Murder Imperfect

by Lesley Cookman

  A few hours later, feet up in front of the fire catching up on some of the television programmes they’d recorded over Christmas, Ben and Libby were disturbed by the ringing of the landline.

  ‘Let the answerphone take it,’ said Ben, and Libby agreed. Who wanted to get into a conversation at this time of the evening? But they listened as the caller left his message. And, unsurprisingly, it was Colin.

  ‘We’ve just had the police onto us again,’ he said, a suspicion of a whine in his voice. ‘And I don’t know where they think they got this information from. I expect it was you, but if it was, how did you find out? Ring me back – please.’

  The please was added very much as an afterthought. Libby immediately reached for her mobile and switched that off.

  ‘Just in case he tries,’ she said to Ben. ‘He hasn’t got your number, has he?’

  ‘Yes, because of Steeple Farm, but I’d already switched mine off.’ He put an arm round Libby. ‘I didn’t want to be disturbed.’

  She smiled and picked up her drink. ‘Then we won’t be,’ she said.

  But the next morning, Colin was on the phone again.

  ‘Why didn’t you ring me back?’ he said. ‘I left messages on both your phones.’

  ‘Because, Colin, it was New Year’s Day and Ben and I were celebrating. I haven’t even turned my mobile on yet, and neither has Ben.’

  ‘You heard your landline message, though?’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Libby, ‘and I really can’t help you.’

  ‘Where did the police find out about the trouble at the depot?’

  ‘Why didn’t either of you tell me about it when you were asking for my advice?’ Libby countered. ‘I asked you specifically if there had been any trouble.’

  ‘We didn’t think it was important.’ Colin sounded sulky.

  ‘I remember when I asked – you looked at each other. You knew something then, didn’t you?’ Libby made a sound of exasperation. ‘Honestly, Colin. You only make things worse by withholding things, I don’t mean from me, although that makes me mad, seeing that you wanted my help, but from the police. I’ve no patience with it.’

  There was silence at the other end of the phone line, but Libby knew Colin was still there.

  ‘And another thing,’ she said. ‘Why are you making this call and not Cy?’

  ‘He said not to bother you,’ said Colin eventually. ‘He’s more forgiving than me.’

  Libby exploded. ‘FORGIVING? Forgiving me? For fuck’s sake, Colin, get a grip. My friends and I have done more for you than anyone else – giving you somewhere to stay – oh, all sorts of things. And now you have the cheek to say –’ she stopped, took a deep breath. ‘Goodbye.’

  As she switched off the phone, she realised she was shaking. Ben, coming down the stairs, put an arm round her shoulders. ‘What was all that about?’ he said, pushing her into a chair. ‘You don’t normally swear.’

  Libby told him. ‘I was furious,’ she said.

  ‘I could tell,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘I doubt he’ll try again, though. You can, as you said the other day, now wash your hands of the whole business.’

  Although the rehearsal wasn’t called until four o’clock, Libby and Ben went to the theatre at two, partly to get out of the house in case the phone rang again, Libby admitted to Peter, when he arrived to help out with lighting.

  ‘Harry’s mortified,’ he said. ‘Colin phoned us to see where you were this morning. He sounded very grumpy, but didn’t say what he wanted. Ben called me and told me what had happened.’

  ‘Did he? He didn’t tell me.’ Libby looked across at her significant other messing about on stage with bits of rope, and smiled. ‘Protecting me, was he?’

  ‘As usual,’ said Peter. ‘And now Harry’s given Cy a piece of his mind, too, although to be fair, I think it was Colin going off the deep end rather than Cy.’

  ‘Yes, he actually said Cy didn’t want to bother me.’

  ‘So why did he?’

  ‘That was where I lost it,’ said Libby. ‘He said Cy was more forgiving than he was.’

  Peter threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he’d recovered, wiping tears from his eyes, he patted her shoulder and said brokenly, ‘I’m surprised he’s still alive.’

  ‘If he’d been there in the flesh he wouldn’t have been,’ said Ben, coming up behind them. ‘You should have heard her.’

  ‘Mouth like a navvy,’ said Peter.

