Murder in Hope

By Mike O'Sullivan

Hairdresser Lauren Canning from Ross on Wye, Herefordshire, England is back in Ross after a holiday in the Cayman Islands. She returns a million pounds richer after an island businessman’s intended deal with her collapsed due to the murder of his rival. One of her clients at Mirror Images, Cavendish Bishop, offers her the chance to purchase an apartment in his mansion Hope Hall. Ten weeks after she moves in Bishop is found murdered. The same police unit who questioned her in the Caymans turns up to investigate. They are amazed to find her living in such luxury. They already think she tricked them over their previous investigation. But things hot up when Bishop’s Will is read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike O'Sullivan
• Release date: Sep 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370230112

Mike O'Sullivan

Mike is an Irish novelist and poet, married and living in Herefordshire England. He was born in Dublin and spent his school years in Cork. In primary school Mike needed to get by the eagle-eyed headmaster who looked hard at his long essays designed to hide the words he could not spell. This carried on further up the line when at UCD the Professor of English likened Mike to another who could not spell, George Bernard Shaw. But Mike made the connection, he did not have to be a genius at spelling.He moved to London in his twenties and has worked in a wide range of industries – music and cosmetics, in oil exploration, mining, insurance, catering, City Finance and Management Consultancy. Mike uses that experience in his novels. When he first arrived in London Mike fell in with a group of three other Irishmen debating the philosophical process of making a million or finding a job that was more like pleasure. Mike found the job, but it would take too long to explain his philosophy here. Mike says that in a sense he had a plan for life and so far it has been working out.His novels often start with an individual battling the system but without a plan of how he or she will cope. Mike believes that social systems and institutions are usually rigid when it comes to change or quick decisions and therefore the individual can become trapped. It takes effort, some courage and guile to walk out into the wider world of individual thinking. He shows that an individual can focus enough to even the odds and come out on top. He often uses humour and comedic situations to make his point leaving the reader to consider the underlying philosophy if they wish. A key element of Mike’s writing is the Irish skill of fast paced conversation as Mike’s overall aim is to entertain his readers.

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The Hairdresser Murders - 2

Murder in Hope

By

Mike O’Sullivan

Copyright © 2016 by Mike O’Sullivan

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

This is a work of fiction based upon an actual event. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

The right of Mike O’Sullivan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any subsequent amendments thereto.

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Chapter 1

‘You have decided Lauren,’ Emma owner of Emma’s Café declared, standing behind the counter with her elbows on the top to support her chin. It was a hot July lunchtime on the hill called Broad Street in Ross on Wye.

‘Have I?’ questioned the bemused hairdresser looking up from the ruins of a cherry cake and a half finished cup of coffee.

‘I hope it’s romantic. I love romance,’ the café owner persisted.

Lauren Canning back from the Cayman Islands after an adventurous holiday and somehow collecting one million pounds on the way was worried like all loaded hairdressers that the money wasn’t making that much interest sitting in the bank. A week ago one of her clients, Cavendish Bishop, happened to mention that he had an apartment for sale. He was descended from the Hopes of Hope Hall in the village of Hope just outside Ross on Wye in Herefordshire. She couldn’t discuss any of this with Emma in front of a full café. It would have been like revealing all on Facebook.

‘Emma your imagination is as impressive as your cakes. If I were to explain how tasteful they were I’d never find a seat here when I wanted it.’

‘Very subtle Lauren. I’m pleased we could help you decide something.’

Lauren had decided to call Mr Bishop about the apartment. She couldn’t have discussed it at work with him. The others knew that Cavendish Bishop who was in his late fifties was a bit of a lecher and they would have made fun of her decision to live in his place. This would have unfocussed her. She had been thinking of moving on from her cramped but comfortable apartment in downtown Ross for a while. She had ordered a new mini and needed somewhere more appealing to park it. She had talked about a potential move with Zoe who had been with her on holiday in the Cayman’s and felt she had enough confidence to go for it. She rang Mr Bishop and that evening she drove over to the village of Hope.

She stopped outside the semi circle entrance in front of the gate to Hope Hall to get a feeling for a new image. The ten foot high walls hid another life. She pressed the accelerator and slowly drove through the open black, ancient wrought iron gates into the drive sweeping through green lawns, past flower beds and shrubs, the chocolate box getting bigger and more impressive as she drew nearer. She stopped herself thinking too much about it because she was beginning to contemplate an uneasiness for such a place. Was she ready for it? The owner of Hope Hall was at the main door to meet her. Lauren knew the outline of the building from passing by it on the road but was enormously impressed by it close up. Light blue walls and white window frames gave it a sense that it had been eased out of the clouds in the sky onto earth. It wasn’t anything like any other country house she had been to. She thought the colours would have been the expression of the man himself. She stepped out of her six year old red Fiesta to meet him. He was relaxed in short sleeved white shirt and kaki jeans.

