Murder Imperfect

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Well, you phone Sheila in the morning and find out what she knows, although I think she told me everything the other day,’ said Libby. ‘Meanwhile, Harry and I will Google Norma Cherry and see if there’s anything about her on the web.’

  ‘And I just hope he remembers to phone the police about Larry Barkiss,’ said Libby a little later as she and Ben walked home. ‘I don’t want to be unkind, but he does seem to be a bit indecisive, doesn’t he? I mean, look at what happened after the first attack. He didn’t call the police and let Sheila and Colin look after him.’

  ‘It’s snowing again,’ said Ben, turning his face to the sky. ‘Whatever happens, I can’t see him and Colin going back to Maidstone, so you can prod him about it all as much as you like.’

  ‘Right at this moment,’ said Libby, with a sigh, ‘all I want to think about is Christmas and the panto. Do you realise it’s Monday night and Christmas Day is Friday? And I’ve got all the food shopping to do.’

  ‘We’d better go in the 4x4 then,’ said Ben, ‘or we’ll never get through the snow.’

  Over the next two days expeditions were made to the supermarket, to Nethergate to see Fran and Guy and into Canterbury to pick up Libby’s daughter Belinda from the station. On Christmas Eve, Libby picked up vegetables from the Cattlegreen shop and Hetty’s turkey from Bob the butcher. Her son Dominic arrived in the afternoon by car, and was pleased to find out he was staying with his brother Adam above The Pink Geranium instead of on the floor at number 17.

  There was no rehearsal that night, but it was party night at the pub, with a local band playing. Libby and Ben strolled down with Belinda and found themselves a corner where they were joined by a few cast members from Hey, Diddle, Diddle and briefly, Flo and Lenny. Belinda joined Adam and Dominic nearer to the band, where she was introduced to Lewis Osbourne-Walker and his mother, Edie. Libby waved, and Lewis brought her over.

  ‘She’d be happier with you than with that lot,’ said Lewis, after kissing Libby and shaking Ben’s hand. ‘You coming to my do, by the way?’

  ‘Is this the one Adam told us about?’ asked Libby, making room for Edie on the settle.

  ‘New Year, yeah. Fireworks and everything. Go on, you know you’d love it.’

  ‘Go on, dear,’ said Edie. ‘I need someone my age to back me up!’

  ‘Have you asked Fran and Guy?’ said Libby.

  ‘Course. Haven’t heard from them. They’ll come if you do, won’t they?’

  ‘Of course we’ll come,’ said Ben. ‘We’ll toss up for who’s driving!’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Lewis, ‘we’ve got loads of guest rooms done up now. Stay!’

  Libby and Ben looked at each other.

  ‘Oh, all right then,’ said Libby. ‘Thanks, Lewis. It’ll be lovely.’

  Lewis beamed and set off back to the crowd of young people near the band. Suddenly, Ben nudged Libby.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Cy and Colin.’

  ‘Oh, blimey!’ said Libby. ‘I should have remembered to invite them down here tonight. I forgot all about it.’

  ‘It’s all right, I did it,’ said Ben, waving to the two hesitant figures by the door.

  ‘Oh, you are good,’ said Libby, squeezing his arm.

  Cy was looking much better although still a little drawn.

  ‘Edie, this is Cy – he just had a bit of an accident so he’s recuperating in Steeple Martin – and this is Colin. This is our friend Edie, guys.’ Libby waved an introductory hand.

  ‘Here, love,’ said Edie. ‘You look a bit done-up. I’ll shove up a bit.’

  Cy squeezed on to the end of the settle as Edie shoved up.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘actually this is only the second time I’ve been out since we came down here.’

  ‘Can’t be too careful in this bleedin’ weather,’ said Edie. ‘What happened to you, then?’

  ‘I’ll help Ben with the drinks,’ said Libby, feeling she really didn’t want to listen to Cy’s story again. When they struggled back with drinks in each hand, Edie was telling the two men about the adventures at Creekmarsh Libby had been involved in.

  ‘Wonder she doesn’t get herself bumped over the head,’ said Edie, giving Libby a nudge.

  ‘I’ve often wondered that,’ said Ben, handing out pints.

