Murder in Bloom

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘False documents, I think,’ said Lewis.

  ‘They’ve only got her word for it about Ken’s murder,’ said Adam. ‘I expect this is to get her into custody so they can have another go at her.’

  ‘Serve her right,’ said Katie, pouring boiling water into the big brown Betty teapot. ‘Stuck-up little cow.’

  No one reprimanded her, but Libby did feel a little sorry for Cindy. Although how she could have expected to get away with coming back to claim an inheritance under the circumstances seemed incredibly naïve.

  ‘What about the press?’ she asked. ‘How did they get to hear about it?’

  ‘Nobody seems to know, but it was hearing about Cindy’s return apparently, and someone linked her up to Kenneth.’

  ‘But Creekmarsh? The police haven’t let that out,’ said Adam.

  ‘Same source I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘Somebody knows what’s going on.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘They’ll probably think it’s one of us.’

  ‘It isn’t criminal, though,’ said Lewis.

  ‘It wasn’t you, was it?’ Libby narrowed her eyes at him.

  ‘’Course not.’ Lewis was indignant. ‘D’you think I want a bunch of bloody reporters camping on my doorstep?’

  ‘No,’ conceded Libby, looking up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They all turned.

  Cindy, accompanied by two plainclothes and one uniformed officer, was coming down like a French aristo to the tumbrel. As she was escorted outside, Lewis rose and went to the door. After a moment, one of the plainclothes officers came back.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Osbourne-Walker,’ he said. ‘I expect we’ll be in touch.’

  ‘What about Miss Dale?’ said Lewis. ‘I mean, she doesn’t live here or anything. Where will she go after?’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere soon,’ said the officer. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  A silence fell after the officer left, until Libby said, ‘Do you think they’ll look for evidence to connect her to Kenneth’s death?’

  ‘Oh, Ma, of course they will. I bet they go through Tony West’s place with a toothcomb looking for clues. After all, she knew him well enough for him to get her away after Kenneth’s murder.’

  ‘They’ve already gone through his place,’ said Lewis. ‘They’d have found anything there was to find by now.’

  ‘What do you suppose he did with her real passport and stuff?’ said Libby. ‘And Gerald’s whereabouts? He must have known that as well.’

  Lewis shrugged. ‘Bank safe somewhere?’

  ‘He’d have had documents relating to it,’ said Libby, shaking her head. ‘Well, it all comes down to Tony West in the end, doesn’t it? I wonder why he did it?’

  ‘Dunno. He didn’t seem a soft sort of bugger to me,’ said Lewis. ‘Cruel but fair, as someone said.’

  ‘Devious, if you ask me,’ said Adam. ‘What do you think, Katie? You knew him.’

  Katie had been sitting at the end of the table, her head bowed over her mug of tea. She looked up and Libby was surprised to see real grief in her eyes.

  ‘He was good to me,’ she said shortly. She stood up and took her mug to the sink, rinsed it out and left the room by the back door.

  ‘He got her the job with you, didn’t he?’ said Libby. Lewis nodded. ‘So he knew her before then?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Not well, though. He got to know her better after she started working for me.’

  ‘Were you still –’ Adam stopped, going bright red.

  Lewis grinned at him. ‘Shagging? No, mate. Not regular, anyway. Once or twice.’ He leant over and patted Adam’s arm. ‘Now you’re shocked, aren’t you?’

  Adam shook his head, blush subsiding. ‘I just wondered how often you saw him after you moved in here.’

  ‘Few times. He knew the house, see? He come down to have a look round if I wasn’t sure about how I ought to do things.’

  ‘And he didn’t say anything about Gerald Shepherd?’ said Libby.

  ‘No.’ Lewis shrugged again. ‘Just as how he knew the house, like.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Libby thoughtfully. Then she stood up. ‘Well, as you don’t need me to help you get rid of Cindy, I’ll be off. See you later, Ad.’

  ‘OK, Ma.’ He, too, stood up. ‘I promise I’ll sort out some transport of my own. I know you don’t like driving the Land Rover.’

