Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘No, sensible.’ Beth smiled. ‘He was really a very nice boy, and he was having a horrible time. His father didn’t understand, he said, and in the end he deliberately got in with a gang. If they were going to treat him like that, he said, he might as well behave like it.’

  ‘Is that why they moved?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I think so, partly. Ossie said his father would only enrol him in the same sort of school, wherever they went, and he felt, obviously mistakenly, that he’d found his niche here.’

  ‘With the gang?’ said Libby.

  Beth nodded. ‘That’s one of the problems – they get a hold on these young people. Although I talked to Ossie, I knew I wouldn’t do any good.’ She shrugged. ‘And then they moved.’

  ‘What do the police think happened?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I thought you might know.’

  Libby and Ben looked at each other. ‘Not a thing,’ said Libby. ‘I’m afraid I – we – have been concentrating on the hotel itself. Who owned it, and that sort of thing.’

  ‘Who did?’ Beth looked interested.

  Ben explained.

  ‘And who found the body? It wasn’t you, was it?’ Beth looked at Libby.

  ‘No.’ Libby explained about Fiona Darling and Ted Sachs.

  ‘The Darlings!’ said Beth. ‘Why – they’re the people who bought the Whitelaws’ house!’

  Libby’s mouth dropped open. Ben said ‘Shit. Sorry, Beth.’

  Beth laughed. ‘I say it frequently myself, Ben! Well – I can see this has come as a bit of a shock.’

  ‘It certainly has,’ said Libby, recovering. ‘Did you tell the police all this?’

  ‘Only about Ossie. Should I tell them?’

  ‘Is it relevant?’ Ben looked at Libby.

  ‘It sort of ties things together, doesn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t see how.’ Ben pulled at his lower lip.

  ‘Fiona Darling found Ossie’s body, and she lives in his old house. That’s quite a connection. Beth?’ Libby turned to her.

  ‘It is quite a connection, I’ll grant you that, but unless the Darlings knew the Whitelaws before...’

  ‘And Fiona didn’t recognise the boy,’ said Ben.

  ‘Well, the body was pretty much unrecognisable,’ said Libby, ‘to be fair. But what I can’t understand is why he was here in Steeple Martin if he and his family had moved away. If he’d disappeared before or just at the same time as the move, he would have been reported to the police here.’

  ‘I expect wherever he was reported they looked here, too. It would have been natural, wouldn’t it?’ said Beth. ‘His family knew he had friends here, even if they disapproved of them.’

  ‘I wonder when it was, though? Nobody’s said much about that. I’ve got a vague idea it was about six months, but that’s going on the word of the pathologist.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Ben reluctantly, ‘we had better let the police know.’ He looked at Beth. ‘Shall I do it?’

  Beth looked relieved. ‘Would you? Oh, thank you, Ben.’

  ‘The ubiquitous text message?’ suggested Libby. ‘Who to?’

  ‘Have you got Rachel Trent’s number?’

  ‘Um – yes.’ Libby picked up her mobile and scrolled through. ‘Here.’

  While Ben sent the message, Libby offered Rachel more wine.

  ‘I haven’t finished this one yet,’ said Rachel with a sigh. ‘And I really ought to be getting home. John’ll be home soon, if he isn’t already.’

  ‘I’ll watch you down the lane,’ said Ben, putting his mobile away, and obviously remembering the occasion some years before when Libby had been attacked on the short walk home from the vicarage.

  ‘I don’t think there’s a mad murderer lurking around at the moment,’ said Rachel.

  ‘You never know,’ said Ben darkly.

  But just as he was opening the door, his mobile started a muffled warbling in his pocket.

  ‘Rachel,’ he mouthed at the two women. ‘Yes, Rachel?’

  He repeated the gist of Rachel’s information, nodded, and said, ‘Hang on, I’ll ask.’

  He turned to Beth. ‘Would you mind telling Rachel in person? She could be here in half an hour, or would the morning be better?’

  Beth looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know – it’s a bit late. But Friday mornings tend to be busy. There’s the coffee morning – oh, I suppose it had better be tonight.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Rachel? Yes, OK, I’ll tell her.’ He put the phone away

  ‘She says that’s really good of you, but it could be important.’