‘I’d have to change the car,’ she confided. ‘It clashes with all this.’

‘If you can afford to do that Lauren you can afford the apartment and the estate that comes with it. All this would be open to you,’ he was waving his arm in a sweeping gesture to take in the parkland spreading out like another world into the horizon.

‘How much land is with the Hall Mr Bishop?’ she asked.

‘Oh Cavendish please Lauren. You make me feel quite old with the Mr Bishop. It’s only ten acres. But there are two estates adjoining so it looks like it goes on and on. And at one time it did before my ancestors ran out of money and had to sell it. Mind you I’m not complaining considering how they managed to make their money in the first place. Come inside and I’ll show you the apartment. It won’t disappoint you.’

She followed him into the ornate hall with it’s intricate ceiling coving picked out like new. This was the foyer with dark leather chairs and sofas. It could have been a hotel except it was somehow just a little more personal. There were big bright paintings of the French Mediterranean hung on the cream coloured walls. She was sure they were French beaches by the easiness of exuberance, the colours and the people, and then she spotted the small add for wine and recognised the label.

‘It was built in 1840 but we have had it decorated since,’ he chuckled. ‘These are the original tiles on the floor and the staircase is also the original. I think they built it in the sweeping style to encourage us to walk. This would seem more relevant now because of the lift that was installed in 1920. We take the lift Lauren. I think you will feel at home here. The apartment is on the second floor and has a balcony that faces out over the drive and the panorama of the parkland. The land looks more regal from the second floor. And you get the best impression of the marvellous location we have. The trees in Autumn are the most wonderful colour. It is the best time of the year here. Also we have a swimming pool and a gym covered by a nominal fee per year. You look lovely and slim Lauren. The pool would be good for you.’

As soon as she walked into the apartment she knew he was right about how she would feel. She didn’t know how much he was selling it for. But she thought it would have been worth half her money. She decided on the spot. It would be like heaven.

It turned out to be a bargain. And now that she had been in it for ten weeks she felt it was heaven. There were three big bedrooms and a massive sitting room, a very modern streamlined kitchen with a dining room big enough to seat ten. She spent the first few weeks visiting antique shops and auction rooms to furnish it. She had the walls painted pale green with inset floral patterns to match the fresh summer colours of the curtains of lavender, apple green and yellow. The three lilac sofas in velvet acted like a cosy centre to the room. She had a light grey carpet between the sofas with low white tables. Then there were the grey standard lamps. She left the mirror over the mantle piece. Anything extra she thought could wait. She had inherited a light grey kitchen so she chose a grey table and patterned chairs in purple. When she collected her blue mini she believed she had arrived. Even so she was terribly nervous about the huge change in her life. The whole thing was turning into an emotional journey. She had only met a few of the other residents by the time she collected her new mini. She got the impression that they were all rich and although she didn’t want to stand out she was the youngest resident at the hall. The swimming pool and gym were superb. There was a walking club that didn’t boast because it was for walking around the grounds.

There had been a little awkwardness with Cavendish. He had arrived one night with a bottle of wine and flowers to officially welcome her, as he put it. But he was instead thinking more of pushing his luck with her. She could see it shining in his eyes as soon as he entered her apartment. She met him head on.

‘Cavendish, nice as it is to be welcomed I see more than that in your eyes. I am twenty four and don’t intend to start bridging gaps to men in their fifties.’

‘Perhaps I should have invited you to my apartment with the rest of the Hall’s residents Lauren. It might have been more welcoming.’

‘I would accept such a welcome Cavendish.’

‘You might even pick up a few more customers Lauren.’

‘It wouldn’t be the reason I would attend. You are a social animal Cavendish and like parties as I do myself.’

‘And instead I am being an animal with a one dimensional outlook.’

‘I wouldn’t condemn you for that Cavendish. Just pick on someone older.’

‘I hope you will forgive the lapse in manners Lauren. I will endeavour to look upon you as the newest and prettiest resident with the nicest touch of social grace.’

‘From what I hear Cavendish you do have a reputation for lapses that reach the grapevine with what I’m sure must be imaginative extras. There must be women out there who might appreciate someone like you chasing them.’

‘I just have to pick the right one Lauren.’

‘Perhaps if you relaxed a bit Cavendish the right one might pick you.’

