‘I see.’ Sheila’s voice was now chilly.
‘No, listen,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll tell you what happened.’
‘Can you come over?’ said Sheila. ‘I don’t drive any more, you see.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve a panto rehearsal in about an hour and we open next week, so I’m busy every night, and a lot of the time during the day as well.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember. I hope it goes well.’
‘Thank you. Actually, Cy and Colin are coming to see it next week. Shall I see if I can get you a ticket, too? I’m sure they’d love to give you a lift.’
‘Oh, they’re coming home then? I wondered, because the police were in there again today.’
‘Yes, I think they’ll be able to go home. I don’t think there’s any danger to Cy now. So, do you want me to tell you about this investigation now?’
‘If you’ve got time,’ said Sheila, back to being whispery.
‘Remember you said the baby – Josephine – was given away? You thought adopted, but I said she’d only been fostered.’
‘Y-e-es.’
‘Well, the people who took her were also from your village, Curtishill. They were called the Robinsons. And Patrick’s Aunt Dolly moved here to my village in the fifties just about the time when a local spinster turned out to be a poison pen writer who’d caused someone to kill themselves.’ Libby heard a gasp. ‘I know, horrible, isn’t it? Anyway, she turned out to be the Red Cross woman who gave away the baby. And then she disappeared.’
‘Disappeared? She went away?’ Sheila sounded puzzled.
‘That’s what they thought. She had a sister and brother living in Curtishill, although, actually, the police only mentioned the sister at that time. Anyway, now they think she might have been murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ Sheila gasped again. ‘Oh, my goodness. Not Maud Burton?’
‘Maud Burton. Did the police tell you this today?’
‘Well, yes, they asked me if I remembered her, but they didn’t tell me why. They wanted to know the name of Josephine’s real father, too.’
‘And were you able to tell them?’
‘I told them what I thought it was, but I’m not sure, really.’
‘Did they ask you anything else?’ asked Libby. ‘About letters, for instance?’
‘Well, they did. Asked if I’d ever had any anonymous letters. I thought they meant like Cyril’s and Patrick’s.’
‘And you hadn’t?’
‘Well – no. Not like that.’
‘But you had in the past?’
There was a silence.
‘I see,’ said Libby. ‘You told the police no because you thought they meant letters like the recent ones, but in fact you received some – one? – some years back. Is that right? And you didn’t tell the police about that?’
‘No,’ said Sheila eventually. ‘I didn’t connect it.’
‘But they were asking about Maud Burton. Didn’t that make you think they might be talking about fifty years ago and not now?’
‘No, it didn’t. They didn’t say anything about Maud and letters, or her being murdered. Oh, dear. Do you think I ought to tell them?’
‘Yes, I do, Sheila. What was the letter about?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say,’ said Sheila, with a repressive sniff.
‘The police will want to know,’ said Libby.
‘Well, if you must know, it was about my family.’ Sheila cleared her throat again.
‘Your family? Your father and brother?’
‘How –? Oh, yes, you saw the picture.’ Sheila paused. ‘No. About my mother.’
‘Oh.’ Libby wondered if she should go any further and decided, uncharacteristically, that she wouldn’t. ‘Well, as I said, I think you ought to tell the police. They think Maud Burton was a wholesale poison pen writer.’
‘But they think she was murdered,’ said Sheila shakily. ‘I know what happens then. They think one of the people who she sent letters to murdered her.’
Libby, who privately thought just that, disclaimed immediately. ‘I’m sure all they want to do is find out more about her,’ she said. ‘Did you know her?’
‘I used to see her going about,’ said Sheila. ‘I even knew her name, but I didn’t have anything to do with her. I wasn’t a picker, you see.’
‘No, you told me. Did you know the Robinsons?’
‘Not really. They weren’t friends of my par – my father’s. I’m not sure I knew it was them who took Josephine, anyway. I don’t really remember.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, isn’t this awful? Who’d have thought Cyril’s accident would have brought all this out?’
