‘Can you tell me all that again, please?’ he said. ‘I’ve just got Fran’s message about Cherry Ashton – and now this. Can’t you keep out of it?’
‘Hey! Neither of those things were our fault. Carol phoned me out of the blue, and so did Geoff Croker. And that worried me, because he’s in Erzugan, yet he tracked down my home telephone number. When I asked, he said you could find anything on the internet.’
‘There are searchable online directories, Lib.’
‘Yes, but he’d have to know where I lived, wouldn’t he? And how to spell my name.’
‘Hmm. So tell me exactly what he said.’
Libby gave her plate a despairing glance. ‘Ian – I’ve just started my dinner.’
‘Well, carry on eating. You can talk at the same time.’
Libby sighed, and between mouthfuls once again related the whole of the day’s events.
‘I think I’d better pass all this on to Smith,’ said Ian when she’d finished. ‘This is coming uncomfortably close to home.’
‘I just don’t see how Croker got hold of me, and why he should think I had anything to do with the investigation.’ Libby swallowed a mouthful of sausage.
‘He told you that himself,’ said Ian. ‘And there is obviously a reason that he and his cohorts are uncomfortable with being investigated.’
Libby was thinking. ‘You know you said Wilson was in a witness protection scheme? Well, suppose he was a criminal himself and there was a falling out of thieves?’
‘You said there was no love lost between Wilson and Croker.’
‘We’ve been told not, but suppose –’
‘Stop supposing, Libby. Leave it the police.’
‘OK. But what about the boat? Croker seemed interested – or nervous – when I asked about the boat.’
‘I’m sure Smith will be looking into that as well. Now go back to your dinner, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.’
‘He’s going to pass it on,’ Libby told Ben, resuming her meal. ‘He does think it’s significant, like you said.’
‘And what did he say when you suggested Wilson might have been a criminal himself?’
‘Told me to stop supposing.’
‘What were you thinking, then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, but we’ve already decided that most of the ex-pats are escaping from something. Suppose he’s escaping from a criminal past and that’s why he was flagged up on the police system, nothing to do with witness protection?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Ben, pushing his empty plate away. ‘And what about the boat?’
‘I find it odd that the boat hasn’t been mentioned more. And it meant something to Geoff Croker, I’m sure of it.’
‘Not necessarily Wilson’s boat,’ said Ben. ‘It could be some other boat.’
‘Academic, anyway,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering about it.’
Ben laughed. ‘If you didn’t, I’d be worried.’
Ian called back a little later that evening.
‘I passed the information on. Apparently, it was Smith’s people who called on Sally Weston’s mother at her home somewhere up north to tell her and it’s the Met who are dealing with Newcombe’s death, so I’m completely out of the picture. I didn’t speak to Smith myself and I can’t say the sergeant who dealt with me was helpful. So I’m afraid that’s that, Libby.’
‘So it is.’ Libby heaved a sigh. ‘I wish I knew what had really happened, but I suppose we won’t, now.’
‘Don’t go poking around. There’s obviously something sensitive about the case, so keep out of it.’
‘All right, all right. I’ll be good. Are you still coming for a drink on Wednesday?’
Ian laughed. ‘Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Libby sent a round robin email to her fellow visitors to Erzugan and Martha to tell them what had been happening, and tried to tell herself to stop thinking about the case. It didn’t work.
On Tuesday morning, just as Libby was setting out to do some essential shopping in the village the landline rang.
‘Libby? It’s Carol Oxford.’
‘Oh, hello,’ said Libby, surprised.
‘I just thought I’d let you know I was going back to Norfolk today. I’ve told the police you have the key to the house and you’re looking after it.’
Am I? thought Libby. Aloud, she said ‘The local police?’
‘I had the card of the sergeant who came to see me at home. I called him.’
‘Perhaps you ought to tell the local police as well,’ said Libby. ‘The people who came to see you were from the Met, weren’t they?’
