‘That’s odd,’ said Fran. ‘That sort of thing’s usually held at the house, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I thought, but it seems as though either Gerald or someone else cleared it of everything historical.’
‘It was almost derelict when Gerald bought it, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it been used by the military or something during the war?’
‘Yes, so maybe it was cleared of relevant documents then,’ said Libby. ‘What we need is an old portrait or something, like we found at Anderson Place.’
‘There would hardly be portraits of the people we want to find out about,’ said Fran. ‘Will you ask Lewis about a photo of West?’
‘Later on, I will. When I’m sure he’s free. Why won’t you tell me why you want it?’
‘I’d prejudice you,’ said Fran. ‘This is only a thought.’
As it happened, Libby didn’t have to call Lewis, as he called her about the original garden designs. She explained her theory about the strong room, but he was more interested in the garden.
‘But I thought you must have had the original designs,’ she said, ‘because Adam and Mog are restoring the parterre.’
‘Mog unearthed the layout of that,’ said Lewis, ‘and the whatjer-call-’em fruit trees in the walled garden. Them ones up against a wall.’
‘Espalier?’ suggested Libby.
‘That’s them. All sorts he found, although some are too far gone, but they’re replacing them.’
‘Good,’ said Libby. ‘Now, Lewis, Fran wants to know if you’ve got any pictures of Tony West.’
‘Pictures? Photos? No, ’course I haven’t. What for?’
‘I don’t know, she won’t tell me. Oh, well, I’ll see if I come up with one on the Internet. What did we do without it?’
‘Dunno. Can’t see how anyone can live without it these days. Though I’m not much good at it, but it ain’t half useful.’
‘Certainly is,’ said Libby. ‘Right. Mog and Ad are coming with me tomorrow morning to Maidstone to look at the designs. We’ll find out whether they belong to the library or you. If they belong to you, I expect you’ll have to go and collect them, but at least we’ll be able to have a look tomorrow. Mog’s very excited.’
After Lewis had rung off, Libby made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the computer. Once again she searched for Tony West and came up with the sites she’d found before, augmented by many news sites reporting his murder. She checked all of these to see how much had been released to the public, but apart from mention of Gerald Shepherd and Cindy Dale allegedly running off together, there was no further news of them. Even more odd, thought Libby, there was no mention of Lewis being called in for questioning. It was all being kept very dark.
She found three photographs of West, all taken at media events where he smiled toothily at the camera above a black tie. She emailed Fran the results and then called her to tell her.
‘Do you think Frank would take us to see Gerald?’ asked Fran, after looking at the pictures.
‘What on earth for?’ said Libby. ‘If the police can’t get anything out of him with trained officers what chance would we stand?’
‘I’ve got a theory,’ said Fran stubbornly. ‘I’m going to call Frank.’
‘Fran, you can’t!’ wailed Libby. ‘You’re getting married in a few days’ time. You’ve got things to do.’
‘It’s all done,’ said Fran. ‘If I can organise it, will you come with me?’
‘Well, OK,’ said Libby unwillingly, ‘but not tomorrow morning. I’m going to Maidstone Library to see these garden designs.’
‘Right. I’ll call you when I’ve made arrangements,’ said Fran.
‘You’re quite sure you can, then?’ said Libby.
‘Trust me,’ said Fran and rang off.
By the time Libby and Adam met Mog at Maidstone Central Library she hadn’t heard from Fran, who was now merely days away from her wedding. They were directed to the County Archives section and finally given the fragile plans. Libby asked how the library had got hold of them, which seemed to be an impossible question to answer, judging by the bewildered look on the librarian’s face, but when Mog explained that the current owner of the property would like them back, the expression changed to outrage. He was, however, allowed to copy them and told to write to the archives department for further information.
Libby left them to enthuse over the plans and went outside to wait, punching in Fran’s number on speed dial as she went.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said. ‘How did you get on with Frank?’
‘I’m still waiting for an answer,’ said Fran. ‘I left a message with Bren yesterday, but he hasn’t got back to me.’