  ‘Or a stoker on a coaling ship from Belfast, as my gran used to say,’ said Ben.

  ‘When you’ve quite finished,’ said Libby. ‘It wasn’t funny.’

  ‘I know, my dear old trout,’ said Peter, giving her a quick hug. ‘So now you can leave it entirely alone and concentrate on being a good fairy.’

  Not only the cast but several of the backstage and sound and lighting crew members had turned up, to Libby’s surprise, no doubt surfeited with food and drink, so she was able to hold a full technical rehearsal, which would speed up the process tomorrow.

  At eight thirty they were able to lock the theatre and repair to the pub for a drink. Libby was tired but pleased, and careful not to say anything about good rehearsals making for bad first nights. Peter went next door but one to The Pink Geranium to see how Harry was and came back to report that the restaurant was full, but Harry might be able to join them for a drink if he could get away in half an hour.

  ‘And Fran and Guy are in there,’ said Peter, sitting down opposite Libby. ‘They’re coming in, too.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby frowned. ‘They didn’t say they were coming.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to tell you everything she does,’ said Ben, amused.

  ‘No, but she always says if she’s coming to the village.’

  ‘Perhaps it was a spur of the moment thing and you would have had your phone switched off at rehearsal?’ suggested Peter.

  And so it proved. Libby switched on her phone, which had been off all day, and not only found the message from Fran, but several others, including two from Colin from the previous day.

  ‘I notice he hasn’t called to apologise,’ said Libby, putting the phone away.

  ‘Probably too scared,’ said Ben.

  It was obvious to Libby when Fran and Guy arrived, that Fran had something on her mind. She felt an immediately sinking of the spirits, as she sensed that washing her hands of the Cy situation was not going to be possible after all.

  ‘No, listen to me,’ said Fran, after Libby had expressed her desire to have nothing to do with it. ‘I feel sure there’s a link, here.’

  ‘What, with the business at the Maidstone depot? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I got to thinking about it,’ said Fran, ‘and the behaviour struck me as rather childish. Which reminded me of the other story about Cy and Patrick.’

  ‘Do you mean Larry Barkiss? But Cy would have told me, surely, if he’d been around at Maidstone? And anyway, we’re not sure what sort of behaviour it was. Young Freddy thought graffiti.’

  ‘Cy didn’t tell you about the business at all,’ said Fran. ‘How do you know that he didn’t keep it quiet on purpose?’

  ‘What?’ Libby was amazed. ‘But why? When I first saw him he was looking for answers.’

  ‘And hadn’t called in the police,’ said Fran.

  ‘No, but he did after Patrick’s death.’

  ‘Because he knew – or they knew – that either you or Sheila would if he didn’t. He couldn’t keep it quiet.’

  ‘But – but …’ Libby stopped and scowled at her drink. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying. You’re saying he deliberately kept quiet about the business at Maidstone because he thought it was the same person writing the letters? And knew who it was? Then why did he ask for my help?’

  ‘But did he?’ said Fran. ‘Or did Harry offer your services?’

  Libby opened her mouth but didn’t speak.

  ‘That was what happened, wasn’t it?’ said Fran, and Libby felt incredibly foolish.


  ‘But after that,’ she said, finding her voice, ‘they asked for quite a lot of help. And wanted me to go over to rehearsal and everything.’

  ‘Because you’d suggested another line of enquiry,’ said Fran, ‘which would lay their original suspicions to rest.’

  ‘Josephine.’ Libby nodded. ‘Oh, dear. I’ve been a bit of a fool, haven’t I?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ said Fran. ‘It was just me looking at it with fresh eyes, and seeing the whole picture, whereas you’ve only been able to see it bit by bit as it built up.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Libby looked up from her drink. ‘Will you tell Ian? I told him everything I’d found out yesterday, so he’s had all the info.’

  ‘I’ll make the suggestion, if he’ll listen to me,’ said Fran. ‘But there’s something else, as well.’

  ‘What?’ Libby eyed her friend suspiciously.

  ‘Amy Taylor. I want to find out about her son.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘HOW DO YOU KNOW it was a son?’

