbria Police

  Mrs Groteneus

  Proprietor of Bewaldeth Hall

  Dermott Lord Goldsmith

  Joint-principal of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  Miriam Tregilgis

  Widow of the murdered Ivan Tregilgis

  Julia Rubicon

  Head of Edinburgh office of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  Elspeth Goldsmith

  Wife of Dermott Goldsmith

  Krista Morocco

  Head of London office of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  Melanie Stark

  Employee in London office of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  Grendon Smith

  Sacked employee of London office of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  Ron Bunce

  Media supplier to London office of Goldsmith-Tregilgis & Associates

  1. BASSENTHWAITE LAKE

  Wakey wakey, Skelly – 4 a.m. alarm call.’

  ‘George – I’m in the middle of Bass Lake. It’s Sunday. Tell me you're just bored.’

 
‘Sorry, lad.’ The Desk Sergeant’s disembodied voice softens: as a fellow fisherman, there is a note of compassion in his tone. ‘You’ve got a murder on your patch. Body’s still warm by all accounts.’

  ‘You’re pulling my leg, George.’

  ‘Fraid not, lad.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Know Bewaldeth Hall – the hotel?’

  ‘Aye, it’s nearby. Look – I’ll call you from the motor. I need to get these lines in. Then I’m a ten-minute row from Peel Wyke, and I’ll have to chain the boat up. I’ll be there in half an hour max.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll pass it on. Caught owt?’

  ‘Nah. Just got bloody started. It’s a cracking morning though.’

  ‘Ah well, bigger fish to fry now, lad.’

  *

  Daniel Skelgill, 37, dedicated pike-angler and Inspector, Cumbria CID, reels in his last dead-bait with practised aplomb. He unhooks the slender sprat and lets its lifeless form slip through the mirrored surface of Bassenthwaite Lake, “The only lake in the Lake District,” as he enjoys telling bemused visitors.

  The A66 trunk road bordering the wooded western bank is empty and silent, though the ponderous chug of a distant tractor drifts across the still water, a contrast to the soft rhythmical swish and splash of Skelgill’s oars. In his wake the imposing bulk of Skiddaw seems pumped up like a body builder, as the late May sun’s first rays raise into relief the sculpted musculature of its upper slopes. Another of Skelgill’s nuggets of information, cheerfully dispensed to groaning stretcher-borne casualties in his voluntary role in the North Fells Mountain Rescue, it is England’s fourth-highest mountain. Its perfect reflection, slowly receding, begins to ripple as the boat’s wash creeps towards the opposite shore.

  2. BEWALDETH HALL

  ‘Jones?’

  Having slewed his car to an extravagant halt that has carved his signature into Bewaldeth Hall’s neat gravel drive, from the open driver’s window he regards the girl with some uncertainty. At first sight her informal and scanty outfit would suggest a hotel guest, eager to intercept him – but now he identifies her as Detective Sergeant Emma Jones. A twenty-six-year-old product of the graduate programme, she is a local girl with a degree from London. Competent and confident, she is quickly making a name for herself, and is referred to by some as ‘Fast-track’ – while others covet her affections. However, perhaps Skelgill’s gun-slinging reputation precedes him, for she seems a little star struck beneath his icy glare.

  ‘Yes, Sir – that’s correct, Sir.’

  ‘Didn’t recognise you, Jones.’

  ‘No, Sir – there’s a rave in a hangar over near Cockermouth.’ She gestures with a downward sweep of the hand, indicating her party wear. ‘I was on duty – undercover, Sir.’

  Skelgill makes a cursory nod. His features remain taciturn. A man’s man – a touch chauvinistic, he would admit – he prefers male company when it comes to the cut and thrust of police work. But his regular DS is on annual leave, and his Chief’s rota has dealt him an unfamiliar hand. This – allied with the annoying curtailment of his fishing trip – is more likely the source of his dismay than what she wears. He pushes open the door in a careless manner, causing her to take a sudden step backward.

  ‘Call me Guv, will you? I’m more used to it from that Cockney layabout Leyton.’

  ‘Yes, Sir – Guv.’

  He shoots her a sideways glance and sees that her gaze has been drawn to his attire. He has revealed himself to be sporting threadbare brown corduroys, a faded olive-green t-shirt, and a scale-spangled taupe gilet hanging with jangling angling paraphernalia; these are lived-in favourites, owned for best part of a decade and laundered only slightly more often.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Er... you came in a bit of a hurry, too – Guv?’

  Though her tone is sympathetic, he remains defensive.

  ‘This is professional fishing gear. Cost a packet.’

  *

  Bewaldeth Hall is typical of the many small Victorian hotels scattered throughout the Lake District. Neat grey granite, a modern bedroom-block added at the back, lots of jutting eaves and mossy slates, and mature grounds where rhododendrons strain like ravenous tethered goats, eager to gobble up what remains of the gardens. A portly middle-aged constable stands yawning to attention on the stone steps. He seems to salute the two detectives, but in fact is just shielding his eyes from the early-morning sunlight, now slanting over the eastern fells. He stares quizzically as he notices their unconventional apparel.

