Copycat Murders Read online

  Copycat Murders

  T.H. Hunter

  Copycat Murders is the third book in the Cozy Conundrums series.

  Copyright © 2018 T.H. Hunter

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  Dedication

  To my beloved spouse, who believed in me from the start.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Judge Immanuel Robinson raised a white handkerchief to his forehead, wiping away the ever-present drops of perspiration that had plagued him since the beginning of the trial in early June of that year. Despite the crowded courtroom, a makeshift construction in the largest tower of Warklesby’s School of Magic, hardly a sound emitted from the galleries, set up specially to accommodate the large public interest in the case. Nobody dared to make a sound, lest they miss a sign, for the arrival of the jury was due any minute now.

  Perhaps it was his advanced age that made him so susceptible to the unbearable heat, Immanuel Robinson thought. He could not remember ever having been so uncomfortable on the judge’s bench before. Perhaps, however, it had been the peculiar details of the case that had such an effect upon him. He had seen many a crime during his long career, though none came close to matching the extent and the sheer – there was no other word for it – evil of Vincent Wycliffe’s deeds.

  He didn’t know whether the gaunt, stony stares of the victims’ relatives or the heart-wrenching account of one of the few survivor’s had been worse. He only knew that he had had to take two showers in quick succession that very evening.

  Strangely, the accused had seemed perfectly unperturbed by any of it. In all the many years in the magical courts of England, Immanuel Robinson had never witnessed anything quite like it. He was no psychologist, of course, but he had seen his fair share of what experts deemed to be psychopathic sorcerers, menaces to their fellow witches and warlocks. And yet, there was something horribly distant and merciless about the way Wycliffe sat there, apparently neither ashamed nor frightened. At times, he thought he caught a glimpse of secret pleasure in those dark eyes as the details of his crimes came to the fore.

  At last, the court usher announced the return of the jury with their final verdict. A moment later, the members of the jury – all wearing a solemn expression – filed through the door next to the uppermost gallery and made their way down the spiral staircase that led them directly to the jury box.

  Judge Robinson scanned the many tense faces around him. The time of waiting had become unbearable for many in the galleries. Shouts of ‘murderer’ and ‘hang him’ drifted towards him. Others were shaking their fists. Security warlocks were having trouble keeping angry spectators from scaling the

  “Order,” he boomed, his voice – magically enhanced – reverberating around the room.

  Once more, he raised his handkerchief to his brow. He couldn’t help notice that his hand was shaking slightly. But when he spoke next, he was relieved to find that his voice was steady and authoritative.

  “What is the verdict of the jury?”

  “Your Lordship,” the foreman of the jury said. “In the case of Wycliffe vs. the Magical Community of England, the jury has come to the following verdict…”

  He opened the envelope in his hand, unfolding the single sheet of paper within.

  “We find the accused guilty of all charges.”

  A roar of approval, accompanied by many more screams and cries demanding the hanging – or worse – of Wycliffe, permeated the chamber. This time, however, Judge Robinson did not call for order. He looked at Vincent Wycliffe, whose face had twisted into a sinister smirk, with the utmost disgust. It was the only time in his career that he wished he had the power over life and death, as in the magical courts of old.

  As the screams finally died down on their own, he addressed the court:

  “Vincent Reginald Wycliffe, the jury has found you guilty of all charges. In light of the heinous and sadistic mode in which you perpetrated them, as well as the utter lack of sympathy for your victims, as showcased throughout the trial, I have no other choice but to sentence you to imprisonment for the rest of your natural life. Your powers will be stripped. Your possessions are to be sold, and the proceeds to be distributed amongst the survivors and relatives of your victims.”

  Chapter 2

  “No, I cannot allow it,” Barry said stubbornly, crossing his paws in front of him on the dining room table. “Utterly out of the question.”

  “But Barry,” Val protested, “you’d never know they’re were in. And anyway, we’ll be at the school, investigating the murders.”

  “It’s got to be done some time, you know,” I said, looking up from my very tasty but slightly burnt bacon on my plate in front of me.

  “I will not have clumsy workmen falling all over the place,” Barry said. “Especially when I’m not there to make sure they don’t get up to any mischief.”

  “But your library is falling apart, Barry,” said Val, with a mixture of affection and frustration. “And I’m sure they won’t touch anything important.”

  “Oh, you don’t know these people,” Barry said darkly. “All friendly and earthy one moment, next they’ll be destroying – or worse, stealing – my research. No, I can’t have it.”

  “Would you rather fall down again, Barry?” Val asked.

  There was a short silence as Barry winced at the painful memories. One week ago, Barry had been working in his library, as usual. Deep into the night, Val and I had been roughly awakened by a terrifying shriek that carried right through the house. As Val got Mrs. Faversham, I quickly guessed that the noise was coming from Barry’s library. Though I thought at first it might have been some sort of experiment that had gone wrong, I was quickly corrected by the scene before me.

