LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Or concern about his cousin’s murder,’ mused Peter, his eyes on Harry’s back. ‘And I’ve never known him like this before.’

  ‘Never?’ asked Libby.

  ‘So introspective. He won’t share anything with me. Even when we first got together and there were things he was uncomfortable about sharing with me, he wasn’t like this. He just used to get angry and shout a bit.’ Peter shook his head. ‘It can’t have anything to do with – all this, can it?’ He turned worried eyes to Libby.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly. ‘It must be a coincidence …’

  ‘What is?’ Ben came up to them having been scouting round the other side of the ruins.

  ‘This so-called mystery and Harry’s …’

  ‘Depression?’ suggested Ben. ‘Although it isn’t that, exactly, is it? Anyway, look what I found.’

  ‘What is it?’ Libby frowned.

  ‘Looks like a diary or an address book,’ said Peter, taking the object from Ben. ‘Or was, anyway.’

  ‘It was buried over there,’ said Ben. ‘It’s been soaked of course, but we might be able to read some of it.’

  Peter tried to open the brittle leather cover. ‘Not sure we will, you know.’

  ‘Let’s wait until we’re back at the house,’ said Libby, ‘and try and do it carefully. When Fran and Guy come tomorrow, perhaps Fran can get something from it.’

  ‘Do we show it to Harry?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not sure.’ Peter frowned. ‘I suppose we must.’

  ‘Do we think it’s Matthew’s then?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Makes sense, doesn’t it?’ said Ben. ‘Come on, sleuth. This is A Clue!’

  ‘I can’t seem to get into it, though, Ben.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Matthew’s funeral and Harry being so upset. It doesn’t seem right.’

  Ben put his arm across her shoulders, while Peter walked down the beach to join Harry.

  ‘Matthew’s cousins have asked you to look into it. This could even be what Celia wanted to find, what someone killed her for.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I know.’ She turned to Ben and put her head on his shoulder. ‘How did this happen, Ben? How did I suddenly become a sort of unofficial detective? It’s becoming a bit of a burden.’

  ‘I know.’ He hugged her. ‘And you know how worried we all get when you put yourself in danger. But actually, you enjoy the puzzle.’

  ‘I don’t enjoy the misery,’ Libby mumbled into his neck.

  ‘Of course you don’t, but don’t forget you make people feel better when you’ve ferreted out the truth.’

  ‘Although,’ Libby looked up with a watery smile, ‘it’s the police who usually get at the truth.’

  ‘Not always,’ said Ben. ‘Now, come on, let’s go back to the house and see if we can make anything of this book.’

  Peter and Harry had already started walking slowly back to Ship House. So far, they had spent most of their time on the broad deck which ran the length of the house. The weather was behaving like the perfect English summer, proving Libby’s prediction wrong, and, as yet, the cove was not packed with holiday-makers. Both the beach cafés were open, serving a variety of freshly made sandwiches and snacks, and in the evenings both had menus based on the day’s catch by the local fishermen, including the crab the cove was famous for. Yesterday none of them had felt like going out to dinner, having consumed a fair amount of funereal delicacies at the sisters’ house. Harry alone had not been seen to eat much.

  Tonight, they were booked in at the nearest café.

  ‘Had we better ask if we can change our booking?’ asked Libby, as they climbed the steps to the deck. ‘If we’re going up to see the sisters at half past eight?’

  ‘Yes, we’d better,’ said Peter. ‘Seven instead of half past?’

  ‘That’ll give us enough time,’ said Ben. ‘All right, Hal?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘Fine with me.’

  Libby sighed with exasperation, but didn’t say anything.

  Once they were settled back in their respective positions on the deck, Peter and Libby on sun loungers, Ben at the table and Harry, as was now usual, over at the balustrade, Libby started again.

  ‘What are we going to be looking for on the computer?’

  ‘If there’s an online diary,’ said Peter.

  ‘Emails,’ said Ben.

  Harry said nothing.

  ‘We might not be able to get in without passwords,’ warned Ben.

  ‘Yes, we will,’ said Harry.

  A kind of profound silence settled over the deck. Peter was the first to break it.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he told me.’

