Murder Imperfect

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I knew of her.’

  ‘You said you knew the Red Cross people,’ said Libby.

  ‘We all did. I didn’t know her personally.’

  ‘And you know nothing about Cliona Masters?’ said Ian.

  Sheila looked bewildered. ‘That’s Josephine’s mother Libby told me about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. But the other policewoman asked me about someone else.’ Sheila looked from one to another. ‘Who was she?’

  ‘Norma Cherry?’ said Libby.

  ‘Norma Fleetwood?’ said Ian.

  Sheila looked even more confused. ‘I – I – I’m not sure. Cherry?’

  Ian nodded. ‘Don’t worry about it. Now, the only other thing was the farmer’s name. I believe you weren’t sure of that, either.’

  ‘I said to that policewoman I thought it was Palmer, but I’m not sure. It’s a long time ago.’ Sheila was now frowning herself.

  ‘Can I make you a cup of tea, Sheila?’ Libby asked, getting to her feet. ‘This has all been rather a shock, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, please dear.’ Sheila looked up at her. ‘Will you find everything?’

  ‘If you don’t mind me looking,’ said Libby cheerfully, and went off to find the kitchen.

  This, she discovered, was much the same vintage as the bathroom. She found everything she wanted, loaded a tray and took it back to the sitting room. Nothing seemed to have progressed while she was away, except that Fran was looking at the picture of Sheila’s father and brother.

  ‘Now,’ said Libby, after pouring tea, ‘you said to me there was something you didn’t quite understand when the policewoman talked to you. When she asked you if you’d received any letters, you said no, because you thought she meant at the same time as Cy, but she meant years ago.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Sheila looked down at her cup. ‘I did receive a letter.’

  ‘When was that, Mrs Blake?’ asked Ian gently.

  ‘Must have been, oh, fifty years ago? I was just about to get married.’

  ‘And what did you do?’ asked Fran.

  A hint of colour came into Sheila’s cheeks. ‘I burnt it. It was disgusting.’

  ‘And you got no more?’

  ‘No. I’d ignored it, you see, and I’d moved. So whoever it was could just go on writing and asking for money. They weren’t getting any.’

  ‘Was the writer threatening you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Threatened to tell my fiancé about – well, what the letter was about. Unless I paid up.’

  ‘How much were they asking for, Mrs Blake?’ asked Ian.

  ‘A pound a week for a year. That was a lot in those days.’

  ‘And may we ask what the letter was about?’ Ian’s voice was soft, cajoling.

  Sheila lifted her chin. ‘My mother.’

  Fran’s eyes flew to Libby’s.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Ian, replacing his cup and saucer on the tray. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else at the moment. It was very kind of you to see us.’

  Libby and Fran hurriedly finished their tea and Libby carried the tray back into the kitchen. She returned to find Fran holding the photograph and talking to Sheila about it. Ian used her return to detach Fran and make their farewells.

  ‘So what were you so interested in?’ asked Libby, once they were back in the car.

  ‘Her father and brother,’ said Fran, ‘and her mother. Remember, she said the letter was about her mother.’

  ‘But she’s never said anything about her mother,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, and that’s significant,’ said Ian. ‘In fact she’s said very little about anything.’

  Libby frowned. ‘I suppose so.’ She looked up as Ian switched on the engine. ‘I thought we were going to see Cy and Colin?’

  ‘With Mrs Blake watching us from behind her net curtain?’ said Ian. ‘I don’t think so. They’ll keep.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘DO YOU WANT TO come back to mine?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’ve got to drop Fran back in Nethergate,’ said Ian.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll get Guy to come and get me.’ She turned to Libby. ‘Perhaps we could go to Harry’s for a meal, the four of us?’

  ‘Rehearsing,’ said Libby. ‘Last one until Saturday. We go up on Monday.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. Still, wouldn’t Harry do an early meal for us? To save you cooking?’

  ‘I seem to have eaten in Harry’s a lot recently,’ said Libby. ‘He might be fed up with me.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you don’t want to,’ said Fran, turning back to face front.

