‘Has there been any suggestion that she was sending letters to Josephine?’
‘No, but at that time Josephine would still have been a child.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Fran frowned down into her mug. ‘Her foster parents, then?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why the police wanted to talk to Sheila and Aunt Dolly, to see if they could give them any information about her victims.’
‘It’s very unlikely now,’ said Fran. ‘Most of them will be dead, surely?’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Libby.
‘So who are the police actually looking for?’
‘The second attacker, the letter writer and Maud Burton’s murderer.’
‘And are they all the same person?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Libby looked at her in surprise. ‘How could they be?’
‘Well, you’ve managed to link the two cases.’
‘Just because I have, that doesn’t mean that they really are.’
‘What would be the motives for Maud Burton’s murder?’
‘To stop her blackmailing.’
‘Yes, and another?’
Libby shook her head.
‘To stop something coming out,’ said Fran. ‘If Maud really held something over someone, it would be because that person didn’t want it to be known, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ said Libby. ‘But why at that particular moment? Had the victim just stopped paying, or what?’
‘I think I see,’ said Fran slowly, gazing into the fire. ‘Think about it. Maud has just been exposed as an anonymous letter writer. Her belongings have been turned over. Possibly material has been confiscated. She wasn’t charged with anything after Amy’s inquest, was she?’
‘No, although the coroner told her off, I think.’
‘But this would have been public knowledge?’
‘Yes. Coroner’s inquests were a popular form of entertainment in the fifties.’
Fran laughed. ‘Only in a rural community,’ she said. ‘I think you’re thinking of the twenties and thirties.’
‘Whatever,’ said Libby, ‘the Burton and Taylor case was reported locally.’
‘So, if there was someone in Curtishill who had done something reprehensible back in the days when Maud lived there and who was being blackmailed by her, and they read about the Amy Taylor case, they might get scared.’
‘Oh!’ said Libby, seeing the light. ‘Of course. They would think there would be more investigation into Maud Burton and their peccadilloes would come out.’
‘Except,’ said Fran, ‘that if Maud had kept evidence, just killing her wouldn’t be enough. It would have to be destroyed.’
‘And that’s why her cottage was ransacked.’
‘Exactly. Does that make sense?’
‘It does to me.’ Libby was on her feet. ‘Shall we tell Ian?’
‘If you like. Weren’t you supposed to be talking to him anyway?’
‘I left a message on his voicemail, but he hasn’t got back to me. Shall I try him again?’
‘Why not?’ said Fran.
This time, Libby got through.
‘Sorry I haven’t got back to you,’ Ian said. ‘Bit busy here.’
‘Sorry to bother you, then, but you said you wanted to know if there was anything I found out that you didn’t know.’
‘And there is?’ Ian’s voice sharpened.
‘Well, yes,’ said Libby going to close the curtains over the dark windows, and she told him about her conversation with Sheila, and then with Fran.
‘Oh, and Cy and Colin want to know when they can go back home,’ she concluded. ‘Police were in there again yesterday, Sheila said.’
‘I gather they’ve tidied up a bit,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll make enquiries. Meanwhile, I need to speak to Mrs Blake and Mrs Webley again.’
‘Will you speak to them yourself? Can you do that? If you aren’t officially on the case?’
‘I told you, I’m working with the Cold Case unit, now, and this information is to do with the Maud Burton investigation, so yes, I probably can. Is Fran there? Can I have a word?’
Libby held out her phone. ‘He wants you,’ she said, noticing that Fran’s cheeks got a little pinker as she took it.
Fran’s end of the conversation gave nothing away. Libby sat on the sofa and waited impatiently.
‘He wants me to go with him to talk to those women,’ Fran said, handing the phone back.
‘What?’ Libby scowled. ‘That’s not fair. Why can’t he take me?’
‘You said you didn’t want to get involved,’ said Fran, with a grin. ‘You told me.’
‘That was before,’ said Libby.
‘It’s to see if I pick up anything. And I think it would look odd if you came too. You’ve already talked to both of them.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘But how frustrating. When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow, if he can get in touch with them both. And he says to tell you he’ll sort out Cy and Colin going back home.’