  ‘He told you?’ Peter sounded puzzled.

  Harry sighed and came to sit at the table with Ben.

  ‘You know we kept in touch,’ he said. ‘The same way old friends usually do.’ He looked at Peter. ‘You should know there was no more than friendship.’

  Peter leant over and placed a hand on his partner’s arm. ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Well, we were talking on the phone one day – oh, must have been a year ago or more – and we got on to the subject of passwords. You know how you do, sometimes, and everyone complains about having to remember so many.’

  ‘I do,’ said Libby. ‘I’m not very good about them.’

  ‘Neither was Matthew. He said it was because he was getting old. And he said he had to use things that had meant something to him in the past, it was the only way he could remember them. So my name was one of them.’

  ‘Just Harry?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘But that’s only one. We’ll need one to get into the computer itself and at least one more for the email programme, probably,’ said Peter.

  ‘What meant a lot to him, Hal?’ asked Libby, ‘apart from you?’

  ‘There must have been other – er –’ began Ben.

  ‘Lovers?’ said Harry, with the first grin they’d seen for several days. ‘Yes, of course there were, most of them before he met me. But there was the man who I think was the love of his life.’

  ‘Really? Was he there yesterday?’ asked Libby.

  Harry shook his head. ‘No, I think he might have died about two years ago. Matthew just stopped talking about him.’

  ‘Did the sisters know? Did he bring him here?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No. They never actually lived together, and this man had – well, a reputation.’

  ‘A reputation?’ repeated Libby. ‘What, as a bit of a lad?’

  ‘No, a reputation to keep up. A public figure.’

  ‘Oh, God, not that old reason again,’ sighed Peter. ‘Scared of losing wife and family, was he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. ‘Matthew never told me who he actually was. All I knew was the name he used – called him by. So that would be a good password.’

  ‘It could also be a very good reason for blackmail,’ said Ben.

  They all looked at him.

  ‘But the man’s dead,’ said Libby. ‘And why would someone blackmail Matthew about it?’

  ‘We don’t know he’s dead, and what about the man’s family?’ said Ben. ‘They could be blackmailed.’

  ‘Using evidence found in the little blue book?’ said Peter. ‘But Matthew would never give it up for that reason.’

  ‘Which was perhaps why Celia was killed – because she’d been told to say it wasn’t for sale?’ said Libby.

  ‘And the killer didn’t find it anyway,’ said Peter.

  ‘It makes a sort of sense,’ said Libby, ‘and gives us a starting point with the computer.’

  ‘It feels like …’ said Harry, and trailed off.

  ‘An intrusion?’ said Libby. ‘Of course it does. But think how good it will be if we find out who killed Celia, and by extension, Matthew. Because that’s what we all think, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Four

  At half past eight, Harry led Peter, Ben, and Libby up the path to the sis
ters’ slightly dilapidated house, perched on a ridge overlooking the cove.

  ‘See,’ Harry pointed, ‘along the path that goes into the wood. That looks down to the Beach House.’

  ‘So the sisters must have windows on that side, because they said they could look down on the cove while they were waiting for the storm to pass,’ said Libby.

  ‘And they didn’t see anything suspicious,’ said Peter.

  ‘No, because they didn’t sit down to watch until after Matthew and Alicia had gone to hospital. Celia would have been dead long before that.’

  The front door of the house opened and Amelia waved.

  ‘We’ve left the computer in Matthew’s house in case we couldn’t hook it up to what ever it needs in ours. I’ll fetch the key.’

  Libby turned to look at Matthew’s house next door. A complete contrast to the sisters’ Victorian stone cottage: it was more like Ship House, a dark timber-clad building with a wide deck overlooking the cove. Behind the wall of glass stood a large, professional-looking telescope. Libby frowned.

  Amelia returned followed by Alicia and Honoria.

  ‘We have to go in at the front,’ said Alicia, leading them round to the more prosaic landward side, where a small hand-carved sign announced it to be The Shelf.

  ‘Matthew said it was because it sat on a shelf of rock,’ explained Honoria. She shrugged. ‘Fanciful.’