  ‘Oh, no, I’d love to. Shall I call Ben and ask him to arrange it?’

  Fran turned back with a smile. ‘Yes, and I’ll call Guy.’

  ‘And meanwhile, ladies, if you don’t mind, could I have your reactions to our two conversations?’ Ian sounded exasperated. He often did in his dealings with them, thought Libby.

  Fran looked at him for a long moment. ‘When I’ve called Guy,’ she said eventually.

  Meanwhile, Libby had called Ben and asked him to arrange an early supper with Harry.

  ‘Well,’ said Fran, switching off her phone and replacing it in her bag. ‘Mrs Webley knows no more than she told us, but Mrs Blake knows considerably more.’

  ‘There, see?’ said Libby with satisfaction. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘For some reason, she’s scared, and it’s got something to do with her family.’

  ‘What about this other baby Norma’s supposed to have had?’ asked Ian. ‘Get anything there?’

  ‘No,’ said Fran, sounding irritated. ‘I can’t pick things up to order, Ian. You ought to know that by now.’

  Ian made a sound that just might have been an apology, and concentrated on driving.

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ said Fran in a more conciliatory tone. ‘There was no immediate atmosphere in either place. The only thing I felt at all was an uneasiness about the photograph.’

  Libby made a sharp sound and Fran turned to look at her. ‘You’ve got it, haven’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Got what?’ It was Ian’s turn to sound irritated.

  ‘Go on, Lib. What do you think?’ Fran said.

  ‘Is it –’ Libby hesitated, ‘is it a photograph of the farmer and the little boy he sent away?’

  ‘What?’ Ian looked away from the road towards Fran. Both women shouted at him.

  ‘I think Libby’s right,’ said Fran, as he turned his attention back to the road.

  ‘Which means –’ Libby began.

  ‘That Sheila Blake is Josephine’s half-sister,’ finished Ian.

  Nobody spoke. Eventually, Fran heaved a sigh.

  ‘And Sheila has never been mentioned, by Aunt Dolly or anyone else. Did no one know there was a sister as well as a brother?’

  ‘We haven’t been able to find anyone else,’ said Ian. ‘The only reports we’ve got are from the internet. A lot of the police records from that time were destroyed.’

  ‘So who else would know?’ asked Libby.

  ‘How did Aunt Dolly know about the boy being sent to Australia?’ asked Ian.

  ‘And do we believe Sheila when she said that she thought the name of the farmer was Palmer?’ said Fran.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Libby. ‘If she’s trying to prevent us from finding out who she is, she wouldn’t give away her real surname. We would look her up immediately.’

  ‘The farmer’s name will be on file somewhere,’ said Ian. ‘I can find that.’

  ‘I think Aunt Dolly knew about the boy the same way as she said she knew about the other baby – just gossip,’ said Libby.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ian, and they fell silent again.

  When Ian pulled up outside Libby’s cottage, he refused to come in for tea.

  ‘I’ve got a report to make,’ he said, ‘although I doubt I shall mention much about your contribution.’

  ‘We haven’t made any yet,’ said Fran.

  ‘You have. Sheila’
s identity.’

  ‘I might be wrong.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, it’s cold out here.’

  Ian drove off and Libby switched on the lights as she went through to the kitchen to switch the electric kettle on.

  ‘I don’t know why you keep that big old cast iron kettle,’ said Fran, following her. ‘You seem to use the electric one most of the time.’

  ‘When I’m at home I keep the Rayburn one on the simmer all day, but I can’t leave it like that if I’m out,’ said Libby, fetching mugs from a cupboard.

  The phone rang as they carried their tea through to the sitting room.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in?’ asked Colin, somewhat querulously. ‘We saw you leaving Sheila’s.’

  ‘Ian said we couldn’t because Sheila was watching through the curtains,’ said Libby. ‘I was going to ring you. We’ve only just got home.’

  ‘And what did your friend think? Nice-looking, I thought.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’ Libby turned and grinned at Fran, who lifted her eyebrows. ‘And nothing much has come out yet. I’ll let you know if anything does.’