‘Right. Well, you’ll let me know what happens, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. And we’ll see you on Thursday night, anyway.’
When Libby and Ben arrived home after rehearsal that night, there were two messages on the answerphone. The first was from Colin.
‘We can go home!’ he said. ‘Wanted to thank you so much for having put us up here. Hope we’ll see you in the morning before we go.’
The second was from Fran. ‘Going to see Aunt Dolly first in the morning and then on to Sheila Blake. I’ll call you when I get home.’
‘That’s why you didn’t want Fran involved,’ said Ben shrewdly, when she relayed these to him. ‘You do all the groundwork and Fran comes in for the glory.’
Libby sighed. ‘I’m such a bad person.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Ben gave her a hug. ‘And you’re a very good director. Now come to bed.’
The following day, Ben drove Libby up to Steeple Farm in the four by four. Colin and Cy were packed and ready to go.
‘We’ve given the place a good spring clean,’ said Colin, ‘and I put the sheets in the washing machine.’
‘That was good of you,’ said Libby. ‘Are you sure you’re all right to go back?’
‘Your nice policeman phoned us,’ said Colin.
‘Inspector Connell,’ said Cy. ‘I must say, he was an improvement on the ones who dealt with us before.’
‘He can be quite scary,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m glad he was nice to you. Did he tell you about going to see Sheila again?’
‘Yes. She isn’t happy. She phoned up just now. Apparently he’s taking someone with him.’
Libby nodded. ‘My friend Fran,’ she said. ‘I told you about her.’
‘The psychic one?’ said Colin. ‘Oooh! How exciting! I said you should have asked her in before.’
‘Well, she’s here now,’ said Libby. ‘They might pop over and see you after they’ve finished with Sheila.’
‘Oooh, I hope so,’ said Colin.
‘We’ll see,’ said Cy firmly. ‘Come on, we mustn’t hold them up.’ He held a hand out to Ben, who shook it warmly, and gave Libby a hug. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done,’ he said.
Libby’s mobile rang in her pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ she said and went outside.
‘Lib? It’s me. Look, do you think you could possibly come with us to see these women? They both asked why you weren’t coming.’ Fran sounded faintly exasperated. ‘They seem to have taken to you.’
Libby couldn’t stop a self-satisfied grin spreading over her face. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘at the moment I’m at Steeple Farm –’
‘Are Colin and Cy leaving, then? Oh, good, we can go and see them when we’ve seen Sheila. Ian says he’ll pick you up on the way to Mrs Webley’s.’
‘When, though? I told you, I’m not at home.’
There was a muffled conversation. ‘Half an hour?’ suggested Fran.
‘So I’ll see you later,’ said L
ibby a moment later after explaining to Ben, Cy and Colin her new plans for the day.
‘Good,’ said Cy. ‘Sheila will be much happier if you’re there.’
‘I can’t think why,’ said Libby, ‘but if she is, that’s good. Come on, Ben.’
‘Got your own way, then,’ he said, as they drove back towards Allhallow’s Lane.
‘Not my own way,’ said Libby, ‘just not excluded, that’s all.’
‘They ought to know better than to try and exclude you,’ said Ben, with a sideways grin.
‘And now they do,’ said Libby.
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘SO WHERE DOES THIS Mrs Webley live?’ Ian peered over his steering wheel.
‘Just down here on the right,’ said Libby, pointing over his shoulder. ‘There, see? The first bungalow.’
Ian grunted and pulled the car off on to the dirty-snow covered verge. Fran opened the passenger door and grimaced as she looked down.
‘That,’ said Libby, as she climbed out of the back of the car, ‘is what you get for wearing unsensible shoes in a rural area.’
‘Is there such a word?’ said Fran, treading carefully across the rutted surface. ‘Anyway, these are boots, not shoes.’
‘Not practical boots,’ said Libby, looking down with favour on her new present-from-Belinda floral wellingtons.
‘You’ll have to take those off inside,’ warned Fran.
‘I know that,’ said Libby. ‘I did last time. I’m not stupid.’