  ‘I think it’s rather nice,’ said Libby, and Harry smiled at her.

  Alicia led the way through the house to the large sitting room that took over the whole of the seaward side. Against the left-hand wall stood a beautiful old desk on top of which, looking rather apologetic, sat a very large computer.

  ‘State of the art,’ said Peter, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Was he still working?’ asked Ben.

  ‘He still got commissions,’ said Amelia.

  ‘And an occasional – oh, what did he call them?’ said Alicia. ‘Brain piece, was it?’

  ‘Think piece,’ said Peter. ‘Basically an opinion on something topical or relevant to life as we know it.’

  ‘Yes, well, he had opinions,’ said Amelia. ‘Too many of them, if you ask me.’

  ‘Who’s going to have a go at the computer?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Harry and I’ said Peter. ‘I’m probably the best one for the technology and Harry knew him best.’

  Libby turned back to the sisters, who were waiting in a patient row in front of the long couch.

  ‘You said you found Matthew collapsed by the French windows?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alicia. ‘I know they aren’t really French windows, they’re just sliding glass.’

  ‘Where exactly?’ asked Libby.

  The sisters looked startled.

  ‘Er –’ said Alicia.

  ‘That side, wasn’t it?’ said Honoria.

  ‘Just there,’ said Amelia.

  ‘Right by the telescope,’ said Libby.

  There was a sudden silence, then Ben whistled. ‘Of course!’

  ‘Of course what?’ said Alicia, still looking bewildered.

  ‘He probably saw Celia killed,’ said Libby.

  Alicia’s hand flew to her mouth, Amelia’s to her chest, and Honoria’s hit the back of the couch.

  Peter nodded slowly and moved towards the telescope. ‘Have you looked through this since that night?’

  The sisters all shook their heads. Peter bent down and looked. When he stood up, he beckoned Libby, but before she could join him Amelia rushed forward.

  ‘I want to see.’

  Peter obligingly stood aside.

  ‘I can’t see!’ Amelia wailed and stood aside. ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘Because Matthew was taller than you are,’ grunted Honoria. ‘Let me have a look.’ She strode over and bent to the eyepiece. After a moment she stood up and nodded, her expression grim. ‘Beach House.’

  Amelia and Alicia sat down abruptly on the couch.

  ‘He might not have seen Celia killed,’ said Honoria. ‘She was inside.’

  ‘Was she, though?’ said Fran.

  ‘He might have seen her killer,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he was watching to see what happened as he’d sent her down there.’

  ‘But he would be expecting to see the killer if he’d sent her,’ said Harry. ‘Perhaps it was something else he saw.’

  ‘Or didn’t see,’ said Ben. ‘He didn’t see Celia come out.’

  There was another silence.

  ‘I expect we’re jumping to conclusions,’ said Libby. ‘We can’t know if that was what happened, but it does seem to be a workable theory.’

  ‘It’s not a workable theory,’ said Amelia angrily. ‘You’re talking about my dead sister.’

  ‘Ssh, dear,’ said Alicia, patting her sister’s hand. ‘We asked Libby and her friends here because we think Celia was killed. We can’t complain when they do their job.’

  Uncomfortable with having sheer nosiness called a job, Libby said hastily, ‘We’re not being thoughtless, just trying to see if there’s any proof. We have to – well, the police should – look at – um, well – all angles.’ She shifted her feet and looked at the floor.

  ‘Let’s look at the computer,’ said Peter after a moment, and they all turned thankfully to the desk. He turned on the power, and after a short wait up came the password prompt. ‘Here we go, Hal, first hurdle.’

  ‘What do you mean, hurdle?’ said Honoria.

  ‘We can’t open the computer without a password,’ explained Libby. ‘This could be difficult.’

  ‘Try Lucifer,’ said Harry.

  ‘Lucifer?’ echoed everyone else. Peter typed it in and the screen sprang to life.

  ‘Why Lucifer?’ asked Alicia. ‘Harry, dear, you were close to Matthew. Why that word?’

  Harry shot a quick look at Peter. ‘He – er – knew someone of that name.’