  ‘Hey up, Arthur.’ Skelgill acknowledges the older man, the long-time local bobby for Bewaldeth and Snittlegarth, then adds, pointing by way of explanation:

  ‘Me fishing – her dancing. What’s the story here?’

  ‘Young Dodd’s guarding Room 10, where the body is. The Doc’s in there, too. Just arrived. Lot of blood. Knife-job, I reckon. The owner’s back in her cottage behind the hotel. Advertising company’s taken over whole place for the weekend. Dead lad’s one of the two business partners.’ He consults his notebook. ‘Name of Tregilgis, Ivan. Thirty-three. His wife’s int’ bar with t’other partner – Lord Goldsmith (also thirty-three), and his missus. WPC on the way. SOCO on the way. I’ve told all the rest to stay int’ residents’ lounge. Most of ’em are still gattered.’ He makes a drinking motion, and then purses his lips. ‘Some fit lasses, Skel.’

  Skelgill steals a sidelong glance in the direction of his assistant, but she has not reacted to this latter remark.

  ‘Behave, Arthur.’

  Skelgill nods his appreciation and leads the way into a square entrance hall, heavily beamed and adorned with paintings of African battle-scenes with red-coated soldiers; staring stuffed animals; antique rifles and various tribal artefacts, feathered spears and great machete-like knives. DS Jones hesitates, as if to comment on the frightening arsenal, but Skelgill instinctively bangs through a swing door guarded by two suits of armour. It opens on a corridor with windows on the right-hand side and a row of doors on the left. At the far end the aforementioned PC Dodd jumps to attention from a sitting position at the foot of a staircase. Then he sways, and drops back down with a thump.

  ‘Alright, lad?’ Skelgill approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Sir. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Tell me what you know, then.’

  The young PC swallows.

  ‘Sir. No sign of the weapon. Alarm was raised by Mrs Tregilgis about three-fifteen a.m. – she’d got into bed in the dark, thinking he was asleep. Felt the damp, thought he’d been sick and switched on the light. Saw it was blood – then all hell broke loose – and the whole lot of them came crowding into the room. It’s a private party and it was still going strong. According to the wife he’d gone to bed first, maybe about two a.m., taking the room key. He’d left this door to the corridor unlocked so she could get in. No sign of a forced entry or a struggle, but the French door onto the terrace was unlocked and the small top window was open. Jewellery and a wallet lying in full view on the dresser. Couple of empty beer bottles. I had a quick look round outside – nothing obvious and nobody about. No thefts reported from other rooms, Sir.’

  Skelgill, listening intently, nods his approval.

  ‘Good work, Dodd.’ He indicates back along the corridor. ‘Are these all the bedrooms?’

  ‘No, Sir. There’s ten on this floor and ten more if you go up these stairs.’ He gestures over his shoulder.

  DS Jones is pushing at an unyielding fire-escape door that faces the staircase.

  ‘How about this, was it closed?’

  ‘Exactly as you see it, Ma’am – at least, when we arrived at about three forty-five.’

  DS Jones tries to conceal her discomfort at being called Ma’am. PC Dodd and she are erstwhile classmates.

  ‘Go and get some fresh air. We’ll take over here.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  3. ROOM 10

  Skelgill taps a knuckle beneath the Roman numeral X and gently pushes open the
door.

  ‘Right then, Herdwick – what have you got for us, yer miserable old cuddy?’

  From his left materialises a dark, slender woman of Mediterranean appearance. Skelgill evidently does not recognise her, nor does she him. With a look of alarm she tries to press shut the door, trapping him against the jamb.

  ‘No, no! You may not enter!’

  ‘We’re the police!’

  Skelgill yanks his Cumbrian Water fishing permit from the breast pocket of his gilet and flashes it briefly. The woman’s started demeanour relaxes, and she steps away, raising her hands in a flamboyant gesture, one that might owe something to flamenco.

  ‘Ah – perdone – accept my apologies. I did not recognise... I mean, you English detectives you are so... eccentric in your dress.’

  She peels off a rubber glove and holds out a firm hand to each of them in turn.

  ‘You are Inspector Skelgill – y Signorita...?’

  ‘DS Jones, my Sergeant. Doctor...?’

  ‘Maria Garcia Gonzalez. I am locum for Doctor ’erdwick.’

  Skelgill might wish to pull a disapproving face at his colleague, but the intelligent black Spanish eyes never leave his own, even as the woman moves aside to reveal the double bed against the left-hand wall. There follows a few moments’ silence while they gaze, not breathing, on the scene. Frowning, Skelgill must be reminded that one can never cease to be amazed by the amount of blood that fits inside one person. Ivan Tregilgis lies naked, quite peacefully; face down, in a sea of crimson among waves of crisp white linen.

  ‘A matador, it is you seek.’

  The two detectives exhale in tandem and turn abruptly to Dr Garcia Gonzalez as her unintentionally melodramatic words break the spell.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Inspector – ’e was killed by a single violent blow to the back of the neck from a knife or sword. It severed the carotid artery and probably the spinal cord. It would cause paralysis and rapid loss of blood. If it was not the skill of an expert – it was, how you say – la suerte del diablo?’