‘Shall I pop in there after I’ve finished here?’
‘I don’t see what good it would do, but you might as well. I’ll meet you there unless I hear in the meantime. Then I’ll ring you.’
‘OK. Is Guy all right with you galloping around sleuthing?’
‘As long as I’m there on Saturday I don’t think he cares,’ said Fran with a laugh.
Adam came out of the library with large folders and an excited expression.
‘Something that’ll interest you, Ma,’ said Adam. ‘Look.’ He spread one of the plans out on the bonnet of Mog’s van.
Sure enough, once Libby had worked out which way was up, she could see the ice-house and one passage leading from the house. She frowned at it.
‘Only one passage,’ she said. ‘Nothing towards the church or the inn.’
‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there?’ said Adam reasonably. ‘They would be secret smuggling passages. This one would be official, like.’
‘Hmm.’ Libby peered at the faint markings. ‘No sign of a strong room, either.’
‘Too early, according to what you saw in Nethergate library,’ said Adam.
‘Yes,’ sighed Libby. ‘I just thought there might be something marked that might have been turned into a strong room later – you know with the addition of that iron door, or whatever it was.’
‘Where does the passage to the ice-house come out?’ asked Mog, turning the plan towards him.
‘Under the house,’ said Adam.
‘But it wouldn’t have been under the house, would it? It was a legitimate passage, so needn’t have been hidden.’
‘Is the ha-ha marked?’ said Libby suddenly.
‘No,’ said Mog, peering. ‘No, it isn’t. Why?’
‘Do we know when that was created?’
‘After these designs, presumably,’ said Mog, looking puzzled.
‘Well, the passage was created at this time, and once the ha-ha was formed it would have been exposed, wouldn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘It runs along the edge of the ha-ha where I fell in.’
‘So?’ said Adam, frowning.
‘Actually, I don’t know,’ said Libby, sighing. ‘I wish we could find out where it entered the house, though.’
‘It would have been the kitchens, wouldn’t it?’ said Mog, carefully gathering up the plan.
‘The kitchen’s been checked thoroughly,’ Adam said.
‘But that’s the modern kitchen,’ said Mog. ‘Edwardian, by the look of it.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Libby, turning a look of undisguised admiration on him.
‘There must be cellars where the kitchens were. There are signs of built-up ground round the outside walls.’ He turned to Adam. ‘You remember where it looked as though there was the shape of a lintel on the side facing the wood?’
‘F – blimey, yes!’ said Adam. ‘Have the police looked there?’
‘No, I bet they haven’t,’ said Libby, excited. ‘They’ve been looking in the inhabited part of the house.’
‘We’ll have a look when we get back,’ said Mog
. ‘Coming, Mrs S?’
‘I’ve got to meet Fran at The Fox,’ said Libby, ‘but let me know if you find anything.’
Adam went back in the van with Mog and Libby followed slowly in Romeo the Renault. She hadn’t thought of old kitchens, and of course she should have done. The house had been there for centuries and had probably been subject to subsidence, which would mean there were quite likely to be rooms below the present ground floor. In which case, there should be an entrance to them.
Round and round the garden, thought Libby. They’d been here before.
There had been no phone call from Fran by the time she reached The Fox, but the Roller Skate was in the car park. Libby locked the Renault and went in through the back door.
Fran was standing by the bar facing a red-faced and truculent Frank.
‘Libby,’ she said with relief, turning towards her friend. ‘I’ve been trying to tell Frank –’
‘And I’m saying he’s had enough.’
Libby looked from one to another. ‘Have you told him what you want to ask Gerald?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Fran, looking surprised. ‘Sorry, Frank. I just want to show him some photographs. See if it jogs his memory.’
Frank looked suspicious. ‘What photographs?’
‘Some we found at Creekmarsh and a couple from the Internet.’
‘Show me,’ said Frank.
‘I don’t think –’
‘Or I won’t even think about taking you,’ he said.
