‘So, did you have a look at the dating murder victim?’ They sat at the big pine table in the left-hand window, where Harry had spread a collection of daily papers.
‘We found one we think might be her,’ said Libby, ‘and I’ve sent a text to Ian. But all I feel we’ve done is talk about it over and over again and not done anything. I wish I could do something else.’
Harry set down a сafetière between them.
‘You go doing anything else and you’ll get into trouble,’ he said. ‘Remember what’s happened in the past.’
‘There’s not going to be much of a risk to me when I don’t know anything,’ said Libby. ‘And I can’t see any of the people I’ve met so far being a murderer, either.’
‘Just you be careful,’ said Harry, and went back to the kitchen.
‘He’s right, you know,’ said Peter. ‘And look.’ He pushed one of the tabloids over to her.
Libby, horrified, saw a picture of St Aldeberge church, either taken at night or skilfully doctored, heading an opinion piece on Black Magic and the established church. It even mentioned Patti and both victims by name.
‘Oh, bugger,’ she said. ‘They aren’t going to let this go, are they?’
‘No, and you’d better make sure your phone isn’t hacked by journalists, especially now you’ve sent Ian those details.’
‘Oh, no.’ Libby covered her face with her hands. ‘But that’s all been stopped now, surely?’
Peter shrugged. ‘I’m in the business, remember. It was much more widespread than the general public have been led to believe. Phones and emails were routinely hacked, and I can’t see how it can be properly policed.’
‘How depressing.’ Libby pushed the plunger down. ‘But they wouldn’t get on to me, would they?’
‘Suppose they hacked Patti? Then they’d see how much you were involved.’
‘Oh, don’t! You’re really worrying me, now. But surely, with all the media interest in this sort of thing they wouldn’t risk it yet?’
Peter poured coffee into Harry’s large cream mugs. ‘Let’s hope so.’ He pushed a mug towards her. ‘Now drink up and think of a nice project to occupy you this afternoon, like helping me block the rest of act two. It isn’t quite working.’
In fact, an afternoon walking through all the moves in act two of Sleeping Beauty helped keep Libby’s mind off the problems of St Aldeberge. Ben turned up half way through, however, to construct a couple of pieces of scenery and told Libby there was a message for her on the home answerphone. She went to find her mobile, left in her coat pocket in the dressing room, and discovered a reply from Ian.
‘Will check, he says,’ she told Peter and Ben. ‘Oh, well, can’t expect him to tell me any more.’
But when she and Ben reached home later in the afternoon, Ian had left an expanded message.
“We think this is Marion Longfellow and have asked the site to provide her details. We will check all the contacts she made, and we’re cross checking with her bank. Please don’t say anything about this to anyone else, Libby, and ask your friend Rosie not to. And thank her, I suppose.”
‘Well, I’ll tell her,’ said Libby, deleting the message, ‘but I have a strange feeling that she’ll see this as a challenge.’
‘And do what?’ Ben called from the kitchen where he was filling the kettle.
‘Set herself up as a target?’ said Libby.
‘She won’t know who’s been talking to the Longfellow woman, so how can she set herself up?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby darkly. ‘But she will. You see if she doesn’t.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Told you so,’ said Libby, reading an email later that evening.
‘What?’ Ben kept his eyes on the television screen.
‘Rosie’s had a reply from someone on her dating site.’
‘Well? That’s not unusual, is it?’
‘No, but she changed her profile details, apparently, to say that she lives near St Aldeberge.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Look.’ Libby pushed the laptop towards him. ‘This is the message he’s sent: “A dear friend of mine lived in St Aldeberge. You look as lovely as she was.” Spooky, eh?’
‘I don’t see what’s spooky about it,’ said Ben. ‘Why is it?’
‘Well it sounds as if he’s talking about Marion Longfellow, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, Lib, that’s ridiculous! How on earth do you make that out? It could be anybody. Even the other woman.’
‘I know, but there must be something in it, surely?’ Libby took the laptop back. ‘Anyway, Rosie’s replied. She says she’ll let me know.’