  ‘You can always stay here,’ said Lewis, following them to the door. ‘I’ve said so before. Then you wouldn’t have to keep going backwards and forwards.’

  ‘You’re all right, Lewis, thanks. I quite like being at home with Ma.’ Adam gave Lewis a grin. ‘See you later, Ma.’

  Libby was shepherded through the gates and the rabble of the media by the two policemen on duty. Outside the Kent and Coast Television vehicle she caught sight of Campbell McLean, the reporter she’d met during last summer’s murder investigation into the body on the island. He, luckily, either didn’t see or recognise her, and she drove safely away towards home.

  The red answerphone light was winking when she got in. Pressing the button she listened to the message while unwrapping her cape from around her shoulders. One day, she thought, she really must invest in a more conventional coat.

  ‘Libby,’ said the answerphone, ‘I found the DVD in Canterbury. Do you want to see it? And Guy says there was something on the radio about Cindy Dale and Creekmarsh while I was out. What’s going on?’

  Libby sat down on the cane sofa and lit a cigarette. Sidney jumped up beside her. After a short period of stroking and bonding, he jumped down again and Libby picked up the phone.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the DVD, but I’m still not sure why you wanted to. You really went all the way into Canterbury just to buy it?’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t have it in any of our shops,’ said Fran. ‘And I bought a couple of other things as well, so it wasn’t a waste of time. Shall I bring it over?’

  ‘Do you and Guy want to come to supper, then?’ said Libby. ‘Might as well make an evening of it. The boys can go to the pub with Adam.’

  ‘I’ll check with Guy,’ said Fran. ‘Now tell me what was going on at Creekmarsh.’

  Libby filled in the details and waited for Fran to pronounce.

  ‘Did you think any more about the day books or housekeeper’s records?’ she said finally.

  ‘You said you were going to research those,’ said Libby. ‘You asked Lewis’s permission.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran vaguely, ‘but I thought … with Cindy –’

  ‘You thought she might be looking?’

  ‘It stands to reason, doesn’t it? She’s looking for her passport and certificates. She might have found them somewhere.’

  ‘But she hasn’t. And I think the police would have found them if she had because they would have gone through her belongings.’

  ‘OK.’ Fran now sounded brisk. ‘I’ll check with Guy about tonight and ring you back.’

  She did, within a few minutes, and Libby called Ben to let him know and ask him to beg some vegetables from his mother as once again, she’d forgotten to go shopping. ‘Tomorrow,’ she told herself, picking up her basket and heading off to the eight-til-late.

  Fran and Guy arrived at seven and by half past the four of them and Adam were sitting round the kitchen table.

  ‘Tell me again why we’re being packed off to the pub?’ said Adam, spearing a large potato.

  ‘We’re going to watch a DVD of Gerald Shepherd. You’d be bored,’ said his mother. Ben and Guy exchanged eye-rolling glances.

  ‘Why?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Just to see what he’s like,’ said Fran, sipping wine.

  ‘What he was like,’ said Adam. ‘That serial was on when I was at school.’

  ‘Isn’t he dead
?’ said Guy. ‘You said what he is like.’

  ‘No, he’s not dead.’ Fran shook her head. ‘I think he’s in a home somewhere.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  When the men had left them to the washing-up, Libby asked her question.

  ‘In a home?’

  ‘He’d have to be. To be cared for. And Tony West would know where.’

  ‘Yes, I thought of that. That he’d know where Gerald was.’

  ‘And that, of course, is why Creekmarsh had to be sold.’

  ‘Is it? I thought it was to get rid of it so any stray bodies wouldn’t be associated with the Shepherd family.’

  ‘There was that aspect, but think about it. What else?’

  ‘I don’t know. What else?’

  ‘The funds to keep Gerald in a home.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby stopped washing plates and stared at her friend. ‘Of course!’ She placed the plate thoughtfully in the draining rack. ‘But if he was in a home, how did West persuade the staff to keep quiet?’