  ‘How’ve you been?’ said Libby hastily, before this theme could be developed. ‘Are you OK up at the farmhouse?’

  ‘Fine thanks,’ said Colin. ‘Ben’s popped in every day, and the roads are clearer now, so I’ve been able to get out to do the shopping. The police even let me go back to collect the Christmas presents we’d left at the bungalow.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby said. ‘So they’re still in charge?’

  ‘Well, in a way. They’ve finished their forensic examination, and they said we can go back after Christmas, but we’ve got to be careful.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ben looked at Cy. ‘They still think you’re in danger, then?’

  ‘They’d prefer it if I stayed away,’ said Cy. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, Libby, I called them to tell them about everything Dolly told you. And I called Sheila. She only vaguely remembered Norma Cherry, just as a name. Didn’t remember Cliona Masters at all.’

  ‘No, she said that to me, too,’ said Libby.

  ‘She did remember Josephine’s parents’ name though.’

  ‘You knew that, though, didn’t you? Wasn’t that Josephine’s maiden name?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I never knew it,’ said Cy, looking rather shamefaced. ‘I know that sounds peculiar, but she never talked about her childhood, so I never asked.’

  ‘So wasn’t it her name on your birth certificate?’ said Libby.

  ‘My dad adopted me legally. I’ve never seen my original birth certificate.’

  ‘So what was it, anyway?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Robinson. Fairly ordinary.’

  ‘Does that help at all?’

  ‘Not really.’ Cy shrugged. ‘Did you find anything on the net?’

  ‘About Norma Cherry? A bit. There were a few minor references to her, but so far not much in depth. If you went to the archives of whatever local paper was going in the war you could probably find more.’

  ‘Did it say anything at all?’ asked Colin.

  ‘Just that she was convicted of the murder of two men in London in 1944. And it was Harry who found that one.’

  ‘Well,’ said Colin, patting Cy’s hand, ‘when we go back home we can do a bit of research ourselves – if you really want to.’

  ‘I suppose I do,’ said Cy. ‘It’s all a bit odd, not knowing anything about my mother’s background for all this time, and suddenly finding out she was the daughter of a murderer. It’s got a horrible sort of fascination.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Libby. ‘I wish I could help, but I’ve got to concentrate on the panto for the next couple of weeks, so I won’t have time to do anything.’

  Cy and Colin stayed for one more drink, Lewis came to collect Edie and Ben and Libby left when the band took a break.

  Walking home, Libby looked towards the slope of the snow-covered fields behind the church. ‘Very nearly a white Christmas,’ she said. ‘Hope it doesn’t snow any more, though.’

  ‘As long as it does it when everyone’s got where they want to be,’ said Ben.

  ‘Well, we have.’ Libby tucked her arm through his. ‘The children are here, Cy’s safe, and all the presents are wrapped.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas!’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  CHRISTMAS DAY AT THE Manor passed, as usual, joyfully but uneventfully. On Boxing Day Libby and Ben hosted an open day at number 17, to which Libby had remembered to invite Cy and Colin. Fran and Guy turned up with Guy’s daughter Sophie, whereupon Adam turned a pretty shade of pink and grew at least half an inch.

  ‘They’ve met before, though,’ whispered Libby to Fran, as they watched the two young people in the conservatory, where Libby had laid a buffet.

  ‘Yes, at our wedding,’ said Fran
. ‘Did they get it together then?’

  ‘Not that I remember,’ said Libby. ‘Not likely to be much future in it, though, with Sophie still at uni.’

  But, it turned out later, Adam and Sophie had indeed decided they liked each other at Fran and Guy’s wedding, and unbeknown to their mothers, had been keeping in touch, in the way of their kind, by text and on social networking sites. Both had been aware of their upcoming meeting here today.

  ‘I would have seen her before, Ma,’ said Adam, watching Sophie’s blonde head bent over a plate of chilli. ‘But I couldn’t drive because of this leg.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have taken you down there,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. You’ve been too busy, and anyway, it’s been too difficult over the last week, with the snow.’

  ‘You could have come on Wednesday when we went to see Fran and Guy.’

