Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘You wouldn’t try and top yourself because someone upset you, you silly bat,’ said Harry.

  ‘Why would you do it, then?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Mostly because they’ve done something wrong and can’t bear to live with it,’ said Patti. ‘And they can’t see that people will forgive almost anything.’

  ‘Not always,’ said Anne. ‘Sometimes it’s depression. Real, clinical depression. No one knows how that feels unless they’ve been there themselves. It isn’t just being miserable because of some awful life event, it’s much worse. It’s indescribable, actually, and those who take their lives in those circumstances should be treated with less blame.’

  Everyone was quiet after that, until Ian said ‘I doubt if depression was the cause in Mrs Bowling’s case, however. I think it was fear.’

  They all looked at him.

  ‘You don’t think it was a cry for help?’ Peter suggested tentatively. ‘I mean, I don’t know, but …’

  ‘I think it could very well be,’ said Ian, ‘but we haven’t been able to speak to her yet. We would have insisted if there had been any doubt that it was a suicide attempt, serious or not.’

  ‘It doesn’t get you any nearer Bowling’s murder, then, does it?’ said Libby.

  ‘Maybe.’ Ian finished his coffee and stood up. ‘Now I’ll leave you to discuss it, and then let me who dunit by tomorrow morning.’ He lifted a hand in farewell and left.

  ‘Well!’ said Libby, leaning back in her chair. ‘That was a surprise.’

  ‘It’s horrible,’ said Patti.

  ‘I know, Patti. Are you regretting getting to know us?’

  ‘To know you, you mean,’ said Harry. ‘The rest of us are blameless and incurious.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Libby dug him in the ribs.

  Patti laughed. ‘No, of course not, but it does bring you up against the more unpleasant bits of life.’

  ‘But you get that being a vicar, too,’ said Libby. ‘And speaking of which, I met Bethany Cole last week.’

  ‘I heard,’ said Patti. ‘Just before you were attacked.’

  ‘I don’t think it had anything to do with her, though,’ said Libby. ‘She’s nice, isn’t she?’

  ‘Do you actually know any male vicars?’ asked Sir Andrew, who hadn’t so far said a word.

  Everyone looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ said Patti, suddenly. ‘You remember, Libby. I took you to meet him. Toby.’

  ‘Oh, yes, when we were trying to find out about Wyghtham Hall. There you are, Andrew. We do know one.’

  Andrew laughed. ‘I’m glad us gents are keeping our end up. I wonder what the percentage is now?’

  ‘I think in full-time posts about one in seven,’ said Patti, ‘and I think more in the south-east.’

  ‘Is that because the south-east is more liberal?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I think you’d get an argument about that in a lot of parts of the country,’ said Andrew. ‘Manchester, for example.’

  ‘Well, anyway, Bethany Cole had nothing to do with my being hit on the head,’ said Libby, ‘and I think we ought to change the subject.’

  Everyone looked at her in surprise.

  ‘What?’ She lifted her chin defensively. ‘I’m feeling guilty, all right?’

  ‘You really have no reason to feel guilty,’ said Ben later, as they walked home.

  ‘She was more or less thrown out of my house, went straight to someone else for help, which she presumably didn’t get, and then went home to kill herself. Why shouldn’t I feel guilty?’

  Ben sighed. ‘Talk to Fran about it in the morning.’

  Fran, of course, understood.

  ‘What should we do?’ she asked.

  ‘Stay out of it, according to Ian, although he did say that he wanted us to tell him who the murderer is.’

  ‘He knows we’ll discuss it. All the others will, too. And we really are involved now.’

  ‘I know. How do we do it?’ Libby sighed. ‘Shall we have a compare the suspects session?’

  ‘If you like. I’m shop-sitting this morning while Guy stocks up on some more Christmas tat, but he’ll be back this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll come to you,’ said Libby. ‘I need to get back in the driving seat again.’

  ‘It’s only a week since your accident,’ said Fran dubiously.

  ‘I know, and I’ve been absolutely fine. I ran a rehearsal last night, I’ve been shopping and to the pub. I’m fine.’

  ‘All right. But tell Ben, and leave before it gets dark.’