‘I just hope she won’t do anything stupid,’ said Ben, returning to the television.
‘And I said I knew she would,’ said Libby. ‘And I was right.’
The following morning, Libby sent Rosie a text to say she was on her way to see her and set off with a basket of goodies like Red Riding Hood.
Rosie had the coffee percolating by the time she got there, and her computer open at the dating site.
‘See? This is him,’ she said, pointing at the little profile picture of a grey-haired man looking slightly off camera.
‘That’s the one I said I thought I’d seen before,’ said Libby, peering at the screen. ‘But I don’t think I have, after all. Yet he looks so familiar. Weren’t you going to meet him?’
‘I was thinking about it.’ Rosie poured coffee. ‘But after I came to you for supper I decided against it. But then I changed my profile just to see if I could flush out anything, and he got in contact again.’
‘Is the woman we think is Marion still there?’
‘I haven’t checked.’ Rosie typed in some details and they watched as a list of women appeared on screen. ‘No, she isn’t. Can you remember what her screen name was?’
‘Marigold, wasn’t it?’
Rosie typed in Marigold and came up with several profiles of Marigolds with various numbers, but none of them were the profile they had seen the day before.
‘So, it looks as if it was Marion Longfellow and the police have had the profile taken down. In which case they’ll be looking at all her contacts through the site.’ Libby looked up at Rosie. ‘Ian said you weren’t to say anything about this to anyone at all, by the way.’
A delicate pink tinged Rosie’s cheekbones. ‘Well, of course …’
‘You’ve told someone already haven’t you? Oh, Rosie.’ Libby sighed. ‘Who was it?’
‘Andrew, actually.’
‘I thought you and he were no longer an item?’
‘I was a little hasty,’ said Rosie, concentrating on the screen. ‘He’s offered to let me stay in the flat with him until the work’s finished in my house.’
‘Rosie, tell me the truth,’ said Libby sternly. ‘Did you actually come here to try and find a new man on this site, and keep it out of Andrew’s way?’
The pink in Rosie’s cheeks grew deeper. ‘There was a bit of that, I suppose. But I really am having the house done.’
‘And Andrew would have said come and stay with me, but you wanted to find someone else to flirt with. Honestly, you’re the end. Remember how you flirted with that bloke up at Cherry Ashton? And how that turned out?’
‘That wasn’t because I flirted with him,’ said Rosie with some heat.
‘Anyway,’ said Libby, ‘I think you ought to go and stay with Andrew and not carry this thing on any more. What did you reply to this chap?’
Now Rosie’s colour was practically the same as the dining room carpet.
‘Come on – what?’ Libby grabbed the keyboard and clicked on the “sent messages” column. And swore. She turned to Rosie, aghast.
‘You actually asked if it was your “friend” Marion? You idiot!’ She stood up, pulling her phone from her pocket.
‘Ian, I know you’ll be cross, but she didn’t tell me what she was doing. Rosie’s been trying to flush out contacts of Marion Longfellow on the dating s
ite.’ She clicked the phone shut. ‘And now, don’t be surprised if an irate policeman comes knocking on your door.’
‘He won’t know where to find me.’ Rosie looked smug.
‘Of course he does. He knows you’re here, and if you’re gone, which I strongly suggest, he’ll go straight to Andrew.’
Rosie’s face fell as her colour faded. ‘What shall I do?’ she asked.
‘For a start don’t reply to this – what’s his name – Bruno51. Phone Andrew and get packing.’
‘I’ll have to clean up –’
‘No, we’ll take care of that,’ said Libby. ‘Go on, call Andrew and I’ll help you pack and load the car.’
While Libby was collecting various items from the kitchen, Ian called. Predictably, he was angry with Libby.
‘How could I help it?’ she asked reasonably. ‘I didn’t suggest she went on the dating site in the first place, nor did I suggest this latest wheeze. It was while I was telling her that you’d imposed silence that this came out.’
Ian sighed. ‘All right, so what happened?’