  ‘Yes I am what?’ asked Fran, as Libby switched off the phone.

  ‘Good-looking.’ Libby grinned again. ‘Don’t know why he commented today – he saw you at our open house, didn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t think we coincided,’ said Fran. ‘Nice of him, anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t tell him what we think about Sheila.’ Libby knelt by the fireplace and began to build a fire. ‘We don’t know for sure, and it might harm Ian’s investigation.’

  ‘I’m still not sure how Ian’s come into this,’ said Fran, frowning. ‘It’s not his area.’

  ‘I told you, he’s been asked to help the Cold Case Review Unit about Maud’s death, and he was asked by Maidstone to visit Cy while he was here, just as a sort of courtesy, I think.’ Libby watched as the kindling caught and sent yellow flames shooting up the chimney.

  ‘And the link between the two cases is you. And just tell me again why we’re looking into the case of Norma Cherry, or Fleetwood, or whoever she is?’

  Libby heaved a sigh and sat on the sofa. ‘Looking into Cy’s background to see if there was anything there that might have given rise to the attack or the anonymous letters. I’ve explained all this.’

  ‘Just recapping,’ said Fran. ‘And you needed to establish a connection between Cy and Patrick why, exactly?’

  ‘Because they both received letters and they were both attacked on the same night. Only Patrick was killed.’

  Fran sat frowning for a while, sipping her tea.

  ‘And you say you think the attackers are not the people – or person – who sent the letters or attacked Cy the second time?’

  ‘It just doesn’t seem the same,’ said Libby. ‘Different entirely.’

  ‘But they aren’t,’ said Fran.

  ‘Aren’t what? Different?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fran.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  LIBBY STARED, HER MOUTH open.

  ‘Of course?’ she said eventually.

  ‘I think so.’ Fran looked up. ‘I’d like to know more about Sheila’s brother and about the other baby.’

  ‘If there was one,’ reminded Libby.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure there was. I want to know who the father was.’

  ‘How will that help us?’

  ‘The police are trying to find Cy’s attacker and Patrick’s killer. You were right in trying to find a connection between their histories. I think that’s where the answer lies. But I also think you were right, in a way, in that the second attack wasn’t by the same person.’

  ‘Or persons?’

  ‘Only one, I think.’

  ‘But Sheila said she saw two youths attacking Cy,’ said Libby.

  ‘Perhaps she was lying?’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘We know she’s been lying about her past,’ said Fran, ‘and you said you suspected her.’

  ‘Of the attacks, yes, but now – well, I can’t see it. If she really is Josephine’s half sister, then I feel sorry for her. She sort of lost everything to Josephine, didn’t she? It doesn’t seem as though her father had any interest in her, and then she lost her little brother. She has every reason to hate Josephine.’

  ‘But I don’t think she attacked Cy or killed Patrick,’ said Fran. ‘She’s not strong enough, and she’s far too old.’

  ‘What about the brother? Might he have come back?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be much younger than Sheila,’ said Fran.

  ‘He might have children.’

  ‘Would they know anything about his history, though?’

  ‘I’m sure they would,’ said Libby. ‘You’d tell your kids about your history, wouldn’t you?’

  Fran turned down her mouth. ‘If they’d listen. The only thing my daughters are interested in is money, you know that.’

  ‘How is Chrissie?’ asked Libby, diverted for a moment. ‘Have they resolved the children issue?’

  ‘She told me they were trying,’ said Fran. ‘For a baby, that is. How Brucie baby is taking it I’m not sure. He seemed very quiet at Christmas – for him, that is.’

  ‘Oh, well, as long as they don’t expect you to babysit all the time,’ said Libby. ‘Not like you did in London for Lucy.’

  ‘You should hear her on the subject,’ said Fran with a short laugh. ‘She still blames me for moving down here. She has no life, apparently.’

  ‘That’s what happens when you have children,’ said Libby. ‘And when your husband gets fed up with having a wife who can’t go out because of the children, they go off with someone who can.’

  ‘Your husband didn’t go off until your children were older,’ said Fran. ‘And I was the worst mother in the world, as we know. I was always leaving my children. No wonder they grew up as they did.’