  ‘Harry was too busy. Look, Ma, it doesn’t matter. And don’t make too much of it,’ he warned, limping off to replenish his beer glass.

  ‘And that told me,’ she said to Fran a little later, as they loaded the dishwasher in the kitchen. ‘So you’d better not ask Sophie, either.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Fran. ‘She’s a lovely girl, but she doesn’t feel in the least like a daughter to me, so any questioning would be down to Guy.’

  ‘Well, don’t let him,’ said Libby. ‘You know what kids are like.’

  The day after Boxing Day rehearsals resumed in the evening, and Ben spent most of the day at the theatre with a few other volunteers who needed to get out of their family-stuffed homes painting the sets.

  In the afternoon, Belinda and Dominic had gone to the pub where Adam was to meet them when he’d finished at the caff. There was speculation that Sophie was borrowing her father’s car and coming to join them. Libby waved them off and sank back onto the sofa to watch one of her Christmas DVDs when the phone rang.

  ‘Ian! Good heavens,’ said Libby. ‘Happy Christmas. Or what’s left of it. To what do I owe this honour?’

  ‘I’m in the village,’ said Detective Inspector Ian Connell. ‘Are you receiving?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’ With a sigh she switched off the telephone and the television and went to put the kettle on.

  ‘So why are you here?’ asked Libby, after she’d settled him in the armchair and provided him with coffee. ‘Not work, I hope.’

  ‘Afraid so.’ Ian sipped his coffee warily. ‘Hot.’

  ‘It’s supposed to be,’ said Libby.

  Ian put the mug down and looked at her. ‘Your friends at Steeple Farm,’ he said.

  ‘What? You’ve been to see them?’

  ‘I have. How well do you know them?’

  ‘Hardly at all,’ said Libby, puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘And yet you’ve let them borrow Steeple Farm?’

  ‘It was nothing to do with me,’ said Libby. ‘It was Ben’s idea, and as they’re friends of Harry’s and Peter’s, Peter didn’t mind either. Anyway, it was the Maidstone Police saying they couldn’t go back to their home, not their own choice.’

  Ian nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘So why did you go and see them? Did you think they were intruders?’

  ‘It was a courtesy thing. Maidstone told us they were on our patch.’

  ‘That makes them sound as though they’re criminals. Don’t you know what happened?’

  ‘Yes, of course I know what happened. Now I want you to tell me what you think happened.’

  ‘Eh?’ Libby stared at him. Ian gazed back from under his dark brows.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you aren’t going to tell me that you haven’t been looking into things? You can’t actually, because your guests told me you had. Come on, Libby, you must have a theory. Either you, or Fran.’

  ‘Fran’s got nothing to do with it,’ said Libby. ‘When Harry asked me to go and talk to Cy it was simply about the letters and very delicate. Afterwards, I didn’t think Cy would relish someone else horning in.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ian raised one eyebrow. ‘They seemed to be quite pleased with your – what shall I call it –’

  ‘Interference?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘Let’s say help,’ said Ian. ‘So, come on, tell me.’

  ‘Why?’ said Libby. ‘Just so you can have the pleasure of shooting me down or telling me to leave it alone and go away and play?’

  Ian sighed. ‘Because sometimes you see things from a different angle. It might be helpful.’

  ‘Bugger me, I bet that hurt,’ said Libby.

  ‘Libby!’ Ian looked pained.

  ‘All right, I’ll tell you. But first, you’ve got to tell me what you know, either from the Maidstone police or from Cy and Colin.’

  ‘Right.’ Ian leant forward, elbows resting on knees. ‘First, Mr Strange was attacked one night on his way home by two youths, seen by a neighbour. Someone else, a –’ Ian fished in his pocket, presumably for his notebook.

  ‘Patrick Stephens,’ supplied Libby. Ian gave her a look.

  ‘Yes. Patrick Stephens. His body was found close to where Mr Strange says he was attacked.’

  ‘Says he was attacked?’

  ‘We only have his word for it. He didn’t report it at the time,’ said Ian, ‘neither did his neighbour or his – er – partner.’

  ‘But you questioned them,’ said Libby. ‘They would have told you what happened.’

  ‘I didn’t, Libby. Remember I’m only here at the request of the Maidstone police.’

