Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Yes, but who? How will the police find out?’

  ‘They’ll have gone through her house and her belongings with a fine toothcomb, you’ve seen that on TV. They’re bound to find some evidence somewhere. And they’ll ask all the other people she knew, not just you lot in the village. Where did she work, for a start?’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Libby sat on the edge of the table with a bump. ‘Do you know, I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  ‘Well, there you are then. Stop worrying.’

  ‘But you’re worried. You wanted to know about the accidents, and where she was killed. You must think it’s got something to do with us.’

  Fran looked away. ‘Just a feeling. You know I’m not always right. And I know it isn’t Peter, Harry, James or Ben.’

  And with that small comfort, she went upstairs to pack.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  LIBBY CHANGED THE BED after Fran had gone, and fell over Sidney on the way down the stairs when the phone rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Ben.

  ‘Hi.’ Libby took a deep breath to calm her solar plexus.

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, God, what? Millie?’

  ‘No, James.’ Ben’s voice sounded strained. ‘They’ve arrested him.’

  Libby felt the blood drain from her head and she sat down suddenly on the stairs.

  ‘Arrested him? Why?’

  ‘Why do you think? Actually, I don’t think David said arrested, he’s just helping with their enquiries.’

  ‘What evidence did they have?’

  ‘How do I know?’ said Ben, testily.

  ‘Sorry.’ Libby found she was trying hard not to cry. ‘Where’s Pete? And Millie?’

  ‘Millie’s still with Susan and Pete’s gone to the police station. Harry’s being a little soldier and carrying on in the face of adversity.’

  ‘Don’t be so sarcastic,’ said Libby sharply. ‘I’ll go and see if there’s anything I can do. I can leave the kids to sort themselves out. They’ve got keys.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lib,’ said Ben, more gently. ‘It’s been a bloody awful few days.’

  ‘It has for all of us, Ben,’ said Libby. ‘I’m very sorry for your family, but I got involved too, and Harry is, after all, Pete’s life partner. If he was Pete’s wife he’d deserve a bit more sympathy, wouldn’t he?’

  She heard Ben sigh. ‘OK, OK. Sorry. Is Fran still there?’

  ‘No, she’s gone. You knew she was coming yesterday, if you wanted to see her, why didn’t you come round then? Or come to the theatre?’

  ‘I was busy. I did try and phone you to see how you were.’

  ‘I was here.’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be able to do anything right.’ Libby heard him sigh again.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘James is the one we have to think about now, so stop thinking about yourself. I’m going to the caff.’

  Feeling righteously indignant, she put down the phone and went to find paper to write a note for her children who were due to arrive some time that afternoon. She left messages on their mobiles, fed Sidney, flung her cape around her shoulders, picked up her basket and set off. She had no idea what she was going to do, but to sit at home while James was in such a terrible predicament seemed utterly callous.

  The Pink Geranium was locked, and when Libby called his mobile, Harry told her he was at home.

  ‘Come on up,’ he said. ‘You can stop me drinking myself into a stupor.’

  Sure enough, he opened the door clutching a brandy balloon at least half full.

  ‘Shall I make some tea?’ asked Libby, stepping over the threshold and throwing her cape onto a chair.

  ‘If you don’t want to join me,’ said Harry, waving his glass dangerously.

  ‘Bit early for me,’ said Libby, going in to the kitchen, ‘unless I’d been drinking since lunchtime.’

  ‘Well, I have. Since Pete came back to the caff, anyway.’

  ‘What happened?’ Libby moved the big kettle on to the hotplate and found two of Harry’s pretty china mugs.

  ‘Well, you know they decided not to question Pete’s mama?’

  ‘Yes, I phoned him just after lunch.’

  ‘So you did.’

  ‘What I don’t know is whether he and James actually went back up to see her, and how they found out about the police.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they went up there. And James phoned the police station and they said they weren’t coming.’

  ‘Did he ask why?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, chuck. I wasn’t there. Anyway, Pete comes back all chuffed and we had a drink. There weren’t any customers so we were on our own.’ Harry put down his glass and fetched milk. ‘Then David phoned.’