Libby, feeling quite ashamed of her own part in bringing it all out, agreed. ‘Would you like me to tell my contact in the police what you’ve told me?’ she offered.
‘Would you? I expect they’ll want to come and see me again. I hope they don’t send that woman again.’
‘Is she a big woman? A sergeant?’
‘That’s the one. Do you know her?’
‘No, but Colin and Cy do,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘So there we are,’ Libby said to Ben a bit later, as she got ready to go to the theatre. ‘I’ve left a message on Ian’s voicemail. I hope he can go and see her on behalf of the Cold Case unit rather than the lady sergeant, who sounds a bit scary.’
‘Perhaps they have to be?’ suggested Ben. ‘Remember that Superintendent on Lewis’s case?’
‘Bertram. Yes I remember.’ Libby shuddered. ‘I had a horrible feeling she’d turn up on this one, but apparently not.’
‘So Sheila had received anonymous letters, too.’ Ben was thoughtful as they left number 17. ‘Did she know about Cy’s before the mugging?’
‘I don’t think so. Not something they would have told her, is it?’
‘I don’t know. But she’s scared now. I wonder who else Maud sent letters to?’
‘Well, you’re not likely to find out, are you? And if they’re all as old as Sheila or older, a lot of them will be dead.’
‘Pity they didn’t have a vicar like our Reverend Greene,’ said Ben. ‘Declaiming from the pulpit. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t done that?’
‘The police would still have found Amy’s letter with her note at the bottom, so I expect it would all have come out anyway.’
‘Maybe,’ said Ben. ‘Oh, well, here we go. From one poor child to another.’ He unlocked the main theatre door.
‘Eh?’ said Libby.
‘Josephine and Little Boy Blue,’ explained Ben, turning on the foyer lights and climbing the spiral staircase to the lighting box. ‘He sounds like a poor child, doesn’t he?’
‘Right,’ said Libby, pushing open the doors into the auditorium. The house lights came up, switched on by Ben from on high, and Libby walked down to the stage, climbing up and going to the prompt corner to switch on the worker lights, then back down to the dressing rooms to switch on the heating and light in there. By the time she’d got back to the stage, other people were starting to come in and there was the atmospheric and exciting sound of tuning up from the small orchestra.
‘Josephine wasn’t such a poor child,’ Libby said, as Ben climbed on to the stage to join her. ‘She had kind foster parents and no bullying step-sisters.’
‘And no fairy godmother,’ said Ben. ‘Hadn’t you better go and squeeze yourself into that pink sausage skin?’
Buttercup only fell over once and the principal girl only went flat in her solo once, so apart from a few “shits” when people forgot their lines, the rehearsal went well.
‘OK,’ said Libby at the end, adjusting her costume, ‘today’s Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday Techs acts one and two, off Thursday, Friday and Saturday, dress Sunday, first night Monday. Try not to forget anything between Wednesday and Sunday.’
‘Shouldn’t we come in on Saturday?’ said a voice from the back. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’
A ragged chorus of agreement
rippled round the stage.
‘I’d be very happy to,’ said Libby, ‘but I didn’t like to suggest it. Who would be available? Seems a shame on your last Saturday for a fortnight, though.’
As more people wanted a rehearsal on Saturday than didn’t, accordingly Libby called one to a background of a few dissenting grumbles.
‘If you’d prefer it in the afternoon so you have the evening free, I’m happy to do that,’ she said.
Eventually, the difference was split, and four o’clock set for curtain up. With relief, Libby went back to the dressing room, unzipping as she went.
‘Not a bad bunch, are they?’ she said to Ben, as he went round locking up.
‘Very willing,’ said Ben. ‘I suppose at least we’ll get most of Saturday evening together.’
‘Sorry. But we weren’t doing anything on Saturday, were we? And we’ll be off Thursday and Friday.’
‘But we’re going to Lewis’s New Year thing on Thursday and staying over, if you remember,’ said Ben, turning his coat collar up as they stepped outside onto the drive.