‘No, they were from our local police in Norfolk, but I suppose they don’t need to know.’
‘Tell you what, give me the name and number of the policeman you called, and then if the police here have any questions, they can call him.’
‘Right. Wait a minute …’ Libby heard a scrabbling noise. ‘Here we are.’ Carol read out the name and number. ‘Have you heard anything else since yesterday?’
‘No,’ said Libby, ‘except that there’s no reason to talk to any of us visitors again. So I won’t learn anything else, I’m afraid.’
When Carol rang off, Libby tucked the piece of paper inside her purse and set off down Allhallow’s Lane. When exactly she decided to go and search Sally Weston’s house she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but certainly by the time she reached the ‘eight- -til-late’, Ahmed and Ali’s mini supermarket, she’d decided.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any of those thin medical gloves, have you?’ she asked Ali, who had appeared to serve her.
‘Course we have.’ Ali led the way to the right section. ‘Have to buy them a hundred at a time though.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘Avoiding fingerprints?’
As this was exactly what she was doing, Libby gasped. ‘Of course not!’ She grabbed the box, put it in her basket and hurried off towards the tinned food section to hide her red face.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she pulled out her mobile phone and called Fran.
‘I’m going to have a look round Sally’s house,’ she told her. ‘Want to come?’
‘What for?’ asked Fran dubiously.
‘I’ve just got a feeling about it.’
‘That’s my line. Anyway, Sally hadn’t lived there for years and she was killed because of Alec Wilson’s murder, nothing to do with her life here.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘Oh, I think we do. You’re just being nosy.’
‘All right, I am. But we’ve got the key and I’ve got the name of the policeman Carol told about us, so it’s all quite legal.’
Fran sighed. ‘I suppose I will. You’ll only get into trouble if I don’t come with you. When?’
‘This afternoon? I’ll meet you there. I’m not going to park in the pub car park though. There must be a parking space behind the house.’
‘OK. Two o’clock? I want lunch first.’
Deciding not to tell Ben where she was going, Libby went home, made herself a sandwich and reviewed everything she knew about the murders from the discovery of Alec Wilson’s body onwards. As she’d gone over everything so many times, this was not particularly fruitful, but served to put her in the right frame of mind for a probably negative search of Sally Weston’s house.
She found a space with parking bays behind the row of houses containing Sally Weston’s. Approaching the front door, she met Fran coming the other way.
‘I parked at the pub,’ said Fran. ‘It seemed easier.’
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s go in.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Fran.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Libby. ‘I just thought we ought to see.’
‘We went through her house in Erzugan and didn’t find anything, and that’s where she actually lived,’ said Fran.
‘But she might have stored things in the loft here,’ said Libby.
‘Libby!’ said an exasperated Fran. ‘That was years ago – before she went to Turkey and before she ever set eyes on Alec Wilson.’
‘I’ve just got a feeling,’ said Libby stubbornly, and made for the stairs.
Luckily, the loft hatch was easily reachable and equally luckily, there was a pull down ladder. Libby cautiously went up and found a light switch.
‘Not much up here,’ she called down to Fran. ‘Just a couple of boxes.’ She sat on the floor of the loft and opened the first box.
Ten minutes later, having discarded several years of bank statements and birthday cards, she tried the second, which appeared to contain old clothes. Suddenly, there was a furious knocking at the front door.
‘Hello?’ Libby heard Fran say.
‘Who are you? What are you doing in this house?’ asked an angry female voice. Libby clambered over the edge of the loft and cautiously descended the ladder.
‘… for Sally’s mother, Carol,’ Fran was saying as she reached the ground floor. On the doorstep stood a small woman with greying red hair and a pointed nose, squaring up to Fran aggressively.
‘I always kept an eye on it for her,’ said the woman. ‘What did she want to go and ask someone else for?’
‘This was Carol, not Sally,’ said Libby. ‘She went back to Norfolk this morning.’
‘I know that. I saw her go.’
