Death at Hay Castle

Five. Five of the most gorgeous kittens I had ever seen. Asadour looked peaceful and relaxed as her kittens were struggling to get a suckling of milk. As I watched the motherly scene, I had already pinpointed the two possible future stars of the group. A red male and a tortoiseshell female, with perfect markings on the head and tail; and whom I knew will be the envy of judges and other van breeders alike.
I went out for my morning walk. Ever since I had moved to Hay-on-Wye, I got up early and took walking for an hour every morning as my hobby. I loved the lush, green countryside that surrounded the town. Sheep were grazing in the pastures, and the early morning dew made me feel alive. On my way home, I usually stopped by at the local grocery shop for some breakfast necessities, then headed straight home, where a nice country breakfast was beckoning.
I had moved to Hay last July, when my grandmother passed and I inherited her bookshop. "The Bookshop", as it was simply called, was one of the oldest stores in town and, my dream come true. I had always wanted to own a bookshop, but I really never imagined I would.
I inhabited a small cottage, just two blocks away from The Bookshop, aunt Rose’s legacy and now my own. I usually worked straight on until 4 o’clock, and did not close for lunch, so my big breakfast sustained me until teatime.
As I was opening that morning, I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned and found myself facing a middle-aged man, who stooped a little and had a big bald spot on his head.
“Good morning,” he said with a mixed Welsh accent. “I’m Richard Booth.”
“Oh, yes, of course, good morning,” I extended my hand. He took it and bowed slightly, full of camaraderie. “I am…”
“I know who you are, Ms. LeBlanc. You’re one of those rare cases of new residents who instantly make a name for themselves,” he said cutting me short. I didn’t know if this was a compliment or a reproach, but I assume he was referring to the incident that had made me known in Hay: during the week of my arrival in town, one of my queens, Asadour, was kidnapped by an uncaring relative. I successfully rescued her, using pretty much my powers of deduction and the uncaring relative's foxhound. Hay-on-Wye being such a small town, well... people had probably renamed me "Hay's resident amateur sleuth" or something of the sort.
“I wasn’t aware…” I started.
“No matter,” he said, cutting me short again. I was beginning to see why he was the King of Hay. Apparently, no one could speak before he had exposed his ideas. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”
“Of course. Come in please,” I said, inviting him into the shop.
“Oh, not now. I’m afraid I’m pressed for time. Could you stop by the Castle? Say one o’clock? There’s something I should like to discuss with you.”
“Well, I…”
“Great, see you then.” And just as he had turned up, he took his leave.
-----------------------------

