Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Workman,’ she thought, and wondered who was having what done. There was no name on the van. She glanced at the wood which pressed up to the backs of the cottages and on along the edge of the Manor estate boundary, but could see no sign of anyone in there, either.

  Stepping carefully, she rounded the front of the van and jogged towards number seventeen. As she did so, Mrs Mardle’s door flew open.

  ‘Oh, Libby!’ she called. ‘Quick! There’s someone trying to get over your back fence!’

  Visions of the fire that had once threatened to destroy her cottage immediately came to mind.

  ‘Did you call the police?’ she gasped, struggling with her key.

  ‘No – shall I do that?’ Jinny Mardle looked frightened.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Libby shot through her door and right through to the conservatory, impeded along the way by a furiously growling Sidney, whose tail was standing out like a brush.

  There was nothing to be seen, but opening the back door, she could hear something or someone crashing through the woodland. Turning back, she flew out to the front again and ran towards the white van, which was already in motion. She had to leap out of the way, conscious of Mrs Mardle screaming in the background. She just had the wit to try and note the registration number before the van disappeared in the direction of the Canterbury Road, almost crashing into another vehicle as it did so.

  By this time, other residents had also made an appearance, and when a police car complete with flashing blue lights screeched round the corner, the speed of its arrival meaning the 999 call had obviously been diverted to the incident room, Mrs Mardle and Libby were surrounded by a small but concerned crowd.

  Rachel Trent and two uniformed PCs got out and quietly dispersed the onlookers.

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Rachel asked Mrs Mardle, who looked s if she was about to collapse.

  ‘I think she ought to sit down,’ said Libby, who felt that perhaps she should, too.

  Mrs Mardle was ushered back inside her own cottage by one of the PCs, and Rachel turned to Libby.

  ‘Do you want to sit down, too?’

  ‘Yes, but should I come into Mrs Mardle’s cottage? I ought to thank her.’

  ‘Yes, just for a moment, then.’

  ‘I’ll just check on the cat,’ said Libby.

  Sidney was, by this time, unconcernedly having a wash in front of the empty fireplace. Libby left him to it and went back to Rachel.

  Inside number 16, one of the PCs was in the kitchen, obviously making tea, while the other stood solicitously at Mrs Mardle’s elbow. She held out a tremulous hand to Libby.

  ‘Oh, dear, Libby! Is this all to do with this dreadful murder?’

  Libby took her hand and knelt on the floor beside her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘DS Trent?’

  Rachel sat opposite Mrs Mardle and asked her what she’d seen.

  ‘I was just getting my bit of lunch, dear,’ she said. ‘And I looked out of my window. I can’t see much of Libby’s garden, but I can see the back fence. And there was this – this man. He had one leg over the fence and he seemed to slip.’

  ‘The back gate is locked these days,’ said Libby. ‘After we had a fire.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Not relevant now,’ said Libby. ‘Go on, Nanny.’

  ‘Anyway, dear, your Sidney suddenly jumped off the fence and raced for the house, and this person seemed – well – surprised. Then he saw me looking. And then I came through to the front – I don’t know why I did that, but there you were, and – well, you know the rest.’

  ‘ Tea, Sarge?’ asked the PC from the kitchen.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Rachel. ‘Mrs Sarjeant and I will go next door. Look after Mrs Mardle, please.’ She turned to the now recovering Mrs Mardle. ‘Can we call anyone for you?’

  ‘Shall I call Hetty?’ Libby asked. ‘Or Flo?’

  ‘Would Hetty mind, dear?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Libby pulled out her phone and wondered what Ben was going to say to all this.

  Assured that Hetty would come straight away, Rachel and Libby retired to number seventeen.

  ‘You do get yourself into some messes, don’t you?’ said Rachel. ‘So tell me what happened?’

  ‘First of all, I want a cup of tea, even if you don’t,’ said Libby. ‘Talk to me in the kitchen.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Rachel, seating herself at the kitchen table. ‘What happened?’

  Libby recounted the events since she had left Ben at the hop garden.

  ‘And he drove straight at you?’ said Rachel.