  ‘David? Where was he?’

  ‘He’d gone home to check on mad Millie and found James being hauled into custody.’

  ‘Christ.’ Libby stared at him. ‘It doesn’t seem possible, does it?’

  Harry shook his head and swirled brandy moodily round the glass.

  Libby poured water into the mugs and added milk. ‘Come on, sit down and tell me the rest.’

  When Libby had curled up in her usual chair and Harry had flung himself along the sofa, he sighed and put down the brandy glass.

  ‘Tea, I suppose. I’d better keep a clear head.’

  ‘If you’ve been drinking since lunchtime that’s a non-starter,’ said Libby. ‘Tell me what happened next.’

  ‘David tried to get the police to tell them what was going on, but all they would say was James was helping them with their enquiries. So he phoned Pete and Ben.’

  ‘Yes, Ben phoned me.’

  ‘And then Pete went mad.’

  Libby nodded in sympathy, realising that Harry was actually fighting tears.

  ‘And went to the police station? Did he speak to Millie first?’

  ‘Not much point in that. David said she didn’t know what was going on. Apparently, the police knew James was there because he’d phoned to ask where their doctor was. Now honestly, would you do that if you were guilty of anything?’

  ‘Well, you might,’ said Libby, ‘if you wanted to know what was going on and keep tabs on them.’

  ‘Of course he didn’t. Of all the innocents, that James is the worst. Do you remember that night in the pub after rehearsal? When he came in and Paula was all over him? And he couldn’t see it, could he?’

  ‘Well, he can see it now,’ said Libby. ‘He was saying this morning.’

  ‘Bit late, now.’ Harry swung his legs to the floor. ‘Silly little bugger.’

  ‘Why? You don’t think he did it, do you?’

  Harry looked up and away quickly. ‘No. But I want to know what evidence they’ve got.’

  ‘In detective stories the amateur sleuth always knows the evidence. Why don’t we? We don’t even know where she was killed.’

  ‘Or when. Why won’t someone tell us?’

  ‘Because if someone lets out that they know a fact not released to the public it means they dunnit,’ said Libby, ‘so if you said, for instance “Oh, no, guv, that iron, or golf club, or blunt instrument doesn’t belong to me,” and the police had never said it was a blunt instrument or whatever, they’ve got you. See?’

  Harry frowned. ‘Well, how does anyone ever solve anything, then?’

  ‘I don’t suppose they do. I think it’s all in books and television.’ Libby sighed. ‘I wish we could find out something, though. I’m sure we could help James.’

  ‘What do you think we ought to know, then?’ Harry put down his mug and folded his arms.

  ‘Where she was killed. Was it in the car, was the car moved, what was the weapon.’

  ‘David would know.’ Harry looked smug.

  ‘He might,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but would he tell us?’

  ‘We can but try.’ Harry reached behind him for the phone. ‘Here. He’s on memory 5.’

 
‘Me? Why can’t you ask him?’

  ‘He doesn’t approve of me. He’s actually quite homophobic, is our cousin David.’

  Libby took the phone reluctantly and peered at the keypad. ‘OK. Which one do I press first?’

  It rang for a long time before Susan answered.

  ‘Dr Dedham’s phone,’ she said.

  ‘Susan, hello, it’s Libby Sarjeant.’

  ‘Hello, Libby. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. How are you? Are you coping with ma – m – Millie?’

  ‘Oh, she’s no trouble. Luckily she doesn’t realise about James. You know about James?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Shocking, isn’t it? Actually, that’s why I’m ringing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, obviously, we don’t believe for a minute that James did it, so we wondered if there was any clue that perhaps the police hadn’t picked up on?’

  ‘Why would I know?’ asked Susan.

  ‘David might have seen something, or know whether she was killed in the car. Something like that.’

  ‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ said Susan coldly. ‘Surely you should leave it to the police. They must have some reason for arresting James.’

  ‘They haven’t arrested him, have they?’ Libby was shocked. ‘I thought they’d just taken him in to help with their enquiries.’