  ‘Money? Or perhaps he put him there under a false name. Seems he had no trouble finding false papers for Cindy Dale.’

  Libby emptied the sink and dried her hands. ‘You’re very sure about this,’ she said, and picked up the wine bottle. Fran picked up the glasses.

  ‘My brain’s sure,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why. It is logical, of course, but why I’m so certain – well.’ She grinned at Libby. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Collateral Damage was a political thriller with Gerald Shepherd as a manipulative back-room wheeler and dealer who almost brings down the government of the day.

  ‘Not a very nice character,’ said Libby, pausing the film while she topped up glasses.

  ‘No, but very charismatic,’ said Fran. ‘Quite the charmer.’

  ‘In a non-charming way,’ agreed Libby, and unpaused the film.

  ‘So,’ she said when it had finished. ‘Did that help at all?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘But I enjoyed it.’

  ‘So did I.’ Libby took a thoughtful sip. ‘I can see why Cindy might have had an affair with him despite him being so much older.’

  ‘But she says she didn’t,’ Fran reminded her.

  ‘You said Lewis told you –’

  ‘That he tried it on. I know. But the public thought they’d run away together, and you can see why. Except that Cindy isn’t the glamour model I thought she’d be.’

  ‘I wonder where the investigation will go now?’ mused Fran. ‘They really ought to concentrate on Tony West.’

  ‘Because no one knows why he was killed?’

  ‘It was obviously something to with Creekmarsh,’ said Fran, ‘but what?’

  ‘His place was ransacked,’ said Libby, ‘so whoever did it was looking for something.’

  ‘Cindy’s papers?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been her,’ said Libby, ‘she only arrived in the country on Sunday, the police checked that straight away.’ She suddenly sat up straight on the sofa. ‘It couldn’t be –’ she looked at Fran ‘– Gerald Shepherd himself?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  FRAN STARED AT LIBBY. ‘If we’re right about his Alzheimer’s, no, it couldn’t,’ she said.

  ‘But supposing we’re not? Supposing he’s still perfectly normal and Cindy’s been feeding us a load of bollocks?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘Think about it. Why, in that case, did he give West power of attorney? And,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘when he disappeared, why didn’t the police find out about it?’

  ‘Were the police involved at that stage? It was only Kenneth who was looking for him.’

  ‘No idea. I suppose they assumed it was a voluntary decision and didn’t follow it up. That’s the thinking with missing persons, isn’t it? Unless it’s a child.’

  Libby shuddered. ‘Horrible. But yes, I suppose it is. They think adults want to disappear. Especially if a pretty young woman is involved with a man.’

  ‘I still want to know about the solicitor who drew up the power of attorney,’ said Fran. ‘The police will have been on to that, won’t they? To find the will, as well.’ ‘The Office of the Public Guardian will have the details,’ said Fran, ‘but not of the will.’

  ‘There’s no way we can find out, then,’ said Libby. ‘Even if we were perfectly entitled to get in touch with them, I think there’s something about only giving the information to a particular person or persons named.’

  ‘So we only have hearsay and what Cindy Dale says about the whole affair,’ said Fran.

  ‘We do, but I bet the police have more. It’s what we always say, isn’t it?’ Libby sighed. ‘They always get there before we do.’

  Fran laughed. ‘And turn up to save our irritating bacon.’

  ‘So it’s nothing to do with us and we ought to stop worrying about it,’ said Libby. ‘That’ll please the boys.’

  Fran snorted. ‘Boys!’

  ‘Old men, then,’ said Libby with a giggle, ‘although I wouldn’t say –’

  ‘Don’t want to know,’ said Fran, sticking her fingers in her ears. ‘Have another glass of wine.’

  Thursday morning saw Libby in the conservatory wielding a determined paintbrush. She and Fran had more or less unanimously decided to leave the Creekmarsh investigation to the police and concentrate on other pursuits, the most important of which being Fran and Guy’s forthcoming wedding. As summer was almost here and visitors to Nethergate would be increasing, Guy had gently suggested he might want more Sarjeant masterpieces for sale in the gallery. So here was Libby, trying to concentrate on a new view of Nethergate Bay and to dismiss Creekmarsh, Cindy Dale and Gerald Shepherd from her mind.

