Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I called Harry and Pete to see if they knew where you’d been, and they came rushing over, naturally.’ Ben grinned. ‘I called Fran and Cass, too, but neither of them knew what you’d been up to after you came home with Cass. Why did she go back to London?’

  Libby frowned. ‘I don’t know. Did she?’

  ‘Sorry, love.’ Ben leant forward and put his cheek against hers. ‘No more talking. I’ll let you get back to sleep.’

  ‘Not quite yet, I’m afraid!’ said a cheerful voice. ‘A few checks now she’s back with us. All right, Libby?’

  Libby scowled. ‘Mrs Sarjeant.’

  The nurse looked startled and turned to Ben. ‘It’s usually only the old ones who say that.’

  He smiled. ‘Old-fashioned, our Mrs Sarjeant.’ He bent to kiss Libby’s cheek. ‘I’ll be outside.’

  ‘No, go home. Get some sleep.’

  ‘Good idea, Mr Sarjeant,’ said the nurse. Ben smiled.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning, love.’

  It wasn’t until the following afternoon, after an MRI scan and various pokings and proddings that Libby was allowed to go home. She still felt woozy and disinclined to eat, but assured everyone she was fine. She and Ben arrived to find number seventeen under siege.

  ‘Let’s get her inside, first,’ said Ben. ‘Can you walk, love?’

  ‘I thought it was her head?’ said Flo from the back of the small crowd.

  ‘It was, but my legs won’t behave,’ said Libby. ‘Why are you all here?’

  ‘Heard you was comin’ home.’ Hetty had pushed her way to the front. ‘Give me the key, Ben.’

  Inside, Sidney took one look at all the people invading his home and made a dash for the conservatory.

  ‘Thank you all,’ said Libby, after Ben had laid her carefully on the sofa. ‘But I don’t think I’m up to a press conference yet.’

  ‘Come on, Hal,’ said Peter. ‘We’ll speak to you later, Lib.’

  ‘No –’ Libby held out her hand. ‘Just you two and Hetty. I need to talk about it, just not with everyone.’

  When Flo, Lenny and the neighbours had been politely sent on their way, Libby told Peter, Harry and Ben as much as she could remember of yesterday’s events. Hetty appeared as she finished, bearing a tray of tea.

  ‘I’ve put a chicken casserole in yer oven, gal,’ she said. ‘And I’m goin’ up now to change yer bed. All right, all right,’ she said as Ben got up as if to stop her. ‘Least I can do.’

  ‘She’s the best mother-in-law,’ said Libby, accepting a steaming mug from Peter. ‘And the tea in hospital was awful.’

  ‘Well,’ said Harry, leaning back in his chair and stretching long legs out in front of him, ‘you can hardly blame her for getting herself into trouble this time, Ben.’

  ‘Hardly. A hundred yard walk from tea with the vicar to your own front door,’ said Peter.

  ‘I don’t think it was my having tea with the vicar that caused this.’ Libby gestured to her bandaged head.

  ‘What was it, then? Something to do with Mike Farthing?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Libby, starting to shake her head and deciding not to. ‘Someone who’s been bothered about who I’ve been talking to. And I haven’t spoken to Mike. Has Ian been in touch?’

  ‘Yes. He says he’ll speak to you when you’re ready.’

  ‘It ought to be soon,’ said Libby, fretting.

  ‘I’ll give him a ring, then,’ said Ben, exchanging glances with Peter and Harry.

  ‘Don’t you think you ought to rest a bit more before you talk to him?’ said Harry, as Ben hesitated in the doorway, phone in hand.

  ‘No. I need to talk about this. I know I’ve got myself into trouble in the past, but this was completely unprovoked. I’m very angry.’ Libby tried to look fierce under her bandage.

  Ben nodded and moved into the kitchen.

  ‘Why has he done that? So that I can’t hear what he says?’ Libby picked pettishly at the cover Hetty had placed over her.

  ‘No,’ said Ben, returning from the kitchen. ‘Just so I could hear above the noise in here.’

  ‘We weren’t being noisy!’ said three voices together.

  ‘No reply. I’ve left a message.’ Ben came and sat on the floor next to Libby. ‘Do you want to go up to bed when Mum’s finished?’