  ‘It’s the same thing, isn’t it? That’s what they always say.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite the same. And there’s a difference between being arrested and being charged.’

  Libby heard a deep voice in the background, and the sound of the mouthpiece being covered, before David spoke.

  ‘What do you want, Libby? Why are you asking questions? The police have got it all in hand.’

  ‘No, they haven’t, David.’ Libby was getting desperate. ‘Surely you don’t believe James killed Paula? It’s impossible.’

  ‘Someone killed her. I found her.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I was asking. Had she been moved? You could have told whether she had, couldn’t you?’

  ‘No, of course I couldn’t. She had half her head caved in and she was in the driving seat. That’s all I saw.’

  Libby thought about this. ‘Had she been moved?’

  ‘Christ, Libby! I don’t know! Forget it.’ David almost shouted.

  ‘All right, all right. Sorry. I’ll go. I’m just concerned.’ Libby made a face at Harry. ‘Give my love to Millie.’ She waited. ‘David? David? Are you there?’

  ‘Rung off, petal. I could hear him from here.’ Harry lit a cigarette and threw one at Libby. ‘Well, that wasn’t much use, was it?’

  ‘At least we know now she was hit on the head and she was in the driving seat, so she must have driven the car to her house.’

  Harry thought about this. ‘So where was James? I thought he’d moved in with her?’

  ‘Oh, God, of course. I’d forgotten that. So why didn’t he realise she was missing?’ Libby inhaled a lungful of smoke and coughed. ‘I’m going to have to give up.’

  ‘Not right now, dearie. Wrong time. Wait until this is all over.’

  Libby sighed. ‘If it ever is over.’

  Her basket began to vibrate against her leg and she fumbled inside to find her mobile and got smoke in her eyes.

  ‘Hello?’ she managed finally, squeezing smarting eyes shut.

  ‘Mum? Where are you?’

  ‘Belinda! Darling, I’m sorry I’m not there. Can you cope? We’ve got a bit of a crisis.’

  ‘I gathered. What’s going on?’

  Libby gave her daughter a brief outline of the current situation, amid many gasps of outrage and horror, and promised to see her at the theatre later.

  ‘Is Dom there yet?’

  ‘No, Mum, you know what Dom’s like. He’ll tip up at the last minute. Ad’s here, though. He came down with me. He says they’ll both bunk down in the living room and I can have the bed.’

  After reassuring Belinda that she wasn’t in any personal danger (having carefully omitted any reference to her unfortunate encounter with the skull), Libby rang off.

  ‘Belinda and Adam are at Bide-a-Wee. Dominic hasn’t arrived yet.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I suppose I can’t leave them to fend for themselves for too long.’

  ‘Of course you can’t. Anyway, you’ll have to go behind the bar again tonight, won’t you? Pete won’t leave the police station while James is still there. And I’ve got bookings.’ Harry reached over and gave Libby’s hand a pat. ‘It really isn’t your problem, petal, no matter how involved with everybody you’ve become. You could just walk away.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Harry, of course I couldn’t. Even if I didn’t love you all, this started with the play. And the play is very much my business – and so is the theatre,’ she added gloomily.

  ‘The Hop Pickers is a success, isn’t it? Well, then.’ Harry stood up, bent to give her a quick kiss and swept up mugs and his brandy glass. ‘Come on. We’ll wash this lot up and then decide what to do next.’

  They heard the key in the lock just as Libby was hanging the mugs back on their hooks. Harry rushed past her tossing rubber gloves in his wake.

  ‘James!’ Libby surged through the furniture and threw her arms round him. ‘Sit down. What happened?’

  Peter, emerging from Harry’s effusive welcome, answered her.

  ‘If Harry’ll give us all a drink, we’ll tell you.’ He patted Harry on the bottom and sat down next to James on the sofa.

  ‘I’ll help you, Harry,’ said Libby. ‘What do we all want? Pete? James?’

  ‘Your kids’ll have to cope for a bit longer, now,’ said Harry, as he disregarded everybody’s requests and opened a bottle of champagne.

  ‘They won’t mind. I’ll go straight to the theatre.’ Libby looked at her watch. ‘Fairly soon.’