  Beth l smiled half-heartedly and stood up. ‘Right. I’d better go home and warn John.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll buy him a pint if he wants to avoid Rachel.’

  ‘Shall we all walk down together, then?’ suggested Libby. ‘I can be moral support for Beth – if you want me to, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. Honestly, I’m being a wimp, aren’t I? I’m not usually like this.’ Beth stared at the floor for a moment. ‘I think it’s because I feel so bad about poor Ossie. I should have been able to help, and I couldn’t.’

  John Cole, pleasant and understanding as ever, was only too pleased to be dragged off to the pub by Ben, while Libby and Beth went into the large vicarage kitchen.

  ‘I’ll see if I’ve got a bottle of red somewhere,’ said Beth. ‘I need a drop of Dutch courage, now.’

  ‘Don’t worry on my account,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Beth, grinning over her shoulder. ‘It’s on mine!’

  They were just about to start on the wine when there was a ring on the doorbell.

  Rachel Trent came in with a uniformed officer, impossibly young and nervous-looking, behind her.

  ‘Sorry about PC Robinson,’ she said, ‘but I need him to take notes.’

  Beth l indicated the other chairs round the table and they all sat down.

  ‘Now,’ said Rachel. ‘Tell me again.’

  Beth obediently repeated all she knew about Ossie Whitelaw, including the fact that the Darlings had bought the Whitelaws’ house.

  ‘What do you think it means?’ asked Libby, when she’d finished.

  Rachel leant back in her chair and sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. Have you got any ideas?’

  PC Robinson looked startled. Rachel smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Mrs Sarjeant has helped us before.’

  PC Robinson looked even more startled.

  ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘It could just be a coincidence, but we thought you should know.’

  ‘Oh, quite right. We’ll have to look into it.’ Rachel frowned. ‘Do you think perhaps the Darlings knew the Whitelaws?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Libby looked doubtful. ‘But I still don’t get it.’

  Rachel looked at Beth. ‘What about you, Reverend?’

  ‘Oh, don’t call me that!’ Beth laughed. ‘I’m just Beth. And no, I don’t get it, either.’

  They all sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘Should have offered you tea or coffee,’ said Beth, standing up.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Rachel, also getting to her feet. ‘We’ll be getting back. I’d better report to DI Maiden.’

  ‘And I bet he won’t know what to do about it, either,’ Libby said to Beth, when they’d left.

  ‘What about your friend Ian? Isn’t he in charge?’ asked Beth, finally pouring out the wine.

  ‘Well, he’s the senior officer in charge, but Rob Maiden is on the ground, so to speak. What’s the betting Ian comes round any minute now?’

  But it wasn’t until Friday morning that Ian appeared at number seventeen Allhallow’s Lane.

  ‘Ian! What can I do for you?’ asked a surprised Libby, as she opened the door.

  ‘Coffee?’ was all Ian said, as he came in.

  Libby went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘Well?’ she said, turning round to face Ian, who lounged in the doorway.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you what you had to do
with Mrs Cole’s remarkable statement to DS Trent yesterday.’

  ‘ Me? It was nothing to do with me! Why?’

  ‘DS Trent said you were with Mrs Cole when she interviewed her. And it was Ben who told her on the phone.’

  ‘Well, yes. Rachel came to ask me if the police had followed up her information about Ossie Whitelaw, and it came out that the Darlings had bought the Whitelaws’ house. We thought you ought to know.’

  Ian sighed. ‘So just happenstance?’

  ‘Of course.’ Libby poured water in to mugs. ‘It honestly wasn’t anything to do with me.’

  ‘As it happens,’ said Ian, taking his mug and going back in to the sitting room, ‘it was useful. Exactly how, we don’t know. But every – or any – link has to be followed up. Maiden’s out there talking to the Darlings this morning.’

  ‘The husband will be at work, surely?’

  ‘Probably. But Mrs Darling should be there. We’ve been keeping an eye.’

  ‘On Fiona? But why?’

  ‘She found the body. You know perfectly well – or you should – that the person who finds the body is always of interest. The same as family.’

