Unmask a murderer in the final part of Grantchester Christmas Killer

In the final part of ‘The Grantchester Christmas Killer the Rev Sidney Chambers and YOU’, the armchair detective must unmask the murderer with a theatrical talent for macabre

Sir Michael Barton, Lord of Grantchester Manor, was found two days ago, brutally murdered by the axe he had used to chop down his Christmas tree. His killer remains at large. 

Now a second unexplained death in the Cambridgeshire village has set Rev Sidney Chambers’s mind whirring — can he solve the murder by Christmas Day? 

In the final part of the Mail’s exclusive mystery by Grantchester creator James Runcie, the murderer is finally unmasked, and a child is born…

On Christmas Eve, Sidney Chambers and his good friend Inspector Geordie Keating decided to take a break from their investigations into the deaths of Sir Michael Barton and his estate manager, Simon Walsh, by attending a performance of Cinderella at the Cambridge Arts Theatre.

They convinced themselves this could be considered ‘research’ because one of the chief suspects in their enquiry was Sir Michael’s former lover, the actress Philly Cotton, who was playing the part of Prince Charming.

Sidney wondered how the tradition of women playing men had begun and why everyone took it for granted. It seemed odd, and stranger still when he could tell that Philly Cotton was doubling up as Father Christmas as well

As the curtain rose to reveal Hard-Up Hall, a dilapidated baronial mansion on the eve of a party, the two men realised they were on a busman’s holiday.

It could just as well have been Grantchester Manor, with Alice the maid clearing out the grate rather than Cinderella.

As the pantomime continued, Sidney allowed his thoughts to drift over the principal characters in his own drama: Lady Carol Barton was the widow of the first victim and her shotgun had been used to assassinate the second; her son, Eddie, could have killed his own father (they didn’t get on) but had no clear motive for killing Simon Walsh and besides, he was training to be a priest.

The second widow, Christine Walsh, could have been having an affair with Sir Michael, but she had a broken arm and was convincingly distraught after the loss of her spouse.

That only left Alice the maid, who was eight months pregnant and probably didn’t have the energy to commit two murders in as many days; or the glamorous actress and singer who now appeared on stage before them.

Sidney wondered how the tradition of women playing men had begun and why everyone took it for granted. It seemed odd, and stranger still when he could tell that Philly Cotton was doubling up as Father Christmas as well. 

He couldn’t work out how she had changed into her costume so quickly. Now he remembered the actress telling him that the secret of a good pantomime, like magic, was to direct people where to look and to hide the stagecraft.

He imagined it was the same with crime, and he started to wonder who had been acting, or even dressing up at the time of the murders, pretending to be people they were not or in places they had never been.

Afterwards, Miss Cotton entertained the two men in her dressing room. ‘How is life in your version of Hard-up Hall?’ she asked. ‘Or should I say ‘death’? I heard about Simon Walsh. The poor man. Poor wife, too. They seemed inseparable.’

‘They’re certainly separated now,’ said Keating.

‘They were more like twins than husband and wife, don’t you think? It was weird. Do you think she did it, and is trying to frame Lady Barton?’

Christine told them that Sir Michael had spoken to her husband about changing his will in favour of the new baby. They had even had an argument about it (some of which Sidney had clearly overheard)

‘How do you know so much about it? People have been told that Simon Walsh’s death was suicide.’

‘It’s the talk of the town, Inspector. Everyone’s wondering if you’re going to solve the case by Christmas.’

‘We want you to help us,’ said Sidney.

‘I can’t see how I can be of any use.’

‘You told us that the first murder looked ‘staged’. This one was even more striking.’

‘You think the killer has a flair for the dramatic? Perhaps it’s also someone with a twisted sense of humour . . .’

‘Lady Barton has a dry wit, but she’s unlikely to frame herself by using her own gun.’

‘Her son can be amusing, too.’

‘But he was out shooting with friends. And he’s planning on becoming a priest.’

‘What about the vet?’

‘Her arm is broken, and she seems genuinely distressed. Do you know how to tell when someone is acting or not, Miss Cotton?’

‘You have to believe in the part, whatever you’re playing. You have to inhabit the role. Of course, sometimes you can’t quite be sure if someone’s faking, but you can check on things like a broken arm, can’t you? You can even examine the maid to see if she’s really pregnant. Alice is a sweetheart, don’t you think?’

