Free Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery by Roger Keevil

must be what those crayon things were in the case.”
    “Exactly, Copper. In the case. But on Mr. Cope, not a sausage. So what do you make of that?”

    “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector.” Robin Allday advanced confidently, his hand held out to shake Andy Constable’s. “We have met, but I don’t know if you’ll remember me. Robin Allday.”
    “Of course I remember you, Mr. Allday,” smiled the inspector. “Do please have a seat. I can remember a couple of people you’ve managed to get off, who we would rather have seen end up with a criminal record. And I think I’ve seen you around the station a few times. I wasn’t aware that you were a local.”
    “Yes, I’m based in Dammett Worthy. Hall, Knight and Allday, in the High Street. It sounds far grander than it is, I’m afraid. Actually it’s just a one-man band – well, me and my secretary. Just an ordinary country practice, really – I hardly ever get involved with court proceedings, which is why I thought I might not ring a bell with you.”
    “We have famously long memories for names and faces, Mr. Allday. Not of course a problem for anyone who stays on the right side of the law.” The inspector laughed. “So what side of the law are you on, Mr. Allday?”
    “What … oh, I see what you mean,” said Robin. “A bit slow on the uptake there, I’m afraid. It’s difficult to be at your sharpest when there’s murder going on. The worst we usually get around here is the odd poacher getting in the way of a few shotgun pellets.” He took a breath. “Sorry, inspector – I’m rambling. You asked about my practice. I suppose I do pretty much all the legal work around these parts – you know, wills, conveyancing, financial trusts, that sort of stuff. We do like to keep things local – it’s a very close-knit community here in Dammett Worthy.”
    “And did that community include Mr. Cope?” enquired Constable.
    “Yes,” replied Robin, “I was Horace’s solicitor. As a matter of fact, I was engaged in some work for him at the moment, but of course I can’t really talk about that – rules about client confidentiality and all that, which I’m sure you know all about.”
    “So being Mr. Cope’s solicitor, presumably you may have made a will for him,” asked Constable. “Or are you not allowed to tell me that either?”
    “Oh, I can tell you that all right,” said Robin. “Yes, there is a will, but I can’t tell you what’s in it. Not yet, at any rate. I’m afraid you’ll need a court order to see it if you want to do so in a hurry. Why, do you think you will?”
    “I really can’t tell at this stage, Mr. Allday. It may be relevant, it may not. Of course, we do have a magistrate handy on the premises – I don’t suppose Lady Lawdown’s authority would be sufficient, would it.”
    Robin took in the smile on Inspector Constable’s face. “Now you’re just teasing, inspector. You know that isn’t the way things work. I don’t make the rules, you know – I just have to follow them.” The inspector continued to gaze at him. “Look, if it helps you, you may not know that Albert Ross is Horace’s only living relative.”
    “Yes, we were aware of that, Mr. Allday.”
    “Well then, inspector, you might like to draw your own conclusions from that. That’s all I can say.”
    “Thank you, sir. That’s very helpful. Now, about this afternoon …”
    “I don’t know that I can be at all helpful on that score. I was hardly here at all. I should have been here at twelve o’clock because Lady Lawdown had invited a few of us for drinks before the fete. But I went into the office this morning, because sometimes Saturday morning is the only chance I get to catch up with things. I only meant to stay for half an hour, but you know what it’s like, inspector. Sometimes you just get bogged down in paperwork.”
    “Yes, sir, I know that only too well,” groaned Constable ruefully.
    “So there I was, ploughing through these