  ‘Stop blaming yourself,’ said Libby. ‘And let’s get back to the problem at hand. Someone who connects Patrick and Cy.’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran was frowning again. ‘That’s the problem. The only person so far is this Larry Barkiss. There’s no connection with Josephine or Sheila. And he doesn’t appear to have any connection to a previous generation.’

  ‘He might have. Aunt Dolly didn’t know anything about him, but she said, didn’t she, she wasn’t living here, I mean, there, then. Margaret, Lisa and Patrick’s mother, told her all about it.’

  ‘Suppose there is a link,’ said Fran slowly, ‘what would it be?’

  ‘Obvious,’ said Libby, sitting back and looking smug. ‘He’s the son of the Australian brother who’s come home.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Possible,’ she said. ‘How do we find out?’

  ‘Ian’s already looked him up, hasn’t he, so he hasn’t got a criminal record. How on earth do you go about finding someone?’

  ‘DVLC?’ suggested Fran. ‘Except you couldn’t unless you were the police, I suppose. Credit reference?’

  ‘I think it’s impossible if you’re a private citizen,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll just have to rely on Ian.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll look him up?’ said Fran. ‘I think he’s been diverted now, into finding out about Sheila.’

  ‘Did you actually get something from that photograph, or was it guesswork?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No.’ Fran shook her head. ‘It was just a feeling. You know.’ She looked up at Libby. ‘I can’t explain it.’

  ‘What did Sheila say when you asked her?’

  ‘She said they were both dead. Then Ian hustled us away.’

  ‘I expect they are both dead, then. Even though the brother was obviously younger than she is, if he was treated badly on the Migrant Programme he could have died quite young.’

  ‘I wish I could talk to her about him.’ Fran sighed. ‘I’m sure it would help her, and it might help Cy.’

  ‘If it’s a connection of hers that attacked Cy she won’t want to help.’ Libby put her mug on the h
earth. ‘And that’s why she’s kept the connection quiet, because if it was known, she knew she’d become a suspect.’

  ‘Not for the attacks,’ said Fran. ‘As we keep saying, she’s too old and fragile.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all so complicated,’ Libby sighed. ‘And what about that other baby? And Maud Burton?’

  ‘I’ve got a theory about that,’ said Fran.

  ‘About the other baby?’

  ‘No, about Maud Burton. You said she was writing anonymous letters to people in Curtishill before she started on her Amy Taylor campaign.’

  ‘So Ian said. But they don’t know who to. They were initials.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they be likely to be people who asked her to get rid of unwanted children?’

  ‘Of course they would!’ Libby sat up straight. ‘Shall we tell Ian?’

  ‘I imagine he’s thought of it by now,’ said Fran. ‘What needs to be done is to check those initials and see if they mean anything to Aunt Dolly. She’s the only one we know who was around at the time.’

  ‘But she says she hardly knew anybody in the village.’

  ‘Then how did she pick up gossip?’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘Well, from other hop pickers. When they came down in September.’

  ‘When during the war were they bombed out? When did they come and live in Curtishill permanently?’

  ‘No idea.’ Libby looked surprised. ‘I suppose that makes a difference, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If it wasn’t until 1945 she’s hardly likely to know anything at all. It must have been earlier.’

  ‘Do you suppose he’d let us look at that exercise book?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s the cold case people’s evidence. They could have got the DNA from it.’

  ‘No, they couldn’t.’ Libby shook her head. ‘If Maud Burton’s killer had found that book, he’d have destroyed it. So he won’t have left DNA on it.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t realise what it was?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought so.’ Libby sighed and got to her feet. ‘I think we’re up a gum tree as usual. And this seems even more complicated than usual. More tea? Ben’ll be here soon.’

  Ben arrived, and, shortly afterwards, Guy. Harry had kindly agreed to serve them dinner at six, so they had The Pink Geranium to themselves. After serving them, Donna went to put her feet up with a magazine and Adam and Harry joined them at their table. Libby filled them in on the afternoon’s events.