‘Oh, do you know Carol?’ asked Fran.
‘Course I do. Known her for years, both of ’em. Even that old bastard up there.’ The woman jerked her head in the direction of Ashton Court.
‘So did we,’ said Libby.
That stopped the woman in her tracks. ‘You did?’
‘Yes. So why don’t you come in and have a sit down. We’re here perfectly legally, you know.’
Looking mollified, the woman stepped over the threshold and edged towards the sitting room. ‘Sally asked me to look in now and again. She never came back, you see, after that old business.’
‘You must have lived here a long time,’ said Libby, sitting down and motioning the woman to do the same.
‘Years. Lived up the road in one of them cottages, but when these nice new ones was built, I moved. I used to clean for Carol years ago.’
‘Didn’t she come and see you yesterday, or the day before?’
‘I come and see her. She wouldn’t know I lived almost next door. She was upset though.’
‘She would be. Sorry, what’s your name? I’m Libby Sarjeant and this is my friend, Fran Wolfe.’
‘Agnes Stewart. Now I know you.’ Agnes peered at them both through watery blue eyes. ‘You’re them women who got the old bastard arrested.’
Fran sighed. ‘Yes, we are.’
‘So you trying to find out who killed young Sally?’
‘No, that’s up to the Turkish police,’ said Libby, improvising rapidly, ‘but they want to know if there was any connection with any of the people over there before she left England.’
‘Oh. Ah.’ Agnes looked at her feet. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know. I knew Carol, and Sally when she was a girl. And the two friends who come over regular to lunch.’
‘Carol’s friends?’
‘Old schoolfriends, they was. All come from here or roundabouts. But then Carol moved away. Don’t know what happened to the others.’
‘Well, if we hear what happened to Sally we’ll be sure to let you know,’ said Fran, ‘and in the meantime, we’ll come and tell you if we’re coming to the house again, shall we?’
‘No need.’ Agnes gave them a sweet smile. ‘I know who you are now.’ She stood up and made for the door. ‘Sorry about Sally. She was a lovely kid. And that Gerald she was friends with. Always thought they’d end up together, but they didn’t.’
‘Was he her boyfriend?’ asked Libby.
‘Not sure. He was the son of one of Carol’s friends I was telling you about. He was lovely, too.’ She shrugged. ‘But there. Haven’t seen any of them for ten years – more.’
‘So how is any of that relevant to Sally’s murder?’ Fran asked as they closed the door on Agnes. ‘It all happened years ago. Carol’s old schoolfriends are nothing to do with this.’
‘No, I know,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘It was interesting though. I’ll go back up and close the loft.’
Before she did so, Libby had another quick look through the first box she’d opened, flicking through the birthday cards she’d discarded earlier, and sure enough came to a card signed ‘Jean, Bob, and Gerald’. It was a child’s card, so certainly not relevant to the enquiry, as Fran had already said. She sighed again and tucked it back into the box.
‘I think we ought to tell Carol we’ve been here. I’m pretty sure Agnes will tell her otherwise,’ said Fran as Libby reappeared in the living room.
‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘Shall we call from here?’
‘That would be a bit cheeky,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, all right. Good job I’ve got her number in here,’ said Libby, pulling her mobile out of her pocket.
‘Hello?’ Carol sounded breathless as she answered the phone.
‘Carol, it’s Libby. Oh, sorry, you’re not still on the road, are you?’
‘No – I’ve just this minute walked through the door. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Fran and I came over to check the house was secure and met your friend Agnes, so we thought we’d tell you we’d been because I expect she will.’
‘Yes, she would. But why did you want to check? I only left this morning.’
Libby stared at Fran in panic. ‘Well, actually,’ she began.
‘Someone was seen looking round,’ Fran whispered.
‘Someone was seen looking round,’ said Libby with relief. ‘You know we told you about our policeman friend? Or did we? Anyway, we told him about us having the key, just in case, you know, and he relayed the information that someone was seen.’