‘So we are. Should we say we can’t go because of the weather and the panto?’
‘No. We ought to go and get away from all things panto and murder. I bet Lewis puts on a good party.’
‘Let’s go and see if Adam’s at the caff and ask him,’ said Libby.
The Pink Geranium was still full of diners, although the “Closed” sign was on the door. Adam waved from behind the counter at the back, and Ben held the door for Libby.
‘Bottle of red, Ma?’ called Adam.
‘Just wanted a word,’ said Libby.
‘Yes please,’ said Ben.
‘Oh, are we stopping?’ said Libby, as Ben took off his coat and started to help her off with the disreputable anorak.
‘Might as well,’ said Ben.
Harry appeared at the sofa in the window with a bottle of Libby’s favourite red wine. ‘Did you want a word with me?’ he said.
‘Adam, actually,’ said Libby, ‘but you as well, if you like.’
‘How many glasses shall I fetch then?’ said Adam, appearing behind Harry.
‘Four,’ said Ben, ‘unless Donna wants to join us.’
‘Donna’s long gone,’ said Harry. ‘She’s worked like a navvy over Christmas. All we’ve got here now is us and one of the boys still washing up, bless him. This lot,’ he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, ‘have all paid, so we’re off the hook.’
‘Glad that you’re doing OK, after last week,’ said Ben.
‘People re-booked,’ said Harry. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have been. Now, what news?’
Libby recounted all the conversations she’d had over the past couple of days. ‘And now,’ she concluded, ‘Ben wants to know if Lewis’s party on Thursday is going to be a good one.’
Adam laughed. ‘Brilliant, of course. Harry’s given me the night off.’
‘Look, sunshine, you only do casual for me. You take off whatever nights you want.’
‘I know, but I need the money.’ Adam lifted his glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘So, Cy’s attack has sparked off a whole case, has it?’ said Harry. ‘There’s a turn-up.’
‘Not exactly,’ said Libby. ‘The Cold Case unit were apparently already looking at Maud Burton’s disappearance, but when I inadvertently gave them the link to Josephine it all sort of linked up.’
‘It wasn’t really you,’ said Harry. ‘It was that Paddy’s Aunt Dolly. And have you heard if those wankers have been charged with the attack on Cy yet?’
‘No, they haven’t,’ said Libby.
‘Why not? Can’t you ask Ian?’
‘I don’t know how he’d take to me pestering him,’ said Libby.
‘He did say he’d keep you in the loop,’ said Ben. ‘And I’m still interested in the whole baby aspect.’
‘Why don’t you ask Fran about it all?’ said Adam after a minute.
Libby sighed. ‘Everyone seems to want me to ask Fran about it.’
‘Well,’ said Harry reasonably, ‘she has been very helpful in the past. I bet she feels really left out of this one.’
‘I’ve hardly spoken to her about it,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve been so busy over here, and she’s been busy with her first big family Christmas. I said to Ian that I don’t think I’d have time to take her all through the whole thing, even if I could sort it out myself, which I’m not sure I can.’
‘You can talk to her about it at Lewis’s party,’ said Ben. ‘She and Guy are going, aren’t they?’
‘As far as I know,’ said Libby.
‘There you are then,’ said Harry. ‘Let her do her Mystic Meg thing on it. And ask Ian about those kids.’
‘And while you’re at it, tell him about Sheila’s phone call,’ said Ben.
Libby sighed again. ‘Any more orders?’
The following day, after a local radio interview over the phone, a conversation with the local paper and another with Jane at the Nethergate Mercury, Libby phoned Fran.
‘Everyone wants you to have a look at this case,’ she said. ‘I tried to say you were busy, but even Ian has asked, so there you are.’
‘Even Ian, eh?’ Fran sounded amused. ‘He must be desperate.’
‘No, he’s not even officially on the case,’ said Libby. ‘He’s sort of got into it by accident. There’s quite a lot to it. What do you think?’
