Murder in the Blood

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Murder in the Blood Page 25

by Lesley Cookman


  ‘If it’s that big an organisation I would think so.’

  ‘Poor buggers,’ said Libby. ‘They pay all that money and are then forced to live like animals when they get here.’

  ‘And yet they still want to come to England,’ said Fran.

  Ben shrugged. ‘No one tells them the truth. Or if they do, it isn’t believed.’

  ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Libby, sliding off the wall. ‘Can’t believe someone we met was involved.’

  ‘Walter didn’t strike me as full of human kindness,’ said Ben.

  ‘Nor was Geoff Croker, or his Christine,’ said Fran, ‘but they were more stereotypical types of criminal.’

  ‘I could believe it of them,’ said Libby.

  Fran went into Guy’s gallery and Libby and Ben went back to their cars.

  ‘So you’re back to normal, now, are you?’ said Ben as he held the door for Libby to climb into her new pride and joy.

  ‘Well, I don’t see how I can completely back out of this one,’ said Libby, buckling herself in, ‘but I shall try not to get involved in anything else. You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You were very odd over the last twenty-four hours. Not like yourself at all.’

  Libby looked down at her hands guiltily. ‘I felt very odd,’ she admitted. ‘As though part of me had gone.’

  Ben leant in and kissed her. ‘Well, now it’s back. Go on. I’ll see you at home.’

  Her basket began burbling just as she was driving down the high street and by the time she’d parked it had stopped. Before getting out of the car, she had a look at it. One missed call. A newly developing sense of self-preservation prompted her to ignore it as she didn’t recognise the number, but when she’d let herself into number 17, tripped down the steps and over Sidney, she saw that the answerphone light was winking.

  ‘Mrs Sarjeant, it’s Johnny Smith here. I believe you know about Sally Weston’s house going on the market? DCI Connell may have already told you that there’s been a request to view? We’re trying to check up on the prospective viewer, and we wondered if you could ask Ms Weston’s mother if she recognises the name?’

  Couldn’t you do that, Libby muttered to herself as she made her way kitchenwards to make tea. And how am I supposed to ask when you haven’t given me the name?

  She waited until Ben appeared and asked him what he thought. Ben’s eyebrows disappeared into his (receding) hairline.

  ‘You mean you haven’t rung back immediately?’

  ‘Well, no. I wondered what I ought to do.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll have to ring back. Ian said you couldn’t stay out of it now, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but this is a bit odd. Why isn’t he or Smith asking Carol? Why ask me to do it?’

  ‘Because you’re less scary? Because she’s got used to you? You did say she sounded disappointed when you told her you wouldn’t be in touch any more.’

  Libby sighed. ‘OK. Pour yourself some tea. There’s some in the pot.’

  As the number was withheld on the landline, Libby used the number displayed on her mobile.

  ‘Mrs Sarjeant, good to hear from you.’ Johnny Smith sounded as comfortable and jovial as he had when they first met in Turkey.

  ‘Commander Smith.’

  ‘Oh, please, call me Johnny. Now, you got my message?’

  ‘I did, but I would have thought you or DCI Connell would have been the right person to ask Mrs Oxford.’

  ‘Actually this was DCI Connell’s idea. He though Mrs Oxford would speak more feely to you.’

  ‘But all you’ve got to do is ask her if she knows someone by the name of – what? You didn’t tell me that?’

  ‘But you’re in a better position to dig around a little. She might not immediately remember the name, but if you get her talking she might come up with some sort of a link.’

  So much for staying out of it, thought Libby. Aloud, she said, ‘I suppose I could try. What’s the name?’

  ‘Hamilton.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘We don’t know. The way this works is that people fill in an online form. A space is provided for a phone number, but it’s often not filled in. Apparently a lot of people don’t like being pestered on the telephone.’

  I know how they feel, thought Libby. ‘So I just ask her if she’s ever known anyone called Hamilton?’

  ‘That’s the ticket!’

