Murder in the Blood

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I’d like to,’ said Fran, ‘but we may be unwelcome.’

  ‘Why?’ Libby was indignant. ‘We didn’t do anything! We just found the body. With a local.’

  ‘And asked questions, and encouraged Martha to inform the consulate,’ said Fran. ‘And don’t forget the Istanbul Palace. They all saw Smith come to see us, and they will know by now who he was. He’s bound to have questioned them all.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Libby resumed her contemplation of the leaves. ‘I wish we could find out what’s going on. I wonder why Martha didn’t say when she replied to your email.’

  ‘I don’t expect she’s got time to write reams in emails,’ said Fran. ‘The restaurant seemed to be getting very busy by the time we left.’

  ‘We’ve got email addresses for most of the others, haven’t we?’

  ‘Greta and Tom and Betty, yes. And Harry got Justin’s, I think.’

  ‘I wonder what Peter thought about that?’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t suppose he minded. More a solidarity sort of thing, I think.’

  ‘And didn’t Neal say Justin was going to email him if anything happened?’ said Libby. ‘So we’re all in touch in a roundabout way. Shall we ask them all what’s been going on? See if anyone’s heard anything?’

  ‘We could.’ Fran tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. ‘I could email Martha again.’

  ‘And Hal could email Justin. And I’ll do Greta and Tom and Betty, although I don’t suppose they’ll know anything.’

  ‘And we might as well ask Jimmy, too,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll ask Guy to do that, as he knew Jimmy from way back.’

  ‘Astonishing that they all remembered him, wasn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘I think it’s such a small place they’re able to remember visitors. If it was a great big resort they wouldn’t.’ Fran sat up straight. ‘Of course, there’s social media as well! Jimmy’s had a page, didn’t it? If we went on to that we might be able to get in touch with other people.’

  They went inside and Libby located the Facebook pages for Jimmy’s hotel, Martha’s, and even The Red Bar.

  ‘Look! Greta and Tom are members,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s put a post on there. Jimmy will probably see it, too.’

  ‘It’s a bit public,’ said Fran. ‘We don’t necessarily want the world to know what’s going on. I mean, we’re not even supposed to know Wilson was in the witness protection scheme.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby’s face fell. ‘Well, just put a post up saying “how is everyone” sort of thing?’

  ‘That’s suitably vague,’ said Fran. ‘Go on then. Someone might get back to us. It doesn’t look as though Martha and Ismet use their page very often, so I’ll email her when I get home. And then we’ll wait and see who gets back to us first.’

  ‘If anyone,’ said Libby, beginning to type.

  But the first person to get in touch with either of them was neither holidaymaker nor local resident. It was Commander Johnny Smith.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Ah! Both of you together. That’s lucky.’

  Libby and Fran gaped at the man getting out of a large black Mercedes parked behind Fran’s Smart car. He beamed at them as he trotted across the lane.

  ‘Quite informal, I assure you,’ he said, arriving slightly out of breath at the door. ‘Just thought I’d have a quick word.’

  ‘And you came all the way from Turkey to Steeple Martin to have it?’ said Libby, finding her voice.

  ‘Not quite. I’ve been in London since the day before yesterday.’

  ‘DCI Connell told us you had a team out in Turkey,’ said Fran, narrowing her eyes at him.

  ‘I have,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?’

  Libby looked at Fran, who shrugged. She stood aside slightly unwillingly.

  ‘Thank you.’ He followed Libby into the sitting room with Fran bringing up the rear. Sidney ran between his legs and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Libby and Fran sat side by side on the sofa and Libby gestured Smith into the chair opposite.

  ‘So what’s all this about?’ she asked.

  ‘First, can I ask why you were talking to DCI Connell?’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ snapped Fran. ‘He’s a friend of ours.’

  ‘Ah.’ Smith nodded. ‘And he wanted know what sort of trouble you’d got yourselves in to have questions asked by the Met?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Libby agreed reluctantly.

  ‘So he told you – what?’

  Fran and Libby registered surprise.

