‘I think that’s true,’ said Libby. ‘Our friends Peter and Harry have said the same. They’re accepted completely and rarely come up against any prejudice, but I know Harry says the women do. He’s a member of an LGBT group, although he says he’s not altogether comfortable with people being lumped together in a grey area.’
‘What’s LGBT?’ asked Fran.
‘Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender,’ explained Libby.
‘It doesn’t quite cover it, he’s right,’ said Fran. ‘And as for coming up against prejudice, what about that case last winter?’
‘Cy, you mean? Well, yes, I suppose there was homophobia there,’ said Libby, but –’
‘Are you actually investigators, then?’ asked Sarah, looking quite excited.
‘We help the police sometimes,’ said Libby, looking warily at Fran.
‘I used to do property investigations,’ said Fran, repeating her almost-true explanation. ‘But this one is a bit different. No one’s asked us to look into it.’
‘It just happened on my premises,’ said Libby. ‘It makes a difference.’
‘Well, as I said earlier,’ said Ginny, ‘if there’s anything we can do, let us know. If you really would like a local ear.’
‘Two,’ said Sarah, grinning happily at Ginny, who patted her hand.
‘This is my number,’ said Libby, scribbling on a beer mat. ‘If you read or hear anything that you think might be useful, would you ring? I’d say send an email, but I might not pick that up quickly enough.’
‘I’m not entirely sure I followed the whole story,’ said Ginny, ‘or that I’ll remember all the names, but I’ll remember Patrick and Melanie.’
‘We’d better get going,’ said Fran, standing up and holding out a hand. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’
‘And you,’ said Ginny, while Sarah impulsively gave Libby a kiss.
‘You must come up to Kent and meet Peter and Harry,’ said Libby. ‘They’ve got a great veggie restaurant. Mainly Mexican.’
‘How did you know we were veggie?’ asked Sarah.
‘I didn’t,’ said Libby, in some surprise. ‘There’s a coincidence.’
‘Although,’ she said to Fran in the car, ‘it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. They look like eco-warriors.’
‘What does an eco-warrior look like?’ asked Fran, turning onto the A31 towards Ringwood. ‘And don’t say “like them”.’
Libby grinned. ‘I liked them, and they’ll be good spies.’
‘Not sure we need spies,’ said Fran, ‘in fact, I’m not sure that coming down here wasn’t a bit of a waste of time.’
‘How can you say that?’ gasped Libby. ‘Think of what we’ve found out!’
‘OK, what?’ said Fran.
‘That there were more people who knew where Melanie lived, for a start. And you think there’s more than just one post at that henge. And that Patrick’s critiques were not quite what was expected.’ Libby frowned. ‘Although I don’t know why that’s helpful.’
‘It could be,’ said Fran. ‘Remember Nick and Daniel, at least, were trying to get closer to Patrick. They both wanted him to give them a bit more advice – or help. And he avoided them all. I expect Lily Cooper also tried, but he wouldn’t have let her get close.’
‘Except at the writers’ weekend,’ said Libby. ‘There can’t be any other reason she was floating round the place in a nightie at five thirty in the morning.’
‘I wonder,’ said Fran. ‘Did Patrick confirm she’d been with him?’
‘Can’t remember. Would we know if he had anyway?’
‘I just wondered if he could have sent her away,’ said Fran, cautiously pulling out to overtake a lorry.
‘Even if he had,’ said Libby, ‘she couldn’t have gone off and killed Melanie in a fit of pique. Melanie was already dead by then.’
‘And what about Nina hearing that row?’ said Fran. ‘It must have been Lily she heard, not Dee.’
‘What time did she say it was?’ Libby turned to Fran. ‘Early morning?’
‘The same time Hetty saw Lily outside her room. That fits.’
‘But no one else heard a row. Hetty would have done, surely?’ Libby frowned at the windscreen.
‘So why would Nina lie about it? Anyway, she hasn’t told the police, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m beginning to think there’s more to Nina than we first thought,’ said Libby. ‘She doesn’t add up, somehow.’
