‘And now?’
‘Not Danny, because he couldn’t have killed Dorothy.’
‘But he could have killed Laurence and someone else killed Dorothy.’
‘Why?’ Fran asked. ‘That really is far-fetched, Lib.’
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it. So where does he go from here?’
‘They’re doing more forensics on the landing outside Laurence’s flat, although what he expects to get from that I can’t think. And he’s intent on finding the motive for the killings to give him a lead. That’s where I come in. But I haven’t actually been any help.’
‘You have. You’ve pointed him to a connection to Anderson Place. That must have something to do with it, surely?’
‘I feel it has,’ said Fran, ‘but nothing that would stand up in court, as they say. I would have dismissed it before Dorothy died –’
‘No, you didn’t,’ interrupted Libby.
‘Yes, but I could have done. But once she was murdered, there must be something that the killer wanted either concealed or found. Can’t work out which.’
‘He wanted to find something and then conceal it, you mean,’ said Libby.
‘That’s what I mean,’ agreed Fran. ‘So who could it be?’
‘Bella.’ Libby offered more soup. ‘It’s her theatre and she found the body.’
‘It’s not Bella. But she’s connected, somehow.’
‘To Laurence or to Anderson Place? Or Dorothy?’
Fran shrugged. ‘Both, I think.’
‘Well, what other suspects are there?’
‘I haven’t got a clue. I can hardly ask, can I?’
‘You could. When Connell comes to collect those pictures.’
‘He won’t tell me.’
‘Try. Meanwhile, we could find out for ourselves.’
‘What?’ Fran put down her spoon. ‘What on earth for?’
‘To find the murderer, of course,’ said Libby, looking away.
‘Libby, we are not Miss Marples and we have no personal interest in this case whatsoever. It’s not up to us.’
‘What about poor Danny?’
‘He’s off the hook now, so he doesn’t need us.’ Fran pushed away her bowl. ‘That was gorgeous, thank you.’
‘More? Or some cheese?’
‘Cheese would be lovely, thanks,’ said Fran.
Libby brought stilton and more bread to the table. ‘I must do some Christmas stocking up,’ she said.
‘I was thinking of that, too,’ said Fran. ‘I need more gin.’
Libby laughed. ‘Get the essentials right,’ she said.
After lunch, Libby returned to the subject of suspects.
‘Do you suppose there were rivals for Laurence’s hand? Or Danny’s.’
‘More likely to be Danny’s,’ said Fran. ‘He’s younger. But if that’s the case, I’m sure the police have found them.’
‘What about money? Did he have any?’
‘He didn’t live very well if his flat is anything to go by, but perhaps he just didn’t care about belongings.’
‘What about his clothes?’ Libby lit a cigarette.
Fran looked bewildered. ‘His clothes?’
‘Were they expensive?’
‘How would I know?’
Libby sighed an exasperated sigh. ‘Were they Marks and Sparks, supermarket or designer?’
‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘Oxfam, probably.’
‘Nah, not Laurence.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Think how Pete and Harry go on about my Oxfam look.’
‘True.’ Fran laughed and leant back in her chair. ‘Not Oxfam, then.’
‘What we need to do is talk to young Danny again,’ said Libby, flicking ash into the fire. ‘I wish he’d hurry up and ring back.’
‘Yes, but he’s supposed to be telling us about old Jonathan,’ said Fran.
‘We’re not restricted to one subject, are we? We can ask him about Laurence’s finances and other friends.’
Fran’s phone rang.
‘I bet that’s him now,’ said Libby, leaning forward.
But it wasn’t.
‘Oh, Inspector Connell,’ said Fran, and Libby was intrigued to see her go very slightly pink. ‘No, I’m having lunch with Mrs Sarjeant. Yes, I can be home by then. Goodbye.’
‘What?’ said Libby. ‘He’s coming round? Did he ask you to lunch?’
‘He asked if I was at home,’ said Fran patiently, ‘and I said I could be home by four. That’s all.’
‘Oho! The end of the working day. That could be significant,’ said Libby, her eyes sparkling.