  ‘Nothing. He said there wasn’t anything he could tell us,’ said Fran.

  ‘Hmm. When did you see him?’

  ‘He left about half an hour before you arrived,’ said Libby, ‘but really, we do not have to answer your questions. This looks a little like harassment, to me.’

  Smith sighed and shifted in his chair. ‘I’m sorry. But we’re getting nowhere fast out in that God-forsaken place and I needed to ask you some more questions.’

  Fran sat up very straight. ‘I would thank you to remember that some of those people out there are our friends, and I’m sure they’ve answered all the questions you asked them.’

  ‘I thought you’d only just met them?’

  Libby watched Fran’s face go pink. ‘That doesn’t mean we didn’t make friends with them,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Smith again.

  ‘Actually,’ Libby said, taking a deep breath, ‘DCI Connell was here taking detailed statements from both of us to send you in case you needed to ask anything more. I think he was going to email it to you.’

  ‘Well, that was very considerate of him, wasn’t it? And here I am with all those little questions.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got one first,’ said Fran. ‘We’ve told you absolutely everything we know, we helped you search those premises, which I’m pretty sure was illegal and now you’re pestering us – with no warning – back at home. By what right are you doing this? If this is an official investigation we should be told.’

  Smith looked at her consideringly for a moment.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said eventually, ‘this is an official investigation. And a serious one. But I came here informally, rather than officially with attendant sidekicks, in order not to alarm you too much. It seems I failed.’

  ‘You certainly did,’ said Libby. ‘All you’ve done is put our backs up. Now you’d better carry on and tell us what it’s all about – although I have a shrewd idea.’

  Smith’s face showed a flash of anger. ‘What did Connell tell you?’

  ‘Nothing. We’ve told you, he said he couldn’t.’

  Smith sat staring at his shoes until Libby let out a huge sigh and began to fidget.

  ‘I’m going to have to trust you,’ he said at last. ‘I need to know if you could have known Alec Wilson years ago, before he went out to Turkey.’

  Of course not,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve never known an Alec Wilson, and from what we could see in the passport photo, he didn’t look at all familiar. Did he to you?’ She turned to Libby.

  ‘Same here,’ said Libby. ‘And surely we would have told the Jandarma when they first came to speak to us? The only one who recognised him at our hotel was Neal Parnham, and he’d only met Wilson a few days before.’ She looked briefly at Fran, then back at Smith. ‘Does this mean Wilson wasn’t his real name?’

  Smith was watching her carefully. ‘Possibly,’ he said.

  ‘I knew it,’ said Libby. ‘Was he a criminal? That’s what Neal thought.’

  ‘And Harry thought he was a spy,’ said Fran with a laugh.

  ‘You’re sure none of your party knew him?’

  ‘As sure as I can be,’ said Fran. ‘Libby’s known everyone much longer than I have.’

  ‘I’d know,’ said Libby confidently. ‘I’ve known Ben, Peter, and Harry for twenty years and Guy for at least ten years.’

  Smith sighed. ‘I had to be sure.’

  Libby frowned. ‘But if that’s what you
were wondering, surely you’d have looked into our backgrounds thoroughly with all your resources.’

  He looked up cheerfully. ‘Oh, I have.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Libby and Fran together, slightly shocked.

  ‘As far as we can find out, none of your party nor the other British visitors has so much as a speeding ticket. Young Justin was a different matter, but we can’t see any link to Wilson.’

  ‘What had he done?’ asked Libby. ‘We thought he’d probably been done for fraud.’

  It was Smith’s turn to look shocked. ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘We were told he’d been an accountant, I think,’ said Libby. ‘It was only a guess.’

  ‘You’re obviously far too good at guessing,’ said Smith. He stood up. ‘If I have any more questions, can I call you? I know I’ll get DCI Connell’s statement, but there might be things that arise from that.’

  ‘I don’t want to prejudice my own case,’ said Libby as she saw him to the door, ‘but would either of us have told you if we’d known Wilson in a former life?’