‘Well, she certainly hasn’t got a motive for killing Melanie. And frankly, I really can’t see any other motives.’ Fran sighed. ‘None of the writers had any sort of motive to kill her, certainly not in the pre-planned way it happened. It must be something to do with the henge. Or her political connections. Or something.’
‘In that case, presumably Scotland Yard will turn it up,’ said Libby.
‘Not necessarily, if it’s the henge,’ said Fran. ‘And how seriously will Scotland Yard take that?’
‘We’ll have to look into the protests more closely when we get home,’ said Libby.
‘Hmm.’ Fran negotiated a roundabout. ‘We should have done that while we there. We didn’t even bother to find the local museum. How stupid was that?’
‘I suppose we should have done. We could have asked Jennifer. She was the one who got us down there and showed us the henge.’
‘And I’m still not sure why she did that,’ said Fran.
‘Because she wants the murderer found? And didn’t think Scotland Yard would take the henge stuff seriously?’
‘I’ll call her when I get home,’ said Fran. ‘Apart from anything else, I want to ask her about the museum, or who to get in touch with anyway.’
‘I expect the archaeologists are used to slightly strange people butting in on their sites,’ said Libby, and received a punch on the arm.
The drive back to Kent took longer than the drive down had, despite the sunshine, and Libby didn’t let herself into Number 17 until after eight o’clock. Ben stood up and came to kiss her.
‘How did it go?’
‘Tiring, informative and a bit puzzling,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I’ve got a large drink.’
Half an hour later, in a dressing gown and on her second whisky, Libby concluded: ‘And Fran says she’s not sure why we bothered to go.’
Ben frowned at the fireplace. ‘It does seem to me you didn’t keep your eye on the ball.’
‘Oh, really?’ Libby scowled.
Ben patted her hand. ‘Don’t be daft. No, what I meant was, Fran said she thought that something had happened near the standing stone, and even Jennifer thought that. You didn’t bother to go back to that or the story of the ghost. Who was she?’
‘The White Lady. Well, that’s what we called her. I think on the internet site Fran found it called her the Bonny Henge Ghost, but as it hasn’t been known as a henge for long it must have been called something else before then. The Rising Manor ghost, perhaps.’
‘Did you even go to Rising Manor?’
‘No. We forgot all about it. It didn’t seem important somehow.’
‘I suppose it isn’t. But you were going to use it as a cover. And what about Fran’s first moment? When she saw Mrs J drinking?’
‘I think we forgot about that, too.’ Libby sighed. ‘We’re slipping, aren’t we?’
‘No doubt you’ll get back on form now you’re home,’ said Ben, slipping an arm round her. ‘And you must be exhausted after all that travelling. How about an early night?’
Libby put down her glass.
‘When you spoke to Ian yesterday,’ said Libby on the phone to Fran late on Sunday morning, ‘he said Melanie’d been dead over twelve hours.’
‘He said at least twelve hours. Apparently rigor had gone off completely and there was something about ambient temperature.’
‘And what about what killed her? All we know is that the stabbing was post-mortem.’
‘He didn’t say. He was mainly calling
because Guy told him where we were and he wanted to stop us saying anything to – well – to anybody.’
‘We haven’t, have we?’ said Libby. ‘But listen, Ben said last night we forgot all about you having that moment with Melanie drinking. And writing. You said it was something to do with her writing. And we didn’t go into the ghost at all.’
Libby heard Fran sigh. ‘I know, I know. I don’t know honestly what we did do, I said that yesterday. But I also said I’d ring Jennifer today and ask about the museum.’
‘What about Rising Manor? We didn’t look for that either.’
‘But the ghost story is nothing to do with Melanie’s story,’ said Fran. ‘It was only going to be a cover. And we didn’t need it.’
‘Oh, all right. So it was a waste of time, then?’
‘Well, no. We learnt a bit more about Patrick and Jennifer, a lot more about Daniel and Nick, and saw a lovely part of the country. I’m sure if we put it all into context and tell Ian everything we learnt, we’ll find it’s been useful.’ Libby heard a yawn. ‘Anyway, now I’m going to put a roast in the oven and spend the rest of the day on the beach with a book. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Bother,’ said Libby.