‘Oh, rubbish. Detectives don’t have those sort of working days. They work all hours. Remember Murray?’
‘He just wanted to get away from Mrs Murray,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder if she’s dragging him along to the panto?’
‘I bet she is,’ said Fran with a grin, ‘and she’ll come up afterwards and claim undying friendship with you. That’s what you get for being a celebrity.’
‘Only inside the Oast House Theatre,’ said Libby, with an answering grin. ‘Go on, then, you’d better get off to meet your aspiring swain.’
‘He isn’t,’ said Fran frowning at her, ‘and it’s only half-past two. Can’t I stay a bit longer? Danny might ring.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Libby, standing up. ‘Come on then, we’ll do the washing up.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ groaned Fran.
Her phone rang again just as they came back into the sitting room.
‘Danny,’ said Fran. ‘How are you?’
Chapter Twenty
‘WELL?’ SAID LIBBY, WHEN Fran switched off her phone.
‘If we go up tomorrow, old Jonathan will be there. Danny says he always wanders round talking to guests and staff, so it shouldn’t be difficult. And he says we can talk to him, Danny, too.’
‘But it’s the party tomorrow,’ said Libby.
‘Not in the morning, is it? Have you got to help with anything?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Libby. ‘I’d better ask Ben. I wouldn’t like to upset his Mum.’
‘Well, I can always go on my own,’ said Fran.
‘Than you’ll only ask about those old photographs,’ said Libby. ‘I need to be there.’
But Ben absolved her from all responsibility for the party, so they arranged to meet at The Pink Geranium at ten o’clock the following morning.
‘My car,’ said Fran.
‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘Romeo isn’t up to the job.’
Fran flushed. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m still excited by being a car owner.’
Libby grinned. ‘I know, and I’m grateful,’ she said. ‘Off you go, now. Give my love to Inspector Connell.’
‘Libby!’
‘Oh – and find out what his Christian name is. Can’t go on calling him Connell, can you?’
Fran frowned at her and set off down Allhallow’s Lane. Libby grinned again and went back inside Number 17. Sidney had jumped up into Fran’s abandoned armchair and the fire crackled pleasantly as she spread herself out on the sofa, avoiding the creak, and settled down to think about suspects.
Fran was right, of course, it was nothing to do with them. Nothing to do with her, specifically, because Fran had been asked by the police to look into certain aspects of the case. But Libby was just an interested bystander, and she had to remind herself of her own expressed views that she hated books where the protagonist was always falling over bodies and had access to all sorts of information denied to the police. Now she was doing her damnedest to become exactly that person.
‘Well,’ she told Sidney, ‘we do know a few things they don’t know. We know that Bella’s grandmother knew the original owners of the Place.’
But, she reflected, that didn’t actually have any relevance to Laurence’s murder. Unless Laurence turned out to be a long lost relative who should have been left the theatre, of course. Libby sat up straight to think this one through. But he couldn’t be, could he. Dorinda had Aunt Ma
ria and Bella’s father Bertram, and as Maria had no children and Bertram only one, that was a non-starter.
Perhaps, she thought, he was a descendant of the original owners of the Place, old Sir Frederick and Ivy. But then Jonathan would know, and surely he would have told the police.
Libby closed her eyes. The police would find the murderer. They always did, and usually without any help from gifted amateurs. She slept.
Inspector Connell arrived promptly at four o’clock. Fran indicated the sofa and took the armchair herself.
‘So what have you found out from the photographs?’ He leant back, looking relaxed.
‘Nothing, really.’ She wondered whether to tell him about the proposed visit to old Jonathan, and decided against it. ‘I’d like to know who the other person is in the picture of Laurence as a young man, and just for interest’s sake, where the holiday pictures were taken, but there’s nothing that gives me a clue about who could have killed him – or Dorothy.’
‘Well, it was an outside chance. If you have any flashes of inspiration you know where to find me. And so far forensics haven’t found anything on the landing.’
‘Are there no suspects?’ Fran asked bravely. ‘Any friends? People jealous of his relationship with Danny?’