  ‘Well, it seemed like that, but he was all over the place.’

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ began Rachel doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Libby closed her eyes and thought. Then dictated the number plate. Rachel put in a call to request information.

  ‘If we’d had that in the first place, we might have caught him,’ she said.

  ‘What did you expect me to do?’ asked Libby indignantly. ‘Call you with a number plate just because there was a van parked across Allhallow’s Lane?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ soothed Rachel. ‘Now, did anyone know you would be out this morning?’

  ‘No. I’d forgotten myself. The only people were Ben, Hetty, and the people we were meeting at the theatre.’

  ‘And they are?’

  Libby told her.

  ‘Oh,’ said Rachel. ‘No connection, then.’

  ‘None at all,’ said Libby. ‘A different side of my life entirely.’

  The front door crashed open and Ben erupted into the room.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s it. You’re not going anywhere near this business from now on. Do you hear me?

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Rachel gaped. Libby, who had expected this reaction, sighed.

  ‘Look, darling – it doesn’t have to have any connection to – er – this business. Does it, Rachel? More probably just a sneak thief.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous! You were specifically threatened in that letter!’ Ben positively vibrated with anger.

  ‘Insulted more than threatened,’ said Libby, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘And it was a little man in a little van. Not a criminal mastermind.’

  ‘She could be right, Mr Wilde,’ said Rachel, recovering her official manner. ‘It certainly doesn’t smack of any kind of professional criminal.’

  ‘I can’t believe it was a coincidence,’ said Ben, calming down a little. ‘Not with everything that’s been happening.’

  ‘Did you bring Hetty down?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Of course! She assumed I knew. Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I didn’t have time!’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t even call the police. That was Mrs Mardle.’

  ‘The 999 call was put straight through to us as one of the patrols recognised the location,’ said Rachel. ‘That was why we were here so quickly. Not in time to get on to the van, sadly, But we’ve put out a call. Libby was clever enough to note the reg number.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Ben, with a faint smile. He came and sat down beside Rachel at the table. ‘Sorry. But to think what could have happened...’

  ‘I’m a bit puzzled, actually,’ said Libby. ‘Did he know I was out, and if so what was he intending to do? And if he thought I was in – again, what? Murder in broad daylight?’

  ‘Opportunist, don’t you think?’ said Rachel. ‘Who was he? Doesn’t sound like anyone we’ve come across during the course of this investigation.’

  ‘Doesn’t Ted Sachs have a van?’ said Libby. ‘He’s a builder.’

  ‘A large silver Transit,’ said Rachel. ‘So not him in this case.’

  ‘Someone who thinks that the new investigation is shining a light on them and isn’t too pleased about it?’ said Libby.

  ‘So why target you?’ said Ben.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Could someone have seen you leave the house this morning?’
asked Rachel.

  ‘Only the neighbours,’ said Libby. ‘I went up the back way and across the estate, so no one in the village saw me. And I came back the same way.’

  ‘So did I, earlier,’ said Ben. ‘So for all anyone knew, we could both have been there. And it was a stupidly risky thing to do anyhow. We all overlook each others’ back gardens, and many of the residents are retired and would be at home.’

  Rachel finished her tea and stood up. ‘Well, I think that’s all. Nothing else you’ve got to tell me?’

  ‘Oh...’ Libby looked at Ben. ‘There is something Fran remembered.’

  ‘What?’ Rachel sat down again.

  ‘I don’t suppose it means anything, but you know Ossie Whitelaw’s father was connected to Sir Nigel back in the day? He was at that party. And Fiona Darling’s husband, David was, too. At least, we think it was him.’

  ‘We don’t know that, Lib,’ said Ben.

  ‘Worth looking into, though,’ said Rachel, and stood up again.

  ‘Can we go next door and see how Mrs Mardle is?’ Libby asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Rachel smiled. ‘She’s a heroine, isn’t she?’

  Mrs Mardle was certainly looking more cheerful when Hetty let them in to number 16.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ she asked Libby.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Libby, bending down to kiss her cheek. ‘And DS Trent says you’re a heroine.’

