Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery

by Lesley Cookman

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Cassandra stopped dead, her mug half way to her lips.

  ‘I’m just saying …’ Libby began.

  ‘I don’t believe you did “just say”.’ Cassandra looked furious. ‘You don’t believe him, do you?’

  ‘Believe what? That he didn’t kill Vernon Bowling? Or that he’s fallen for you?’

  Cassandra stood abruptly. ‘Any of it. You don’t think he’s – he’s –’ She stopped.

  ‘I believe he’s fallen for you, yes. I think anyone who’s been around the pair of you in the last week couldn’t fail to see that, surprising though it is. But whatever you say, you don’t really know him, and there must be a reason the drugs squad have been after him. I can’t believe in him as blindly as you do. I’m sorry.’

  Cassandra sat down again, looking miserable. ‘I know. I’m sorry, too. But I’ve got to try. If I’m wrong, I’ll have to put it behind me. I’m not going to do anything stupid like move in with him permanently, or sell my house.’ She reached over and touched Libby’s hand. ‘I really am sorry, Lib. I just haven’t been thinking straight. I suppose …’ She paused.

  ‘Suppose what?’

  ‘You couldn’t – um – see if you could …’ She stopped – again.

  ‘Find anything out from our tame policeman?’ Libby smiled. ‘I’ve already tried. And I’ve been forbidden to do any more “investigating”.’ She touched her head. ‘And I’m inclined to agree. Although Fran is keen to carry on.’

  ‘She is?’ Cassandra looked surprised.

  ‘She wants to know who did this. So do I. And,’ Libby added with a grin, ‘at least we know it wasn’t Mike.’

  Cassandra laughed reluctantly. ‘One point in his favour.’

  Libby stared into the fire and frowned. ‘The police took his computer away – his work computer or his personal one?’

  ‘He’s only got one. It’s in the office, and the online and mail-order stuff is run from there. And all the accounts – you know, spreadsheets and invoices – they’re all there, too.’

  ‘So presumably, the boys – what were their names?’

  ‘Gary and Patrick.’

  ‘They have full access to the computer, do they?’

  ‘Of course they do. They run the shop – although there’s very little passing trade, it’s mainly mail order. They see to all that.’

  ‘So if there’s something on the computer it could have nothing to do with Mike?’

  ‘Yes, but why would they suspect there was something there in the first place?’

  ‘I know. That’s the puzzle. Unless it’s simply what it seemed to be at first – you know, Mike helping Bowling design his garden and therefore must have helped with the cannabis farm.’

  ‘But …’ Cassandra frowned. ‘Oh, it’s just too ridiculous.’ She stood up and bent to kiss Libby. ‘I’m off now. I’m going in to see Harry and give back his key, then I’m going back to Mike’s. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  ‘And find out more about Gary and Patrick.’

  Cassandra grinned. ‘So you aren’t going to give up.’

  ‘Just to give me something to do while I’m lying on my bed of pain.’

  Libby recounted the conversation over one of Ben’s throw-it-all-together stir fries.

  ‘I don’t know her well,’ he said, forking up rice, ‘but she doesn’t seem to be the sort to throw her cap over the windmill. I hope she knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘That’s what I was trying to say to her. I mean, we all liked Mike, but there’s got to be something behind this police interest.’

  ‘And don’t you try and find out what it is,’ warned Ben. ‘I prefer my women whole and undamaged.’

  ‘I quite like it that way, too.’ Libby grinned. ‘But there’s nothing to stop me thinking about it, is there?’

  ‘As long as that’s all you do.’ Ben grinned back. ‘And tomorrow you have to be well enough for Sunday lunch, so go and recline on the sofa again.’

  On Sunday morning, Libby felt almost normal, although moving fast wasn’t an option, as she discovered when she tried to beat Ben to the ringing phone.

  ‘Somebody called Sandra Farrow?’ he mouthed.

  ‘Sandra Brown.’ Libby nodded, winced and held out her hand for the phone. ‘Sandra, hello! I was only asking after you the other day.’