  Barry had been lying at the bottom of one of the massive book shelves that reached right up to the ceiling. One of the contraptions – designed by my late great-aunt to provide Barry with access to all areas with relative ease – had lain broken and splintered next to him on the floor. It had taken me the best part of two days to master the spells that would mend his bones again.

  Back in the present, Barry was desperately looking for a way to avoid repairs to his library.

  “I’ll just have to be more careful next time,” he said. “I’m a cat, after all.”

  “Forgive me, Barry,” I said. “But you’re an unusually old cat.”

  He drew himself up with what he considered to be a pose of dignified huffiness.

  “Your point, Amanda?” he said.

  “Well, cats aren’t supposed to be breaking bones when they fall. They’re supposed to land on their feet.”

  “A minor oversight,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t,” Val blurted out. “Because the library is getting repaired, isn’t it, Amy?”

  “I’m sorry, Barry, but it’s the only way. We don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  “Not physically, perhaps,” he said snidely. “But the emotional pain of losing years of work might just be unbearable…”

  “OK, here’s the deal, Barry,” I said. “I’ll turn anyone who dares to steal your research into a frog.”

  Barry pondered the unexpected offer for a while.

  “A mouse might be more fitting, but I’m grateful for the sentiment nonetheless, Amanda,” he said. “But I want Mrs. Faversham to check in on them every day.”

  Val beamed
at both of us.

  “So, now we’ve got that out of the way, we should better start packing,” Val said.

  “Agreed,” I said. “By the way, how are we getting to Warklesby’s, anyway?”

  LETTER

  “We arrive by magic, of course,” said Barry.

  He couldn’t quite hide the relish in his voice at my complete ignorance.

  “Right, so we fly there by broom, I take it?”

  “No, it’s too well hidden for that,” he said loftily. “No, the school can only be accessed through a portal system. Luckily, your great-aunt had one connected to the house ages ago.”

  “A… a portal is in the house?” Val asked.

  “Yes,” Barry said. “But no need to fret. It cannot be activated unless permission is given. A little like a door to a house, if you will. You can approach and knock, but someone still has to let you in.”

  “I see. So where is this portal?” I asked. “I’m sure I’ve been in every room of the house by now. I haven’t seen anything like that.”

  “It’s behind the portrait in the living room. My portrait, in fact.”

  “Naturally,” I said, rolling my eyes at Val, who started to giggle.

  Barry, however, looked rather pleased with himself.

  “I’d better head upstairs,” said Val. “I still have some light packing to do.”

  “OK,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  ***

  After Mrs. Faversham had cleared away the remnants of our breakfasts, we made our way up to our rooms in order to pack. Following the drastic events in Scotland earlier this year, I had come to appreciate Fickleton House even more than before. More than ever, its solid walls promised a security that the outside world – which seemed to be inhabited by a lot more sorcerers than I cared for these days – lacked.

  It was peculiar, I thought as I passed along the long and winding corridors with their dark wood panelling leading to my room, because I had always felt rather at home in the world, as well as trusting of the people who surrounded me. Now, however, the memories from the lighthouse crept into my dreams whenever I wasn’t expecting them. Who knew how many sorcerers roamed the country? Perhaps there weren’t as many as it seemed, though it certainly didn’t feel that way.

  And now, I’d be going into a school filled with witches and warlocks. I was excited and thrilled, yet afraid at the same time. Despite the fact that I worked hard to improve my magical abilities, I hadn’t been a witch for long. I had never lived amongst spellcasters, excluding Barry, of course, though his abilities were greatly diminished as a cat. And though he often spoke of being close to a breakthrough in therianthropic retransformations, Val and I secretly agreed that it was probably more hope than actual fact that he’d ever be able to turn back into a warlock again.

  It took me the best part an hour to arrange everything with Mrs. Faversham for our departure, as well as phone the handymen from her house. As agreed with Barry, I had given the green light for the redecorations, though I asked Mrs. Faversham to keep a close eye on affairs. She concurred, and so I went back up to my rooms to get my bags.

  I had made only a few alterations to my room since moving in. I had found a painting depicting my late great-aunt in the thus far unused wing of the house, and so I had decided to hang it up in my bedroom. It featured my great-aunt in what must have been her late forties. She had dark, curly hair – interspersed with specks of grey. She was impressive-looking, I could tell, with something of the grande dame about her.

  I felt I owed so much to her, though I had never known her, and thought that this was the best way to show my gratitude. It was a great pity that I hadn’t had the chance to get to know her, though I always enjoyed it when occasionally Barry talked about her after supper.

  I drew the curtains one last time and attended to my packing. We didn’t know how long we’d be gone, so cramming everything I might need into my two large suitcases was something of a conundrum. In the end, I was forced to leave some of my things behind. Perhaps, I thought, with the portal in place, there was surely a way to retrieve some of them later, however.