‘Sir Michael clearly thought so; keeping her on like that. Do you imagine . . .’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘I wasn’t going to ask about her being the villain . . .’

‘She can’t possibly have been Sir Michael’s lover if that’s what you’re getting at.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know about these things.’

‘How?’ Keating persisted. ‘Do you think that you were the only person between him and his wife? How can you be so sure?’

‘I can’t say anything more. It just can’t be Alice. That’s all.’

‘This is a murder inquiry, Miss Cotton.’

‘There are some things I cannot tell you. It’s all too personal.’

‘I’m afraid . . .’

‘It has got nothing to do with the case.’

‘We will be the judge of that.’

‘Please, forgive me, Inspector, but you’ll have to leave. I have to rest before the next performance. You’re exhausting me.’

‘Then we may have to pay you another visit tomorrow.’

‘On Christmas Day?’

‘No peace for the wicked.’

‘Perhaps there’s no peace for the angels either?’

When Sidney and Geordie arrived at Grantchester Manor, Lady Barton was thinly furious, pacing up and down The Great Hall in a silk trouser suit with a cigarette in a holder and a large glass of gin that kept being replaced so often that there was now only the barest suggestion of tonic.

‘To think that whoever did the damn thing used my bloody gun,’ she said. ‘The cheek of it. Now I’ll never be able to fire it again. It will always remind me of that man’s death. As will Christmas.

‘We’ll have to go away after all this dies down. Somewhere hot where there’s no mince pies, no mistletoe, no mulled wine and, most importantly, no murder.’

She turned to her son. ‘I was thinking Barbados, Eddie. At least Michael will have left us enough money. Unless he went completely crazy. I knew he was up to something.’

Geordie asked where she and her son were at the time of Simon Walsh’s death.

‘You know perfectly well, Inspector. Eddie was out shooting with friends and I was at some blasted nativity service in the next village. Nothing but Christmas carols and doting parents who have no idea what is in store for them. All those smiling children make me feel sick, to be honest.’

‘It’s just as well you haven’t poisoned them with your punch,’ said Eddie.

‘Do you think that’s funny?’

‘Just trying to cheer everyone up before I get to Westcott House.’

‘Is that where you’re going to train?’ Sidney asked.

‘Hasn’t all this rather put you off the idea of becoming a priest?’ Keating asked.

‘Why God allows suffering, you mean? Evil is always the work of man not God. Or the women who drive them to it.’

‘And who do you think might have murdered Simon Walsh?’

‘He killed himself, didn’t he?’

‘Probably fed up with living with a vet,’ his mother added. ‘The smell must be dreadful.’

‘Christine Walsh has a broken arm. And no motive,’ said Sidney.

Keating turned to Eddie Barton. ‘We can understand someone wanting to kill your father. But we can’t quite work out why anyone would want to murder his estate manager as well.’

‘Perhaps Simon Walsh was a witness to the first murder and was blackmailing the killer?’

‘He doesn’t seem to be the blackmailing type,’ said Sidney.

‘And what would that be, Mr Chambers?’ Eddie Barton asked. ‘Is there such a thing as a ‘type’? People don’t mean to be blackmailers, just as they probably don’t mean to be killers. I’ve even heard that some murderers can be quite nice once they’ve got all the resentment out of their system.’

‘I don’t know where you’ve heard that,’ said Keating. ‘But it’s a long way short of my experience.’

By the time Sidney and Geordie visited Christine Walsh, the police search had been completed, her husband’s body had been removed, and she was starting to plan for the funeral. ‘You can’t really think my husband murdered Michael Barton and then killed himself out of remorse can you?’

‘Might you be prepared to talk to us about the night of the first murder, Mrs Walsh? Was it you who had the assignation with Sir Michael that made him leave the party?’

‘No.’

‘Then where were you?’

‘I was seeing to the animals.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘I noticed Sir Michael leave the party, but I didn’t see who he was meeting or when he came back. My husband called me in, and I helped him change back from Father Christmas into his normal clothes.’

‘With one arm?’

‘You’d be surprised what I can do with one arm.’ She stopped herself. ‘Well, not murder, obviously.’

‘So, who do you think Sir Michael was meeting?’

‘I think it has to be the actress — or Alice.’

