Murder at the murder

By IVR Davison

Alan Foreman a Detective Chief Inspector with the Thames Valley Police is dragged, by his wife Becca, to a murder mystery weekend at the Black Lion Hotel in Marlow. Throughout the weekend bodies drop like flies but all is not as it seems - there are too many murders!

Two weeks later, Becca sees a news report regarding a missing man. She identifies him as one of the weekend’s “murder victims”, the one that didn’t fit. When a body is discovered the investigations begin.

Alan follows the formal procedures of a police investigation whilst Becca, aided by her friend Julie, begin their own private investigation in their own unique way.

Who will succeed in solving the real murder mystery, Mr Foreman or Mrs Foreman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: IVR Davison
• Release date: Apr 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301282197

IVR Davison

Ian VR Davison was born in Kent in 1963 and was brought up in a seaside town in Somerset. At the age of forty six, after twenty five years working as a management consultant primarily in the Central Government sector, Ian gave it all up to concentrate on his writing. His first book, a murder mystery, 'Murder at the murder', was based on an idea he originally conceived over fifteen years before it was finally written. The notes sat on a dark shelf gathering dust but he always knew that one day he would find the time to write it. Once restarted he completed the first draft of this novel in just over a month. He is currently working on a second murder mystery novel with his regular detectives Alan and Becca Foreman.

Book preview

Murder at the Murder

A Foreman and Foreman Mystery

By Ian VR Davison

Copyright 2012 Ian VR Davison

Published by DMC at Smashwords

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Chapter One – The Black Lion

‘But why did I agree to let you drag me here, to a murder weekend of all things. Don’t you think I get enough crime at work each day?’ Detective Chief Inspector Alan Foreman was arguing with his wife, Becca, as they checked in to the Black Lion hotel, only forty miles away from where they lived in South Oxfordshire. ‘If I wanted to solve a murder then we have three of them unsolved on the books at work. I could have requested one of those.’

‘You’ll enjoy it once the murders start,’ replied his wife who had already heard these arguments in the car on the way over whilst they were stuck in the Friday night traffic on their way to the hotel, ‘and anyway Geoff and Julie are going to be here. At least you can spend your time in the bar with Geoff while Julie and I try to solve the mystery.’

‘Yes I suppose we could,’ said Alan, brightening a little at the prospect of being in a hotel where he could drink without the worry of driving afterwards. As a policeman he had to be very careful about drink drive limits, often pleading with Becca to drive them home. ‘Have they checked in yet? I could do with a drink.’

Becca gave Alan one of her looks, a look that said he would have to wait for his drink and then proceeded to lead the way to their assigned room. The lift appeared to be out of order, much like the rest of the hotel thought Alan, though he wisely kept this comment to himself. The staircase was shabby and steep but since they were only here for the weekend they only had one suitcase between them which Alan hauled up the rickety steps. He would have liked to ask his wife what on earth she had put in the suitcase, it appeared so heavy but again he refrained from provoking any further argument. He really did love his wife and knew that once settled he would enjoy the break but he had forgotten that they were coming this weekend and after a long hard week had been looking forward to a game of golf on Saturday morning.

The bedroom, when they eventually found it amongst the winding corridors that formed the hotel complex, was as rundown as the rest of the place. Some efforts had been made to clean it and brighten it up, flowers on the dressing table and a small radio on the windowsill softly playing classical music from Radio Three but none of this could disguise the peeling wallpaper or the worn out carpets. Alan just knew that the bed would be soft and that he would end the stay with one of his bad backs. ‘If only you could bring your own bed when you stayed at a hotel,’ he thought.

‘The bathroom is clean,’ said Becca reversing back out of the tiny room she had just entered, ‘small but clean, and it’s got a decent shower.’

‘Hooray for small mercies,’ said Alan with a smile, determined to ensure Becca had a good time, ‘how much did we pay for this level of comfort?’

‘Let’s get unpacked and go down and have a drink before dinner. It will give us a chance to size up our opposition and you never know we might even meet the murderer.’

Ten minutes later the two of them made their way back down the staircase hanging on to the banister rail as they went. A strange grinding sound greeted them as they reached the halfway mark.

‘Do you think that is the first murder victim?’ asked Becca, worried that they may be missing some of the action.

‘No, I think that the lift has decided to start working again. However I for one shall continue using the stairs. You won’t see me dead in that contraption’

‘Be careful what you say,’ replied his wife as she started down the stairs again, ‘remember all the murder victims and the murderer are posing as guests so who knows whether you are one.’

‘I know that I’m not,’ replied Alan. ‘I wouldn’t pay to come on a weekend like this only to be bumped off.’

The lounge when they reached it was a cosy room with a large fire burning in a grate at one end. The old solid oak bar, that had seen many a pint pass across it over the years, occupied a space to the left of the fire and the rest of the room was filled with an eclectic mix of tables and chairs. A few rickety looking bar stools were placed at one end of the bar. The room was already beginning to fill up with the other guests arriving for the murder weekend.