  Stepping out into the corridor, I suddenly heard a great wheezing coming from the far end. For one mad moment, I thought some sort of hound had miraculously found its way into Fickleton House. I dropped my suitcases immediately, fumbling for my wand in my handbag. I drew it and was just about to utter a freezing hex when I recognised the figure approaching me.

  “Val!” I exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing?”

  Val, teetering dangerously from side to side, was balancing three suitcases of various sizes in each hand, several bags on her back, as well as what looked like a large, purple hat box on her head.

  She stopped in order to answer me, but that was a grave mistake. She immediately tripped, losing her balance which she had only been able to sustain during her forward movement. With one desperate but futile dash forward, she sent bags and boxes flying in all directions.

  “The box!” she yelled, pointing at it with her now free left hand. “Do something! Quickly…”

  Fortunately, I already had my wand at the ready.

  “Levitate!”

  The mysterious purple box came to a halt in mid-air as though attached to invisible strings. Val inched forward slowly, as though scared she might cause it to fall again if she moved too quickly. With a final step, she clasped the box tightly in both hands. Then, she slid slowly to the ground, still holding onto it.

  “Val,” I spluttered, “is this your idea of light packing?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Amy,” she said, laughing. “This isn’t my stuff – it’s Barry’s.”

  “Barry’s… He’s a cat, for crying out loud, what does he need with all of… this?” I said.

  But before Val could answer, a dark, feline figure had appeared from the depths of the corridor.

  “These,” Barry said, a majestic air about him, “are the items I require to teach.”

  “You needn’t have brought your entire library,” I said.

  “It is only a small, though undoubtedly vital, part of it, I assure you,” Barry said smartly.

  “Easy for you to say, you didn’t have to carry it,” said Val.

  “Why didn’t you just ask me, Val? I could have whisked it downstairs by magic in a matter of minutes.”

  “Sorry, Amy,” she said. “I couldn’t find you. I reckoned you were with Mrs. Faversham or something. Thought this’d be faster.”

  “Alright,” I said. “We’d better get started. When… erm… is the portal due, Barry?”

  “Portals aren’t due, Amanda, they’re…”

  “Please, Barry, just tell me when we’re leaving,” I said, trying to avoid an unnecessary lecture.

  “The next cycle,” he said huffily, “is in fifteen minutes.”

  “Good, let’s catch that cycle, shall we?” I said.

  And, with one last sharp look at Barry designed to quell the correction that was about to be uttered by him, the three of us made our way downstairs. Val was carrying the purple hat box, which Barry insisted on being transported the heb way, while I magicked the rest downstairs.

  The living room looked a lot smaller with all of our bags inside. On Barry’s instructions, I performed a levitating charm on his portrait – pretending to lose control in the middle of the process, which had Val laughing heartily and Barry cursing at me.

  “Let it go, Amy,” said Val, wiping a tear from her cheek. “He’ll have a heart attack if you don’t.”

  “Not so fast, Amanda,” Barry said angrily. “Really, if you think this is funny, I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s just a little harmless teasing, Barry,” said Val.

  “Don’t worry, it’s safe with me,” I said. “Now, it’s off. What do we do next?”

  Evidently, Barry contemplated whether he should answer immediately or not. Finally, however, he must have come to the conclusion that the most dignified approach was to ignore the entire affai
r.

  “We must reveal the portal,” said Barry, pointing with his paw to the bare wall where the painting had been a moment earlier.

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Draw your wand along a line away from the fireplace, at the bottom. Here, you see. Draw it in a straight line, the portal is a lot larger than the portrait, mind. Now, when you’re ready, repeat these words after me: Porta aperire.”

  “Porta aperire,” I muttered, repeating it all the while I was edging my wand along the borders of the invisible portal.

  Immediately, a line of bright green began to emerge, thin yet pronounced. To fully redraw the other three lines of the portal, I had to climb onto a nearby chair, as physical contact between the wand and the wall were mandatory.

  At last, I had joined up the last line, and stepped down from the chair. The green light seemed to be pulsating now, like some geometric heart. The pulses were accompanied by a rushing sound that faded in and out.

  “And now?” asked Val.

  “We knock,” said Barry.

  I considered this to be part of the house metaphor Barry had earlier been using.

  “And how do we knock in the magic world?” I asked.

  “For once,” Barry said, smirking, “it is the same in our world, too. Just knock three times, but make sure it’s in the middle of the square, otherwise they won’t hear it clearly.”

  I stepped forward, feeling rather foolish, and tapped the bare wall with my knuckles. Once, twice, three times. The green lines continued to vibrate around the spot, but nothing happened.

  “I don’t think it’s working, Barry,” said Val.

  “Wait,” he said. “They will answer.”

  And sure enough, after a minute – or perhaps it was longer – the lines stopped pulsating but instead shone a bright white that blinded all of us for a moment. In the middle of the portal, a sign appeared. Though I was sure it was impossible, it seemed familiar somehow. It was a deep blue in colour, depicting a hedgehog.