  He turned and grinned at her. ‘No, you wouldn’t. But I don’t think you did.’

  Fran and Libby watched him turn the car and drive down the lane.

  ‘Well, we got away with it,’ said Fran. ‘I was terrified we’d drop Ian in the soup.’

  ‘And we didn’t tell anything but the truth.’ Libby sighed. ‘And it’s all getting even more interesting.’

  ‘Frustrating,’ said Fran. ‘We can’t do a thing.’

  Libby laughed. ‘Come on, it’s me that usually says that!’

  Fran smiled. ‘You’re right there. Anyway, we can do what we decided earlier, can’t we?’

  ‘We could look and see if anyone’s answered our post on Jimmy’s page,’ said Libby, ‘and then you’d better go home or Guy will start fidgeting.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He’ll think we’re getting involved again.’

  ‘We are.’ Fran grinned and gave Libby a gentle shove. ‘Go on, open the laptop.’

  There were no replies on Jimmy’s page, so Libby called Harry and asked him to email Justin.

  ‘Why?’ The sound of chopping filtered down the line.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Prepping for lunch, what do you think? Now, why do you want me to email Justin? Is it something to do with you seeing Ian this morning?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a team still investigating out there and we want to know what’s happening, especially as we’ve just had a surprise visit from Commander Smith.’

  ‘What?’ The sudden clatter suggested Harry had dropped a knife.

  ‘Yes. I’ll tell you all about it when you aren’t busy.’ Libby grinned at Fran.

  ‘Tell me now. Is Fran still there? Come over and I’ll give you soup and stuff.’

  Libby rang Ben to include him in the invitation; as she told Fran, Harry would certainly have asked Peter. When they arrived at The Pink Geranium, sure enough Ben and Peter were already at the big table in the right-hand window. Harry joined them bearing a cafetière and a bottle of red wine, and Libby launched into her story.

  ‘So the upshot,’ said Harry when she’d finished, ‘is that Smith confirmed Alec Wilson was definitely a false name and was either a criminal or a crucial witness in a criminal case, and Smith is worried that someone who knew him before his name change has got at him.’

  ‘It seems like it. Smith’s left his team in Turkey, presumably while he looks into the English end. So we want to know what’s going on over there.’

  Ben frowned at her. ‘But there’s nothing you can do. Don’t get involved.’

  ‘It seems that we’re already involved,’ said Fran. ‘Smith has looked into all our backgrounds.’

  ‘What?’ Peter looked affronted. ‘A police check?’

  ‘Fraid so,’ said Libby. ‘In case there was anything in our pasts that might have linked us to Wilson or this case, whatever it was.’

  ‘But we don’t even know what it was,’ said Peter.

  ‘So if we’d shown any sort of knowledge he would have jumped on it,’ said Libby.

  ‘There’s the other alternative,’ said Ben, thoughtfully stirring coffee. ‘He could have been a “sleeper”.’ He turned to Harry. ‘You were the one who suggested it.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘You said he could be a spy.’

  ‘But who on earth would plant someone somewhere like our village?’ said Libby.

  ‘Unless something was known about it and they needed a watch on it,’ said Peter.

  ‘Smuggling? The coastguard would deal with that, surely?’ said Fran.

  ‘Unless it was people or things from Britain … ’ Harry tailed off. ‘I know! People smuggling. Not in to Turkey, but out!’

  ‘It could be,’ said Fran, ‘but why would he have been planted there ten years ago, or more?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Harry with a gusty sigh. ‘None of it makes any sense. Anyway, I’ll send Justin an email and see if they know anything out there.’

  ‘And I’ll email Martha when I get home,’ said Fran. ‘Where’s this soup, then?’

  Ben walked back to Allhallow’s Lane with Libby after lunch.

  ‘I wonder what the story really is,’ he said, as they passed the vicarage on the corner.

  ‘We’re never going to know,’ said Libby. ‘If it’s that hush-hush, it’ll be swept so far under the carpet even the spiders won’t find it.’