‘That would be something Lauren.’

‘Oh I don’t believe you are a stranger to being in that position Cavendish. You do have a charm that might attract the kind of woman you might like. I can’t understand though why it hasn’t happened already.’

‘I can’t hold on to them Lauren. That’s the trouble.’

‘Was there something in your past that gets in the way of it? No let me put that to you in another way. I don’t mean to pry. Perhaps if you faced up to something that happened in your past you might be able to overcome the difficulty you might have with women. I am not good at working that sort of thing out Cavendish but if I am an example you might be shooting for the women you can’t have rather than the ones you could have, if you follow me.’

‘It must be your experience as a listener to other people’s problems while they sit in the hairdressing chair that gives you an edge on life Lauren. You can anticipate more easily.’

‘Something for you to bear in mind when you hold your party Cavendish. Perhaps I can advise as your private personal consultant. ’

‘Perhaps that’s what I need. I am at a time of life where I could easily let things slip including any chances with women.’

She felt when he started to talk that he talked about the Hall as if it was both his home and a noose around his neck. They had a strange conversation. He seemed to be keeping something back all the time, something that was at the back of his mind, like he had put a lid on it long ago now and the lid was trying to open. She thought she had reminded him of something that happened in his past. He couldn’t blame her for the reminder but he seemed to be using her to think it out. They talked for the rest of the evening without him coming out with what she thought he really wanted to say. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe there would be another time. He seemed to be wrestling within his own mind. She thought he was showing her an unusual side of himself. He trusted her, but not with everything.

This mood between them evaporated after this one evening and she got back to enjoying the apartment, the life surrounding it and the Hall. There wasn’t a downside, that was until one morning when she recognised the men stepping out of a silver Audi parked outside the front door. She gathered her things for work, waited for them to be admitted and then went out to the lift, watch it go up to the penthouse and then she left quickly for work. She drove to the car park in Ross and called her two friends Zoe and Claire to tell them what she had seen, the policemen they had encountered on their Caribbean holiday in the Cayman Islands. They were worried but decided it was coincidence until proved otherwise. So already late for work Lauren put it behind her to deal with the day ahead.

Chief Inspector Worcester and Inspector Kirby of the Hereford special police unit, recently given the title SPU but rarely used because it only confused anyone who heard it mentioned, listened to the Chief Constable as he explained their next case. They were parked in the car park of the Dark Horse pub a few miles from Hereford. The Chief Inspector was in the front seat of the Chief Constable’s navy blue Jaguar and Inspector Kirby in the back seat. Both front line policemen had opened the windows to clear the car of cigar smoke.

‘The Hope family could be one of those awkward corners of England gentlemen. They have been extremely wealthy over the last century and picked up a number of very important cousins through marriage. We may never know the extent of their involvement in English affairs of State over the years. And hopefully you will keep it that way. I have here a very briefly drawn up list of possible relatives who might be interested in the outcome of your investigation. There are overseas connections. You may recognise some names. The pathologist is already there. Oh the victim is a retired banker. ’

‘Do we check the names with you Sir if we find trouble or do we stagger on?’ Worcester asked his boss who was apparently considering the question with more intensity than seemed healthy to Worcester.

‘I’ll expect you to use your judgement Worcester,’ the Chief Constable eventually snapped. The Chief Inspector took this to mean that he was likely to dig up history.

When they had returned to the Chief Inspector’s silver Audi, Inspector Kirby grumbled ‘Why do we have to meet in his bloody stinking car and carry the smell for days afterwards?’

‘The trouble is Inspector he meets like this in car parks because of Hereford’s association with the SAS who as you know are just down the road. He must think this shadow boxing with life is for real. He probably has a pal in the SAS who puts him up to it. But you’re right about the stinking clothes. My own interpretation is following on from the SAS side of things is that he knows how to use the stink to get us out of his Jag as quickly as possible without asking too many questions. But I’m getting a bit tired of it all myself too. If you can come up with a solution don’t be shy about passing it to me. Just one stroke behind the brutal smell of the CC’s cigar is the restrictions on this A49. I don’t know what these Highway people are thinking about with all the pink road tarmac and slow down signs when they also have 30, 40 and 50 miles an hour signs every 200 yards. Are they trying to chase down life? Why folk around here want to see people run over at 30, or 40 miles an hour instead of 60 bothers me.’

‘It isn’t as though there are many of them on the road anyway,’ Inspector Kirby responded in support.

‘Along with the pink lines, stick up lollypops, flashing warnings, its enough to put people off watching the road. How can anyone see their speed with all that rubbish going on,’ Chief Inspector Worcester wheezed between his teeth.