‘Grab that table over by the window,’ ordered Alan, ‘while I get the drinks in. I can’t see any sign of Geoff and Julie yet. Weren’t they being dropped off here?’

Nodding, Becca made her way across to the suggested table and carefully laid her jacket and handbag on two of the other seats to demonstrate that they were taken. She then seated herself in a chair with its back to the window so that she could begin to examine her fellow guests. As an avid reader of crime novels she was determined to take this weekend seriously and solve the crime, when it occurred. Although in her reading she rarely correctly identified the murderer, she was sure that if she was part of the action then she would have a better chance, and anyway she always had her secret weapon, Alan.

She was just considering whether she should get out her notebook and pencil to start making notes about the other people in the room when she heard her name being called. Looking across the room she saw that Geoff and Julie had just arrived.

‘Is Alan at the bar?’ called Geoff. She nodded and saw him make his way across the room to join her husband while Julie ploughed through the growing crowd to join her at their table.

‘Have you solved it yet?’ asked Julie with a twinkle in her eye.

‘I don’t think it’s started yet but I was thinking of making some notes on some of the people here; they all look very suspicious.’

‘They don’t normally start until after dinner on the first night.’ Julie had been to several murder mystery weekends before and had been the one to encourage Becca to come with Alan. ‘There is normally some sort of introduction by the organisers and details of the timetable; you can’t be expected to be on duty twenty four hours a day.’

Alan and Geoff arrived with the drinks, gin and tonics for the ladies, pints of beer for the men.

‘The service here is terrible; it appears that the same lady who was on the reception when we arrived is also in charge of the bar. She has to run off and answer the reception bell whenever it rings, that’s why it took so long to get our drinks. I almost considered going to reception to order them!’

‘They’re probably not used to such a large crowd,’ replied Julie, ‘it’s not the sort of place you would come for a casual night out.’

‘Let’s hope all the staff are concentrating on the preparation of dinner,’ replied Geoff, who liked his food.

‘So Julie, can you explain what is going to happen this weekend?’ asked Alan who was beginning to relax now that he was seated with a pint in his hand. ‘What exactly are we supposed to do?’

‘Shortly after dinner, someone will be murdered. It could happen at any time so you have to keep your eyes and ears alert. Hopefully during dinner itself we will get a chance to talk to the person who gets murdered, although at that point we won’t know it’s them. The idea is to gain as much information about our fellow guests as possible since we don’t know which ones are the actors and which ones are the amateur detectives. The actors will have predefined stories that they have to relate before they are murdered and we have to try to identify these stories and thus identify the murderer.’

‘It seems very complicated,’ commented Becca. ‘If we don’t know who the actors are we could end up listening to the life stories of totally irrelevant people.’

‘That’s what makes it so fascinating; you never know who you are talking to and whether they are telling the truth.’

‘It seems too much like real life to me,’ grumbled Alan, ‘I’m on a busman’s holiday and everyone will think it suspicious that I am a real policeman.’

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Julie, ‘you only have to tell them what you want. You could lie about your profession – tell them you work in an office or something equally mundane.’

‘So let me get this straight,’ continued Becca, ‘there are actors hidden in amongst the guests and these actors will have stories that they have to relate during the weekend concerning the murder. Then there are the amateur detectives who may or may not be telling the truth about what they do for their own reasons and finally you have the murderer who will probably lie in order to conceal their dastardly act. Have I got it right so far?’

‘Yes that’s right. So as an amateur detective you will need to make notes about all the conversations that you have and then try to identify which ones relate to the overall plot for the weekend and which ones are red herrings.’

At that moment the dinner gong rang out and the call to be seated, in the dining room, came.

‘Saved by the bell,’ said Alan to Geoff as they finished their drinks and proceeded to the dining room. ‘I was beginning to get a bit lost in Julie’s explanations about actors, detectives and murders, I think I will need a couple more drinks before I fully understand what’s going on.’

Geoff smiled back, not daring to admit to Alan that he had accompanied Julie on three previous murder weekends and he still didn’t really understand what was happening.

Dinner was as haphazard as the rest of the hotel. Those who ordered the soup to start received it fairly promptly, even if the bread rolls didn’t turn up until about twenty minutes later but those who ordered the deep fried brie had to wait almost fifteen minutes and those who ordered the melon balls never received them. The lady from reception was again on duty as the waitress accompanied by a youngish girl, not more than seventeen years of age, who appeared to be assisting reluctantly.

‘I bet that she is the receptionist’s daughter,’ whispered Becca to Alan when she eventually received her brie. ‘I would like to ask for some cranberry sauce to go with this but we probably wouldn’t get it until breakfast.’