  With Libby back in her sagging armchair and Harry perched on the arm of the sofa, his arm draped round Peter’s shoulders, Peter began his explanation.

  ‘For some reason, the police had never bothered to check where James was the night Paula was killed, and assumed he had been in her cottage.’

  ‘God knows why,’ said James wearily. ‘If I’d been there, I’d have been there when the circus started, wouldn’t I? And surely David knocked on the door? He would have done, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Must have done,’ nodded Libby. ‘Go on. Except he didn’t find her until the next morning. You’d have been at work.’

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Peter, ‘when they started questioning him they found out he was in London, and hadn’t even given up the tenancy on his own house, let alone moved in with Paula.’

  ‘Millie seemed to think you had,’ said Libby.

  ‘She wanted me to. Very keen on the whole grandchild idea. We hadn’t got round to the details.’ James put his head in his hands. ‘I told you, I didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘So what did the police do?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Kept on at me a bit, but there was nothing I could tell them, even about the bedspread, so they had to let me go.’

  ‘Bedspread?’ said Libby and Harry together.

  James looked surprised. ‘Yes – didn’t you know? She was sitting on a bedspread – or it was in the car. Not quite sure. But that’s how they know she wasn’t killed there.’

  There was a silence while Peter, Harry and Libby all looked at each other.

  ‘There we are then,’ said Harry, ‘just what we wanted to know.’

  ‘How did you know, James?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I didn’t, until it came out while they were questioning me. I assumed it was general knowledge.’

  ‘So was she wrapped in the bedspread and then moved, or did it protect the killer, or what? And was she moved, or was the car moved? And where did the bedspread come from?’ said Libby, getting excited.

  ‘They showed me the bedspread,’ said James. ‘It was hers. Not from her bed. It was what she called a throw, and she had it over the sofa in
the living room.’

  ‘I remember …’ Harry began, and then, after a quick look at Peter, stopped. Peter patted his thigh.

  ‘Haven’t they got DNA from it?’ Libby asked. Harry looked frightened.

  ‘How do I know? Mine could be on it, come to that,’ said James. ‘Perhaps that’s why they pulled me in.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Libby robustly, ‘they would have pulled in half of Steeple Martin, let alone Canterbury.’

  ‘Oh – and she was pregnant. I had to give a DNA sample.’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘Well. At least you’ll know if it was yours,’ said Libby, uncertainly.

  Peter and Harry exchanged glances, while James sat back and closed his eyes. Libby surveyed them all for a moment before draining her glass.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’d better be off. You can fill me in on any of the details I miss later. But the theatre has to be opened and I’m behind the bar again.’

  Harry sprang up. ‘Dear heart, you haven’t eaten,’ he said.

  ‘I had lunch with Fran before she went,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll save you something in the caff for afterwards. Bring the kinder with you.’ Harry flung her cape round her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Thank you, Harry.’ Libby smiled up at him. ‘Look after the boys.’

  Chapter Thirty

  LIBBY WAS SURPRISED TO see Peter accompanying her children in to the theatre a little later.

  ‘I thought I ought to make sure they knew the way,’ he said, after rapturous greetings had been exchanged and much ceremony employed in escorting them to their seats. ‘Just because of our little domestic problem, it doesn’t mean they should suffer.’

  ‘As long as James is all right,’ said Libby, preparing to wash glasses.

  ‘Not exactly all right, but relieved. He’s staying at ours tonight, and said he might come down to the caff later to see you and the children.’

  ‘Well, at least we know a bit more about the circumstances, now. That should help,’ said Libby.

  ‘Why would it help? We don’t need to know, now, do we? My mum’s off the hook and so is James. They obviously never seriously considered Harry or Ben, so we haven’t got to worry any more.’

  Libby didn’t answer. Now detective fever had gripped her, it was going to be hard to let it go, even if her nearest and dearest were no longer threatened. Especially if Millie wasn’t responsible for the accidents. That meant someone was still out there with animosity directed towards – whom? The Family (there it was again, capital letters), the theatre, or Libby herself?