Ben nodded. ‘OK.’ He dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘Now make me that tea.’
Nothing more was said about the subject, and feeling slightly disconnected to the word, Libby got through the rest of the afternoon, cooked a stir-fry for dinner, and went up to the theatre for the penultimate rehearsal before transferring to Nethergate.
At various points in the evening she noticed Ben and Fran in conversation, Ben and Peter in conversation, and even Fran and Susannah in conversation. She correctly deduced that the conversations were about her. Why were they so concerned, she wondered? Everyone had been telling her for years not to get involved. Why were they not all cheering with relief?
Ian had already arrived at the pub and was sitting with Patti and Anne when the theatre crowd trouped in. He greeted everyone, including Libby, quite normally, and went to the bar with Ben for drinks.
‘And guess who they’re talking about,’ said Libby gloomily to Fran.
‘You have rather thrown the cat among the pigeons,’ said Fran. ‘It just seems so unlikely.’
‘I know. Harry doesn’t think I’ll be able to resist if something comes up.’
‘And will you?’
‘I’ve no idea. But if I keep a low profile, nothing should come up, should it?’
Ian placed a half of lager in front of her. ‘Is that what you’ve been keeping today? A low profile?’
Libby looked up at him warily. ‘I kept the phone off.’
‘I know. And when you turn it on, and listen to your landline messages, you will find several from me.’
‘And Ben,’ said Libby.
‘And me,’ said Fran.
‘Well, I’ve seen you all now, so I can delete them all.’ Libby buried her nose in her glass.
‘May we ask what’s going on?’ Anne moved her wheelchair a little closer to the table. ‘What’s Libby done?’
‘She’s retiring from the investigation business,’ said Harry, appearing behind them. ‘And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.’
Chapter Thirty-five
It appeared that Libby’s resolve was to be tested as soon as she turned on her mobile phone in the morning and played the answerphone messages.
Ian’s message was the most tantalising.
‘For all the good it will do, we traced Jean and Bob Burton to an address in Wales. Jean died fifteen years ago, and Bob followed her two years later. There is no trace of Gerald, who appears to have vanished completely. This, of course, will lead you to think he must be Alec Wilson. If so, there is a possibility that he knew Sally Weston.’
‘Of course he did,’ Libby said out loud in exasperation.
‘What?’ Ben came through from the kitchen.
‘Listen.’ Libby replayed the message.
‘I thought you weren’t going to have anything to do with it any more?’
‘I’m not.’ Libby sat down at the table in the window and scrolled through the messages on her mobile. ‘I can delete your messages from yesterday, can’t I?’
‘Yes.’ Ben came and sat down opposite her. ‘Look, if you need to follow this up with Ian –’
‘No,’ said Libby firmly. ‘I said yesterday.’
‘What happens if someone else gets in touch with you?’
‘Like who?’
‘The estate agent?’
‘He’ll get in touch with Fran. Or Ian.’
‘Are you sure he hasn’t already?’
‘Fran would have told me last night, even if Ian didn’t.
Ben sighed. ‘OK. But if you do have to do something – just don’t feel bad about going back on your decision.’
Libby looked up in surprise. ‘Do you think I would?’
‘I think you might.’ Ben stood up. ‘I’m going up to the office. You know where I am if you want me.’
Libby stared, still surprised. Ben never said that. When he’d gone, she pulled the laptop towards her.
‘I’d better email the others,’ she told Sidney.
Just to let you all know, she wrote, Walter Roberts was arrested here in Kent two days ago. He and Geoff Croker in Erzugan were involved in a people trafficking scheme, and the police are assuming that Alec Wilson’s murder is connected, although Sally’s seems to be a puzzle. Justin Newcombe was supposed to meeting someone also connected to the organisation whom we assume is the murderer. Walter Roberts denies being that person, and the police seem satisfied that this is the case. I don’t suppose we’ll hear any more about it unless we have to give any more statements to the police – although I can’t think why we should!
All the best to everyone, and hope to see you in Erzugan another year.
And that’s that, she thought as she pressed ‘send’.
The phone started ringing as soon as she set foot in the conservatory.
‘Walter!’ said Greta. ‘I don’t believe it! He never went anywhere!’
‘Only when Betty was well out of the way, apparently,’ said Libby. ‘He went out to check up on his investment in the business.’
‘Poor old Betty. Did she know, I wonder?’
‘The police think she did but was too scared to say anything.’
The next to call was Neal.
‘People trafficking? That’s awful!’
‘I know. Mainly girls for prostitution.’
‘Oh, God! And was Alec in it too?’
‘I don’t think so, but I don’t really know. I only know about Walter because Ben and I saw him in London and then Betty reported him missing.’
‘In London? Did he kill Justin?’
‘He says not.’
‘Oh.’ Neal paused. ‘Well, I know you said you hoped to go back, but I don’t think I will. I really thought I’d found a little bit of paradise, but …’
‘Lot of serpents in paradise,’ said Libby.
‘Yes,’ said Neal with a sigh. ‘Oh, well, I’ll carry on looking. If I find another paradise, I’ll let you know.’
Martha had replied to the email.
