Murder Most Royal

‘I’d like to talk to my loft manager,’ she said.

Chapter 13

The job of royal loft manager came with a house near the abandoned railway station at Wolferton and a pigeon loft in the garden for two hundred birds. The loft itself had recently been refurbished with ventilated roofing, nesting boxes and perches, and awnings under which they could sunbathe in the summer. In pigeon terms, it was as lavish as Sandringham. The man who got to manage such lavishness was a friendly Lancastrian called Stephen Day, whose cheerfulness belied a cut-throat competitive spirit that made him an excellent choice for the job.

After a minute or two, his warm, Christmas pudding of a voice came reassuringly down the line.

‘Happy New Year, Your Majesty. And what can I do for you?’

‘I wondered if you might know anything about money laundering, Mr Day.’

‘Ha! You’re talking to the wrong person, ma’am. I can just about manage online banking. Is that any help?’

‘Money laundering through pigeon clubs. Someone was talking to me about it at New Year. From what I can remember, there are gangs that buy into the clubs so they can sell prize birds at below their value and record a higher price in the accounts. I think that’s it, anyway.’

‘Why would they do that, ma’am?’

‘So that any illicit money could disappear in the difference between the two. I assumed at first that you wouldn’t be able to hide much money that way, but then I realised how much auction prices have rocketed recently. I found it rather alarming. So you aren’t aware of anything like that happening round here?’

‘I had no idea you were such an expert on crime, ma’am. It’s news to me. I can’t see that happening in East Anglia.’

‘That’s what I thought, too, to start with.’

‘I can ask around, though, if you’d like.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘I’ll tell you who’d know, mind you,’ Mr Day reflected, ‘except she’s not around at the moment – and that’s Mrs Raspberry. She talked to a lot of people for that article she did for the Flying Post. If something odd was going on, she’d know.’

The Queen’s heart sank. This had been her suspicion, too, or part of it.

‘I heard about her accident,’ she said.

‘Horrible, isn’t it? He just drove right off and left her, whoever he was. There’s quite a few round here would like to get their hands on him.’

‘Was she researching anything in particular, do you know?’

‘Ah! I know what you’re thinking. Was she doing anything that might have caused the hit-and-run?’

This was exactly what the Queen had been thinking, but before she could resolutely deny it, Mr Day continued, ‘We had the same idea, my wife and me. Judy said she was working on a new piece, based on something she’d seen at the beach. Not to do with money laundering, I don’t think, but it might have been to do with drugs. She was very exercised about them.’

‘Did she try and tell the police?’

‘Ah, therein lies a tale, ma’am,’ he added. ‘Not a very happy one.’

‘Oh?’

‘We don’t know. We were wondering about it all over Christmas – what if she’d got into hot water and the hit-and-run wasn’t an accident? My wife was very worried, so she rang the police to ask if Judy had said anything to them, and the desk sergeant told her not to worry, they were on to it.’

‘Oh, good.’

‘Ah, but . . . So, my wife has a friend from her yoga class whose son works at the police HQ in Norwich, and she’s a bit of a gossip, if you don’t mind me saying so . . .’

‘Ah.’ The Queen tried to sound both disapproving and encouraging of gossip in all its forms.

‘She said her son told her they were saying at the HQ that Judy was one of those silly women always trying to give the police information and expecting them to jump to it, but the accident was clearly just that, an accident, because of where it happened in the bend in the road. It wasn’t something you could engineer, they thought. They were just annoyed anyone thought they weren’t doing their job.’

‘How very unfortunate.’

‘It was a bit. They don’t realise that people talk to each other, that’s the problem, ma’am.’

‘It is indeed. Mrs Day must have been upset.’

‘She was furious. That’s the last time she tries to help.’ He moved on. ‘But don’t worry, as I say, I’ll ask around and find out for you about this gang business. Birds sold on the cheap, you say? Sold on the “cheep”! I think there’s a Christmas cracker joke in there somewhere. As soon as I hear any more I’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you, Mr Day. That’s very kind.’

‘Will you be coming over soon, ma’am, to visit the loft? You wouldn’t believe it, but my wife’s invested in a still and is making some rather impressive gin. We’d love to offer you a jigger or two to try, if you’re amenable.’

‘You have a very inventive family,’ she said, impressed as always by the industry and ingenuity of her tenants.

The Queen put the phone down and gazed out of the window again. Then she picked it up one more time and asked the operator to put her through to Rozie.

* * *