‘What?’ Ben appeared from the kitchen and handed her a mug of tea.
‘Fran doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s going on the beach with a book.’
‘Sensible woman,’ said Ben. ‘We could go and join her, if you like. We haven’t got to go up to Mum’s for lunch today.’
‘Don’t make it sound as though it’s a chore,’ said Libby, ‘I love your mum’s Sunday lunches.’
‘So do I, but it’s great when she actually deigns to accept an invitation to go out to someone else’s, even if it’s only to Flo and Lenny.’
‘Only Flo? She of the matchless meat pie? Not to mention the wine.’
Ben laughed. ‘You know what I meant. Now, do you want to go down to Nethergate? We could have lunch at The Swan. Or The Sloop.’
‘No, I think Fran might want to be left alone today. I’m a bit much if you have to put up with me unrelieved for three days.’
‘I’m glad you realise what a hero I am,’ said Ben, kissing her on the nose. ‘Shall I see if Harry’s got room for us at lunchtime, then?’
‘That’d be nice.’ Libby beamed. ‘Now I shall go and get dressed and you needn’t follow me up there, either.’
Harry booked them in towards closing time at The Pink Geranium, and by the time Ben and Libby arrived, there were only a couple of tables occupied. Reading a newspaper at the large pine table in the right-hand window sat Peter, a glass of red wine in front of him.
‘Here you are, dears,’ he said. ‘Harry’s put us here. He’ll join us, too. I’ll go and get drinks.’
Harry came back with him carrying a bottle and three glasses. ‘This’ll do to be going on with,’ he said. ‘I shall go and create something lovely in the kitchen and then come and join you to eat it. I’ve kept the Pollo on, petal, just for you.’
‘But it’s meat!’ said Libby.
‘I am capable of keeping separate equipment to deal with it, duckie. And it’s gone down a storm. So, do you want some?’
He departed with their order and Peter poured wine.
‘So, come on, you old trout,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you’ve been getting up to in Dirty Dorset?’
Chapter Twenty-seven
LIBBY REPEATED THE SALIENT points of the visit to Cranborne Chase, twice, because Harry had to hear it too when he joined them.
‘So there we are,’ she said, forking up refried beans. ‘All muddled up and we don’t know what we got out of it.’
‘Two nice new friends from Wimborne, by the sound of it,’ said Peter.
‘You know what,’ said Harry leaning back in his chair and twirling his wine glass, ‘I think you’ve got to look at Patrick a bit more closely.’
Libby frowned. ‘Why? He does seem genuinely devastated.’
‘That could be guilt,’ said Ben.
‘But we still have all the same problems,’ said Libby. ‘How did she get there? When and where was she killed? I saw Patrick arrive and he didn’t have anyone with him.’
‘In the boot?’ suggested Peter.
‘I suppose if she came with any of the writers she must have come in a boot,’ said Libby.
‘And the set up in the Hopper’s Hut. That would have been easy for him – he’d have access to all her stuff.’ Harry leant forward again and picked up the wine bottle.
‘But he didn’t leave the Manor at any time until he went to the pub with Lily Cooper and Nick Forrest.’
‘He didn’t have to do it until he dumped the body during the night,’ said Peter. ‘No one went over there before you and the police did in the morning.’
‘What about the take-away?’ asked Ben.
‘It came from a Pizza place in Canterbury,’ Libby said, ‘and it wasn’t delivered, it was brought in. I think Ian had someone looking into it.’
‘There’s another problem,’ said Peter. ‘The booking. It was made by a woman, and the credit card was genuine. Did he have an accomplice?’
Libby stared at him. ‘Of course! Jennifer! She’d do anything for him.’
‘Hold on,’ said Ben. ‘Would she help him kill his wife so that he could continue his affair with someone other than her? More likely to help if she thought she was going to be the favoured one.’
‘That’s true.’ Libby chewed her lip. ‘It would make sense if Jennifer killed her though. She admits she didn’t like her.’