  Mrs Mardle went pink. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, dear. Just trying to be a good neighbour.’

  ‘Tea?’ asked Hetty.

  ‘No, thanks, just had some,’ said Libby. ‘I must have some lunch, though. Just wanted to make sure Nanny Mardle was OK.’

  Outside again, Ben suggested a quick sandwich at the pub. ‘Harry would want to know all about it, and we want a bit of a rest, don’t we?’ he said, tucking Libby’s arm into his. ‘Come on, my intrepid warrior.’

  ‘I was thinking,’ said Libby, as they made their way to the pub.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Ben.

  ‘No, listen. How about growing something nice and prickly along the back fence? As a deterrent.’

  ‘Shutting the stable door? I suppose it might help, but spikes would be better. And quicker.’

  ‘But Sidney comes over the fence. He’d know how to avoid holly, but not spikes or broken glass.’

  ‘All right – it’s your fence.’ Ben held open the pub door.

  ‘I’ll go and see Cassandra and Mike this afternoon,’ said Libby, and went inside.

  Libby’s cousin Cassandra lived with Mike Farthing, of Mike Farthing Plants, at a house attached to his nursery just outside Shott, and after lunch, when Ben went back to the brewery, Libby set out.

  The weather wasn’t quite as summery as it had been, which Libby tried hard not to see as a bad omen. The drive to Shott was pleasant, however, and it occurred to her as she drove past The Poacher, the pub on the green, that perhaps she could call on Edward on the way home.

  When she arrived at the nursery, she found Cassandra in the nursery poring over a catalogue.

  ‘Libby! This is a surprise. What can we do for you? Or,’ said Cassandra, suddenly suspicious, ‘is this something to do with your murder?’

  ‘No, and what do you know about “my murder”? It isn’t mine, anyway.’

  ‘You have been mentioned in the press, though,’ said Cassandra, and waved one of the remaining free newspapers under her nose. ‘And Ben.’

  Libby sighed. ‘On the periphery,’ she said. ‘And what I wanted was to know if there was something quick growing we could use as a deterrent on the back fence.’

  ‘A deterrent for what? Cats?’

  ‘People.’

  Cassandra opened her mouth and stopped.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Libby, sighing again.

  ‘Someone tried this morning.’

  ‘And this has nothing to do with the murder?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  Cassandra slid from her stool. ‘Come into the greenhouse and we’ll ask Mike. After all, you don’t want to have to tell your story twice, do you?’

  They found Mike, tall and rangy, grey hair flopping untidily over his brow, doing something clever over a bench in the first long tunnel. Somewhere further down, two of his assistants could be seen moving slowly between the ranks of plants.

  ‘Now,’ said Cassandra. ‘Tell us all about it, and who tried to get into your garden.’

  Libby gave them a much abbreviated version of the Murders at the Garden Hotel and surrounding events, finishing up with this morning’s unwanted visitor.

  ‘How do you do it, Libby?’ asked Cassandra, shaking her head. ‘You got bashed on the head that time we had all the bother with the ukulele band. And then there was that time -’

  ‘All right, Cass,’ said Mike, laughing. ‘We know. So what is it you want, Libby? Only unless you buy fully mature shrubs, which will be expensive, nothing’s going to be immediate.’

  ‘What are we talking? Fifty? Sixty?’ Libby looked nervous.

  ‘Hundreds,’ said Mike gently. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was deflated. ‘Perhaps Ben was right. He said spikes.’

  You could,’ said Mike thoughtfully, ‘plant a thickish hedge up against the fence. Then they’d fall into it.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby brightened. ‘Would that be cheaper?’

  ‘Cheaper, yes, but not that cheap,’ said Mike. ‘Now, let me think.’ He thrust his hands in the large front pocket of his overall and pondered.

  ‘So you said there were people at this party who were still around now,’ said Cassandra. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Oh, no one you’d know,’ said Libby. ‘A chap called Darling and another called Whitelaw. Oh and a builder called Sachs.’

  ‘Sachs?’ said Mike, coming out of his reverie. ‘Didn’t he leave us a leaflet, Cass?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cassandra looked surprised. ‘He did. I expect I’ve still got it – in case we ever needed it.’

