Mr Carrick is Laid To Rest

Julius Falconer

Description

It is August 1974. A respected teacher at a private girls' school in rural Worcestershire, Adrian Carrick, physically attracted to one of the Sixth-Form leavers, discloses his feelings for her. Convinced that he has mishandled their final meeting, he writes her a letter of regret and then kills himself by leaping over the edge of a quarry. The coroner's verdict is suicide while the balance of his mind is disturbed. Not all is as it appears, however, and Inspector Wickfield is called in to take a look. His investigation leads him to Venice, where Carrick seemingly led a double life as the owner of an art gallery which acted as a base for international crime, to St.Gallen and Bologna, to Hereford and Birmingham, to Pershore and the suburbs of Worcester, without significant success. A second murder adds increasing urgency to the case. Interleaved in the investigation are the members of Mr Carrick's philosophy class, in particular the girl who had caught Carrick's eye. The case is solved through two startling pieces of intuition, which confirm the inspector's place at the top of his profession and his wife, Beth, as his steady muse. In Mr Carrick is Laid to Rest, Julius Falconer has again provided the discerning public with a tightly-woven, deft and thought-provoking novel in the best traditions of British detective fiction. It will defy your efforts to put it down, and Inspector Wickfield will take his place in the pantheon of greats. Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Pneuma Springs Publishing
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782281443
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Mr Carrick
is Laid To Rest

Inspector Wickfield Discovers Why



Julius Falconer
Copyright

First Published in 2009 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
Mr Carrick is Laid To Rest Copyright © 2009 Julius Falconer
Mobi eISBN 9781907728716 ePub eISBN 9781782281443 PDF eISBN 9781782280552 Paperback ISBN: 9781905809752
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: [e-mail] 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.
Living members of the human race, among whom I hope I may number all my readers, are urged to believe me when I assert that none of them, for better or for worse, features in the following pages. The book is the product of an overworked and febrile imagination: it is, in a word, fiction.
Dedication



For G.
The Novel
One
I must reassure you immediately that Mr Falconer is not ill – to my knowledge. He has not gone away, he is not in prison, he has not been kidnapped, he is not incapacitated, his typewriter still functions, his wits are (more or less) about him. My Friend, I am writing this to you today for the simple reason that he cannot be bothered. He tells me that he is tired and is therefore taking some rest. This, it seems to me, is a dismal state of affairs – particularly so in a man of his relative youth - but it leaves me free to tell you the story of a case that has been in my files for some years but which Mr Falconer has not yet, for reasons known only to himself, managed or contrived or perhaps summoned up the energy to squeeze into his schedule 1 . My name, by the way, is Wickfield, and I am a detective inspector with the Worcestershire force; but you may think of me simply as Stan, if you prefer. I therefore invite you to settle down and to accompany me, in your thoughts, into classroom 5b of Grant College for Girls, where our story begins in the year of grace 1974. The lesson, conducted by Mr Adrian Carrick, is one of philosophy for the Upper Sixth as part of preparation for an international qualification in the subject. We eavesdrop.

__________
1 I have just been rereading this typescript to prepare it for Mr Falconer’s perusal, and my conscience smites me. I cannot let the sentence pass without a further remark, because it does him – possibly! – a great injustice. If you have followed some of my other cases, whether penned by myself or by the affable Mr Falconer, you will know that you get Wickfield warts and all. Now in this case before us in the present volume, I commit one of the most egregious blunders in the annals of British policing – well, in my career at any rate (and it cost a girl her life): you will read about it soon enough if you persevere over the next chapters. (However, I am putting this admission into a footnote, in the slender hope that it will escape your attention.) Mr Falconer, I believe, may have left this case out of account – to spare my blushes! God bless him.


‘Right, you horrible lot,’ Mr Carrick is saying. ‘Your essay is due in on Wednesday week. Remember, I want a beginning, a middle and an end - in that order: none of your post-modernist structures, thanks very much. That applies to you, Denise, in particular.’
‘That’s not fair, Sir!’ Mr Carrick chooses to ignore this interjection.
‘You may discuss the subject among yourselves – in fact, I want you to - but the essay must be your own work.’ A bell sounds in the corridor outside. ‘Ah, nicely timed. That’ll be all for today, then, folks. See you tomorrow: it’s the lesson after lunch.’
The pupils depart. One remains. This is Geela 2 , a dark, pretty thing, with hair tied back and a cheerful face.