He smiled. ‘I shouldn’t tell you anything, but of course there were people in both those categories. They’re all in the clear, though. Mostly clubbing friends of Danny’s and work friends of Laurence’s. All alibis check out. That’s why we’re stumped.’
‘And why you’ve asked me,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, although we did ask you right at the beginning.’
‘Only to talk to Mrs Morleigh.’
‘Because it was the only link we had.’
‘And there isn’t one,’ said Fran.
‘It seems not.’
‘I’ll give Mrs Morleigh a bit more help with her family research, but then I’m out of it,’ said Fran. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’ She stood up. ‘Would you like some tea?’
His face brightened. ‘Yes, please. Very kind.’
‘So, are you going to come out for that meal with me?’ he asked when she came back to the sitting room with two mugs.
Fran took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Sorry to sound so pathetic.’
He nodded and put his mug down. ‘Just as a thank you for all your help,’ he said. ‘I do understand, you know.’
Fran let out her breath. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I – er – didn’t know if I was being – um – presumptuous. If you know what I mean.’
He grinned at her. ‘You weren’t. But the elegant Mr Wolfe got there before me, didn’t he?’
Fran felt herself going fiery red. ‘Well,’ she managed to gasp, ‘I – er – oh, lord.’
‘I’m sorry, Fran.’ Ian Connell leant over and patted her arm. ‘I can call you Fran, can’t I? You’re a very attractive woman, as I’m sure you know, and you can’t blame me for trying.’
‘No.’ Fran swallowed and stared hard at her mug.
‘I’d better be going, then,’ he said.
‘Oh, please finish your tea,’ said Fran, looking up.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘And thanks for all your help.’
‘I haven’t really done much,’ said Fran. She chewed her lip for a moment, then looked back at him. ‘I suppose I couldn’t keep a couple of the photographs? I was going to try and find out where they were taken.’
He shrugged. ‘You might as well hang on to the lot for the time being,’ he said. ‘I know I said I’d come and get them today, but to be honest –’ he paused.
It was an excuse, Fran thought. And I should be flattered.
‘I can’t see what good they’ll do up in Richmond,’ he continued, ‘especially as they appear to have been taken down here.’
‘What about the birth certificates?’ asked Fran. ‘Have they traced the parents?’
‘They’ve got their certificates,’ he said, looking puzzled.
‘No, I mean have they traced the parents’ parents? Laurence’s grandparents?’
‘No, of course not. They wouldn’t be alive, and what relevance would it have?’
‘It could have. You wanted me to find out about Mrs Morleigh and a possible connection. That connection could be in the past. Not just Mrs Morleigh’s past.’
Connell sat forward. ‘That’s a bloody good idea,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
Fran laughed. ‘Because it isn’t normal police procedure?’
‘Neither’s using a psychic,’ he grinned back. ‘I’d better get going. I’ll get hold of the SIO in Richmond and see if he can set some young DC on to tracing those records.’
‘If not, I could try,’ said Fran. ‘If you gave me the details, of course.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be able to do it,’ he said, and stood up. ‘Our name opens doors, you might say.’ He picked up his mug and finished the last of the tea. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Fran followed him downstairs. ‘I’ll let you know if I come up with anything,’ she said.
He turned at the front door and held out his hand. ‘And I don’t mind if you call me Ian,’ he said. ‘Inspector Connell seems so formal.’
‘You’re a formal sort of person,’ said Fran, thinking back to the first time she’d seen him, a glowering presence at a murder site.
‘I’m breaking out, now,’ he said.
And that’s that, thought Fran, as she watched him drive away. She turned and went upstairs to get ready for her evening with Guy, and was conscious of a distinct sense of relief.
* * *
Ben and Libby dined at The Pink Geranium that evening and Libby told Ben of her conclusions about the case. Harry came and joined them when he finished in the kitchen and gave his opinion on the matter.
‘I think Danny’s OK now he isn’t under suspicion,’ he said, ‘but still obviously upset. I hope next weekend doesn’t get to him too much.’