Well, that was a surprise! Thank you for telling us. Geoff and Christine have vanished – arrested, I suppose – and the Jandarma and British police have all gone. I haven’t seen Jimmy, but I’ll pop down this afternoon. I bet he’s shocked. Betty and Walter have been going there for years.
Keep in touch, and hope to see you here again.
It was afternoon when Fran called.
‘I’ve just had Richard Smart on the phone. The advert’s gone live. Will you call Carol and tell her?’
Libby sighed. ‘OK. Where do we look?’
Fran told her.
‘Right. And after that we’re not doing any more, OK?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I emailed Jimmy, Martha, Neal, and Greta and Tom just to bring them up to date about Walter. Greta and Neal both phoned and Martha replied. Apparently Geoff and Christine have disappeared, presumed arrested, and all the police have gone. So that’s that, isn’t it?’
Fran sighed in her turn. ‘Yes, Libby.’
To Libby’s relief, Carol’s phone went straight to voicemail and Libby was able to leave a message, after which she looked up the house ad online. It had been made to sound far more appealing than it actually was, and Libby was impressed to see that somehow, Richard had got hold of original photographs and floorplans from when the small development had first been built. This, she realised, was an advantage, as if any prospective burglar thought it was empty, they might not bother to try and gain entry.
So actually, she thought, perhaps that isn’t an advantage, because Ian was hoping someone would show up. Oh, well, it wasn’t her problem any more.
Carol rang just as Libby and Ben were sitting down to supper.
‘It looks quite good, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘Do you think anything will come of it?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t see what Sally had to do with anything so I don’t know why anyone would want to try and break into her house. I don’t know why Ian – I mean, the
police – think anyone would.’
‘I expect it’s because of what she used to do before she went to Turkey,’ said Carol.
‘Eh?’ said Libby.
‘She was a policewoman.’
Catherine wheels were going off in Libby’s head. No wonder she’d been so affected by her father’s activities.
‘I – er – I don’t – um – I don’t think I know why …’ began Libby.
‘I wondered if she’d been undercover out there.’
Now Libby really was speechless.
‘Sorry, perhaps I should have said before, but it didn’t really occur to me. She left the force when she went out to Turkey, and I know she started doing cookery courses.’
‘Yes, I heard that.’ Libby had recovered the power of speech. ‘Was she teaching English or Turkish cooking?’
‘Both. Cooking was her hobby, and she started off by teaching some of the restaurant and hotel chefs some British recipes, and they in turn taught her, so she began teaching ex-pats and holidaymakers Turkish cooking. That’s why I was a bit surprised you hadn’t met her. She would do the rounds of the hotels at least once a week to see if she had any takers.’
‘I never knew any of this,’ said Libby. ‘Did the Turkish authorities know she’d been a policewoman?’
‘I’ve no idea. I can’t see why they should.’
‘No.’ Libby sighed. ‘Well, I’m sure the police or the estate agents will keep you informed of anything that happens.’
‘Oh, aren’t you involved any more?’ Carol sounded surprised.
‘I never was, really, and now they’ve arrested someone here and in Turkey I won’t be told anything else.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity, I was getting used to being able to talk to you.’
‘You can always ring if you want to,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable. ‘If I do happen to hear anything, I’ll let you know, of course.’
Ben had put her plate in the oven.
‘At least that won’t happen so much,’ she said, as he placed it in front of her.
‘What?’
‘Interrupted meals,’ said Libby, and tucked into her chilli.
Friday morning Libby, Ben, and some of the stage crew who had got the morning off began transporting scenery, costumes, and props to The Alexandria. Fran was on standby at the other end to help unload and sort everything out. The old theatre had been rescued from disintegration by a trust set up by the family of the original founder, Dorinda Alexander, overseen by Ben, who had made sure the dressing rooms and facilities were as up to date as they could be. As there was more room here than in the Oast Theatre, the company would have more room to spread themselves, which had come as somewhat of a relief in the past couple of years.
‘Ian called,’ said Fran, as she and Libby carried armfuls of Edwardian bathing suits to the dressing rooms.
‘Mmm?’ Libby kept her eyes on her burden.
‘Someone has asked to view the house.’
‘Oh.’
‘Aren’t you interested?’
‘I’m trying not to be. Will they let Mrs Oxford know?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘So that I don’t have to. She rang last night.’ Libby opened the door to one of the dressing rooms.
‘And?’
‘She asked if I’d be letting her know.’
‘Libby.’ Fran almost stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Will you stop being childish?’
Libby turned a surprised face to her friend. ‘Childish? What do you mean, childish?’
‘You’re behaving like a child in the playground. All right, you don’t want to be involved in any more investigations, but to a certain extent you are still involved in this one, whether you like it or not.’
Libby, her colour heightened, lifted her chin. ‘Are we having a row?’
‘Yes,’ said Fran firmly, and began hanging costumes on the rail.
Libby glared at her back for a moment, before doing the same thing.
‘Carol told me something last night,’ she said eventually.
‘And were you ever going to tell me?’
‘Er – yes. I suppose so.’
‘Well, what was it?’
‘Before she went to Turkey she was in the police force.’