‘Come on,’ said Ian impatiently. ‘We’re not here for a fashion parade.’
Aunt Dolly welcomed them cautiously, looking relieved to see Libby.
‘I don’t know that I can tell you any more than I told Libby here,’ she said, seating herself in the same chair beside the electric fire. Libby, Fran and Ian distributed themselves over the remaining seats.
‘We just want to make sure we’ve got all the facts, Mrs Webley,’ said Ian, using his best dark chocolate voice. Fran and Libby exchanged glances.
‘Well, all right then,’ said Aunt Dolly, smoothing her skirt over large knees. ‘I’ll do me best.’
Ian took her through everything she had told Libby previously up to the point where she and her husband had moved to Steeple Martin.
‘And your family were still living in Curtishill then?’ he asked, when she finally ran down.
‘No, dear, Maidstone. I told Libby. We moved. That was how Cy and young Paddy came to be at the same school.’
‘Of course.’ Ian looked down at his notes. ‘And Larry Barkiss? Where did he live?’
Aunt Dolly looked surprised. ‘Maidstone somewhere, same as us, I suppose.’
‘And you never knew anything more about him?’
‘Well, I was already living here when all that happened,’ she said, ‘Our Margaret told me. Very upset she and Roy were, and our Mum, I can tell you.’
‘What about your brother?’ asked Ian.
‘Bertie? Oh, he’s dead, God bless him. No, he took no notice. He wasn’t that interested in the family. Went off up north somewhere, Manchester, was it? Anyway, he didn’t know much about it. Margaret told me, and I think the name come up a coupla times after, you know, people asking about other people at get-togethers and such.’
‘So, you never heard what happened to Larry Barkiss, or where he might be living?’
‘No, dear, sorry.’ Aunt Dolly shook her head.
‘And you had nothing to do with the farmer and his family after you moved from the cottage he rented you?’
‘We didn’t have much to do with him, then,’ said Dolly. ‘I told Libby. I couldn’t even remember the names of young Josie’s parents.’
‘The Robinsons,’ supplied Libby.
‘Ah! That’s it,’ said Aunt Dolly, pleased. ‘I knew it was something like Harrison.’
‘But you knew it was Maud Burton who arranged for them to take Josephine?’
‘Not really, dear,’ said Aunt Dolly.
Libby, Ian and Fran stared at her.
‘But you said –’ said Libby.
‘We knew she handed her over, but I don’t know that she arranged it.’
‘Oh.’
‘She would have done, though,’ said Fran, breaking her silence for the first time. ‘She worked for the Red Cross. Someone would have asked her to help.’
Everyone looked at Fran.
‘Well, if she was involved in the Hoppers’ Hospital she would have been the person to come and help with the birth,’ said Fran reasonably.
‘What about a doctor?’ asked Ian.
‘Not in them days, dear,’ laughed Aunt Dolly. ‘Not unless there was something wrong. Specially during the war. They made shift, like everything else.’
‘Made shift?’ mouthed Ian to Libby.
‘Made do,’ she whispered back.
‘Made do, dear, that’s right,’ said Aunt Dolly comfortably, and Ian’s neck turned pink.
‘So there’s nothing more you can add to what you told Mrs Sarjeant?’ he said.
‘Not really, dear. Only I did think about the gossip – you know, all the talk that goes on in places like that.’
‘No?’ Ian, Fran and Libby all leant forward.
‘The pickers?’ asked Libby.
‘And in the village. See, the year before, they reckoned this Cliona, as she called herself, had another baby.’
‘Another one?’ Libby echoed.
‘By a pole puller. Or someone. No one knew what happened to that one.’
‘Maud Burton again?’ Ian looked at Fran, who was frowning.
‘Could that be Larry Barkiss’s parent?’ suggested Libby. ‘Could he have been that resentful?’
Aunt Dolly looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know, dear. It was only gossip.’
‘Would Mrs Blake know?’ asked Ian.
‘Who?’ Aunt Dolly looked puzzled.
‘Sheila,’ said Libby. ‘We’re going to see her, too.’