  ‘It’s dark by four, idiot! And I know the road between here and Nethergate like the back of my hand.’

  ‘Just be careful.’ Fran rang off.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ben, when Libby phoned to tell him.

  ‘Haven’t you got anything else to do?’

  ‘Not really, other than collect the trees from Joe. I can do that any time.’

  ‘But we’re having a – a –’

  ‘Murder discussion. I know. So I’ll go and keep Guy company in the shop. I might have a bit of Christmas shopping to do, after all.’

  The result of this was an invitation to dinner with Fran and Guy, which Libby immediately countermanded.

  ‘No, my treat – dinner at either The Sloop or The Swan. You choose.’

  By half past two Libby was ensconced in the window seat in the front room of Coastguard Cottage, Balzac the cat on her lap, her hands wrapped round a mug of tea.

  ‘The view from here is lovely even in winter.’

  ‘Except when it’s so foggy you can’t even see Dragon Island,’ said Fran, who was ironing.

  ‘It’s a bit insubstantial today,’ said Libby, peering.

  ‘Come on, then, we didn’t get together to talk about Dragon Island or fog. Review the situation.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby, and dislodged Balzac. ‘First of all, Mike Farthing.’

  ‘He went early on that Monday night and other than a possible and improbable connection with the cannabis factory, has no motive.’

  ‘He could have parked off the Canterbury road and come back through the woods behind Lendle Lane.’

  ‘No,’ said Fran, ‘Ian has already told you, there were no cars parked along there.’

  ‘And do we know definitely it was something to do with a heating and ventilating system?’

  ‘No. We know there was one and we suspect it was ordered through Mike’s computer.’

  ‘By Patrick or Gary. ‘

  ‘ Carry on, then. Who next?’

  ‘Derek Chandler. He was there that Monday night, but I don’t know if he was in the pub when Lewis came in or not. He was an alleged scammer, although cleared of that and fairly close to Bowling.’

  ‘Only motive counter accusations,’ said Fran.

  ‘OK Ron Stewart. Was he there?’

  ‘If he was he was on his own. Didn’t someone say he and Bowling usually went together?’

  ‘Even if he was there in the pub, he could have walloped Bowling earlier. But again, motive.’

  Fran rested the iron and folded a shirt. ‘Something to do with the factory. The house design … he had to know about the factory. His house came first, didn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think it was his idea?’ said Libby. ‘It could have been, couldn’t it? You know – sex’n’drugs’n’rock’n’roll and all that.’

  ‘I suppose so. I think Jonah Fludde were rather in the middle of the whole drugs scene of the early seventies. But how come he got Bowling interested?’

  ‘Bowling was a user? I don’t know. But cannabis isn’t a hard drug.’ Libby frowned. ‘I suppose it couldn’t be more than cannabis, could it? Ian would hardly have told us if they’d found – I don’t know – evidence of manufacturing crystal meth or something, could he? It would make it all seem a bit more reasonable.’ Libby shrugged, uncurled her legs and took her mug into the kitchen. ‘And then there’s dear old Bob Alton.’ She went back into the sitting room. ‘You know, I still thin
k that’s the most likely reason someone had it in for him. The needless deaths of those poor soldiers.’

  ‘But not Bob!’

  ‘We don’t want to think so, but he said, didn’t he, he wouldn’t have carried on with the group if he’d known who Bowling was.’

  ‘That’s a far cry from killing him.’ Fran shook out another shirt. ‘And then there’s Denise. Is the suicide attempt a confession?’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘I’ve interrupted, haven’t I?’ Jane Baker stood on the doorstep.

  Fran smiled and held the door wider. ‘No, come in. Libby and Ben are taking us to dinner at The Sloop, so we’ve got ages.’

  Jane, now assistant editor of the Nethergate Mercury and its associated local papers, both print and online, edged into the room.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said to Libby. ‘I wanted to show you the paper.’

  ‘I saw it online,’ said Libby, nevertheless taking the proffered paper.

  ‘That was abbreviated,’ said Jane.

  Fran peered over Libby’s shoulder. ‘Nice picture.’