  ‘Ben, dear, she’s not up for that quite yet,’ said Harry, smirking.

  ‘No,’ said Libby with a pale smile. ‘Not yet. I want to speak to Ian first.’

  ‘But he might not get the message for hours,’ said Peter. ‘I’d take the opportunity of a rest. Besides, the bathroom’s upstairs.’

  ‘Ever practical, Pete,’ said Ben, while Harry and Libby laughed.

  Ben’s phone warbled.

  ‘Ian’s coming round now.’ Ben ended the call. ‘As long as you’re all right, he said.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Libby, ‘you can help me upstairs first, or I won’t be able to concentrate.’

  Three bewildered faces stared at her.

  ‘The bathroom,’ she said wearily. ‘You put it into my head.’

  By the time Ian arrived ten minutes later, complete with a young detective constable in tow, Libby was back on the sofa with fresh tea, and Hetty had gone back to the Manor.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ said Ian, taking the chair Peter had vacated for him. Harry courteously pulled a chair forward for the constable, who looked a little bemused.

  ‘Do you want us to go, Ian?’ asked Ben.

  ‘No, you’re fine. I imagine you all know all about it anyway.’

  ‘Right. Do you and …?’

  ‘DC Fielding,’ supplied Ian.

  ‘Want coffee? Or tea?’ finished Ben.

  ‘No, thanks, Ben. Now, Libby. Describe exactly what happened yesterday. From yesterday morning when you went to see Mike Farthing.’

  Libby patiently recounted the visit to Farthing’s Plants, Cassandra’s appearance and subsequent arrival at The Poacher.

  ‘And what happened after that?’

  Libby described her visit to Flo and her call on the vicar, and what she’d discovered about Derek Chandler.

  ‘But nobody would have known I was going to see Bethany – I didn’t know myself until I was at Flo’s.’

  ‘When did you first hear about Derek Chandler?’

  ‘I told you that – when I went to see Edie at Creekmarsh. And then when I went to see Una and she told me about Sandra Brown marrying and moving to Shott. Although Sid at The Poacher told us that she actually lives in Itching, and is a crack shot at darts. Or whatever you are at darts.’

  ‘And Chandler lives in Itching.’ Ian frowned.

  ‘And Sandra Brown – Farrow, sorry – is a friend of Mrs Bowling’s.

  Ian sat back and glanced at DC Fielding, who was earnestly scribbling in his notebook.

  ‘I thought you’d all have had iPads, now,’ said Libby, following his gaze.

  DC Fielding looked up. ‘Believe it or not, this is easier,’ he said.

  ‘So all you’ve been talking about over the last week is Mike Farthing and his cannabis connection –’

  ‘Which there isn’t,’ said Libby with a scowl.

  ‘And Derek Chandler and his supposed financial scam,’ Ian continued smoothly.

  ‘Well, Mike didn’t hit me. He was safely at the station being questioned, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He was. And I can’t see Derek Chandler lurking in the alleys of Steeple Martin, either, even if he’d heard of you, which I doubt he has.’

  ‘So, who?’ Libby frowned. ‘I didn’t think anyone hated me that much.’

  ‘Someone we’ve come across before?’ suggested Harry. Ian and DC Fielding turned to look at him. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

  ‘No, it’s all right Harry.’ Ian stretched his back and frowned. ‘I must learn to sit properly. No, you could be right. After all, between you you’ve certainly logged up a few enemies.’

  By
now DC Fielding was looking more confused than ever. Ian took pity on him.

  ‘These people are actually my friends,’ he said, ‘and in fact have been – ah – instrumental in some of the more spectacular arrests over the last few years.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Fielding, enlightened. ‘So is Mrs Sarjeant the –’

  ‘No,’ put in Mrs Sarjeant quickly. ‘I’m not psychic.’

  ‘Mind you,’ said Ian, ‘I’m surprised she isn’t here.’

  ‘She wanted to come over, but I thought the fewer people the better today,’ said Ben. ‘She’ll be here tomorrow.’

  ‘So there’s nothing else you can tell me?’ Ian turned back to Libby. ‘You did nothing else during the week?’

  ‘No. Well, you saw us on Wednesday, so you know I haven’t.’