  ‘But why?’ asked Libby. ‘There’s nothing in that house. Sally Weston hadn’t lived there since she packed up and went to Turkey –’ she hesitated, ‘after she left the force.’

  There was a silence at the other end.

  ‘The force?’ repeated Commander Smith eventually.

  ‘Well, yes. She was in the force, wasn’t she?’ Libby’s fingers were so tightly crossed they were beginning to hurt.

  ‘Er – yes. Of course.’

  ‘So you knew who she was? Right from the beginning?’ said Libby, greatly daring.

  Ben appeared before her, frowning ferociously.

  ‘No, no!’ said Smith hastily. ‘It came up a bit later.’

  Libby realised she couldn’t very well ask him anything else.

  ‘Very well. Is this the best number to reach you on?’

  ‘This is the mobile. You’ve got my card, haven’t you?’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Didn’t I give you a card when I came to see you and Mrs Wolfe?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Libby, wracking her brains.

  ‘I’ll always answer this one, don’t worry. When do you think you might be able to get back to me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I am rather busy you know.’

  Ben raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Soon as you can, then. Prospective purchasers don’t like to be kept waiting. Ha!’

  Libby switched off the phone and repeated the conversation.

  ‘I don’t see what harm it can do,’ said Ben.

  ‘No, neither do I, actually, but I do feel as if I’m doing their dirty work for them.’

  ‘Do it now, then you don’t have to worry any more and you can concentrate on our last rehearsal tonight.’

  Feeling as though she was about to sit an exam on a subject she knew nothing about, Libby found Carol’s number.

  ‘Oh, hello, Libby! I thought I wouldn’t hear from you again.’

  ‘The police thought you’d rather talk to me than them,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh? What about?’

  ‘Somebody’s asked to view Sally’s house, and they want to know if you recognise the name.’

  ‘I wonder why?’ Carol was obviously puzzled.

  ‘Honestly,’ sighed Libby, ‘I’ve no idea. You and I know there’s nothing there, so what they’re worrying about I really don’t know. Anyway, do you know anybody by the name of Hamilton?’

  ‘Hamilton? I don’t think so. It’s a very common name, isn’t it? I suppose I might have done in the past. Would you like to me to look through my old address book?’

  No! Libby wanted to shout, but instead said ‘I’m sure the police would think that was very helpful.’

  ‘All right. I’ll have to dig it out – we don’t use them much any more, do we, with emails and things. Can I ring you back?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Libby tiredly. And I just hope Commander bloody Smith doesn’t keep ringing before then.

  The final rehearsal went well, despite the costumes and props being unavailable, and Susannah pronounced herself satisfied with both ensemble pieces and soloists. David the drummer made his first appearance and made notes of where he might be able to contribute to the comedy and at last, at ten minutes to ten, Libby let them all go.

  ‘Your basket was ringing earlier,’ Peter told her as she climbed down into the auditorium. ‘I didn’t like to interrupt.’

  Libby groaned.

  ‘Go on, who is it?’

  Libby told him about Commander Smiths’ request. ‘So this will either be hi
m asking why I haven’t called back or Carol telling me she doesn’t know any Hamiltons.’

  ‘Libby? I finally found my address book! And guess what? We did know some Hamiltons!’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Libby sank down into one of the red plush seats. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes! Well, we did. When I was still married – when I still lived in Cherry Ashton.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby waited for Carol to go on. When she didn’t, Libby sighed.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Well, yes, they’re in my old address book and at first I couldn’t remember who they were.’

  ‘And who were they?’

  ‘They were friends of my friend Valerie – I think I mentioned her, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes – you said you’d heard from her recently.’

  ‘Not that recently. It was a few months ago, now.’

  ‘So you’re not in touch regularly and you don’t really know the Hamiltons?’

  ‘No.’ Carol was apologetic. ‘It was a long shot really, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby sighed again. ‘But just to be on the safe side, I’ll tell DCI Connell.’

  ‘All right. They used to live near Valerie after she married – that’s how we met. We went to dinner a couple of times with them. I lost contact with them and practically everyone else after – well, you know.’