‘God, yes,’ said Libby. ‘That’s going to be really hard for him, isn’t it? Perhaps he could have the day off?’
‘What, with Laurence gone? No chance, love.’ Harry delved into Libby’s basket. ‘Come out the back and give me one of your fags.’
‘Bit cold out there, isn’t it?’ said Ben.
‘Very,’ said Libby, getting up to follow Harry into the kitchen. ‘Coming?’
‘Even the staff-room has to be smoke-free now the law’s come in.’ Harry leant against the wall. ‘Bloody nuisance.’
‘Not for your health, though,’ said Ben.
‘Don’t start,’ said Libby.
‘So, who dunnit, then?’ said Harry. ‘A passing tramp?’
‘One day there’ll be a murder where it really is done by a passing tramp,’ said Libby, ‘and everybody will be so surprised he’ll get away with it.’
‘How well did you know Laurence?’ asked Ben.
‘Not terribly well. I knew Danny better. Good bloke, though.’
‘Did he ever talk about the Place?’ said Libby.
‘Well of course he bloody did! I told you, it was his idea we had the partnership there.’
‘But did he say any more about it? Did it mean anything to him?’
‘What do you mean? Mean anything? He worked there.’
‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘but did he say he wished he owned it or anything?’
Harry stared at her. ‘What are you on?’ he said. ‘Of course he didn’t.’
‘Oh, OK,’ sighed Libby. ‘Just a thought.’
‘What did you mean about Laurence wanting to own the Place?’ asked Ben as they walked slowly home half an hour later.
‘I told you about those photographs Fran thinks are Dorothy and Laurence taken outside the Place?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, suppose they were children of servants, or something? Who felt they should have had a stake in the place?’
‘You’ve been reading too many novels,’ said Ben, and wrapped an arm round
her. ‘Now, come on. Tomorrow we go all feudal ourselves and I’ve got to get up early.’
‘And I’m meeting Fran at ten, so I mustn’t be late either. You’re sure you don’t need me at The Manor in the morning?’
‘No, you’d get in the way. Just turn up at two looking regal.’
‘And you’re sure it’s OK to bring Fran with me?’
‘Of course. Unless she’s seeing Guy tomorrow.’
‘Why? Couldn’t he come?’
‘Well, he’s not village, is he?’
‘Neither’s Fran, not really,’ said Libby, as they stopped outside Number 17.
‘But she is living here temporarily, and she’s coming as your guest,’ said Ben, avoiding Sidney as he tripped down the step after Libby.
‘OK,’ said Libby. ‘Now, do you want a nightcap, or do you want to go straight to bed?’
‘Mrs Sarjeant, the things you say!’ said Ben.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘WHAT ARE WE GOING to do once we get inside?’ hissed Libby as she and Fran walked up the steps to the front entrance of Anderson Place on the Sunday morning.
‘Find the bar,’ said Fran.
‘We can’t drink at this hour in the morning!’ said Libby.
‘Coffee,’ said Fran. ‘It says open to non-residents.’
‘Oh.’ Libby lifted her chin and put her shoulders back. ‘Here goes.’
However, there was no need to find the bar. As they crossed the entrance hall somewhat nervously, Melanie Phelps appeared, today attired in sober black and grey, her startling hair toned down to an almost normal auburn.
‘It’s Harry’s friend, isn’t it?’ she said, approaching with her hand held out.
‘Libby Sarjeant, yes,’ said Libby, shaking the hand. ‘And this is Fran Castle. Fran, this is the lady who’s organising Pete and Harry’s wedding.’ She glanced at Melanie. ‘Civil Partnership, I mean.’
‘Melanie Phelps,’ said Melanie, turning to Fran. ‘And we don’t mind calling them weddings. That’s what they are, really, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ said Fran, looking slightly nonplussed, Libby thought.
‘Are you here on Harry’s behalf?’ asked Melanie.
‘Not exactly,’ said Libby, feeling her cheeks go warm. ‘We were – er – hoping we might see old – um – sorry, Jonathan.’
‘Jonathan Walker?’
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