  ‘Hello, Libby, yes, Una told me you’d been to see her. I was wondering, could we possibly meet? I’d like to talk to you.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows at Ben, who made a quizzical face in return.

  ‘Actually, that’s a bit difficult at the moment. I had a bit of an accident on Thursday and I’m supposed to be taking it easy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Were you much hurt?’

  ‘I hit my head,’ said Libby cautiously.

  ‘Oh, nasty! Have you been checked out?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I was in hospital overnight. I just have an interesting bandage round my head.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a short silence. Libby decided to break it.

  ‘Look, I’m not too bad, and I can still talk. You could come and see me at home, if you like.’

  Ben scowled.

  ‘Are you sure? It seems a bit insensitive.’

  ‘Only if you want to tell me something that will make me feel worse.’

  ‘Well …’ There was another long pause.

  ‘When do you want to come?’ Libby’s curiosity was getting the better of her.

  ‘Would this afternoon be a good time?’

  ‘No, sorry, we’ll be at my mother-in-law’s –’

  ‘Hetty?’ Sandra’s voice lightened. ‘Oh, I love Hetty. Say hello to her for me.’

  ‘I will. So, how about tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. About eleven?’

  ‘That’s fine. Do you know where I live?’

  ‘Allhallow’s Lane, isn’t it? But I don’t know the number.’

  ‘Seventeen,’ Libby told her. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  ‘So what was that all about?’ send Ben as she ended the call.

  ‘Una’s old next door neighbour. I told you she’s now a member of the ukulele group.’

  ‘So that was her? And she wants to see you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby slid a wary glance at Ben. ‘Una must have told her she’d seen me.’

  He sighed. ‘Well, I suppose I can’t stop you, but for goodness’ sake don’t go promising her anything.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘That you’ll find out who killed Bowling.’

  ‘That might be it, you know,’ said Libby. ‘She’s apparently a friend of his wife.’

  ‘Libby!’

  ‘All right, all right. Just thinking aloud.’

  Hetty’s lunch was as perfect as ever, and Libby was even allowed a glass of a very nice old Bordeaux.

  ‘Never get much beyond the Australian Shiraz these days,’ she said appreciatively, holding the glass up to the light.

  ‘That Sandra Farrow rang me this morning,’ said Hetty, and Libby nearly choked on the precious wine. ‘Said she’d just spoken to you and were you all right.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew each other. Although now I know about your knitting circle …’

  ‘Don’t do no knitting.’

  ‘No, it was just an expression. So did you tell her?’

  ‘Yes. Told ʼer ʼow you did it, too.’

  ‘Oh. Did she say she wanted to meet me?’

  ‘Said she was coming over tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Did she say why?’

  ‘Didn’t ask. Guessed it were to do with this murder.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I expect it is. But I’ve been forbidden to do any more investigating.’

  ‘Snoopin’,’ said Hetty succinctly.

  ‘That, too.’

  ‘Let me know what she wants.’ Hetty passed dishes of vegetables. ‘Nice woman.’

  Ben refused to leave her alone in the house with the nice woman on the Monday morni
ng, and when Sandra arrived, Libby could see that his presence was going to inhibit her.

  ‘She won’t talk to me if you’re there,’ she hissed, following him into the kitchen. ‘Stay out here, please.’

  ‘All right, but first I’m making coffee.’

  Libby went back into the sitting room and resumed her place on the sofa. ‘I won’t apologise for my appearance, Sandra. I gather Hetty told you what happened.’

  Sandra Farrow, a beautifully groomed, slim woman with silver hair pulled back into a pleat, nodded. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my calling her. But I felt I had to ask if you were really well enough to see me. She rather gave me the impression that you would leap at the chance.’

  ‘I wonder why?’ murmured Libby, as Ben came in with the coffee.

  ‘Thank you.’ Sandra smiled up at Ben. ‘I remember you as a boy.’