Hay Castle is an impressive old monument in the middle of town, which looks cold and inhospitable. The fire that burnt part of it about a decade ago didn’t help to improve its already run down image. It is considered, however, the town’s landmark, and everyone who comes to Hay has their picture taken by it, usually beside the decrepit bookshelves holding the loads of unsaleable volumes in the street just below it.
I walked up the old masonry stairs in the back and arrived at an open archway, which went straight into what looked like a kitchen from the middle ages. Pots and pans were hanging from the ceiling and scattered about, the sink overflowing with a fresh load of utensils displaying fresh bubbles on them. I was ready to call out for someone when Booth walked in, a box load of books in his hands.
“Ms. LeBlanc, there you are. Thank God,” he said, almost dropping the box on the big oak table. “I’m starving. Have a seat, please.”
“Miranda!” he called out into the darkness of the long corridor from which he had come.
I sat down as Booth reached for two glasses and poured down some red wine. A few seconds later, a woman walked into the kitchen and, without saying a word, served us a slice of shepherd’s pie. It was quite good. Booth ate it absently.
When Miranda left, I asked him why he had wanted to see me on such short notice.
“I heard from Inspector Bowen you are very good at solving riddles,” he said matter of factly. “For the past three weeks, we’ve been consistently missing one box from the books we receive from our main American supplier. I’m not really worried; let’s say profit-wise, because they are mostly worthless paperbacks. It’s just that, I don’t know…” he paused to take a bite, and looked out the window pondering his thoughts.
“Yes?” I said encouragingly.
“Well… I don’t understand why we’re missing them in the first place. I mean, I make a living doing this. Today it’s a box of worthless books, but tomorrow, it may be more serious. I prefer to be pro-active, Ms. LeBlanc,” he said looking me straight in the eye. “You know what I mean?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said mechanically. “Mr. Booth…”
“Please, call me Richard. If you’re going to help me save the future of this town, we’d better be on a first name basis,” he said laconically.
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought we were just talking about a simple case of missing books.”
“Ms. LeBlanc…”
“Chloe,” I volunteered.
“Quite,” he said simply. “In Hay we are only 1456 inhabitants – the Welsh Tourist Board says we’re fifteen hundred, but trust me, we’re not. Most of us are from around the area, a few were born here. We all know each other. When something like this happens, it is kind of disturbing. We deal in antiquarian books. Ever since I came to this town I proclaimed it the “Kingdom of Books”, he gestured meaningfully. “The world knows that Hay-on-Wye is a booklover’s paradise, where almost anything in print can be found. What would this same world say if the alma mater of Hay starts to go, even if it is in its smallest manifestation? Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Yes, but then why don’t you notify the police?” I said.
“And tell them what? I’m missing some worthless paperbacks? They’ll be surprised I’m not grateful about losing them,” he said sarcastically. “Policemen always want facts. They’re not in the preventative business, they’re in the ‘fixing’ business. They always turn up once the damage’s been done.”
I had to smile at what was the quirkiest explanation of how the Police approach their duties that I’ve heard to date. But besides Richard Booth’s comic approach, the missing
books were indeed an odd happening. Only books written by American authors were taken. Only one box per week for the past three weeks.
I thought about it for the rest of the day.