  ‘Can you tell us what the situation with Mike is?’ asked Peter. ‘Libby said he was arrested by the drug squad.’

  ‘He was,’ said Ian. ‘There was rather a heated high-level exchange over that.’

  DC Fielding was looking horrified. Ian smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, Gerry. I shan’t give away any secrets.’

  ‘Talk to Sergeant Maiden,’ said Libby. ‘He knows what it’s all about.’

  ‘He’s sitting his inspector’s exams soon,’ Ian told them. ‘Then there’ll be no holding him.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Peter, ‘getting back to Mike.’

  ‘Something was found on his computer,’ said Ian, ‘but I can’t tell you anything else.’

  ‘Is he still in custody?’ asked Harry.

  ‘No, he’s back at his business. And I believe your cousin is there with him.’

  ‘Oh, nice!’ said Libby. ‘I’m knocked on the head and she comes back from London to go straight to the jailbird instead of her poor injured cousin.’

  ‘London? She went to London? When?’

  ‘Almost as soon as we got back here from Shott. She said she wanted to get a few things because she was going to stay down here a bit longer.’

  ‘And you let her go?’

  ‘Let her …?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Ian shook his head. ‘Of course you couldn’t stop her, nor would you have wanted to. It’s just my suspicious mind.’

  ‘You thought perhaps she was taking something from Mike to hide?’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’

  ‘She couldn’t have done,’ asserted Libby. ‘Once the police arrived yesterday morning, she and Mike were kept apart. And she didn’t have anything with her when she arrived at The Poacher.’

  ‘Handbag?’

  ‘Well, yes …’

  ‘How big is a memory stick?’

  ‘He put something on a memory stick?’ said Harry. ‘But why? The stuff would still be on the computer.’

  ‘Unless it was wiped,’ said Ian.

  ‘But your experts can trace that sort of thing,’ said Ben.

  ‘Look, I’m only being the usual nosy policeman,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t worry about it. I shall talk to Mr Farthing, and your cousin, very soon, whatever drugs say.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Libby couldn’t settle. After Ian left she allowed Ben to help her up to bed where she fretted until she decided it was time to eat.

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said, as she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I need to talk about this.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’ Ben frowned as he ladled out Hetty’s casserole.

  ‘I can’t. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to keep from dozing off after concussion?’

  ‘I’m not sure that applies after 24 hours.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I don’t want to rest. I want to find out who hit me and why.’

  ‘And how do you propose to do that? I’m not letting you go out of this house until we go to Mum’s on Sunday, whatever you say. And Peter’s running your pantomime rehearsal tonight. He’s excused me.’

  ‘I want to talk to Fran. Do you think she’d come over tonight?’

  Ben looked dubious. ‘It’s a bit late …’

  ‘It’s only half past six! Go on, let me ask her. You won’t talk to me about it.’

  ‘I do!’

  ‘But you don’t approve.’

  Ben heaved a sigh. ‘All right. I’ll fetch your phone.’

  Fran, naturally, was delighted and said Guy would come too, and take Ben out for a well-deserved pint.

  ‘I don’t think I’m allowed alcohol,’ said Libby sadly, ‘so we’ll have to have tea.’

  ‘That works out fine,’ said Fran. ‘Guy can have a guilt-free drink and I’ll drive home.’

  By the time Fran and Guy arrived not long after eight o’clock, Libby was once more ensconced on the sofa, toes stretched towards the fire and Sidney curled up on her lap. Guy whisked Ben straight off to the pub, while Fran made tea for herself and Libby.

  ‘You look better than I expected,’ she said, coming back into the sitting room bearing mugs.

  ‘Except for the fetching head-gear.’ Libby accepted a mug and grinned. ‘I wasn’t hit all that hard, actually. I slipped and whoever it was only hit me a glancing blow. In other words – they missed.’

  ‘But who’s “they”?’

  ‘That’s what we’ve got to find out. This is no longer just me being nosy – this is personal.’

  ‘I quite agree, but don’t you perhaps think you were hit because you being nosy?’

  ‘Of course I was. When you think about it, we’ve had an awful lot of hits on the head over the years, haven’t we? But never actually us.’

  ‘We’ve been in a few tight spots, though. And it’s always because we’ve been nosy.’