  ‘Of Ben,’ said Libby. ‘What on earth do I look like?’

  ‘Someone who’s been attacked?’ suggested Jane.

  ‘Would you like tea, Jane?’ asked Fran.

  ‘If you’re sure I’m not interrupting …’

  Libby grinned. ‘Come on, you’d love to know what we’ve been talking about.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I can guess.’

  ‘I expect you can.’ Libby looked at her speculatively. ‘But how much do you know?’

  ‘I know there’s been a news blackout.’

  ‘Ah. Since when?’

  ‘Monday, as far as I can tell. The press office won’t tell us a thing. All we’re getting is the usual traffic stuff and drunks.’

  Libby glanced at Fran who was coming in with fresh tea. ‘In that case, I’m not sure …’

  ‘Has something else happened?’ Jane leant forward.

  ‘If it’s under a blackout, we can’t tell you,’ said Fran. ‘Sorry, Jane.’

  ‘How do you know, then? Oh.’ Jane nodded. ‘Ian Connell.’

  ‘And we – I – we’re involved, of course,’ said Libby.

  Jane sighed. ‘Of course. I’m well trained – I won’t ask.’

  Libby patted her hand. ‘Anyway how did you know I was here?’

  ‘I popped into the shop to show Fran the paper and Guy and Ben told me you were both here.’ Jane sipped tea. ‘I can’t stay long in any case. Imogen’s with Mum.’

  ‘You haven’t heard of anything more to do with Vernon Bowling’s murder, then?’ said Fran, going back to the ironing.

  ‘Well, not as such … Do you know a Robert Alton?’

  ‘Yes?’ said Fran and Libby together.

  ‘I thought you might know of him. He’s a member of the ukulele group, isn’t he? Or was.’

  ‘Was?’ said Libby.

  ‘He told me he’s left.’ Jane looked from one to the other. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘A bit,’ said Fran. ‘What do you know?’

  Jane coloured a little. ‘I did a bit of research on the names of the people in the group – those that I had, anyway – and came up with the fact that his son was one of those killed at Dellington. You know about Dellington?’

  ‘We do,’ said Libby.

  ‘So I asked him if I could talk to him. He was quite willing, although in the end I had to cut a lot of it as it could have been libellous. It’s turned into rather a mild little comment on his previous life. Bowling’s, I mean.’

  ‘So Bob Alton’s left? Did he say why?’

  ‘He didn’t want to be associated with the group any more.’ Jane shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if more people leave.’

  ‘No.’ Libby looked at Fran. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me, either.’

  ‘The Concert’ floated in the ether between them, unspoken.

  ‘I must go.’ Jane stood up. ‘Thanks for the tea. You will let me know if there’s anything I can publish, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Fran went to the door with her. ‘Love to Terry and Imogen.’

  ‘Do you think I ought to talk to Andrew about this?’ said Libby, as Fran went back to her ironing board.

  ‘It might be an idea.’ Fran looked up. ‘It might also be a very good idea to talk to some of the people in the group to see how they feel.’

  Libby gazed at her friend admiringly. ‘What a brain!’

  ‘Mind you – I suppose for decency’s sake you ought to go to Eric Robinson first.’

  ‘Well, of course. But suppose he says he’s doing it anyway? You know, canvassing the members. He might say that he’s already done it by holding that meeting in the theatre.’

  ‘But things have changed since then.’ Fran regarded the remaining ironing with distaste. ‘I’m fed up with this.’

  ‘So stop. I don’t know how you manage to get so much ironing.’

  ‘Guy wears shirts. And there’s my linen tops, and tablecloths …’

  ‘Tablecloths? Only at Christmas, tablecloths. Here, let me put the iron away.’

  Ironing board, iron, and linen put away, they settled either side of the fire.

  ‘So where do we go from here?’ said Libby. ‘Do we get in touch with Dr Robinson? We haven’t checked him as a suspect yet, have we?’

  ‘No, but unless he’s got some sort of guilty secret, I don’t know how he comes into it.’

  ‘We ought to check them all,’ said Libby. ‘It could be any of them.’