  Ben’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t know your mother then, but I used to see you around. And your older sister, too. She used to live at Steeple Farm, didn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, you would have been neighbours.’ Libby hurried in to save Ben from having to answer questions about his sister, Peter’s mother, who was passing her peaceful days in a very expensive home for the bewildered. ‘Thank you for the coffee, darling. See you later.’

  Ben took the hint with a smile, and disappeared back to the kitchen.

  ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Libby leaned back on her cushions and tried to give off waves of encouragement..

  Sandra hesitated. ‘It’s rather … difficult. You know all about Vernon Bowling’s murder, of course. Hetty said it was because of that you were attacked.’

  ‘That’s not proven,’ said Libby.

  ‘But you’ve been asking questions about it?’

  ‘My cousin’s been – um – seeing another member of your group,’ said Libby elliptically.

  ‘Oh, who’s that? Sorry, none of my business.’ Sandra coloured faintly.

  ‘Go on. About Mr Bowling’s murder.’

  ‘Una said you were talking to her about it. Or about an aspect of it. And I know how successful you’ve been in the past –’

  ‘Not really,’ Libby interrupted. ‘My friend and I just seem to get involved. The police do the real work.’

  ‘But you do get involved, that’s the point. And you obviously know quite a bit about this one.’ Sandra shifted restlessly in the armchair. ‘So did you know I was a member of the ukulele group?’

  ‘Yes, so is your husband, you are a friend of Mrs Bowling’s and a dab hand at darts.’

  Sandra’s eyes grew round. ‘How …?’

  Libby smirked. ‘As you said, we get involved. In fact, Una told me most of that, and Sid at The Poacher told me about the darts. And the Shott village church is in the pastoral care of my friend Patti Pearson.’

  Sandra sighed. ‘I knew it. As soon as Una said you’d been to see her. You’ve been looking into it, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not as such,’ said Libby. ‘One or two things came up, not to mention the fact that one local resident is blaming me for the ukulele group and the murder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She has her ears blasted with the ukulele group every Monday and says that I let the village in for it. I think she’s even blaming me for the murder. But she’s a batty old woman with bad eyesight, so I suppose I should feel sorry for her.’

  ‘But it was the vicar who let us use the hall!’

  ‘But the vicar’s female. Female vicars are an abomination, apparently.’ Libby grinned. ‘It’s all right. I know what this person’s like, and so does everybody else. So, yes, I do know a bit about it. And my friends Lewis and Edie are part of the group, too.’

  ‘And the concert is to be at your theatre.’ Sandra shivered. ‘If it ever goes ahead.’

  ‘Now listen,’ said Libby. ‘You’ve come here to tell me something, or ask my advice, and all you’re doing is offering cryptic remarks. Spill the beans.’

  ‘There’s something the police haven’t released to the press.’ Sandra took a sip of coffee. ‘So you might not know about it. I only know because Denise told me.’

  ‘The cannabis factory?’

  Now the colour drained from Sandra’s face. ‘How …?’

  ‘The man my cousin is seeing is Mike Farthing, who the police are convinced helped to set it up.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘Mike …’ repeated Sandra. ‘But he wouldn’t …’

  ‘No, that’s what we think, but they were put on to him by someone, and now it appears they’ve found something. What my cousin and I are wondering is who made the suggestion about Mike being involved.’

  Sandra looked down at her coffee. ‘I was only going to tell you about the factory, but if you know …’ She looked up. ‘You see, Denise didn’t really know anything about it.’

  ‘But it was in her own attic!’

  ‘Yes, but she just thought it was an ordinary laboratory. You know Vernon used to be a scientist?’

  ‘I do. And where.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Sandra looked uncomfortable. ‘He always had his own personal laboratory. Apparently, at their last house it was a large shed at the bottom of the garden, but this time it was the attic.’

  ‘And it’s exactly the same design as Ron Stewart’s house and attic. So who had the idea of the factory?’

  ‘Ron’s attic is a studio. As far as I can tell he already knew Vernon, and when his house was being built, introduced him to the architect. And Denise says it was Ron who suggested the laboratory.’