‘You can ask her, but I never knew her when we lived in the village. Must have seen her, I suppose, but she never registered, if you know what I mean.’ She turned to Libby. ‘I told you that, dear.’
‘Yes, you did,’ said Libby, suddenly thoughtful.
‘Any thoughts?’ Ian asked Fran, as they made their way back to the car.
‘A few,’ said Fran. ‘Let me think them first.’
‘I had one,’ said Libby, climbing into the back seat.
‘Really?’ Ian didn’t look at her, merely switched on the ignition.
‘That’s twice Aunt Dolly has said she never knew Sheila during the war, even though they lived in the same village. Don’t you think that’s peculiar?’
‘She also told you the villagers didn’t like her family much. They didn’t mix.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby settled back into the leather luxury of Ian’s car.
‘Don’t get fixated on Sheila Blake,’ said Ian. ‘For a start, she’s been nothing but a help to Cy and Colin and for another thing, she’s almost eighty years old. I really can’t see her attacking either of those young men, and even less killing one of them.’
Although the snow was still proving a problem for transport, Ian made it to Maidstone in only forty minutes, despite slow going on Detling Hill. Libby directed him to Sheila’s bungalow, eliciting an exasperated sigh.
‘The satnav’s quite capable, Libby.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know you had one,’ said Libby, innocently. ‘I can’t hear it.’
‘The sound’s turned off.’ Ian switched off the engine, detached the satnav from its housing and waved it at her. ‘There. And now it goes in my brief case.’
‘You look more like a businessman than a cop with that,’ she said, climbing out of the car.
‘Less alarming,’ said Ian. ‘Go on. Ring the bell.’
But once again, Libby didn’t have to. The door swung open and Sheila stood there, upright and prim in beige and brown.
‘Sheila – how good of you to see us,’ said Libby, a little gu
shingly. ‘This is Inspector Connell.’
‘Is this about Cy’s letters? Or that Maud Burton?’ asked Sheila, without moving.
‘Both, really, Mrs Blake,’ said Ian smoothly, turning on the dark chocolate again. ‘You’re one of the few people who can remember anything about those days.’
Sheila stepped aside grudgingly and they all trooped into the tiny hall.
‘In there,’ she said, and Libby led the way.
‘By those days,’ she said, when they were all seated, ‘you mean the war. I was only a child, you know.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Ian. ‘But you knew about Josephine being fostered, didn’t you?’
‘I thought she’d been adopted.’ Sheila shrugged. ‘That’s why, when I ended up living opposite her, I didn’t say anything. She might not have known.’
‘How did you know who she was, Mrs Blake?’ Fran broke in. Sheila looked at her in affronted surprise.
‘Oh, sorry, Sheila. This is our – er – colleague, Mrs Castle.’
‘Wolfe,’ corrected Ian.
‘Sorry. Mrs Wolfe.’ Libby was beginning to feel heated. ‘Yes, how did you know? Did you tell me?’
‘I told you that I didn’t really know the people who adopted her. But I’d seen her sometimes.’
‘I thought they moved away from the village?’
‘Not far,’ said Sheila. ‘And I moved too, a few years later. When I was old enough.’
‘You moved away from home?’ asked Fran.
‘When I married.’ Sheila’s mouth was more rat-trap like than ever. It was clear she resented the questioning. Libby sent Ian a pleading look.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Blake,’ he said, all dark chocolate again. ‘You’re the only person, apart from Mrs Webley who can tell us anything about those days. I’m sorry if we appear intrusive.’
Sheila looked slightly mollified. ‘And who’s Mrs Webley?’ she said.
‘Aunt Dolly,’ said Libby. ‘Margaret’s sister.’
Sheila nodded. ‘I never really knew her in the village,’ she said. ‘I knew the farmer gave them somewhere to live, that’s about all. I got to know Ada after the war.’
‘Ada?’ said Ian.
‘Ada Weston. Margaret’s mother.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Ian frowned. Libby guessed that he was getting a little flustered by all these families and names. ‘But you knew Maud Burton?’
Murder Imperfect Page 21