‘Right.’ Libby’s eyes were sparkling now. ‘Who do we talk to?’
‘Who do I talk to,’ corrected Fran. ‘Remember you can’t go out.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby frowned. ‘And, of course, if you’re seen to be asking questions, they might go after you, too.’
‘I shall take great care not to be on my own in any dark places.’
‘I was walloped outside my own front door having only walked about a hundred yards.’
‘In the dark, no street lighting, and a dark alleyway beside the house.’
‘Oh, all right. So what do we do?’
‘I suggest you ask your cousin what’s going on with Mike. Has he been lying to us? And the police? And I’ll talk to Patti and see if she can somehow introduce me to Bowling’s widow.’
‘How do you imagine she can do that?’
‘She’s a parishioner. I could suddenly become some sort of support worker, grief counsellor sort of thing.’
‘Don’t be rubbish! Patti wouldn’t allow that.’
‘No, maybe she wouldn’t. I don’t know. I’ll think on it. Meanwhile, Jane picked it up on the wire –’
‘Picked what up?’
‘Your accident.’
‘Why was it on the wire?’
‘It was a vicious attack. Obviously local TV and radio didn’t think it was exciting enough, but Jane did. She said could she do a piece for next week?’
‘Bit late by then.’
‘But it will go straight on to the paper’s website. The word will get out there. Somebody will start talking.’
‘Ian might not like it.’
‘Jane can ask him,’ said Fran. ‘That’s perfectly normal.’
‘Oh, OK. He might quite like it, I suppose. He could get an angle across, couldn’t he?’
‘Exactly. Now, what might be the motive? The cannabis factory?’
‘Or Dellington. A parent like Bob Alton.’
‘Someone gay who took exception to his homophobia.’
‘Or something else we haven’t even heard about.’ Libby sighed. ‘Needle in a haystack.’
‘Or Derek Chandler because of the swindle.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose we’d better leave him in.’
‘Well, he’s the only one who provided a motive for you being attacked.’
‘Because that’s what I’ve been talking about in the village for the last few days? But that means it’s someone in the village, and nobody here belongs to the group.’
‘But we said it needn’t be someone in the village.’
‘Oh, so we did.’ Libby was frowning again.
‘You’re looking tired, and I bet your head’s hurting.’ Fran stood up. ‘I’ll help you upstairs and then I’ll fetch Ben. You can call me tomorrow if you’ve had any blinding revelations during the night.’
Libby allowed herself to be pulled up from the sofa. ‘I don’t really have to be helped, just watched in case I topple over,’ she said. ‘But you’re right. I’m feeling a bit fragile now.’
To her own surprise, Libby went to sleep and slept soundly until Ben woke her with a cup of tea.
‘I feel better,’ she said, struggling into a sitting position.
‘That’s good, because I’ve already heard from young Jane. She’s been given permission to interview you by the police and wants to come today. I gather you’d be up for it?’
‘Dead right.’ Libby beamed at her other half. ‘Fran suggested it yesterday. She thought the police might have an angle.’
Ben sighed. ‘I might have guessed the idea was from one of you.’
‘Actually, it wasn’t. It really was from Jane. She phoned Fran to ask if she thought I’d be able to be interviewed.’
‘Oh, well, quite legitimate, then.’ He grinned. ‘Drink your tea. Shall I help you with the shower?’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
At eleven o’clock, as arranged, the doorbell rang. Libby watched from the sofa as Ben went to let Jane in.
‘Hello, Jane.’ Ben greeted her with a kiss. ‘Oh – hello, Ian!’
Chapter Twenty-three
‘I couldn’t stop him,’ said Jane. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Libby. ‘He just wants to make sure we don’t give the game away.’
‘What game?’ said Jane, sitting in the chair opposite Libby.
‘No game,’ said Ian, pulling forward a chair from beside the table. ‘But there are some things we don’t want the public to know.’
‘Censoring the press, Ian?’ Ben came in with the coffee pot and mugs on a tray.