  Harry? wondered Libby, or the mysterious love of Matthew’s life?

  ‘Someone in newspapers, was it?’ asked Amelia. ‘One of those silly columnists who hide behind stupid names?’

  ‘Something like that,’ muttered Harry.

  ‘Here’s the email account,’ said Peter. ‘Seems he used a web-based provider. Another password.’ He turned to the sisters diplomatically. ‘Any ideas?’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘One of our names?’ suggested Alicia doubtfully.

  ‘Three – no, four – sisters,’ said Libby. ‘Figure four.’

  ‘Happy days,’ murmured Harry. ‘All one word.’

  The email page opened. The sisters gaped at Harry.

  That’s Harry, thought Libby. So Lucifer is the other one. But why Lucifer? The Devil?

  ‘We discussed it,’ said Harry. ‘I was – well – up to date with computers and stuff.’

  ‘And we weren’t,’ said Honoria with a grunt. ‘Don’t worry, Harry. We won’t mind.’

  Amelia looked as it she were about to say something, but a look from Alicia silenced her.

  ‘Exactly.’ Alicia nodded. ‘We wouldn’t expect him to talk about things like that with us.’

  ‘There’s an email from you here, Hal.’ Peter was scanning the inbox.

  ‘Really?’ Harry was surprised. ‘I haven’t emailed Matthew – hadn’t – for months.’

  Peter nodded. ‘It’s dated February.’

  ‘And it’s still showing up?’ Libby went to look over Peter’s shoulder. ‘That must mean he’d only had a few emails since then. Isn’t that odd?’

  ‘Who are the others?’ asked Ben.

  Peter turned to the sisters, now sitting side by side on the couch. ‘Would you come and look at some of these to see if you recognise any names?’

  The sisters crowded round him and peered at the screen, three pairs of spectacles on chains being raised.

  ‘I don’t understand these.’ Amelia shook her head. ‘What’s “Frenchie98”?’

  ‘An email name,’ said Libby. ‘Open it, Pete. See if there’s a signature.’
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  “Frenchie98” turned out to be a former associate telling Matthew about an assignment he’d been given and asking for advice. They worked back from the most recent email a few weeks before Matthew had died, but found nothing in the least odd. Some people the sisters recognised, some Harry and even Peter recognised, but there was no intimation of threats, blackmail or anything untoward.

  Peter sat back, and the sisters resumed their seats on the couch.

  ‘Another email account?’ suggested Libby.

  Peter turned to the bookmarks. ‘Nothing I can see.’

  ‘Do you want us to go on looking?’ asked Harry, going to sit on the arm of the couch beside Alicia. ‘We don’t want to do anything that might upset you.’

  Amelia was once more silenced by her sisters.

  ‘Go on,’ said Honoria, and stood up. ‘Come on, girls. Let’s leave them to it.’

  Amelia was reluctantly herded out, and an almost audible sense of relief settled on the room.

  ‘I could do with a drink,’ said Libby.

  ‘Matthew wouldn’t mind,’ said Harry. ‘I bet there’s something around here.’

  He prowled the room and discovered several bottles inside a glass cabinet.

  ‘Here. Whisky, gin, and vodka. Vodka? He never drank vodka. Pink gin, he liked.’

  ‘Do you think we should?’ said Libby doubtfully. ‘The sisters might not like it.’

  ‘Especially Amelia,’ said Ben with a grin.

  Libby’s objections were overruled, and Harry found glasses and served them all.

  ‘Have a look at some of the files,’ suggested Ben when they were grouped once more round the desk.

  ‘There are loads of them,’ said Peter. ‘He seems to have kept every piece he’d written for the last twenty years.’

  ‘On a computer?’ said Libby surprised. ‘Did they have them then?’

  The three men turned and looked at her.

  ‘Oh, OK, then. They did. But wouldn’t they have been on an old computer?’

  ‘He would have transferred all the files each time he upgraded,’ said Peter. ‘I suppose I could look at the earliest files, but I’ve got a feeling that if there’s anything on here it’s well hidden.’

  ‘How would this blackmailer, if that’s what it was, have got in touch, then?’ said Libby.