‘But the same applies,’ said Peter. ‘It doesn’t sound as if Patrick has any romantic interest in her at all.’
‘No.’ Libby sighed. ‘He was awful to her while we were there, although he didn’t know he was, if you see what I mean. He doesn’t want to write any more and he’s going to sell the house and live permanently in his London flat. And he was scathing about the local friends – who must be hers, too.’
‘Perhaps he made her think there was a chance for her?’ suggested Harry. ‘So she acted on it?’
‘The whole scene when you were there could have been a set-up,’ said Peter. ‘I mean, it was a bit odd that he should ask to see you to thank you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, we thought that at the time,’ said Libby slowly. ‘You could be right. I wonder if it was?’
‘There’s another thing to consider, too,’ said, Ben, helping himself to more wine. ‘She was killed at least twelve hours before she was found. And she’d already been found by seven thirty. The medical examiner didn’t get to the body until at least half an hour later, so we’re saying the latest time of death would be eight the night before. So was she killed at the Manor, or was she already dead and the body taken there? Seems an awful lot of trouble to go to.’
‘We decided it was planned,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m really not sure how anyone could have got her there if she was still alive.’
‘By saying she would be able to confront her husband or catch him in flagrante?’ said Harry.
‘Maybe,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but if that’s the case, it would have to be someone who knew her quite well, and we haven’t come up with anyone who did.’
‘Except Jennifer,’ said Ben.
‘But I like her!’ said Libby.
‘I expect most murderers have their fans,’ said Harry.
‘Oh, I’m fed up with it.’ Libby picked up the bottle and discovered it was empty. ‘Can I fetch another one, Hal?’
‘You stay there, petal, I’ll get it.’ Harry got up.
‘Fed up?’ said Ben. ‘Do you mean you’ll step away from it?’
Peter snorted. ‘That’ll be the day. She says it every time, but she never does.’
Harry returned with an open bottle. ‘Trouble is, you’ll still be involved because you are involved. It was your business and you met all the guests except the victim. You can’t get out of it, really, can you?’
‘I suppose we could eve
n be suspects,’ said Libby, turning to Ben. ‘Blimey!’
‘I expect Murray and Ian have excluded you,’ said Peter. ‘They know you too well.’
‘Ah, but people always say that on TV, don’t they?’ said Harry, as he finished topping up glasses. ‘“But so-and-so would never kill anybody!” and he’s just finished wiping out half the town.’
‘Well, I might still be in the frame as a witness,’ said Libby, ‘but I can stay out of the investigation. Ian would be thrilled if I did.’
‘After you’ve told him what you found out in Dorset,’ said Ben. ‘And after you’ve thought of some other little angle you hadn’t thought of before.’
Harry and Peter laughed. Libby scowled.
It was much later, while Ben and Libby sat in the garden of Number 17 that Libby’s mobile rang.
‘Are you back yet?’ asked Ian.
‘Yes. I’m in the garden with Ben,’ said Libby, mouthing “Ian” at Ben.
‘I need to ask you a few more questions. Will you be around in the morning if I go to the Manor?’
‘Do you want both of us?’
‘I’m going to ask Fran, but I might have to go and see her. I don’t want to put her out.’
‘Actually, I meant did you want Ben as well, but he’ll be at the Manor anyway. I’m sure Fran will come up. Can you tell me what it’s about?’
‘Apart from what you were doing in Dorset harassing witnesses?’
‘Oh,’ said Libby.
Ten minutes later the phone rang again.
‘Are you coming?’ asked Libby.
‘Of course. What did he say to you?’ said Fran.
‘Said we’d been harassing witnesses in Dorset.’
‘Yes, he said the same to me, but I don’t think he was serious.’
‘Has he received a complaint?’
‘I’ve no idea, but don’t forget he called me while we were at Patrick’s, so he knew what we were doing.’
‘Daniel might have told on us,’ said Libby.
‘We didn’t knock him off his chair,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, well, we’ll find out in the morning,’ said Libby. ‘See you at ten.’
Murder at the Manor - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 19