‘Tell me more about the maid,’ Keating asked.

‘My husband said it was complicated.’

‘Is there something you’re not telling us?’

‘It’s not that. It’s more that I don’t know anything for definite and I wouldn’t want to lead you astray.’

‘That hasn’t stopped people in the past, I can assure you.’

‘Then perhaps you should ask yourselves why that actress is here at all. She told me she could be earning far more by appearing in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes in the West End. Why choose to slum it back here?’

‘Philly Cotton and Sir Michael go back a long way.’

‘Yes, Inspector Keating, but perhaps they don’t only go back. They also might look forwards as well.’

‘What do you mean? Resume their affair?’

‘Not only that . . .’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Sidney. ‘If that’s true then . . .’

‘I don’t know for sure,’ said Christine. ‘You’ll have to ask them. Well not ‘them’ exactly, because one of them is dead.’

‘So, you’re suggesting,’ Sidney explained, ‘and let me get this right, that Alice, the maid, is not Sir Michael’s lover but his daughter. By Philly Cotton. And she is now expecting her grandchild. That’s why she’s here, you think, isn’t it?’

Christine Walsh nodded.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Geordie. ‘And she hasn’t said anything about it!’

Christine told them that Sir Michael had spoken to her husband about changing his will in favour of the new baby. They had even had an argument about it (some of which Sidney had clearly overheard).

‘Simon thought it was an impetuous decision. He wasn’t even convinced Alice was Sir Michael’s daughter. The child could have been anyone’s. Miss Cotton probably picked the richest man she’d slept with. But Michael wouldn’t leave his wife, so he paid her off. Gave her an allowance and got the child into care. Sixteen years later, he took the girl on as a maid and it brought it all back . . .’

‘And so, if Sir Michael was changing his will, to benefit Alice and the new child . . .’ Sidney continued.

‘Others would lose out’

‘And those others would be?’

‘The wife and the son, of course.’

‘And how much did they know about all this?’

‘That, gentlemen, is what you have to find out. But they certainly knew there was going to be a new will. I’m convinced of it. Sir Michael couldn’t stop threatening them with his intentions. He was goading them, really. He never did know when to shut up.’

‘Well, he certainly knows now,’ said Keating.

It was time to pause for thought, and the two men decided to squeeze in a quick pint at The Eagle in order to mull over the case.

‘Do we believe her?’ Keating asked.

‘If we do, then Carol Barton and her son Eddie are the principal suspects for both murders.’

‘Which is what Christine Walsh wants us to think.’

‘It’s a complicated story to invent.’

‘Could the Bartons have been working together? Perhaps Eddie wielded the axe and Carol used the shotgun?

The whodunnit who’s who

The cast: 

Sir Michael Barton, the first victim, was Lord of Grantchester Manor and had a well-earned reputation as a ladies’ man

Eddie Barton, his disaffected son

Lady Carol Barton, Sir Michael’s flirtatious wife who is fond of a drink

The Reverend Sidney Chambers, vicar of Grantchester and amateur detective

Simon Walsh, Barton’s estate manager and family lawyer — and the second to die

Christine Walsh, the local vet, widow of Simon and suffering from a broken arm

Inspector Geordie Keating, a battle-hardened Cambridgeshire detective who is Sidney’s great friend

Alice, a young, attractive maid at Grantchester Manor who is eight months pregnant, causing much gossip among the locals

Philly Cotton, a famous actress and on-off old flame of Sir Michael’s  

‘It was her gun, after all. Either that, or Eddie is framing his own mother. But he’s training to be a clergyman, Sidney. You can’t accuse one of your own.’

‘He’s not been ordained. You can’t give him the benefit of the moral high ground just because he’s planning for the priesthood.’

Keating smiled. ‘You’re getting better at this, Sidney.’

‘Better at what?’

‘Thinking the worst of people.’

When they arrived back at Grantchester Hall, Lady Barton told them they came so frequently that they should move in for Christmas.

Her son said he was intrigued that Sidney could spare so much time for a police investigation. Shouldn’t he be preparing for Midnight Mass?

‘I always thought that it was more of a Roman Catholic tradition,’ he said. ‘The clue lies in the word ‘Mass’.’