‘Really?’ Carol sounded puzzled. ‘When was this?’
‘Lunchtime,’ said Libby promptly. ‘So we thought we’d pop over. Agnes hadn’t seen anybody.’
‘Good. Well, it’s a relief to know someone’s looking out for the property. They’re so vulnerable standing empty, especially in such a rural area.’
‘Agnes will be keeping an eye out, she said. She was telling us she’s known you and Carol for years. She told us about your lunch parties.’
‘Lunch parties? Oh!’ Carol laughed. ‘I used to have a couple of old schoolfriends over regularly when I lived up at the Court and Agnes always insisted on coming to help. In the holidays they brought their children and Agnes used to look after them.’
‘She mentioned a Gerald,’ said Libby. ‘Was he one of them?’
‘Jean’s son, yes.’ Carol sighed. ‘Sadly, she died and we completely lost touch with Gerald.’
‘Sad when that happens,’ said Libby. ‘Well, we just thought we’d keep you informed.’
‘That’s very good of you,’ said Carol. ‘Now I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
‘You were fishing,’ accused Fran, as Libby put her phone away.
‘No I wasn’t.’
‘Yes, you were. There was no reason at all to mention what Agnes told us. I keep telling you, none of Sally’s past life is relevant.’
‘I can’t help feeling that it is,’ said Libby, ‘and no, I’m not stealing your thunder, I just have a feeling. I think it’s because of Justin Newcombe’s murder. That happened in this country, and unless the murderer did that flit back and forth thing, which I’m sure the police will have checked by now, the murderer is here.’
‘But is the root of the problem here?’
‘I don’t know. But look – something connects Justin, Sally, and Alec. They were all British and now they’re all dead.’
‘And they were all residents of the same Turkish village. It makes much more sense that the motive is out there.’
‘Oh, all right. Come on then. You didn’t find anything down here?’
‘No. Where did you put your gloves?’
‘Oh, hell! I left them in the loft. I took them off when I first heard Agnes.’
‘Off you go then. Don’t want to leave evidence of our poking about.’
Libby drove home once again without really noticing where she was going. She couldn’t explain why she had been so sure there was some connection with Sally to the motive for the murders, and just hoped Fran’s psychic moments hadn’t rubbed off on her. She decided there was no point in telling Ian about their visit until she could mention it casually tomorrow night.
In the event, she didn’t have to wait until Wednesday evening. Ian called an hour after she got home to ask if he could see her.
‘Business or pleasure?’ she asked warily.
‘Business, I’m afraid,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll see you in half an hour.’
Half an hour. Libby rushed her preparations for dinner and shoved everything in the oven. Ben appeared through the back door just as she did so.
‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘You look harassed.’
Libby explained and made for the stairs to tidy herself up, but too late. The doorbell rang.
Ian smiled at her.
‘This is Inspector Michael James from the Met,’ he said indicating the tall, gloomy-looking man behind him. ‘He’s just got a few questions for you.’
‘What about?’ said Ben appearing at Libby’s shoulder.
‘The death of Justin Newcombe, Mr …?’ said the tall man.
‘This is Ben Wilde, Inspector,’ said Ian. ‘He was also in Erzugan at the time of the murders.’
‘Do come in,’ said Libby, and led the way into the sitting room. Sidney left it.
‘How can we help you?’ she asked when they were all settled. ‘We’ve already told DCI Connell and Commander Smith everything we know.’
Inspector James sighed a gloomy sigh. ‘I know, Mrs Sarjeant. But something’s come up, you see.’
‘Er – can I ask if you’re investigating the murders in Turkey? Or the one over here?’ Ben asked. ‘Only there seem to be several overlapping investigations going on, and we’d like to know who we’re talking to.’
Inspector James looked at Ian and gave him a slight nod.
‘It’s been decided that the investigations should be conducted together,’ said Ian, ‘and I and my force have been co-opted to help this end.’
Murder in the Blood Page 13