  ‘Of course. You don’t remember their names? Or the address?’

  ‘Susan and – oh, what was his name? Simon, I think, but I’ve got the address, it’s here in the address book.’

  ‘Oh, good. Could you send that to me in a text? And does Valerie still live near them?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Carol laughed. ‘She and her husband moved to London years ago. They’ve got a very swish flat in South Kensington.’

  ‘Oh – money, then,’ said Libby, million pound signs floating in her head.

  ‘More money than they know what to do with,’ said Carol. ‘That’s one of the reasons we never kept up with them. We couldn’t, you see.’

  Libby decided she didn’t like Valerie much. ‘Well, that’s great, thank you, Carol. I personally don’t see what this has to do with anything, as I said, but I’ll pass it on. Sorry to have put you to so much trouble.’

  ‘Oh, it was no trouble.’ Now it was Carol’s turn to sigh. ‘It was good to have something to do.’

  A minute later, the address of the Hamiltons came through.

  ‘Maidstone again,’ said Libby, levering herself from the seat. ‘I think I’ll give it to Ian, not smarmy Smith.’

  ‘You’re going to have to explain that, dear heart,’ said Peter. ‘Now, come on. Hal has some fizz on ice at the caff to celebrate the end of rehearsals.’

  Ben and Fran joined them and they walked down the Manor drive together while Libby explained what had been going on with Smith, Carol Oxford, and the Hamiltons.

  ‘And really, I can’t see that people Carol knew vaguely twenty years ago, or whatever it was, has anything whatsoever to do with the murders or the trafficking.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to give the address to Smith?’ asked Ben. ‘He was the one who asked for it.’

  ‘We don’t trust him,’ said Fran. ‘He’s known more than he’s told everyone right from the start.’

  Libby’s basket began to ring again. She took the phone out with some trepidation. ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘Ian. Hello, Ian?’

  ‘What’s this address you just sent through?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I thought you’d know.’

  ‘Know what? Who are the Hamiltons?’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ asked Libby, in some surprise. ‘It was you who told me that there’s been a request to view.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Who told you?’

  ‘Smith.’ Libby explained how she’d finally obtained the Hamiltons’ address. ‘I don’t see how it can help, and Carol hasn’t seen these people for twenty years.’

  ‘So why did Smith ask –’ Ian suddenly broke off. ‘Thanks, Libby. I’ll see to it. Don’t bother to call Smith.’

  ‘It might have nothing to do with the Hamilton who’s requested the viewing. It’s a common name,’ said Libby.

  ‘It’s a coincidence. Worth looking at. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Well!’ said Libby to the others. ‘Ian didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘You see?’ said Fran. ‘Smith’s not to be trusted.’

  ‘I think,’ said Peter, as they resumed their way down the drive, ‘that he’s in a very difficult position. He works for an undercover arm of the Security Services, presumably, and he’s been thrust into the middle of a murder enquiry that he’s trying to keep quiet, but which has slipped out of his control.’

  ‘Because of Justin’s murder.’ Libby nodded thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t looked at it like that.’

  ‘You’ve still got the keys, haven’t you, Lib?’ said Fran as they reached The Pink Geranium.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  Fran shook her head slightly as Peter opened the door and ushered them all inside. On the coffee table in front of the sofa in the window stood two ice buckets from which foil wrapped bottle tops emerged. Adam appeared with a tray of glasses.

  ‘Compliments of the chef,’ he said with a grin. ‘Save some for me.’

  The champagne was duly opened, and the success of The End Of The Pier Show toasted.

  ‘So what did you mean?’ Libby asked Fran in an undertone, while Ben and Peter started talking about the lighting rig at The Alexandria.

  ‘Not now. I’ll call you in the morning.’

  Libby sat back, a simmering bundle of frustration.

  Harry joined them for a quick glass and Adam finished off the second bottle after ushering the final diners out of the door.