Fran swung round to face her. ‘Good God, Libby, why were you hanging on to that little nugget? Have you told Ian?’
‘I wondered if he perhaps would already know …’
Fran was dragging out her mobile. ‘Damn! No signal down here.’ She made for the door with Libby following.
‘Ian, listen. Libby’s just told me Carol Oxford called her last night. Did you know Sally Weston was in the force?’
From the expression on Fran’s face, Libby guessed that he hadn’t. She turned and handed the phone silently to Libby.
‘Hello?’ said Libby cautiously.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’
‘I thought you probably knew.’
‘Why would I know?’
‘Someone must have known. Wouldn’t it have come up somewhere when she was murdered?’
‘Perhaps it was one of those facts that I was not told by the Met,’ growled Ian. ‘What else did she say?’
‘Nothing. Just thank you for the house business.’
She heard Ian take a deep breath. ‘Right. Fran told you someone’s asked to view?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see why you think …’
‘You went poking around, didn’t you? Someone else might want to. Especially if she was in the force.’ She heard a muffled swear word. ‘I’m going now. If you hear anything else – from anyone – let me know at once. I don’t care if you don’t want to be involved. Tough.’
Libby handed the phone back to Fran.
‘Not pleased,’ said Fran.
Libby perched on the low wall by the stage door. ‘It must have come up when Johnny Smith started looking into it, surely? They look into all the antecedents, don’t they? I mean, that’s how we knew that Alec Wilson seems to have sprung fully formed into life ten years ago, or whenever it was.’
‘You know something,’ said Fran, perching on the opposite wall, ‘I’m beginning to sense our Johnny’s fine Italian hand in all of this.’
Libby looked at her suspiciously. ‘Are you having a moment?’
Fran shook her head. ‘No, simple deduction. He obviously knew about Alec Wilson – who he was – right from the start. And then he wouldn’t confirm whether he was in witness protection scheme or what.’
‘And Ian wasn’t told much, either.
‘Nor was Inspector James.’
‘So what do we think?’ said Libby.
‘I think Commander Smith has known who the murderer is all along.’
Chapter Thirty-six
Libby gasped. ‘How?’
‘I think he knew a lot more about it all when we first met him than he told us. Look how quickly he turned up.’
‘But he took us to search the houses.’
‘Do you remember what we said at the time? Camouflage. I bet Alec Wilson – and probably Sally Weston – were there to keep an eye on the trafficking organisation.’
‘Then why didn’t he just arrest Geoff Croker straight away?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t want to let it be known that the organisation was under surveillance. And perhaps Croker didn’t murder Alec and Sally.’
‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘He was trying to ferret out more links up the chain, you mean?’
‘Well, it could be, couldn’t it?’
‘It could – and in her email, Martha said Croker and Christine had “vanished”. Not been arrested. Do you think they’ve done a runner?’
‘More likely that they’ve been put out of the way,’ said Fran.
‘You don’t mean –’ Libby looked horrified.
‘No, no, I’m sure he hasn’t had them bumped off, I just mean quietly spirited away. To keep the chain intact, so the bigger bosses don’t reali
se it’s been broken.’
Libby now looked dubious. ‘I should think an organisation of that sort would know what’s going on.’
‘Yes, but you know how these things work. Three people report to one person who reports to another, who reports to another and by the time it gets there, that person has no idea who the three people at the bottom were.’
‘Hmm. S’pose so.’
Fran smiled a sly little smile. ‘Getting interested again, are we?’
Libby wriggled a bit. ‘We-ell …’
Ben appeared at the stage door. ‘That would actually be a relief.’
‘What do you mean?’ Libby looked up, startled.
‘Someone kidnapped my Libby and put someone else in her place. I’d quite like her back.’
Libby glanced at Fran. ‘Is that right?’
‘We were all wondering where you’d gone.’
Libby looked back at Ben. ‘Ian told me off.’
Ben threw back his head and roared with laughter. Libby and Fran began giggling in spite of themselves.
‘Well,’ said Ben eventually, wiping his eyes, ‘if that doesn’t beat all.’
‘Actually,’ said Libby in the spirit of fairness, ‘it’s more because I got myself involved in the first place than anything else. If I’d kept out …’
‘But we couldn’t,’ said Fran reasonably. ‘We were dragged into it in Turkey by Johnny Smith.’
Ben perched next to Libby. ‘Come on, then, what’s the latest.’
Between them, Libby and Fran brought Ben up to date.
‘And now we’d better get on with unloading all this stuff,’ said Libby, standing up.
‘Not much more,’ said Ben, ‘then I’ll treat you to one of Lizzie’s ice creams.’
Later, sitting on the sea wall with ice cream that tasted as it used to, Libby contemplated the horizon.
‘I’m still not sure how they managed to bring a boat all the way round from the eastern Mediterranean to here. Surely it would have been easier to land somewhere along the south coast? You’d hit that first.’
‘Perhaps they did,’ said Ben. ‘We don’t know what the situation was. If it’s a large organisation they could be bringing people in all over the country.’
‘How awful.’ Fran wiped ice cream from her nose. ‘Do you think they’re bringing people overland, too?’
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