Sidney smiled. ‘No. It’s in the Bible. St Paul mentions a commemoration ceremony for the birth of the Messiah in one of the Epistles. I can’t quite remember if it is Thessalonians or Galatians . . .’

‘Galatians, I think,’ Eddie Barton replied. ‘I was reading the letters only the other day.’

‘We should explain why we are here,’ Keating began but was interrupted by a wail of pain and a cry for help.

This couldn’t be another murder, thought Sidney. If it was, then there wouldn’t be anyone left alive in Grantchester Hall by New Year’s Eve.

But the sound had come from Alice, who was now, clearly in labour. Her waters had broken. They had to get her to the hospital. This was no time for a police enquiry.

Amid all the kerfuffle, she managed to grasp Sidney’s arm and say: ‘Can you tell Miss Cotton? I need her with me. I need her very badly.’

Sidney said he would do what he could but here, surely, was the proof he needed. He looked towards Geordie who had also spotted that the one person Alice wanted with her was her own mother.

The lack of surprise from Lady Barton and her son also meant that they knew enough to understand that the child who was about to be born was the grandchild of their husband and father.

‘He was changing his will, wasn’t he?’ Geordie asked.

‘Who was?’ Eddie replied.

‘Your father. And Simon Walsh knew his plans, kept copies and had the documents. Alice is his daughter by Miss Cotton. They were about to become grandparents. And neither of you could stomach that.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Eddie replied. ‘We’re a very forgiving family.’

‘You’re not at all,’ said Sidney. ‘And you’re not even training to be a priest. I telephoned Westcott House and spoke to my old tutor. He says they’ve never heard of you. And also, by the way, there is no commemoration ceremony for the birth of the Messiah in the Book of Galatians. I made that up.’

‘I’m sure that’s all very interesting,’ said Geordie. ‘But here’s what I think happened.

‘You knew about the changed will because your father told you on your little walk. You came back without the axe, but you never had the long, hot bath everyone thought you had.

‘Instead you left by the bathroom window via the fire escape and reclaimed the weapon in order to kill your father with it later. You may have been the life and soul of the party, but your father was still alive when you led the search for him. You knew he had an assignation, probably with Philly Cotton, and you killed him when he was on his way back. You then hid the weapon in Santa’s sack just after Simon Walsh had changed out of his costume.

‘Christine Walsh came to reclaim the clothes, but she was distracted by the sight of the dead body. The next day you took the axe back to the Walsh’s house in Santa’s sack in order to incriminate them.

‘Unfortunately, Simon Walsh must have seen you, or even confronted you. You explained that you had simply come to retrieve your mother’s gun, and then things got out of hand.’

‘You have no evidence for any of this.’

‘When Simon Walsh told your father ‘it’s a risky thing to do’ he didn’t mean ‘changing the will’. He meant ‘telling you’.

‘He knew you were a firebrand who had no hope of ever becoming a priest. But you thought you could use the idea as an alibi, assuming we would never suspect a man who was intent on holy orders.

‘What you hadn’t banked on,’ said Geordie, ‘was the fact that a clergyman would be part of our investigation.’

‘People often pretend to be someone they’re not,’ said Sidney. ‘But the one thing that no one can act is a life of faith.’

After further interrogation and Eddie Barton’s eventual confession, Sidney returned to his church for Midnight Mass.

It took him a while to compose himself, but once the choir started to sing the Coventry Carol he could leave the nastiness of the world behind.

Lullay, lullay

My little tiny child

Bye-bye, lullay, lullay

The congregation was as well-wrapped as a Christmas present. Outside, the night was dark and clear. Afterwards, Inspector Keating was waiting for him.

‘Just one more quick visit before bedtime.’

‘Where?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘I’m exhausted.’

‘You can do it, Sidney.’

They drove to Addenbrooke’s Hospital. There, Philly Cotton was sitting on the bed where her daughter lay resting, singing the Coventry Carol to her newly arrived grand-daughter, adjusting the words to suit the scene.

Lullay, lullay

My little tiny child

Hello, lullay, lullay.

Sidney looked down to see the baby just beginning to wriggle and stretch out her tiny right hand, raised as if in blessing, adjusting to the bright light of a new day.

This was the greatest mystery of all, he thought, the secret of life itself.

It was Christmas at last.

The first episode of the new series of Grantchester is on January 10 at 9pm on ITV.

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