  Fran frowned. ‘I’m sure you said – or somebody said “he”. Otherwise, I suppose it’s just my brain. Again.’

  ‘I think actually I assumed it was a son, too.’ Libby stared into space trying to remember. ‘Anyway, why?’

  ‘Where did he go? Who organised his adoption? Was it when Amy was away, and if so where was she?’

  ‘Blimey, I don’t know. And Freddy’s gran Una is about the only one left alive who might know and she didn’t.’

  ‘What was the sister’s name?’

  ‘Stephanie Brissac.’

  ‘Have you looked her up?’

  ‘I think we intended to look up the name in the telephone directory but never did it. That was at the point that I decided not to have anything to do with the Burton and Taylor business.’

  ‘And how many times have you decided that over the last few weeks?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Loads,’ grinned Libby, ‘including yesterday and just now! And I haven’t told you about my phone call from Colin, yet, either.’ She related the story and the subsequent events. ‘So Harry’s off them, now, too.’

  ‘I should think so,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, nothing to do with Cy or Colin, I’m going to look the Brissacs up online. And I want to know more about that book the police found at Maud Burton’s house.’ Fran nodded decisively. ‘I’ve got some ideas.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Libby after a moment. ‘What ideas?’

  ‘You’re too busy,’ said Fran with an innocent smile. ‘And you’re washing your hands of the whole business.’

  ‘Oh, crap,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t be such a pain. Tell me.’

  ‘What time’s your dress tomorrow?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Two o’clock, so they get the evening off,’ said Libby. ‘Why?’

  ‘If you’ve got time in the morning, I’ll call you. Will you be free during the day on Monday?’

  ‘As long as everything goes well tomorrow and the set hasn’t fallen down or anything, yes. Why? What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing.’

  ‘Stop being mysterious,’ said Libby. ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘I’m not – not on purpose. I just don’t know what’s going on at the moment.’ Fran gazed into her drink as though it held all the answers. ‘Don’t forget I’m only just catching up with all this. And I don’t know if I’m actually receiving information or making it up.’ She looked up at Libby. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Libby nodded. ‘OK. I’ll contain my soul in patience until tomorrow at least.’ She finished her drink and tapped Ben on the arm. ‘I think I need to go home now,’ she said. ‘Or I won’t be fit for tomorrow.’

  On the way home, she told Ben what Fran had said. He sighed.

  ‘So we’re still on the case then?’

  ‘Well, you wanted to find out about Patrick’s death, didn’t you? You were sorry for Lisa.’

  ‘I still am,’ said Ben. ‘Not sure I’m sorry for Cy and Colin any more, though.’

  Fran phoned while Libby was preparing a scratch lunch for herself and Ben the following morning.

  ‘We’ve just been to church,’ she said.

  ‘Church? You?’ Libby raised her eyes at the breadbin.

  ‘It felt right. Guy and Sophie and me. Oh, and Adam.’

  ‘Adam?’ Libby almost choked. ‘What on earth …?’

  ‘Because, as far as I know, he stayed overnight in the flat.’

  ‘I assume you’re not talking about his own flat?’

  ‘No, of course not, chump. Guy’s flat over the shop.’

  ‘With Sophie, then.’

  ‘That would seem to be the case.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby, feeling a slight pang that Adam hadn’t told her about this development in his relationship.

  ‘Come on, Libby, they’re both old enough,’ said Fran.

  ‘I know, I know. I would have liked to know, that’s all.’

  ‘The only reason I know is that Sophie came to church with him.’

  ‘Still can’t understand why you went, but still.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s not why I’m ringing. I looked up Brissac in the online directory and there are none.’

  ‘I expect the police would have looked them up, don’t you? When she committed suicide? Well, we know they did. It was in the coroner’s report.’

  ‘But have you given that name to Ian or the Cold Case Unit?’

  ‘I’m sure I told Ian,’ said Libby, frowning in effort to remember.

  ‘Well, the other thing is to look up Julian. The father of the baby. Actually, I’ve already found one reference. Una said he died at Dunkirk, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t suppose that’s set in stone. It has to be the result of gossip.’