  ‘But the family aren’t here any more.’

  ‘We know that.’ Ian leant back in the armchair. ‘We had already found out about young Ossie Whitelaw. His father accepted a transfer to Northumberland, but Ossie ran away. It was reported to the police, and to us, as his parents, quite rightly, assumed he might have returned here, where he had friends.’

  ‘We thought that might be the case,’ said Libby. ‘Not very nice friends, either, Beth told us.’

  ‘No. And they were questioned. Most of them were known to us.’

  ‘Oh, you have been busy,’ said Libby.

  Ian gave her a knowing smile. ‘You don’t always know everything we do, Libby.’

  ‘No,’ said Libby humbly. ‘I realise that.’ She paused. ‘Is it done to ask where exactly you are in the investigation?’

  ‘No, it’s not, but you’ll ask anyway.’ Ian chuckled. ‘And off the record, I’ll tell you. Not all of it, of course.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Libby tried not to sound too eager.

  ‘Well, you now know about Ossie’s connection to the village and his background. It appears that he and some of his so-called friends had taken to using the old Garden as a sort of headquarters.’

  ‘Here? But weren’t they based in Canterbury? We haven’t got anyone like that around here.’

  ‘Several of the slightly older members of the gang had cars, and I believe there was a good deal of taking and driving away. I think the reason they came out here was precisely because it wasn’t in Canterbury. According to a couple of them, after Ossie reappeared, hiding out at the Garden, they didn’t want to come here because they thought he might be traced here.’

  ‘And they’d be discovered.’ Libby nodded. ‘But what were they doing here?’

  ‘Drugs, I would think,’ said Ian. ‘And some of the other disreputable goings on that you don’t need to know about.’

  ‘I’ve read a bit about that culture – if you can call it that,’ said Libby, ‘and seen it on television, but you don’t always know how true it is.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Ian. ‘But rest assured, as far as we can tell, unless we’ve missed something vital, none of his friends had anything to do with his death.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘So,’ said Libby, after a pause to digest this, ‘what about his parents? His father? Did he follow him down here?’

  ‘There’s no evidence of that,’ said Ian. ‘He did come down, as you would expect, and went to the school Ossie had been attending.’

  ‘Foxgrove,’ said Libby. ‘But not attending much, by all accounts.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Ian, ‘but Mr Whitelaw didn’t know anything about Ossie’s “friends”. He did go to Steeple Well, but didn’t say anything about speaking to the Darlings. Inspector Maiden will be asking Mrs Darling about that.’

  ‘It’s amazing how much people don’t know about their offspring,’ said Libby, thinking of her own three. ‘Does Ted Sachs feature anywhere?’

  ‘Only in as far as Colin asked him to survey the building and he gave Mrs Darling the keys.’

  ‘I still don’t understand that.’ Libby shook her head. ‘If she wanted to look at it, why didn’t he take her himself? They appear to be – um – close.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ian. ‘We need to have a chat with Mr Sachs.’

  ‘Haven’t you seen him yet? I thought you would have spoken to him last week at Edward’s party.’

  ‘It wasn’t the right time,’ said Ian, ‘and I wasn’t on duty. They left before we came down from my flat. He hasn’t been around since.’

  ‘Isn’t that suspicious?’

  ‘Hardly. He wasn’t connected with the Garden or Colin Hardcastle when we think the body was hidden, and he comes from Felling.’

  ‘Mmm. And it was only John Newman recommending him to Colin that sent him over here.’

  ‘Well, it appears that he was already working for the Darlings. .’ Ian put down his mug. ‘Anyway, nothing for you to investigate, is there? You can hardly go nosing around the street gangs in Canterbury. And if you’re seen over there, I’ll have you arrested.’

  ‘As if I would!’ said Libby. ‘Can I tell Fran about this?’

  ‘You will whatever I say,’ said Ian with a grin.

  ‘Colin’s invited us to dinner at Harry’s tonight, by the way. Ben and me, and the Newmans.’

  ‘Well, don’t start telling them what I’ve told you,’ warned Ian, standing up. ‘And now I’m off to sort out the flat.’

  ‘Oh! Have you moved in at last? You said you had the removal men booked.’