  ‘Then why did Smith make such a business of involving you two while we were out there?’

  ‘Partly what Fran said, camouflage, and partly to find out if we knew anything. If we had, I wonder what would have happened?’

  ‘I expect you would have quietly disappeared,’ said Ben with a grin.

  ‘And how would he have explained that?’ Libby shook her head. ‘I expect that’s what they’re doing out there now, making sure there are no loose ends flapping around.’

  ‘Not looking for the murderer?’

  ‘I got the impression that wasn’t top of the priorities. And poor Sally Weston is simply collateral damage.’

  Back at number seventeen, Ben went into the garden to carry on painting his new shed, and Libby went into the conservatory to do a little desultory painting. She produced small pictures of the local area, particularly Nethergate, for Guy to sell in his gallery and shop. A noted artist, Guy’s original paintings commanded larger sums, but were reproduced on postcards and greetings cards, which he also stocked in the shop. During the summer season, Libby’s pictures sold well, and Guy was always urging her to do more, but even though they were only ‘pretty peeps’, she struggled to manage more than one a month.

  Now, after adding a stroke or two to the current masterpiece, she decided to check and see if anyone had commented on Jimmy’s Facebook page.

  We have a new policeman here, Jimmy had posted, after your Englishman left.

  ‘I thought Smith said he’d left a team out there,’ said Libby, showing it to Ben. ‘Not just one person.’

  ‘Jimmy’s English isn’t that good. He might not mean just one.’

  But when Harry received a reply that evening from Justin, Libby got an explanation.

  ‘He says it’s a Turkish policeman. And the English team seem to be trying to put him off.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t talk now,’ said Harry against a background noise of clattering pots and pans, ‘I’m right in the middle of service. Are you rehearsing tonight?’

  ‘Yes – in about half an hour.’

  ‘Come in when you’ve finished. If I’m not free by then I’ll meet you in the pub.’

  Libby ended the call. ‘Harry’s heard from Justin. He says he’ll tell us about it after rehearsal.’

  Ben sighed. ‘For goodness sake, don’t try and start conducting an investigation from here.’

  ‘Of course not – I couldn
’t, could I?’ Libby collected a folder of music and tried to look innocent.

  The walk to the theatre took them past The Pink Geranium and Libby peered in to try and see Harry, but he was obviously busy in the kitchen. Libby’s son Adam, who helped out occasionally, was serving, wearing his long Victorian apron. He waved.

  The doors to the theatre were already open, and they found Peter up in the Sound and Lighting box.

  ‘Susannah’s here, too,’ he called down.

  ‘Did Harry tell you what Justin said?’ Libby called back.

  Peter appeared at the top of the spiral staircase leading down to the foyer. ‘No. What’s happened?’

  Libby repeated what Harry had told her.

  ‘He must have called him,’ said Peter, sitting down on the top step. ‘Hal put his phone number in the email, but I wouldn’t have expected him to ring back. I suppose we’ll have to wait until later.’

  Libby pushed open the doors to the auditorium and went to say hello to Susannah. Ben had disappeared backstage to check on the workshop.

  Gradually members of The End Of The Pier Show cast drifted in and were given their music. Susannah put them through their paces in some of the chorus numbers, some old favourites, some new to the cast, and Libby worked out who could be in the various comedy set pieces. It was familiar and soothing, and when at just after half past nine she felt some of her cast getting restless, she packed them off home – or to the pub, where most of them would go first.

  Ben went round checking all doors were locked and Peter shut down all the lights, then they walked down the Manor drive towards the high street, turned left and stopped in front of the restaurant. Harry was sitting on the sofa in the left-hand window and waved.

  When they were settled and Adam had supplied them with their drinks of choice, Harry began.

  ‘I’m glad we’d finished service,’ he said, ‘I didn’t want to tell you in the pub with your theatre crowd all there. I emailed Justin this afternoon, and I put my phone number on there. I don’t really know why I did that – I didn’t really expect him to ring.’

  ‘Yes, Peter told us that,’ said Libby.