  ‘Let’s stick with what we’ve got so far,’ said Fran, ‘and yes, call Andrew and tell him what’s going on and suggest that you talk to Dr Robinson in your guise as member of the theatre board.’

  ‘OK. Shall I do it now?’

  ‘Have you got his number?’

  ‘In my phone.’ Libby dragged it out of the bag which had now replaced the ubiquitous basket.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Andrew, it’s Libby. I’m sorry to bother you – have you gone home, by the way?’

  ‘No, I’m still in the village. What’s up?’

  ‘Fran and I have heard that people are leaving the ukulele group. We were wondering –’

  ‘If they should leave the concert. Yes, so was I. In fact, I was going to get in touch with Dr Robinson this evening. That’s why I stayed down.’

  ‘Oh. Are you going to ask them to leave?’

  ‘I think I have to.’ Andrew sighed. ‘The initial murder was bad enough, but might have translated into a few extra sales from the ghoulish, but with others in the group under suspicion and now Mrs Bowling’s suicide attempt, I feel it would be very bad taste to allow them to take part.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Libby, making a face at Fran. ‘We’ll leave it to you, then.’

  ‘What do you mean, leave it to me?’

  ‘We thought we might ask some of the members of the group what they thought about it.’

  Andrew laughed. ‘You mean you were going to use it as an excuse to go sleuthing!’

  Libby couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘I think it will be better if I do it in an official way. It’s a shame, and I shall have to pull in a favour from someone else to fill the gap, but I think it’s for the best.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s a shame, though.’

  ‘You could come with me to see Robinson if you like.’

  ‘Could I? As a representative of the theatre? Oh, but if you’re going this evening I can’t. Ben and I are in Nethergate. We’re going out to dinner with Fran and Guy.’

  ‘Perhaps I could make an appointment to go in the morning? Would that suit you?’

  ‘Oh, you are lovely, Andrew! Yes, that would be wonderful.’

  Libby ended the call and beamed at Fran. ‘Did you get all that?’

  ‘Andrew’s going to see them himself?’

  ‘Just Robinson to give him the sack. And he’s going to try and make an appointment for tomorrow so
I can go with him.’

  ‘Will that help?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but it can’t hurt. I have a burning desire to find out who hit me.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was Robinson.’

  ‘No, but he knows me from the meeting in the theatre.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘It has to be someone who knows you. But meeting Robinson won’t help you talk to any of the others.’

  ‘No, all right, it won’t, but it’s a start.’

  ‘And what about Edie and Lewis? Should you talk to them? Edie might be disappointed.’

  ‘I don’t think she will be, somehow, but I’ll give her a ring and forewarn her.’

  ‘Do it now. I’m ready for more tea,’ said Fran, getting up.

  ‘Edie, it’s me.’ Libby spoke a little louder than she had to Andrew. ‘I just want to tell you something. Andrew has decided that under the circumstances it would be better for the ukulele group not to perform in the concert.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame, dear. Although it wasn’t the same last Monday. Lots of them weren’t there. Not sure I shall carry on, as it happens.’

  ‘That was one of the things that made Andrew decide. I told him people were already leaving.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘Bob Alton, for one.’

  ‘Oh well, I will leave then. He was lovely, old Bob. The only one near my age.’

  ‘Why don’t you invite him over for a cup of tea? You said you would. Fran’s seen him and says he’s lonely.’

  There was a pause, and Libby winked at Fran who was coming back in with fresh mugs.

  ‘You got his number then?’ Edie asked at last.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll ask. Fran did Bob Alton give you his number?’

  ‘It’s on the computer at the shop. He’s ordered stuff from us in the past. I’ll get it from Guy.’ Fran took out her own phone.

  ‘I’ll let you have it when Fran’s got it, Edie. So what do you think about the group being left out of the concert?’

  ‘I think it’s right, dear. I mean, if they’re looking for a murderer in the group, well, it’s not nice, is it?’

  ‘Did you hear about my accident, Edie?’

  ‘No!’ Edie sounded horrified, and Libby explained.

  ‘And they think it was to do with this murder? Well, I’m certainly not going back, then. And what about Mike? There’s something going on there, too, isn’t there?’