  ‘Yes. So don’t get into trouble. I’ll be virtually round the corner.’

  As soon as Ian had left, Libby called Fran.

  ‘Well,’ said Fran when Libby had finished her saga. ‘You have been busy.’

  ‘That’s what I said to Ian. He said he didn’t have to tell me everything.’

  ‘And what the rest of us have tried to tell you for years,’ said Fran. ‘So which bit are you going to investigate, apart from the street gangs?’

  ‘Well,’ said Libby slowly, ‘I thought I might go and have a chat with Fiona.’

  ‘On what pretext? She hasn’t exactly shown any inclination to seek you out.’

  ‘No.’ Libby reflected for a moment. ‘I thought she would have been in touch after she’d found the body, actually. After all, I was nearly with her.’

  ‘She didn’t seem keen to talk to you last Saturday,’ said Fran.

  ‘No... but she was with Ted Sachs, wasn’t she. I think that was a mistake actually.’

  ‘She can’t have known you would be there, or that there would be a detective there, too.’

  ‘True. So shall I go?’

  ‘On the off-chance? If you warn her she’ll make an excuse. Not that I think you should.’

  ‘I know. But I think I will, all the same.’

  Before she could lose her nerve, Libby grabbed the car keys and her basket and left the house. On the way to Steeple Well, past the Cattlegreen Nursery, she wondered what, exactly, she was going to say if, indeed, Fiona was in. It was all very well thinking there was more to Fiona’s visit to the Garden Hotel, but putting it into words without giving offence was another matter.

  Steeple Well was a collection of disparate houses of different periods. An old well, long since dried up and now filled in, had presumably been the reason the first houses had been built there, but now they simply hung around with no particular purpose. There was no village shop, church, or pub, and not even a proper street layout. The Darlings’ house, a converted barn which had once belonged to Taylor’s Farm, a mile or so away, had just arrived, so to speak, sometime in the eighteenth century. It now stood apart, its front door, double height, facing away from the other houses. Taking a deep breath, Libby stepped out of the car.

  T
he door was opened almost immediately. ‘Oh!’

  Fiona Darling took a step back. ‘L-Libby! I didn’t expect you.’

  ‘I was just passing,’ lied Libby. ‘Well, sort of. I was on my way to Cattlegreen and realised I was quite near you, so I thought I’d come and see how you were doing.’

  ‘Oh, that was – kind of you.’ Fiona hovered in the doorway, obviously unsure how to deal with her unexpected visitor.

  ‘Well, it’s only a week since...’ Libby trailed off. ‘Have you recovered? Have the police been back?’

  Fiona frowned and stood back to allow Libby to come in. ‘Actually, yes. I had that inspector here this morning. Honestly, the things they ask!’ She shut the door. ‘Come into the kitchen. I was just going to make coffee.’

  Libby breathed a silent sigh of relief. Proper coffee, she noted, as she followed Fiona into the huge kitchen, fitted, predictably, with every gadget and labour-saving device known to man.

  ‘What a lovely kitchen!’ she said. ‘Was it like this when you moved in?’ She hoped this sounded suitably ingenuous.

  ‘Oh – er – no, not exactly.’ Fiona turned her back to perform esoteric rites with the coffee machine.

  ‘Oh – part of the renovations Ted Sachs did?’

  Fiona gave a rather forced laugh. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Not exactly renovations, though. Just a bit of remodelling.’

  ‘I suppose everyone wants to put their own stamp on a place when they move in, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fiona turned from the coffee machine. ‘Do sit down.’ She waved vaguely at the table. ‘Americano suit you?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ said Libby, who had no idea. ‘So it wasn’t to your taste, this house?’

  ‘No.’ Fiona’s eyes moved sideways to Libby. She turned back to the machine, did something to it and then presented Libby with a cup of coffee. She sighed and sat down. ‘I suppose the police have told you we bought this place from that boy’s parents?’

  ‘The police didn’t, no,’ said Libby, mentally crossing her fingers.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Ossie went to the youth club, apparently.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Fiona stared into her own coffee cup. ‘Not that I knew him.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Libby. ‘They’d gone before you moved in, hadn’t they?’