-----------------------

The next morning, after feeding my cats, I decided to take a turn towards Bear Street and get breakfast at the Old Stables Tea Rooms. Something was nagging at me about the conversation with Richard and I needed to think. I ordered a large mug of coffee and a croissant, while I read the morning newspaper. I didn’t stay long though. I decided I would visit Richard at his bookshop in Lion Street. When I arrived I noticed the girl at the front desk quite jumpy. She went to get him without saying a word.
“Oh, Chloe, thank God a friendly face” he said lamely.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked concerned.
“I’ve had another book stolen,” he replied gravely. “One of my most valuable tomes yet. A first edition set of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I tell you, Chloe, there’s a boycott going on!”
He was very upset. I saw his chest heaving wildly, and was afraid he was going to have a heart attack.
“Richard, please, calm down,” I said as softly as I could muster without trying to sound patronizing.
“Calm down? How do you expect me to calm down? I’m phoning the Police! Dieter!” he yelled to one of his employees in an insane manner.
At any rate, this event threw new light into the disappearance of the books. So far, Richard had told me he had only missed worthless books. Now, however, his future as a bookseller could be in jeopardy. I had heard a first edition of the works of Lewis Carroll could sometimes reach up to £7000,00
I decided to do a little snooping of my own and went upstairs, to the section where the expensive books were. I had only been there once, when Richard showed it to me himself. It was only open by appointment and for serious collectors. At the time it had struck me as odd that it was not a particularly secure room. When I told him he had said: “For Hay-on-Wye, we have all the security we need. This isn’t London, you know.” I did know, but I didn’t think he would answer in the same way now.
It was a musty, dark room, its walls covered with books, its dark, heavy curtains drawn, with a lectern in its center. Unlike the rest of the shop, these bookshelves were neatly arranged, with framed artwork placed at random. It was very dimly lit. I strolled towards the lectern and looked around. The bookshelves seemed to be embracing me in a claustrophobic sort of way.
“That’s were it was,” came Richard’s voice. I turned around in a jump. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said embarrassed.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, grabbing my chest while trying to recover. “You were saying…”
“The book they stole from me, it was on the lectern,” he completed as he took a few steps forward. It was at that very moment that the floor made a nasty cracking sound, and a big mass of bookshelves filled to their capacity came crashing down. Richard pushed me against the thick curtains as he tried to escape himself. I became entangled in a thick crimson cloth, then I heard him wince in pain. I panicked and tried desperately to get into the light. Once again free, I saw him lying on the floor. One of his legs was trapped under a heavy bookshelf.
“Oh, my God! Help! Help me, please!” I yelled as I run towards him.
“Damm! Ouch. I think it’s broken,” he said grabbing his right leg.
The whole personnel at the bookstore came within a few seconds.
“Mr. Booth! What happened! Here, Frances, help me lift the books,” said one of the girls. They moved immediately to where we were and I helped Richard while they pushed the massive bookshelf out the way. As the area got cleared, I noticed the wood where the floor had cracked had a lighter color.
“I’ll call the ambulance,” notified Dieter wryly. He turned suddenly and left to complete his task.
The ambulance arrived from Hereford about half an hour later and they took Richard immediately. He had a broken leg, but seemed otherwise all right. I told him I’d stop by later to visit.
“Just make sure they don’t take any more of my books,” was his reply.
When the ambulance left, I returned to the room of the accident. I kneeled by the cracked floor and, to my dismay, saw what I had suspected earlier. The wood had been replaced with a much thinner one, enough to make it break under a slight pressure. I shivered as I realized I almost laid foot on it when I had entered the room earlier.
I stood up, and I found myself face to face with Inspector Rhys Bowen of the Welsh Police Department. The Inspector and I had met before during the episode of Asadour's kidnapping.
“Well, well, why am I not surprised?” he said with twinkling eyes and a smile from ear to ear.
“Hello, Inspector. Just the person I was hoping to see,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“Come and look at the wood here. It’s been replaced with balsa wood,” I indicated.
Inspector Bowen kneeled down to look at the scene, then asked me:
“Mr. Booth been into repairs lately?”
“I don’t think so, Inspector,” I replied.
“Well, Ms. LeBlanc, then I can only say, you’re both lucky to be alive.”
Indeed we were. Those massive bookcases could have killed or at least seriously injured anyone. I recounted the whole story to Inspector Bowen, ever since the time Richard had approached me at my bookstore.
“Already made a name for yourself, haven’t you?” He said eyeing me keenly. I ignored his comment and went on.
“You’ll be interviewing Mr. Booth soon?” I asked, turning to find my purse.
“Yes, of course. I am on my way to the hospital. May I give you a lift?” he offered.
“Not this time,” I said “but thank you anyway.”
It was close to midday and I’d decided I’d make a stop at Hay Castle to notify Miranda of the recent events. When I arrived, the ironclad door was open and I got in. I went inside the kitchen and saw pots boiling. I called out Miranda’s name but got no answer. I started to walk into the house. With the exception of the kitchen, everything else looked dark and chilly. got to the drawing room and saw the phone off the hook. I went to replace the receiver but my foot trampled against something. I looked down. It was a human hand, attached to an arm. Then I saw her. Miranda lay on her back, her eyes in the back of her head, her throat bruised. There was no doubt. She
had been strangled.
I stepped back and gave a cry. Then instinctively rattled the desk and grasped the phone. As I was dialing the Police, I heard footsteps going toward the kitchen. I hung up the phone and grabbed the fire poker. I moved at a slight pace, all the time feeling my hairs creep in the back of my neck.
I was too late. The murderer had escaped, but somehow I was glad I didn’t have to confront him – or her. I went back to the drawing room and dialed the Police.
“Inspector Bowen, please. This is an emergency. There’s been a death at Hay Castle.”

------------------------

My hand shook as I was holding a glass of brandy when Inspector Bowen came into the kitchen to talk to me. I felt my head spinning.
He sat down across me and put his hand over mine. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know,” I said looking down at the bottom of my glass, as if it held any answers.
“Of one thing I’m sure though,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“She either knew or saw something about this morning’s robbery,” I said convinced.
“That is possible. Nothing seems to be stolen. There’re not even signs of a struggle.”
I closed my eyes trying to concentrate. My head pounded terribly.
“Chloe?” Inspector Bowen sounded concerned.
“The phone!” I exclaimed, opening my eyes. “The phone was off the hook. She couldn’t have been calling, could she? It must have been the murderer.” I jumped out of my chair.
“You need to check the phone records,” I told the Inspector decidedly.