‘It’s the warnings of future road works that are printed no bigger than newspaper print stuck behind an overgrown hedge that gets to me Sir,’ the Inspector seemed to be collaborating in the need for change.

The Chief Inspector stopped just inside the main gate to Hope Hall. ‘Inspector would you say that this blue pile in front of us is friendly or alien?’

‘I’d say it’s hiding Sir. Do you think it’s trying to be a cake?’

‘I hope you are not right Inspector but I have an ache in my head that says you might be. We have to be clever here. Let them speak. They might not think they are giving much away, but if they consider what they say as being nothing to hang them, then they may be easy when we ask the critical questions. They expect Mr Plod to question them. So we’ll plod our way into the country-house-family-mess most of them bathe in. We’ll take in everything they say and particularly everything they don’t say. We’ll allow them their eccentricities but nibble away at the edges when they feel we won’t disturb their ways. Then gradually we can start to isolate their individualism so that they can be allowed to see how out on a limb each of them is putting themselves. And when they couple this thinking with the Plods looking for a killer they may not be able to creep back into their comfort zone.’

‘I think I can follow what you are saying Sir. But we are dealing here with generations of well managed breeding genes that have a ruthless streak for survival. And that should put us on our guard.’

‘What we have to remember Inspector, is that while they can’t accuse us of murder and find us guilty of the murder of one of their own, we can accuse them and will find one of them guilty. It is they who will be on guard.’

‘So we get them to talk about themselves and their family, their Hall. We weigh up what they have told us individually and collectively and start niggling. They won’t stand for too much questioning or their lives being disturbed.’

‘So the niggling may have to start early then Inspector. You will have to keep your eyes open, look at décor to pin down character. Look at clothes for state of mind, nervous ticks, eye contact for truth and interaction between them to feel for the cracks.’

‘I think separating them from their comfort zones Sir might take a little more than observation. And yet we can’t shake them can we?’

‘What we might consider shaking, they having been through boarding school fagging and initiation ceremonies, would consider pathetic. If there is one thing I will not be accused of Inspector it is being pathetic.’

‘So Sir despite all you have said there will be reactions?’

‘Better to have them out in the open than behind doors of interfering relatives.’

‘I suppose they will stick together no matter what Sir.’

‘There maybe a façade Inspector that in ruthless company they erect to fend off outsiders.’

‘A façade you might not be able to see Inspector, only hear in what they say and how the say it.’

‘Haughty or relaxed comfortable.’

‘So what’s the word Sir?’

‘Let’s get digging.’

They gained entry to Hope Hall when the service maid met them at the front door as arranged. They followed her down the hall and took the lift to the penthouse. The Chief Inspector asked questions on the way and the maid was easy in dispensing information. She moved silently and swiftly, almost gliding. This unnerved the sensitive balance in the Chief Inspector’s memory bank of images.

‘How many apartments are there here Miss Simpson?’ the Chief Inspector asked her.

‘Eleven including Mr Bishop’s. They are some single women, a few couples and three single men. I’ll draw up a list if you’d like.’

‘That would be very helpful Miss Simpson. You seem to have got over the death of Mr Bishop remarkably well Miss,’ Chief Inspector observed as they reached the penthouse.

‘I started in this business straight from the army after I came back from Afghanistan Chief Inspector about seven months ago. I can tell you in case you don’t know already Afghanistan is a place where death is everywhere. Getting over death was something you did quickly or you could go mad. You just had to be thankful it wasn’t you.’

‘I’m sorry Miss Simpson that we as a nation caused you to be introduced to such a debacle.’

‘I would love to feel sorry about death again. But it will take time. Here we are. This is the pathologist Doctor Welling. I will be on the next floor if you need me.’

‘Thank you Miss Simpson. There is one thing I wonder if you could do for me and while we are at the start of this case Miss.’

‘Yes Chief Inspector.’

‘It is going to be difficult but no one else knows of Mr Bishop’s death or the way he died,’ he paused and she nodded ‘so I would consider it a huge favour if you would clean up after we’ve done here and not mention this to anyone else. It might be the difference between catching who did it or drawing a blank.’

‘I won’t say anything about it,’ she confirmed.

‘Thank you.’

‘Ah there you are Chief Inspector,’ Doctor Welling called out. ‘Well as you can see the kitchen knife went in from the front straight through his heart. It happened last night between about nine and midnight. But I’ll be able to be more certain when I get him back for a proper examination.’

‘Thank you Doctor. There was a need to send the most experienced pathologist in the business was there?’ the Chief