Reluctantly, Fran took a buff manila folder from her bag and opened it. ‘There,’ she said, handing over a few pictures. Libby recognised some from the collection at Creekmarsh, and the others as printouts from the Internet. Surprised, she peered over Fran’s shoulder at two pictures of Kenneth, both looking sullen. Cindy Dale was in one of them as a blurred and shadowy figure behind Kenneth’s left shoulder.
‘Can’t see as how he’ll remember any of them,’ said Frank, pushing the photographs about on the bar, ‘but I suppose it can’t hurt, neither.’ He heaved a huge sigh. ‘It’s been a bugger these last years, keeping him quiet.’
‘Keeping him quiet?’ asked Libby.
‘Not him,’ said Frank. ‘Keeping quiet about him.’
‘Why did you?’
‘Not my place to go spilling the beans, is it?’
‘Do you recognise anyone in these pictures?’ asked Fran.
Frank pulled them towards him. ‘Gerald, Tony West and Ken, And that’ll be that little cow Cindy, I s’pose.’ He pointed. ‘Don’t know any of these. Looks like the seventies, doesn’t it? I didn’t know him that far back.’
‘So will you take us to see him?’ Fran gathered up the pictures. Frank looked uneasily towards the kitchen hatch. ‘Bren,’ he called.
Brenda appeared and stuck her head through the hatch with a friendly grin at Fran and Libby.
‘Could you cope without me for an hour?’ Frank reached out a hand to pat her on the arm. She covered his hand with her own.
‘’Course I can,’ she said. ‘Hardly a rush on, is there? Going to take the ladies to see Gerald, are you?’
Frank, Libby and Fran all showed varying degrees of astonishment.
‘Good idea. You never know – it might bring him out of himself a bit,’ said Brenda.
‘Well,’ said Libby, as they climbed into Frank’s huge SUV five minutes later, ‘I hope it doesn’t do any harm, but suppose we don’t get anything from him and only succeed in upsetting him?’
‘We’ll get something from him,’ said Fran. ‘I only hope it’s what I want.’
Chapter Thirty-three
BROOKMEAD HOUSE, LIKE SO many other houses in their present incarnations, sat at the end of a gravelled drive surrounded by manicured lawns and well tended flowerbeds. No discreet sign gave any indication of the nature of its inhabitants, although there were metal hand-rails on both sides of the shallow steps to the front door. A ramp led up separately, for wheelchairs, Libby supposed and, she thought with a shudder, stretchers.
Frank led the way into the hall which contained a row of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs and a long, high desk, behind which sat a woman with grey hair and an intimidating expression.
‘Hi, Sal,’ said Frank. Blimey, thought Libby.
Sal’s expression changed to coy. Libby blinked.
‘Frank! You back again?’
Libby looked at Fran and made a face.
‘Brought some more visitors, if that’s OK,’ said Frank. ‘Do you need to give them badges or anything?’
‘If you’d just sign in,’ said Sal. ‘Health and Safety, you know.’
‘Huh?’ said Libby.
‘So that they know who’s in the building in case of a fire,’ said Fran.
‘Oh.’ Libby took the proffered pen and signed the book Sal pushed towards her. Fran followed suit.
‘Come on then,’ said Frank and turned to a corridor on his left leading to an open French window, where a white voile curtain fluttered like a bridal veil. Libby and Fran followed him to the end, where he knocked briefly on a door and, without waiting for a reply, opened it.
Gerald Shepherd sat in the inevitable high backed hospital armchair gazing at nothing in particular. The room, with its window too high to gaze from, contained a high bed, a plethora of small tables and what looked like a door to an en-suite bathroom. There were no photographs. He didn’t look up as his three visitors entered.
‘Hey, mate.’ Frank sat down on an upright chair opposite Gerald and motioned Fran and Libby to pull up similar chairs which stood against the wall. Gerald looked at him vaguely and put out a tentative hand. Libby felt a lump in her throat. Fran cleared hers and handed Frank the folder.