  ‘I remember because it was an unusual name,’ said Mike. ‘I think Ron used him for something...’

  ‘Ron Stewart?’ asked Libby. Ron ‘Screwball’ Stewart had been the leader of the seventies rock band Jonah Fludde and lived a little way away in Bishop’s Bottom.

  ‘Yes. Shall I ask him?’

  ‘Would he mind?’ Libby looked doubtful.

  ‘Of course not. You know he’s always keen to help. I’ll give him a ring.’ Mike pulled out his mobile, and a hank of garden twine, from his pocket and wandered away.

  ‘So have things been going for you, Cass?’ asked Libby brightly.

  Cassandra gave her an old fashioned look. ‘Changing the subject, coz?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Actually, then, very well. The business is expanding, due mostly to people becoming aware of the need for re-wilding...’

  ‘What, in gardens?’

  ‘Of course! And attracting pollinators, and encouraging hedgehogs.’

  ‘Oh, yes. There’s quite a lot about it on TV, isn’t there?’

  ‘And so there should be!’ said Cassandra. ‘What did he say, Mike?’

  Mike came back to them grinning. ‘I knew it! Said would Libby like to pop round for tea.’

  ‘What, today?’

  ‘Yes, when you leave here. Which means he thinks he’s got something to tell you.’

  ‘Right.’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘Although I don’t know that I can take any more stuff about this bloody case! Still, it would be nice to see Ron again. Now, what about these plants?’

  Mike said he would rather do a little research before recommending anything, so why didn’t she pop off to Ron’s place and he would email her the results.

  Libby drove away from the nursery wondering exactly what she was about to hear. Perhaps just gossip. Perhaps Ted Sachs had done a terrible job for Ron? But Ron had, as Mike said, been very helpful in the past, not only with information, but proper material help.

  Five minutes brought her to Ron Ste
wart’s house, neo-Georgian, now almost disappearing into lavish planting - Mike and Cassandra’s re-wilding schemes, Libby guessed. The big iron gates already stood open, so either Ron had opened them especially for her, or he was no longer as much of a recluse as he had once been. As she drew to a halt in front of the house, the man himself appeared at the top of the short flight of stone steps, the very picture of the ageing rock star.

  ‘Libby.’ He held out a hand as she climbed the steps. ‘Maria’s looking forward to seeing you. Kitchen this time – we won’t bother with the studio.’ He gave her a grin and ushered her towards the back of the panelled hall. Upstairs, in the attic space, reached by a lift, was the purpose-built recording studio, although Libby wasn’t quite sure what he recorded these days.

  The kitchen was a modern take on a traditional farmhouse kitchen, more to Libby’s taste than had been Fiona Darling’s sleek space. Maria Stewart, much the same age as Libby, and quite definitely not an ageing rock star, came forward smiling.

  ‘Libby! Lovely to see you again. You and Ben really ought to come over for dinner sometime.’

  ‘Lovely to see you, too,’ said Libby, receiving a kiss on the cheek. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, fine, fine. Now, tea? And I’ve got some cake I made yesterday, too.’

  Settled at the big island unit a few minutes later, Ron stretched out long legs, clad, as always in ripped jeans, and put his head on one side.

  ‘Sachs,’ he said. ‘I’ve come across him.’

  ‘So Mike said. Did he mention...?’

  ‘How his name came up? Of course.’ Mike grinned. ‘You’ve got involved in a murder again.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Well...’

  ‘And now she’ll say she hasn’t,’ said Maria. ‘Not on purpose, anyway.’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ said Libby gratefully. ‘Anyway, have you heard about -’

  ‘The skeletons in the closet? Course we have,’ said Ron. ‘Can’t avoid it if you watch local telly news. And we pick up the free paper – or Maria does. You were mentioned.’

  ‘So Cass tells me,’ said Libby. ‘What do you know about the case?’

  ‘Mostly, just what was in the paper and on the news, but we do know the second body was that young singer.’ Maria looked at her husband. ‘Go on – tell her.’