‘Just making sure Libby says the right things and Jane reports them in the right way,’ said Ian with a grin.
Jane sighed. ‘This is a good story, Detective Inspector. Local woman attacked outside her own home.’
‘He’s called Ian while he’s here, Jane.’ Ben sat down next to Libby and lifted her feet on to his lap.
‘I know it’s a good story, which is why I agreed to you doing the interview,’ said Ian.
‘You don’t always have to ask the police, do you, Jane?’ said Libby.
‘If we’ve picked the incident up as I did it’s advisable. So, shall we get started?’ She took out the inevitable pocket recorder. ‘When did it happen and where?’
‘You know that.’ Libby frowned.
‘Thursday evening outside here,’ said Jane. ‘Just confirming. Can we say where you’d been?’
Libby looked at Ian, who nodded.
‘I’d been to tea with the vicar,’ said Libby, and suddenly snorted with laughter.
‘Really?’ Jane looked disbelieving for a moment. ‘Oh – you mean your friend over at St Aldeberge’s?’
‘No, our vicar here. She lives on the corner of Allhallow’s Lane.’
Jane looked from Ian to Libby and back. ‘Is this connected to the murder in the churchyard?’
‘No idea,’ said Libby quickly.
‘So apart from saying you’d been to tea with the vicar, had walked a hundred yards back home, and someone hit you on the head, that’s all I can say?’
‘Not at all,’ said Ian. ‘After all, you can state that this is the second violent attack in less than two weeks –’
‘Is it the same MO?’ interrupted Jane.
Ian raised his eyebrows at her. ‘How would we know? But you can emphasise the fact of the similarity of the attacks, and Libby’s connection with the theatre and therefore with the ukulele group who will be performing in the Christmas Concert.’
‘Sure you wouldn’t like to write it for me?’ asked Jane.
Ian grinned. ‘No, I’m sure your journalese is better than mine.’
Jane snorted.
Libby began an account of her ‘incident’, and went on to speculate about it being the second in less than a fortnight, all along the lines indicated by Ian. Jane interjected with a few leading questions and finally asked if she could take a photograph.
‘You’ve got pictures of me on file,’ Libby objected. ‘I don’t exactly look my best.’
‘That’s the whole point.’ Jane was getting out a very professional-looking camera. ‘We need the sympathy vote.’
Libby asked for Ben to be in the picture, to which Jane agreed.
‘And don’t you dare put in our ages,’ said Libby, when Jane was packing up. ‘I do so hate being defined by my age.’
‘Good job you’re not a grandmother yet,’ said Jane with a grin. ‘Then I could have led in with “Grandmother Libby Sarjeant …”.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. We’re friends, not enemies.’ Jane turned to Ian. ‘Do you want to see the copy?’
‘I’m sure I can trust you, Jane. And you can speculate all you like.’
‘Really?’ Jane looked at him narrowly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Only around what Libby’s told you, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Jane finished her almost cold coffee. ‘I must go.’
‘Have another cup of c
offee?’ suggested Ben.
‘Better not. Terry’s at work and my mum’s got Imogen.’
‘Thanks for coming, Jane.’ Libby started to get up.
‘No stay there, Lib. I’ll email you the link before I put it on the website later, and you can check it.’ Jane looked at Ian. ‘And I’ll send it to you, too.’
‘A very intelligent young woman,’ said Ian after Jane had left.
‘Don’t sound so patronising,’ said Libby. ‘And you needn’t have to come to check up on her. She’s always been very good with Fran and me.’
‘Sorry.’ Ian stood up and stretched. ‘Can you stand another couple of questions?’
‘I expect so.’ Libby leant across and shook the coffee pot.
‘I’ll make some more,’ said Ben
‘You said you went to see Flo yesterday before you went to see the vicar.’ Ian sat down in the armchair. ‘And that was when you decided to go to see the vicar. Why was that?’
‘Because Flo told me about Derek Chandler’s supposed scam. He tried it on with her, so she reported it. It was Flo who was instrumental in getting all their money back, really. So then I went to see Bethany, who told me that Flo and Vi Little weren’t the only ones.’