  But, of course, this was almost impossible. However much one wished to concentrate on paint and paper, painting, to a degree, left the mind free to range wherever it wanted. And Libby’s was certainly ranging.

  The radio and television news that morning had only brief mentions of Cindy Dale being taken in for questioning and nothing at all about Gerald Shepherd, Kenneth or Tony West. Deliberately playing it down, wondered Libby, or simply no longer an urgent enquiry? No matter how hard she thought around all the corners, no startling light-bulb moments illuminated the story for her, and in the end she found herself making up stories to fit the facts. Enjoyable though this was, when she found herself imagining Cindy Dale as Gerald’s daughter by Lewis’s Katie, she decided she’d gone far enough and began to clean her brushes.

  After a bowl of soup for lunch and putting a load of Adam’s work clothes in the washing machine, she was about to curl up with a good book when her mobile rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Fran. ‘How would you like to come out and have a look at our venue with me? I’ve got to talk to the manager, apparently.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I’ll leave now and collect you on the way. OK?’

  ‘Great!’ Libby bounced up from the sofa. ‘I’ll go and make myself presentable.’

  By the time Fran arrived twenty minutes later, Libby was in a long dark skirt with a cotton tunic over the top. Stuffed inside her basket was a slightly moth-eaten shawl.

  ‘Has that taken the place of the cape?’ asked Fran, as Libby fastened her seatbelt.

  ‘For summer, yes,’ said Libby, ‘although I suppose I ought to get myself a proper summer jacket.’

  ‘And a proper winter coat,’ said Fran. ‘I can never understand how you can keep warm in that blue thing.’

  ‘I can wear lots of jumpers underneath,’ explained Libby. ‘Where are we going?’

  Pickering House was on the other side of Canterbury in a rather more affluent area than Steeple Martin and Nethergate. It sat at the end of a gravel drive, looking for all the world like a wisteria-covered
farmhouse, but once inside, Libby could see what a fabulous venue it was for a small wedding. Nothing had been done to alter the interior, as far as she could see, except to add electric light and discreet central heating. The room where the ceremony would be conducted was, like most of the downstairs rooms, wood panelled, with what looked like old church pews set in rows. The reception room, too, was panelled, with long French windows leading on to a covered terrace. In a small library a bar had been introduced, and upstairs the bedrooms were equally delightful. The only modern touches were the bathrooms, which were reassuringly stateof-the-art.

  When Fran had finished talking to the manager, they went to inspect the gardens.

  ‘Will you stay here the night before?’ asked Libby, dead-heading a straggly Queen Elizabeth rose.

  ‘No, we’re going to be traditional. Guy will be in his flat with Sophie and I’ll be at Coastguard Cottage.’

  ‘On your own? What about getting dressed?’

  ‘I can use the room here to get ready. Guy will get ready at home and come with Sophie.’

  ‘Who’s bringing you?’

  ‘I’ll drive myself,’ said Fran.

  Libby was shocked. ‘You can’t do that on your wedding day! What about one of the children?’

  ‘The farther away they stay the better I shall like it,’ said Fran, grimly.

  ‘Well, I shall come and fetch you, then,’ said Libby, ‘and we can get dressed together in your posh room. Ben will probably want to fetch Guy as well.’

  ‘Yes, but if he did that we wouldn’t have a car for the morning.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I don’t know, Guy won’t tell me.’ Fran giggled. ‘I feel like a teenager again.’

  Libby grinned at her and squeezed her arm. ‘So you should. Now tell me about the terrible trio.’

  Fran sighed. ‘Not Jeremy, he’s fine. It’s the girls.’

  ‘What have they been doing? Last I heard there’d been a stony silence.’

  ‘Which they have now broken.’ Fran sighed again. ‘Honestly, those two have barely spoken in years, and now they’re ganging up on me.’