  ‘But you said she talked to Amy after Amy came back to the village?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. You’re muddling me.’

  ‘Julian didn’t die at Dunkirk. He committed suicide, too.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Libby. ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, at about that time. End of April, beginning of May.’

  ‘So the same time that Amy’s baby was born.’

  ‘And the next thing will be to find the birth certificate of that baby.’

  ‘How?’ said Libby. ‘You have to pay for access to them, and you don’t even have all the details.’

  ‘Free genealogy sites,’ said Fran triumphantly. ‘Census record, and all that stuff. I’ve got Amy’s name and the date, more or less, of the birth. Shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘As long as our hearsay facts are just that, facts.’

  ‘Don’t be a wet blanket. I’ll see what I can find and report in the morning. Have a good dress.’

  The dress rehearsal, though slow, went reasonably well, and Libby told the cast at the end all they needed was an audience.

  ‘Panto is notoriously dependent on audience reaction, as well as participation. Once there are people out there you’ll be fantastic.’ She beamed round at them. ‘No nerves, now!’

  Freddy wandered up still in his back-legs-of-Buttercup trousers.

  ‘Gran says you went to see her,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I did, and very helpful she was, too. I can’t get over the coincidence of you having Aunt Dolly on one side of your family and Una on the other. You’ve been the missing link.’ Libby gave him a quick hug. ‘Now go along and have a nice quiet night before tomorrow.’

  ‘Going for a drink with some of the others,’ said Freddy. ‘Are you and Ben coming down?’

  ‘I’ve left a casserole in the oven,’ said Libby, ‘but we might pop in just for one.’

  ‘We definitely will,’ said Ben, appearing at Freddy’s shoulder. ‘As soon as I shoehorn madam here out of her chrysalis.’

  ‘Is that what it looks like?’ asked Libby, turning her back to be unzipped.

  ‘It does rather. But a pretty one.’ Ben patted her behind. ‘There you go. And hurry up. I’m gas
ping for a pint.’

  Most of the cast had gathered at the pub, and, to her surprise, Libby spotted Flo and Lenny in the corner by the fire.

  ‘That’s twice I’ve found you in here,’ said Libby. ‘Christmas Eve and tonight.’

  ‘We only live across the road,’ said Lenny. ‘And I do like my pint. We often come in here, don’t we, Flo? Just at different times to you.’

  ‘We don’t stay up as late as you any more,’ said Flo. ‘How’s the panto going? You been rehearsing?’

  Libby gave them a brief summary of the panto progress so far, and then said ‘I didn’t know you knew our Freddy’s gran Una.’

  ‘Una and Dolly,’ said Flo. ‘They come for the bingo in the Close. Funny how those two old biddies have brought you round to Dolly and Una, isn’t it. Could’a saved you time in the first place, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Not really,’ laughed Libby. ‘Neither you nor I knew how they would be involved.’

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ Flo moved up the bench as Ben squeezed in beside her. ‘That Maud Burton. Did they all know her?’

  ‘Yes. It’s incredible, but they’re all linked, and this was long before Dolly moved here with her Webley.’

  ‘And that Amy Taylor?’ asked Flo.

  ‘Yes. Una told me all about her. And the father of her baby.’

  Flo eyebrows shot up. ‘She knew?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I gather several people did. And you were right. She was the vicar’s daughter. And the father was her cousin, Julian Brissac.’

  Flo and Lenny were agog. ‘I thought he were a picker – or a pole puller,’ said Flo.

  ‘He was,’ said Libby, ‘working until he went up to university, apparently. Poor bloke didn’t manage to do much, though. He committed suicide, too, a few months later.’

  Flo shook her head. ‘Poor bugger. What was it? His parents?’

  Taking this to mean the reason for Julian’s suicide, Libby said, ‘I don’t know. Una thought he was killed at Dunkirk, but Fran’s discovered – and don’t ask me how because I don’t know – that he killed himself. She’s looking into it.’

  ‘That Fran’ll get ’erself into trouble one o’ these days,’ Flo warned. ‘If you don’t get ’er into trouble first.’