  ‘Ah!’ Libby’s ears pricked up. ‘So Denise thinks Ron was in on it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What I still can’t understand is how she didn’t know. What about the smell?’

  ‘There’s a very sophisticated heating and ventilation system up there.’

  ‘And what about the floor? It must have been reinforced to take the weight.’

  ‘I suppose so. But that’s not was worrying Denise. It was about someone else. She thought someone was after Vernon,’

  Libby stared in silence.

  Sandra put down her coffee mug. ‘She thought he was worried about something and she heard the tail-end of a couple of telephone conversations.’

  ‘I hope she’s told the police,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, she hasn’t. She told me because she began to get scared. She said she thought whoever it was might come after her as well.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Libby. ‘She thought someone was – what? Threatening her husband? What was it she overheard?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me exactly, but it sounded as if it was threatening and he was on the defensive.’

  ‘So she thinks whoever was on the phone is the murderer? Why would he come after her?’

  ‘He might think she knows all about whatever it was.’

  ‘And does she think that the “whatever” is the cannabis factory?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know that she does, either.’

  ‘So what reason does she have to be scared? Has someone written to her? Called her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But she’s only just told me about this.’

  ‘She really needs to tell the police.’

  ‘She thinks it’s too – too – too vague. She thinks they’d laugh at her. So,’ Sandra slid a sideways glance at Libby, ‘that’s why I suggested you.’

  ‘I see.’ Libby gazed at the fire, thinking.

  ‘But I didn’t know you’d been, er –’

  ‘Incapacitated,’ said Libby. ‘No.’ She sat up straight, sending Sidney, who had just arrived on her lap, shooting off. ‘Would she be willing to come and see me? I’d like to talk this over with my friend Fran and perhaps we could see Denise together. You could be there, too, obviously.’

  ‘I’ll ask her. She wasn’t all that keen on asking you in the first place. I had to persuade her.’

  ‘
The woman sounds like an idiot, if you ask me,’ said Libby. ‘She should go straight to the police.’

  Sandra sighed. ‘I’ll ask her. I’ll tell her what you’ve said.’

  ‘Good. And now tell me what you know about the members of the ukulele group and who you think might have bumped him off?’

  Sandra looked aghast. ‘Me? I don’t know anything!’

  ‘You know the members, don’t you?’

  ‘Not well. I haven’t lived over there very long, so I only really met the people Alan knows. And the people on the darts team. That’s how I met Denise.’

  ‘Oh, not through the group?’

  ‘No, she hates the ukulele. She said it drove her mad, him practising all over the house except when he went up to the …’ Sandra stopped.

  ‘Laboratory, yes. So who does Alan know?’

  ‘Only Vernon, really. And Eric Robinson, a bit. And Ron Stewart, although nobody sees much of him. He and Vernon were very close, I think.’

  ‘We gathered that. And none of them would kill him.’

  ‘Unless it was one of them he was scared of.’ Sandra frowned.

  ‘Do you know anything about them?’

  ‘I don’t know anything, but I’ve never been very sure about Eric. He treats his wife abominably. And I gather there’s been some kind of estrangement with his children.’

  ‘Sounds more like a victim than a murderer,’ said Libby. ‘And it doesn’t give him a motive.’

  ‘Unless Vernon was threatening to let out a secret?’ Sandra looked hopeful.

  ‘Then Vernon wouldn’t be the threatened one, would he? He would be doing the threatening.’

  ‘Unless, Eric knew something about Vernon – like the cannabis factory – and threatened to tell about that.’

  Libby looked at her admiringly. ‘You’re getting good at this! Yes, that’s a possible theory.’ She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

  Sandra jumped up, immediately contrite. ‘Oh, I’ve tired you. No, don’t try and get up. I’ll be on my way, and I’ll go straight to talk to Denise.’ Impulsively, she bent to kiss Libby’s cheek. ‘You’ve made me think so much more clearly, thank you. I hope I can do the same for Denise.’

  Ben came back into the room after seeing their guest to the door and found Libby still sitting up straight and busy making notes in the margin of a magazine.