  ‘And we’ll go now,’ said Ben. ‘Come on, Fran, we’ll walk you back up the drive.’

  ‘No need,’ said Fran. ‘I’m parked over the road. Speak to you tomorrow, Lib.’

  ‘What about?’ Ben asked suspiciously as he and Libby walked slowly down the high street.

  ‘She wanted to know exactly what Carol and Smith said,’ Libby said, almost truthfully.

  ‘Well, you certainly didn’t stay away from the coalface for long, did you?’ Ben tucked her arm through his. ‘Just be careful.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘And don’t say you always are.’

  ‘No, Ben,’ said Libby meekly.

  Libby was in the middle of a full English breakfast when Fran called.

  ‘Ben cooked it, not me,’ she said through a mouthful of wicked fried bread. ‘So what’s up?’

  ‘When is this viewing supposed to happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. Could you ask Richard?’

  ‘And what about the Hamiltons? Are they still where they were?’

  ‘I don’t know, Fran! I just passed on the information.’

  ‘What was that address? I’ll look them up.’

  Libby sighed. ‘OK. I’ll forward Carol’s text to you. Why is it important?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll call you if I find anything out.’

  ‘Fran’s got a bee in her bonnet,’ Libby told Ben, turning back to her breakfast.

  ‘Just hope it doesn’t buzz over this way,’ said Ben. ‘More tea?’

  Libby turned her attention to her rather neglected house and spent most of the morning dusting, changing beds, and wiping down paintwork. Feeling virtuous, she heated some soup at lunchtime and went to sit under the cherry tree. Ben had gone to the estate office and then to lunch with his mother.

  Just as Libby carried her tray back into the kitchen there was a knock on the front door.

  ‘Fran! What is it? I thought you’d be helping in the shop.’

  ‘Sophie’s down.’ Fran perched on the arm of the chair. ‘Listen – the Hamiltons, believe it or not, are still at their old address. I called them –’

  ‘You did what?’ gasped Libby.

  ‘I called them. I said I was a friend of Carol’s and did they know her daughter had die
d in Turkey.’

  ‘Oh, Fran! What on earth made you do that? They must have been immediately suspicious.’

  ‘They were just surprised. And said they did know.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it was in the papers.’

  ‘No. They said they’d been told by an old friend. Neal Parnham.’

  ‘Neal!’

  ‘And they knew nothing about the viewing. They actually knew very little about Sally, and only remembered Carol rather vaguely.’

  ‘As she remembered them. So I suppose she might have known Neal, too?’

  ‘She might, but it sounds as if she and Neal came from different sections of the Hamiltons’ life.’

  ‘So the police hadn’t been on to them? I wonder what Ian did with the address?’

  ‘I don’t know. What I do know is that the viewing is set for this afternoon.’

  ‘Are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know what we can accomplish, but I sort of feel …’

  ‘I’ll go and get changed,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’m not at all sure why I feel we should go over there,’ said Fran later, as she turned the Smart car towards Steeple Mount. ‘I’m pretty sure the police will have the place under surveillance.’

  ‘We might recognise someone that they don’t.’

  ‘Yes, but they won’t have important policemen doing the surveillance, so they won’t recognise anybody,’ said Fran.

  ‘In which case we can point them out,’ said Libby.

  ‘What do you think the brief is? Just watch? Intercept?’ Fran looked right and left and pointed the car across the crossroads to the Cherry Ashton road.

  ‘No idea. We know, and Ian knows, that there’s nothing in the house. So I suppose it’s a watching brief. After all, it might be nothing to do with any of this, and a perfectly innocent Hamilton looking for their first step on the housing ladder.’

  ‘And it’ll be accompanied, Richard says, so there’s no chance of any funny business.’

  ‘I wonder if it’ll be a real estate agent or an undercover cop?’ said Libby.

  Fran sent her an amused glance. ‘Mickey Spillane rules, eh, Libby?’

  ‘Where do we go?’ said Libby. ‘We can’t sit outside.’

  ‘Or go round the back,’ said Fran.

 

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