‘I see. Well, we’re looking into it. But tell me why this should be connected to Bowling’s murder?’
‘Fran and I were wondering about that. It doesn’t look as though there’s any connection at all, unless it really was Derek Chandler and not someone using his name, and Vernon Bowling knew and threatened to expose him.’
‘Nothing concrete, then?’
Libby winced. ‘No. And as I said, he wouldn’t know who I was.’
‘He might. Didn’t you go to the meeting in the theatre last week?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t really meet anyone except Dr Robinson and Mike Farthing.’
‘But most of the members of the group would have known who you were?’
‘I suppose so, but none of them would know what I’ve been doing this week. None of them know me personally, or anyone I know.’
Ben returned with the coffee pot. ‘But you went to see Una,’ he said, ‘and she might have told her friend whose husband is in the group. And Mike Farthing knows you now.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby thoughtfully, ‘and Sandra Brown as was is a great friend of Mrs Bowling. If Una told her about me asking, she might have repeated it to Mrs Bowling …’
‘Who might have repeated it to any number of people. I’m sure the members of the ukulele group have been visiting with words of sympathy.’
‘Una said Sandra herself is in the group and she knows me. But she wasn’t here last week,’ said Libby. ‘She and her new husband were away.’
‘The Farrows.’ Ian nodded. ‘Anyway, you see how a lot of people could have heard about you – investigating.’
‘Poking her nose in,’ corrected Ben.
‘And, as Jane appreciates, you are a known local – er – character. And you and Fran have clocked up a fair amount of media appearances in one way or another over the years.’ Ian accepted a fresh cup of coffee. ‘And all the members of the group come from the area, so they would know you by reputation, and of your connection to the theatre.’
‘I suppose so, but as Fran and I were saying last night, it might have nothing to do with the group. He could have had enemies we know nothing about – from his cannabis business, for instance.’
‘Who would have known he would be in the churchyard at that very time?’
‘He would have made an arrangement to meet them.’ Libby warmed to her theme. ‘And they could have parked on the Canterbury road, and cut through the woods behind Lendle Lane, and …’
‘Believe it or not, we have been checking, Libby. And nobody saw any cars parked along the Canterbury road that night – and believe me, it would have been noticed. And we’ve done a proper search of the woods, too.’ Ian smiled. ‘We do know what we’re doing, you know. It’s just we don’t always tell you.’
‘No.’ Libby, embarrassed, buried her face in her coffee cup.
‘So we’re only getting one side of the story,’ said Ben. ‘You’ll be looking at disgruntled relatives of Dellington victims, rival drug lords …’
Ian laughed. ‘That’s the sort of thing. This is only one facet. I admit, the attack on Libby seems to be somehow connected, but how I just can’t imagine.’
‘And why.’ Libby scowled. ‘It’s personal, now.’
‘Libby, you must not do any more investigating,’ said Ian. ‘Whether this attack has anything to do with the Bowling murder or not. It’s too dangerous.’
Ben raised his eyes to heaven. ‘And how many times have we all said that?’
Fran called after lunch.
‘Bob Alton came in again. He wanted to know if there was any progress.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I didn’t know. I’m not involved in the case. He’s terribly worried about something.’
‘Should we go and see him?’
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
Libby made an impatient sound. ‘Only a couple of days. Do you think he’s the murderer?’
‘I don’t know. He’s such a nice old boy.’
‘Ian was here this morning with Jane. The police are looking into everything we thought of already, including Dellington.’
‘I’ve always told you the police get there before we do – and they usually manage without our help.’
‘Not always.’
‘That’s usually because we – or you – get us into trouble and they have to rescue us.’
‘That’s not –’
‘Yes, it is. By the way, have you seen your cousin yet?’
Libby frowned at the phone. ‘No. Most odd. She hasn’t even phoned, or been back to the flat. Harry’s a bit peeved.’
‘I should ring her, then. Did Ian speak to her or Mike again?’