‘I gather you found Longfellow on the site and had it pulled? So did you have a look at her messages?’
‘Of course.’
‘And was there anything from a Bruno51?’
There was a short silence, then Ian blew out a long breath. ‘OK – I give in. What little gem have you picked up now?’
Libby told him.
‘I’m afraid your Rosie is going to have to hand over her computer,’ said Ian. ‘I hope she’s got a back-up. And tell her not to bother trying to delete anything – we always find it.’
‘So who is Bruno51?’ asked Libby. ‘Can’t you track him through his bank account? They pay by credit card, don’t they?’
‘If this man is really Longfellow’s murderer, do you think he’d leave that sort of paper trail? No, there’ll be a bank account in a false name. There always is.’
‘So how do you catch him?’
‘We’ll have to do some checking up first before we try that, then we’ll think out a strategy.’
‘A honeytrap!’ said Libby
‘Libby, you’ve been watching too much television. Now go away and tell Rosie someone will be along to collect her computer.’
‘She’s off to Andrew Wylie’s actually, so hadn’t you better go there?’
‘We’ll ring her to let her know we’re on our way and she can tell us where she is. Go on, now Libby, and I’m sorry I was cross. Actually, it could be a blessing in disguise.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Libby. ‘All right, all right, I’m off.’ She went.
‘My computer?’ wailed Rosie.’ How can I work?’
‘Put everything onto a memory stick and use Andrew’s while you’re there. Or go and get your office computer. And when you’ve got it, don’t try and open the dating site or any emails from them. They’ll leave a trail.’
Non-comprehension pervaded Rosie’s face. Libby sighed irritably. ‘Just get on with packing. And get out that memory stick.’
By the time everything including Talbot was packed into Rosie’s car, she had calmed down.
‘I’m going to pay a cleaning company to come and go over the house,’ she said, leaning out of the driver’s window. ‘I’m sorry it had to come to this, Libby. But I might have been some help to the police, don’t you think?’
‘We use a company called MaidsinaRow.com,’ said Libby, ‘and yes, I think that last piece of information about Bruno has been useful. I only hope they find out who he is quickly.’
‘I could always arrange to meet him –’ began Rosie, a thoughtful look on her face.
‘No! You mustn’t Rosie. Let the police look after it now. They have far more resources than we have.’
‘Oh, OK. But let me know what happens, won’t you?’
‘If I can,’ said Libby. ‘Good luck.’
She watched Rosie drive off and turned slowly back into Steeple Farm to check all the doors and windows were locked. A very good job, she thought, as she went round the first floor, that she had decided to come and look at Rosie’s computer this morning, or goodness knows what would have happened. Rosie might have arranged to meet this Bruno and that could have been a disaster. He would have found out that she didn’t know Marion Longfellow, if that really was to whom he was referring, and that he was suspected of murdering her. Libby shuddered.
Ben, she knew, was in the estate office at the Manor, so she went straight up to see him and tell him she’d been right about Rosie and the dating site.
‘Come into the kitchen,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Hetty will rustle up some lunch.’
Hetty had, in fact, got home-made soup simmering on the Aga, and dished up large bowls while listening to Libby’s story.
‘Nice woman, but flighty,’ was her pronouncement. ‘Coulda got herself into a bit of danger, there.’
‘So she could,’ said Ben, ‘and it’s what I’m always worried about with this one.’ He gave Libby a fond prod in the arm.
‘I don’t think I’d do anything that silly,’ said Libby. ‘It could have been lethal.’
‘Do you think that’s what the police will do, though?’ Ben tore a chunk off a warm cottage loaf. ‘Use a stand-in for Rosie?’
‘A honeytrap. That’s what I said to Ian, but he wouldn’t say. He says they’ve got to do research first.’
‘Very odd how it’s all linked up,’ said Ben, shaking his head. ‘I mean, Rosie’s nothing to do with St Aldeberge, yet she just turns up at the right time and provides a link to a killer.’