‘I think I ought to come over this afternoon,’ said Fran, ‘and you ought to take time off from thinking about the panto and tell me all about it.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘SO, LET ME GET this straight,’ said Fran, holding her hands out to the fire. ‘First of all Cy was attacked –’
‘No, first of all he got letters. So did Patrick.’
‘All right. But the first you knew of it –’
‘No, I knew about the letters. Harry wanted me to talk to him for some reason.’
Fran blew out a sigh. ‘Right. Cy received letters about his sexuality –’
‘Might have been, might not.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lib!’ Fran sat back in the armchair. ‘Stop interrupting. Look, Cy’s attacked, Patrick is killed, all on the same night and presumably by the same person. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘And they’ve both received poison pen letters?’
‘Right.’
‘Then Cy is attacked again and his house is ransacked. Meanwhile you find out –’ Libby opened her mouth but Fran ploughed on ‘– that Cy’s mother was the illegitimate daughter of a murderess and that her father then sent his son away on the Children’s Migration Programme. Right so far?’
Libby nodded.
‘OK, so then we come to the tale of Burton and Taylor.’ Fran pushed her heavy dark hair behind one ear and put her head on one side. ‘And how this came into the equation I simply can’t understand. Is it just the well known Sarjeant curiosity?’
‘It was mentioned by someone else –’
‘You told me, Joe at Cattlegreen Nurseries.’
‘And I was interested,’ Libby finished lamely. ‘That’s really all there is to it.’
‘And then, lo and behold, Maud Burton turns up connected to Cy’s mother.’
‘And is now the subject of a cold case review.’
‘In which Ian is concerned.’
‘Only because – well, because of me, actually.’
Fran sighed. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Libby.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Libby. ‘Especially as I specifically told Harry right at the beginning I didn’t want to get involved in anything, not with having to take on the fairy and all.’
‘But you still did.’
‘I could hardly help it after everything began to escalate, could I?’
‘Well, you could, but you probably wouldn’t. Is there any more tea?’
Libby got up and collected mugs to take into the kitchen.
‘So what do you think so far, then?’ she called back
as she moved the heavy kettle forward from its simmering position.
‘I don’t honestly know,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve got no handle on it and I don’t know the people. Is there anywhere I could go that might give me a sense of it all?’
‘Only Cy’s bungalow,’ said Libby, putting fresh teabags into the rinsed mugs. ‘And that’s a bit out of bounds at the moment.’
‘When’s Cy being allowed back in?’
‘When they’ve finished the forensic tests and the searches, I assume. When they first moved him out it was at least partially for his safety, which, I suppose was confirmed when the place was ransacked.’
‘Was anything taken?’
‘Colin says he doesn’t think so. I expect the police will have Cy go through everything when he gets back.’
Fran frowned as Libby came back with the full mugs. ‘So, the theory is that Maud Burton was the woman who organised the Robinsons’ adoption –’
‘Fostering.’
Fran sent her a fulminating look. ‘Fostering, then, of Josephine. She then gets into some sort of trouble in – what was the village called?’
‘Curtishill.’
‘In Curtishill and leaves. She ends up here and starts her little career plan of blackmailing people in her old village by sending them anonymous letters.’
‘That’s Ian’s speculation. And Sheila confirmed that when she told me she’d received one.’
‘Did she know who it was from?’ asked Fran.
Libby’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do you know, I never asked her! I don’t think she can have done, because she said she didn’t connect anything of what they were asking her together – if you see what I mean.’
‘Was she blackmailed?’
‘Oh, I don’t know that, either.’ Libby made a face. ‘Useless, aren’t I?’
‘Anyway, as far as you know, she didn’t turn her attention to Steeple Martin until she and Amy fell for the vicar. Then she was found out and promptly disappeared. Which makes sense.’
‘But when they broke into her cottage a few days later, the place was a wreck and there were blood traces. Or splatters. So they looked for her, but she was never found.’
‘And they think it was murder.’
‘They’ve managed to get DNA from preserved material,’ said Libby.
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