---------------------------

Richard was totally baffled. Lying on the couch at the drawing room inside Hay Castle, his right leg in a cast, he looked tired and defeated. He was clearly the sort of
person who liked to be always on the move. Now he felt limited and unproductive; moreover, the fact that someone was trying to destroy his beloved idea of the world’s most famous booktown, was a low blow.
“This is definitely the strangest, oddest thing that’s ever happened to me. Well you know, Inspector,” he directed a meaningful glance to Inspector Bowen, “that nothing really ever happens here. Nothing this tragic anyway,” he added, sinking once again into his own thoughts.
Inspector Bowen’s research with Hay Castle’s phone records had been quite interesting. Within the last twenty days, several phone calls had been placed to different towns throughout Europe, particularly to St-Pierre-de-Clages, a small town in Switzerland… and nowadays a developing book town. The problem was, Richard hadn’t
made those calls, and it was unlikely that the late Miranda did. She had been at Hay Castle for the past ten years, had no family, and was now dead, very much the victim of strange circumstances.
“Can you think of anybody who may wish you harm, Mr. Booth?” asked the Inspector.
Richard came out of his reverie in his usual, unfriendly manner. “How the Hell should I know? Obviously, somebody hates me” the Inspector looked at me and caught me rolling my eyes; “but I didn’t know it until this morning.” He then became vicious. “You know what, Inspector; I’m tired, my leg hurts, my maid is dead – murdered, and my business is on the rocks. Why don’t you just call on me when you actually have something to say? How’s that, eh?”
Inspector Bowen opened his mouth to speak, then shut it without saying a word. He looked at me, said he’ll be in touch and left. I felt uncomfortable at Richard’s obnoxious remarks, but tried to ignore them as much as I could. He wasn’t having a very good week after all, let alone a day.
“I’m tired,” he said finally, rubbing his hand over his face.
“I shall be leaving too,” I said, picking up my purse.
“I didn’t mean…”
“To throw me out? Yes, I know. It just comes naturally to you.” I was hoping to send a clear message about manners. He got it and smiled.
“I guess I wasn’t very nice to the coppie, was I?”
“No,” I said sharply.
“I’ll apologize to him tomorrow, when my leg’s not hurting as much,” he retorted, always the practical mind.
“He is trying to help, you know,” I emphasized.
“Yes, I know, especially when he’s around you.” He laid it on, while eyeing me keenly. I wish it hadn’t impacted me, but I felt my colour rise. I tried to deviate the conversation as best as I could.
“Really, Richard.” I cleared my throat. “But about what he was saying, you really don’t suspect anyone?”
Luckily, Richard seemed to forget all about Inspector Bowen. “I tell you, no. They’re not all that bright these Policemen, you know.” There we go again, I thought.
“How do you mean?” I asked, sitting down.
“Well, they ask you questions, and then keep asking me the same questions, and yet again they will even ring you to ask something else they have a doubt on. I tell you, with a bad leg and all, it’s not easy…”
Richard stopped because he realized I wasn’t paying attention any longer to what he was saying. Instead, I got up and picked up the phone.
“Hello. This is Chloe LeBlanc. I need to leave an urgent message for Inspector Bowen.”

------------------------

It was time for a visit to the vet for Asadour and her kittens. All throughout the trip I couldn’t concentrate, my little idea burning in my mind all the time. On my way back, I stopped by the Police Station. Inspector Bowen had just received the results of the request I’d made so surreptitiously last night. After my talk with Richard, I had asked him to check the phone records at the store around the time of the accident. Now we were ready to open the envelope that contained them, and we both had a strong feeling of anticipation.
“If this is as you say it is, you might have just uncovered one of the most well thought-out schemes for book stealing of all times,” said Rhys Bowen.
“It’s a hunch, but it’s getting stronger by the minute.”
Just as we looked, there it was. At approximately the same time of the accident, a called had been placed to Switzerland. The phone number was the same that showed up in Richard’s home records.
“I think I know who our thief is,” I said, looking up at the Inspector. “I’m afraid to say it’s very likely he is also our murderer.”