‘Gerry, these ladies have come to see you.’ Frank waited for a response, then opened the folder. ‘They’ve brought you pictures to look at.’
Gerald’s eyes dropped to the folder. He understood that much, Libby realised.
‘Look, here.’ Frank pointed out the picture of Kenneth. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Kenny.’ The voice was a whisper. Frank beamed.
‘That’s it! That’s Kenny. And who’s this?’
Gerald took all the photographs with a shaking hand and dropped most of them. Fran dropped to her knees and helped to pick them up. Gerald snatched one from her, the one of young people on a beach.
‘Amanda,’ he whispered. Libby and Fran looked enquiringly at Frank.
‘His wife,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Ken’s mother. Died years ago.’
‘Kenny,’ said Gerald again, with a frown, looking at the photograph with a blurred Cindy Dale behind him.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Fran, pointing to Cindy.
‘Amanda,’ said Gerald.
‘He’s muddled,’ said Frank, stating the obvious. Fran shuffled the photographs and showed one of Tony West.
‘Tony,’ said Gerald in a firmer voice. Then he pulled out the one taken in the seventies and pointed to the young man with the moustache. ‘My son,’ he said.
The other three looked at each other.
‘No, that’s your son, Kenny,’ said Frank, showing the one of Kenneth. Gerald shook his head and pointed again. ‘My son,’ he said, and, shockingly, smiled. He picked up the one of Tony West. ‘My son,’ he said again.
‘Tony?’ said Libby. ‘Tony’s your son?’
‘Where’s Tony?’ Gerald looked up at Frank. ‘Where’s Tony?’
Frank was looking stunned. Libby gave him a nudge. ‘Don’t tell him,’ she whispered. He shook his head slightly and leant forward.
‘Away, Gerry,’ he said. ‘Tony’s away.’
‘Look after Kenny,’ said Gerald, and turned his head to the window.
Nothing more could be got from him, but he held o
n to the photograph of himself and the moustachioed young man, stroking it gently. Eventually, Frank jerked his head and stood up. He gripped Gerald’s shoulder, and with a soft ‘Bye, mate,’ to which he received no answer, left the room. Libby and Fran followed him. Outside, he leant against the wall and pulled out a large handkerchief to wipe his face.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said.
‘You never knew?’ asked Fran. He shook his head.
‘Did Kenneth know?’ said Libby.
‘No idea,’ said Frank. ‘I’d say no. I was as close to Gerry as anyone, and if I didn’t know, no one knew.’
‘But Kenneth was his son. Wouldn’t Gerald have told him if Tony was his older brother?’ said Libby.
‘Gawd knows,’ said Frank, pushing himself away from the wall and starting back down the corridor. ‘You going to tell the police?’
‘I expect so,’ said Fran. ‘It gives someone the motive for murdering West.’
‘But we know Cindy did it,’ said Libby.
‘Yes, but now we know he was Gerald’s son, which was why, presumably, he was given power of attorney –’
‘Of course!’ breathed Libby. ‘I never could work out why that was.’
‘As I was saying,’ said Fran, ‘as he was Gerald’s son, perhaps Cindy thought he stood in the way of her inheritance.’
‘Hang on, though,’ said Libby, scurrying to catch up with Frank, who had reached the entrance hall, ‘how could it be her inheritance? Kenneth was dead. So whatever happened the money, or the estate, whatever, wouldn’t go to her as Kenneth’s widow.
He pre-deceased his father.’
‘Hmm.’ Fran frowned at Frank’s back, where he was bending over the high counter to speak to Sally, who looked shocked.
‘You shouldn’t have said anything to her,’ said Fran, when he rejoined them.
‘She’s got a right to know,’ he said, striding down the steps to the SUV. ‘Tony paid her.’
‘Paid the fees, you mean?’ said Libby.
‘And paid her a bit extra to keep shtum.’ He looked back up the steps. ‘Good rottweiler, that one. She’s the only one on the staff there that knows who he was.’
Murder in Bloom Page 25