  ‘Ah! Now you’re admitting you’re nosy, too.’

  ‘Well, of course. The annoying thing is that I’m getting absolutely nothing from this at all, and you’d think I would, seeing how close we are.’

  ‘Nothing yesterday late afternoon?’

  ‘No, sorry. We were quite busy in the shop – people seem to have developed a great desire to have original art works as Christmas presents.’ Fran looked reprovingly at Libby. ‘And yours have all gone.’

  ‘Well, I can’t paint like this, can I?’ Libby asked smugly.

  ‘I bet you could. Keep you occupied.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be very good. And don’t say “they never are”.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to. I was going to say you’re not creating earth-shattering masterworks. You could do a couple over the next week, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe. Ben won’t let me go out anyway.’

  ‘There you are then. You can stay here, think, paint and direct operations.’

  ‘What operations?’

  ‘To find out who hit you. Unless we leave it to the police.’

  ‘Well, of course, Ian’s going to do his best. He came this afternoon to take a statement with a new DC. Did you know our lovely Sergeant Maiden’s sitting his inspector’s exams?’

  ‘That seems very quick. I thought they stayed sergeants much longer. Anyway, what did you tell Ian?’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ said Libby, and did so.

  ‘So what have you done to make someone hit you? And was it to shut you up permanently or just a warning?’

  Libby went to shake her head and stopped. ‘I don’t know.’ She shivered. ‘It’s scary. But we don’t know anything? How can I be a threat?’

  ‘Someone knows you’ve been asking questions. Who?’

  ‘Well, Una might have told Sandra Brown. The vicar knew all about Derek Chandler and might have talked to Flo, but I’d only just left her house, not two minutes before it happened.’

  ‘Did someone know you were there and wait for you?’

  ‘Only if they saw me go in, and I went in through the back gate into the Secret Garden.’

  ‘The what?’

  Libby explained. ‘So nobody could know, unless they saw me leave Flo and Lenny’s and followed me. I can’t see Derek Chandler doing that, or even knowing who I was, can you?’

  ‘You’re thinking it
points to him?’

  ‘Who else? He’s the one who tried on the scam.’

  ‘Only it wasn’t him,’ pointed out Fran.

  ‘I bet it was,’ said Libby darkly.

  ‘But as you said, he wouldn’t know who you were.’

  ‘From a bar of soap, no. Who else, then? Vi Little? She was a victim.’

  ‘But she got her money back.’

  ‘And besides, what the hell does it have to do with Vernon Bowling’s murder?’

  ‘Bowling found out and was threatening to expose him?’ suggested Fran.

  ‘They were friends,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘Bowling could have found out.’

  ‘Or,’ said Fran, ‘they were in it together and Chandler got mad with Bowling because somehow it was his fault it went wrong?’

  ‘We’re grasping at straws, now,’ said Libby.

  ‘What else have we got, then?’

  ‘It’s got to be something to do with the murder,’ said Libby. ‘Somehow, someone thinks I’ve found out something. Which I – we – haven’t.’

  ‘Let’s look at why he was murdered. Motive. No idea.’

  ‘Means – we don’t know. Blunt force trauma, only worse than mine. No weapon found, and he didn’t hit his head on a gravestone.’

  ‘Opportunity,’ continued Fran. ‘Lots. Anyone could have been lurking about in that graveyard. Can you get into it any way other than from the church and the hall?’

  ‘I expect so. You could go through the woods behind Lendle Lane and nobody would see you. We’ve been assuming it was someone from the ukulele group, but it could be almost anybody.’

  ‘The passing tramp?’ said Fran, with a laugh. ‘Beloved of detective stories?’

  ‘Of course, but … see, there was no reason for him to be in the churchyard. It’s behind the church and the hall, and his car was in the doctor’s car park, like everybody else’s. Why did he go there?’

  ‘To meet someone,’ said Fran slowly. ‘But it didn’t have to be someone from the group. If it was something to do with the drugs business, it makes sense. A meeting where no one could see you, with an easy means of escape.’

  ‘We need to know if there were any strange cars parked along the Canterbury Road,’ said Libby. ‘Can we ask Ian?’

  ‘I think Ian would rather you stayed out of it for the time being,’ said Fran. ‘We have to do this on our own.’