‘I don’t know. He said he was going to yesterday, but didn’t say anything this morning.’
‘Give her a ring. At least it will put your mind at rest.’
Libby discovered after this conversation that she wasn’t quite as well recovered as she thought, and allowed herself to be persuaded back to bed. Ben unplugged the bedside phone and relieved her of her mobile and drew the curtains.
‘There. Now you can get some rest.’
The room was quite dark when he woke her gently with a kiss on the cheek.
‘Your cousin called. She wants to know if you want to see her. She’s back at the flat.’
Libby stretched and yawned. ‘I suppose so. When does she want to come?’
‘Soon, I think. Shall I ring and tell her to come now?’
‘Yes, please. I’ll come down now. Is the kettle on?’
Ben grinned. ‘The kettle’s always on.’
Libby was sitting beside the newly made up fire with a mug of tea when Ben ushered in Cassandra, who was holding an enormous bouquet.
‘Did Mike send those?’ asked Libby, staring at the enormous shaggy carnations and poinsettias.
Cassandra bristled. ‘No. I chose them for you.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Libby took the bouquet and sniffed. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘Yes, well, I felt rather bad about not having phoned or come to see you yesterday.’
‘Yes, so did I,’ said Libby, not willing to forgive quite yet.
Cassandra’s by now familiar blush was flooding her face. ‘Mike came home, you see. I had to collect him from the station.’
‘I see. Ian didn’t know you’d gone to London until I told him.’
Cassandra’s eyes slid sideways. ‘He told me. He came to see us again.’
Libby nodded. ‘He said he would.’
‘He wanted to know if I’d taken anything with me.’ Cassandra fixed penetrating headmistress eyes on to Libby’s amused ones.
‘His own idea. Not mine. Not nice, is it, Cassandra? Being suspected of something? How many of your little darli
ngs did you scare to death unnecessarily over the years?’
Now Cassandra looked shocked. ‘I didn’t come here to argue, Libby. I came to apologise. To explain.’
‘Go ahead then. Do both.’
Cassandra sat down in the armchair and eyed Libby’s mug.
‘Tea?’ Ben appeared with another mug, winked at Libby and retired to the kitchen.
Cassandra sighed. ‘All right. I’m really sorry. I was still in London when Mike phoned to say they were letting him out, so I just drove straight there. I didn’t even look at any texts or messages I’d had. Then last night your Ian came back and told us what had happened to you. I’m so sorry, Lib.’
‘Why didn’t you ring?’
‘I don’t know. I felt guilty.’
‘Harry wasn’t too pleased, either. You didn’t tell him you weren’t going back to the flat.’
‘All right, all right. I know. I’ve been back this afternoon.’
‘So what’s going on with Mike?’
‘I can’t really tell you, because I don’t understand it myself, and he won’t say much. It’s all to do with something they found on his computer – when they came Thursday morning, you know.’
‘And they kept him overnight.’
‘Until they would have had to apply to a magistrate for permission to keep him longer, I gather. He looks awful.’ Cassandra glanced briefly at Libby’s bandaged head. ‘Not as bad as you, though.’
‘Gee, thanks. So are you going to go back and stay with him? It’s all progressed rather fast, hasn’t it? You only met a week ago.’
‘I know.’ Cassandra sipped her tea, then looked up with an excited smile. ‘I haven’t felt like this in forty years, Lib. And he says he hasn’t either. It’s like an earthquake. I never thought I’d ever –’ The blush rose abruptly.
‘Have sex again? Yes, I felt like that. And I certainly never thought I could take my clothes off in front of anyone again.’
‘Exactly.’ Cassandra nodded enthusiastically. ‘So I’m going home on Monday, but I’ll be back at weekends and for Christmas.’
‘What about the kids?’
‘They’ll understand. And Mike says they can all come down. Although there isn’t that much room in the cottage.’
‘And what happens,’ said Libby, deliberately sounding a cautionary note, ‘if Mike ends up in custody?’
Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Page 16