----------------------------

Inspector Bowen requested reinforcements immediately and went on his way to Richard’s bookstore. I followed him in my own car, with six cats in tow. It was like being on the road with a kindergarten. When we arrived at the bookstore, a feeling of dejá vu took over me, especially when we were informed that the person we were looking for had left about fifteen minutes ago to take a new shipment of books to the Castle. Richard was there alone and handicapped. The two Police cars drove at full speed. I kept praying that we were not too late.

---------------------------

I offered myself to go in first, casually, as if I were visiting. Rhys Bowen denied me that permission adamantly even though I insisted.
“No, Chloe, no. For all we know, this chap is a murderer and I will not have you as bait.”
“Fine. I go with you then, and do not try to dissuade me,” I said stamping my foot.
“All right, but just stay behind me.”
Again, we went in through the side door in the kitchen, we could hear nothing. Everything was dark and gloomy, and this time there were no pots cooking. The kitchen looked mysteriously empty.
Rhys crept cautiously, trying to avoid a crack from the old wood floors. At last we could see Richard lying on the sofa. He had a gag over his mouth and his hands were tied. Drops of perspiration could be seen on his forehead.
We were opposite the desk in the drawing room so we had an almost perfect view of our culprit. Dieter was searching through Richard’s desk. A large pistol lay on top of it. He looked up and we ducked, then walked towards Richard, pulled the gag violently from his mouth and, pointing with the pistol directly at him, said sweetly:
“You really ought to tell me where your contracts are, old boy.”
Just as I hoped, Richard insulted him. “You can go to Hell, you hermit!”
Dieter went mad, and raised his arm to hit him with the firearm. It was the perfect opportunity. Inspector Bowen jumped from behind, bringing him down instantly. The fight was minimal. Dieter laid face down on the floor, as Rhys handcuffed him.
“Well, thank God you made it on time,” gasped Richard. “That madman almost shot me.”
“Yes, we saw,” said Inspector Bowen. “But you should really thank Chloe here. She is the one who figured it out.”
“Really? How?” he asked intrigued.
“Well…” I started, kind of embarrassed, “when I came here and found Miranda dead I noticed the phone off the hook. It occurred to me that either she or someone else had been trying to make a phone call, so I asked the Inspector to check the phone records.”
Rhys Bowen took up the explanation next. “We checked and your bill showed all those calls to Switzerland, that you assured us you never made, and that it was unlikely your maid ever did either.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Richard.
“It just dawned on me last night when you were telling me something about someone calling on the phone,” I cleared my throat, since I didn’t intend for Rhys to find out what Richard’s opinion of his force was; “that phones seemed to be popping up a lot in this riddle.”
“So I called him and requested that he checked the phone records at your store, especially on the day of the accident. Do you remember who offered to go make a call to the Police when it happened?”
Richard thought for a moment. “Well, yes. It was Dieter.” I immediately could tell by his face that he saw the connection.
“First he called his contact in Switzerland,” continued the Inspector. “Apparently there is an operation focused on taking the exclusivity of Hay-on-Wye as the most famous booktown in the world. Dieter was one of their spies.”
“Are you telling me we have competition?” asked Richard infuriated.
“And of the first kind,” noted the Inspector.
“This is outrageous! I’m the King here! No one will take it away from me, do you hear?”
“Meow!”
“What did you say?”
“Meow!”
“Oh my,” I said taking my hands to my head. “I think my cats managed to get out of their basket.”
Rhys turned around looking for the source of the sound and picked up one of Asadour’s kittens. Four more were following close by, with Asadour trying to manage them all and, obviously, not succeeding.
“Come on,” said Rhys, “now I will help you in your cat-hunt.”