‘We don’t know he’s a killer yet,’ said Libby, ‘but yes, it is odd. If it was in a book, you’d never believe it.’
‘You said you rekkernised him,’ said Hetty.
‘He looked familiar, but I think he must just look like someone I know. I compared him with all the men I’ve met in St Aldeberge and it isn’t any of them. I wonder if it’s the younger man our Dora meant when she said Marion Longfellow was having an affair?’
They had to explain about Dora to Hetty, and then, after Libby had offered to wash up and was refused, she said she was going home to tell Fran all about it.
‘You’d better get a move on, then,’ said Ben. ‘It’s Wednesday.’
‘Wednesday? What –? Oh, lord – the rehearsal,’ said Libby, gathering coat and basket and making a run for the door. ‘Thanks, Ben.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘Daft as a brush, that one,’ she said.
Ben gave his mother a hug. ‘But you love her for it.’
Libby had time for a rushed call to Fran putting her in the picture, before having a quick wash and brush-up and driving out to St Aldeberge.
The nights were drawing in fast now, and it was already twilight when she arrived at the church and made her way to the hall. Patti was already there with both churchwardens, and, to her surprise, Alice and Sheila Johnson. She said a cheery hello to them in general and drew Patti aside.
‘What’s happened about the husbands? Are they in the clear?’
‘I don’t know.’ Patti looked unhappy. ‘But both the women turned up to a meeting here yesterday and not a word was said. I don’t like to ask.’
‘OK.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘But I’ve got a little progress in the case to report, so I might as well do that to all of you.’
Sheila and Alice sent their small charges off to play with the other children while they waited for the remaining cast to appear.
‘Just thought you’d like to know there’s been some progress in the case,’ said Libby casually, senses sharp for reaction, which was instant.
‘What?’ Sheila’s voice was sharp. ‘Is it to do with those DNA tests?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Libby happily. ‘Nothing to do with them at all.’
There was an instant release of tension, even from the two men.
‘All I can say,’ she went on, ‘is that the police have a line of enquiry they’re following about Mrs Longfel
low’s murder and they seem quite certain they’re on the right track.’
‘But what about Joan – Mrs Bidwell?’ asked Gavin, with a wrinkled brow. ‘I thought it would have been the same murderer. Isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘All I know is, they seem pretty certain they’re on Mrs Longfellow’s murderer’s trail.’
Chapter Twenty-six
‘And you’re sure it’s nothing to do with the DNA test?’ said Alice after a pause.
‘They’ve got on to this particular line of enquiry from a completely different angle,’ said Libby, aware that several other members and parents of cast were now listening.
‘How do you know?’ asked one woman clutching a small girl’s hand.
‘I was told so by the police,’ said Libby, wishing this wasn’t always a question that was asked.
‘She’s that woman who was with the police the other Sunday,’ another woman murmured.
‘Oh, the one who’s always in the paper?’ The first woman subjected Libby to a searching glare.
Patti began to herd her flock into the appropriate places, and Alice, Sheila and Gavin joined them. Maurice, however, hung back.
‘You sure it wasn’t anything to do with that DNA?’ he muttered.
‘This particular lead isn’t,’ said Libby, fixing him with an inquisitive eye.
‘Ah. Only my DNA would be in the cottage.’ He nodded slowly. ‘And I think a lot of men from around here would have been there.’
‘Oh?’ Libby’s mind raced.
‘She was a terror for getting people to do her a favour. Perfectly able-bodied, but a nuisance.’
‘And you did her a favour?’
‘Several.’ Maurice put on a winsome expression. ‘Oh, Mr Blanchard, the lock on my back gate’s sticking so badly, and I can’t seem to get anybody to fix it …’ He reverted to his normal sneering expression. ‘Then she’d try and get you to stop on and have a drink. Pshaw!’
Libby tried not to laugh. ‘And you think she did it to everybody?’
Maurice nodded. ‘That’s why some of the idiots round here got the wind up. Half the time the Longfellow woman would have asked their wives to send them round, so I don’t know what they’ve got to be worried about.’
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