__________
2 I hope the inspector will not mind if I insert into his typescript at this point, by way of discreet footnote, a comment to the effect that the G in Geela is hard. I know this because I have looked it up! JF


‘Mr C, have you got a minute?’
‘Of course, Geela.’
‘I just wanted a few more details about the bloke Descartes copied his ideas from.’
‘I didn’t say he copied ideas from anyone. I merely said that quite a few of the ideas that come up in Descartes are also present in a medieval Jewish philosopher called Maimonides. He talks about wax in heat, about humans being a combination of a conscious soul and an unconscious body, about how the senses mislead us, and so on.’
‘How do you spell him?
‘M-a-i-m-o-n-i-d-e-s, Moses. Lived in Spain. Died 1204 or thereabouts.’
‘And the name of the book?’
‘Guide for the Perplexed. It was originally written in Arabic, but it’s been translated into English, more than once. Do you want to know which chapters as well? And page numbers? Look, you don’t have to remember all this.’
‘But I want to impress the examiner.’
‘I know you do, but no examiner can expect you to remember masses and masses of such detail. Don’t worry, you’ll do all right. You’ve worked hard, you’ve got the brains. Relax.’
‘Thanks. See you tomorrow, Mr C,’ and Geela waltzes off to join her friends.

At this point, I may as well come clean: since the case had not yet come to my attention – did not in fact exist – I am fabricating these early pages! Before you close the book in disgust, may I explain? In the later stages of the case, after the second murder, I was obliged to reconstruct for myself, and for my sergeant, young Spooner, the situation out of which we thought the murders arose – well, they did and they did not: they arose from that situation, but not at all in the way we had at first imagined; that may sound confusing, but I cannot say anything more at this stage without confusing the story, and we cannot have that, can we? - and while there was no attempt to recall the precise words spoken or the precise gestures used, enough detail, including, as you will see, an impromptu reconstruction of a snatch of Plato’s Republic , was furnished by the girls later on to build up a plausible picture of Adrian Carrick’s philosophy lessons. I am simply trying to put you in the picture, so that you can accompany me, step by step, as the inquiry unfolds. Please bear with me, therefore, as I continue to set the scene and introduce you to some of the characters, notably Geela. It will become apparent where my lively imagination ends and where my notes, on my first introduction to the case, begin. Just allow yourself to be drawn into my, as ever chrysological, account of the case; I do not think you will be disappointed.

Adrian Carrick walked along to the staff-room for his mid-morning cup of tea. The staff-room was an unremarkable space, carpeted, with a scattering of easy chairs loosely arranged around individual coffee-tables. Along one side of the room stood a counter on which the necessities of simple refreshment were available. Opposite, a wall of windows looked out on to a non-descript yard where prefabricated classrooms had once stood but which now lay there, bleak and empty, a place solely for pupils in transit. Beyond, a strip of grass led to the junior school, housed in the old stable-block, and, to the right, a new sports centre could be seen. Carrick took a seat at random and found himself next to one of the French teachers.
‘How’s Geela doing for you?’ he asked his neighbour.
‘Geela? Oh, so-so. I’m not sure she works very hard. Difficult to say sometimes. She’s got enough brains and savvy to get through without much effort. Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve heard from German that she’s not working very hard there either, and I’m a little concerned she won’t get the grades she needs for uni. She’s a nice girl, deserves to do well. She’s doing fine in philosophy, but that on its own won’t get her to Exeter. I’d like to see her a bit more galvanised, but most of it’s out of my hands.’
‘You mean Margaret and I should be doing more to get her moving? Well, perhaps she relates to male teachers better.’
‘Oh, I get on with her all right, and she also seems to have the right sort of motivation in the subject. Well, we’ll see. Not long to go now. Excuse me a minute, Joan, must catch Fiona before she slips away yet again.’
A few days pass. We return to classroom 5b, where a lesson is drawing to its close.
‘Now can I just remind you – when Claire has finished inspecting her finger-nails – that tomorrow’s lesson is a round table. I gave you all a copy of Book 1, chapter 19 of Montaigne’s Essays last week, and if you haven’t read it yet, you blooming well should have done. You’ve probably left it too late, and that’ll ruin everything. Anybody not read it? You all have? Good. The topic for discussion is, Had Montaigne been reading the Nicomachaean Ethics ? Shouldn’t be beyond any of you – except perhaps Claire, who seems to have her mind on other things at the moment. OK, folks, that’s it for today. Remember to bring the texts tomorrow – and your brains, of course: those of you who’ve got any to spare after your daily stint of mind-numbing pop music, dreaming of your boyfriends, writing letters to your admirers, watching TV and so forth.’
‘Don’t watch TV, Mr Carrick: too busy studying!’
This comment is naturally greeted with cries of ‘Liar!’, ‘Suck!’ and ‘Rubbish!’ The pupils depart.
‘Yes, Geela. You’re hovering.’
‘Mr C, have you got Montaigne in the original; that one essay, I mean? Only it’ll help me with my French. Kill two birds with one stone.’
‘I have, actually. Here: page 63. You are keen, but I don’t think you’ll find it easy. Montaigne’s French is quite tricky. By the way, now you mention French, how are you doing in it?’
‘OK, I suppose. I keep up. I’ll get a B, probably. I just can’t stand Mrs Webb.’
‘Yes, OK, but I can’t sit here listening to you abusing other members of staff. See you tomorrow, then.’
‘Bye, Mr C.’
One final glimpse into Mr Carr