  ‘Who obviously think Cy’s making the whole thing up,’ said Libby. ‘How dare they? I can tell you, I saw him the day after the attack and before we knew anything about Paddy’s death, and he was in a shocking state.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Ian. ‘I’m not saying that they don’t believe him, just that there’s a doubt there. I also know that both Mr Strange and Mr Stephens had received anonymous letters, only one of which Mr Strange had kept.’

  Libby nodded. ‘The one he received after the attack.’

  ‘One was found at Mr Stephens’s home and seemed to refer to his sexuality and it seemed that Mr Strange also thought that the attack and the letters were homophobic.’

  ‘Yes. It was the obvious conclusion. And that’s why he didn’t report it at first, because he has this – unreasonable, I’m sure – idea that the entire police force is homophobic.’

  Ian regarded her in silence for a moment, his head on one side. Then he leant back in the chair and looked at the ceiling.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Libby uneasily.

  ‘Just wondering if that is actually what he said, or your interpretation of it.’ Ian bent his gaze once more upon Libby’s indignant face.

  ‘Of course it’s what he said! And Harry will confirm it.’ She sat back in the sofa and picked up her cigarettes. ‘And now I’m going to have a cigarette, and I don’t care what you think.’

  Ian’s face creased in disapproval, but he said nothing.

  ‘So that’s all you know, is it?’ said Libby, after a moment. ‘Or is there more that Maidstone aren’t telling you? Or do you know more but you aren’t telling me?’

  ‘According to your friends, you think that the attack and the letters could be down to something in Mr Strange’s background, and that the first attack was by a different perpetrator altogether?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Libby warily. ‘It was just that the first attack on Cy was witnessed by Sheila-over-the-road and it was a couple of youths. It was vicious, too, and if it was the same two who then killed Patrick Stephens, I can’t see that they would then come and hit Cy on the head in his back garden and trash his house.’

  ‘Much the same thinking as the Maidstone police, in fact,’ said Ian with a slight smile at Libby’s astonished gasp. ‘They retrieved DNA from Mr Stephens’s body, and, as I expect you know, it can now be processed far quicker than it used to be. And his murder points to a couple of youths who are not unknown
to us, to put it mildly.’

  ‘And have they arrested them?’ Libby sat forward again.

  ‘They’ve been taken in for questioning this morning,’ said Ian. ‘Nasty shock for their parents.’

  ‘Really? They’re that young?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Apparently,’ he added in disgust, ‘it’s a playground game, taunting gays.’

  ‘What Harry told me,’ said Libby. ‘Since it’s become acceptable, and especially since civil partnerships, they’re more visible in the community and therefore more likely to come under attack, particularly from people who are angry that it has become acceptable.’

  Ian nodded. ‘We’re seeing a lot more of it. But now let’s come to the letters and the second attack. What’s your theory?’

  Libby paused and threw her cigarette into the fire. ‘I don’t know that it’s a theory, exactly, but when I first met Cy and Colin and discovered that the letters had been sent only to Cy, I just wondered if it had more to do with him personally than his sexuality. I knew nothing about his background at that point, and I actually asked in the village who would be the sort of person who would disapprove of homosexuality. That was how I found out about Burton and Taylor.’

  ‘Who?’

  Libby explained. ‘Actually, of course, it didn’t take me anywhere, although I got really interested in the case. So did Ben, because of Amy Taylor’s baby, and, of course, then finding out about Josephine.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain that to me,’ said Ian. ‘I think I got lost somewhere along the road.’

  ‘I mean,’ said Libby sighing gustily, ‘Ben’s mum got pregnant while she was down here hop picking (although that had a happy ending), so did Amy, and Josephine, as we think now was a product of a hop-picking liaison. It all sort of linked up. Except that it didn’t of course. Apart from Maud Burton.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ian’s dark eyebrows, which Libby had always said reminded her of the Demon King in pantomime, shot up again.

  ‘It turns out, we think, although this is a bit tenuous, that Maud Burton was the Red Cross woman who gave Josephine to the Robinsons.’

  ‘The –?’

  ‘Robinsons. Didn’t Cy tell the police about the Robinsons?’