‘It does seem a little odd that there are so few people working here,’ replied Alan, ‘especially given that they are putting on this murder weekend.’

Julie, meanwhile, was already interrogating her fellow guests at their table. Each table seated ten people and so she had six targets she wanted to get to know.

‘Hello, I’m Julie and this is my partner, Geoff,’ she said holding her hand out to the couple sitting immediately to her right. ‘I work in a call centre and Geoff works in IT, what do you do?’

‘Hello dear, that’s nice,’ replied the older lady, her husband carried on eating, ‘we’re both retired now but we do enjoy coming on these murder weekends. Who do you think will get murdered first?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Julie immediately losing interest. They were obviously not actors because they had no story to tell so she moved on to the man sitting directly opposite her; he looked more promising, especially since he appeared to be here alone.

‘What do you do?’ she asked while she also held up the jug of water and offered to pour him a glass.

‘I’m Daniel,’ he replied, ‘Daniel Stone; I am the personal assistant to Lord Andrew Denton, the financier.’

‘Should I have heard of him?’ asked Julie, nudging Becca under the table to get her attention, ‘is he famous?’

‘He’s been in the news a lot recently regarding some major deals he has completed on behalf of the Bank of England. I’ve only worked for him for the last month but it’s been a tremendous opportunity for me.’

‘Where did you work before that?’ asked Becca getting into the game but unsure whether this was an actor or a guest detective. After all she didn’t want to appear to be too nosey.

‘I worked for the famous financier Terence Chambers, before he died.’ After this proclamation he returned his attention to his meal. Julie and Becca looked at each other knowingly. Alan and Geoff had been completely oblivious to the whole conversation. The other people at the table also appeared to be engrossed in their meals so Julie didn’t try to attract their attention.

The main courses at least arrived together, even if they could have done with being a bit warmer and soon there was a low hum of conversation around the room as people tucked into their meals and drank the wine that had been placed on each of the tables. Everyone was beginning to relax, wondering when the organisers of the weekend would make their presence known and announce the order of events.

Daniel was suddenly on his feet, his hands grasped to his throat, his water glass knocked over as he appeared to be choking. For a moment no-one moved as his face turned red and he collapsed to the floor.

‘Is he really choking or is he acting?’ Becca asked Julie quietly.

A man came rushing over from a nearby table, knelt beside Daniel and then looked up pronouncing, ‘Oh my God, he’s dead.’

Alan pushed his seat back and was about to stand up when Becca put her hand on his knee, ‘it’s part of the act,’ she reassured him in a whisper, ‘I can still see him breathing.’ Alan relaxed back into his chair glad that he hadn’t made a fool of himself. This was why he hadn’t wanted to come on a murder weekend – it was just too stressful.

‘Does anyone know who this man was?’ asked the man who had pronounced Daniel dead.

‘His name was Daniel Stone, personal assistant to Lord Andrew someone who I can’t remember,’ announced Julie, enjoying her early starring role in this murder production. He said that he used to work for the famous financier Terence Chambers before he died.’

‘Well perhaps we should all adjourn back to the lounge where coffee and pastries will be served,’ announced the man, ‘and there we can discuss further what has just happened.’

‘He must be the event organiser,’ said Julie to her three companions, ‘I thought there was something familiar about him. He organised the murder we went to at Hay on Wye, do you remember Geoff?’

‘Was I there?’ asked Geoff teasing her slightly. He knew he had attended the event but he had no recollection of this man, in fact he had little recollection of the event at all.

The guests dutifully filed out of the dining room back to the lounge, an excited buzz of conversation filling the air, many of them stopping to study both the body of Daniel Stone and also the table setting where he had sat, although apart from the tipped over glass of water there was little more to see.

‘I need a drink,’ said Alan to no-one in particular. As he made his way into the lounge he immediately focussed on the bar, currently unmanned. ‘Do you think I should ring the bell in reception and ask for a drink?’ he said turning to Becca.

‘No, come and sit down with us. They’ll serve coffee in a minute and no doubt the organiser will introduce himself and give us some details about the weekend. There’s plenty of time for drinking later.’

With some reluctance, Alan moved back towards the table that they had occupied prior to going into dinner. It was strange how the English always returned to the same seats when re-entering a room, he thought to himself but that was what appeared to have happened. Almost everyone was either seated or standing in the same positions they were before the dinner gong had rung. The exception, of course, was Daniel Stone, who was lying dead on the dining room floor or at least by now he had probably escaped to the kitchen or some back room out of sight. The only other person missing was the organiser. He had been leaning up against the bar earlier but now that space was vacant. Alan was pleased that his finely honed observation skills were still working efficiently.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ boomed the voice of the organiser over the chattering in the room. Everyone immediately fell silent and looked expectantly at the man who had just entered. He was accompanied by the receptionist/waitress/barmaid and the cook – still in his whites. There was no sign