LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘How?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘It was actually easy. We were bussed to school, but once we were there there was no one to keep track of us. We just walked out. Johnno had money, we walked to the station and got on a train into central London.’

  ‘Where was the home?’

  ‘On the outskirts of London – Surrey somewhere.’

  ‘And you were how old?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  Harry’s face darkened. ‘We were living on the streets. I don’t know what I’d expected, but somehow … anyway, you can imagine what happened.’

  ‘Not drugs?’ Libby looked horrified.

  Harry smiled. ‘No, although I don’t know how I avoided it. No, worse.’

  ‘What’s worse than drugs?’

  ‘Prostitution?’

  ‘Oh – I see. Peter thought …’

  ‘Yes, he knew – or guessed – that much. That was how Matthew found me.’

  Libby’s nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You mean Matthew –?’

  ‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘I approached him. He didn’t actually find me – I found him. It was pure – impure – coincidence.’

  ‘How did he find out who you were?’

  ‘He carted me off to an all-night cafe and gave me eggs and bacon and a huge mug of tea and started asking questions. It turned out he knew the home I’d got away from and asked if I knew anyone called Harry Price.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I nearly choked on my tea.’ Harry grinned. ‘I didn’t immediately say it was me, I just wanted to know why. I got a bit belligerent, so he sort of gave up. But then he told me I was wasting my life and if I wanted he thought he could get me a job and somewhere to live.’

  ‘Blimey! So did he?’

  ‘Oh, I farted about a bit, and finally said yes. So he took me back to his place – no,’ Harry wagged a finger at the expression on Libby’s face, ‘he didn’t want my body. He just parked me in a spare room – he had this great mansion flat by Battersea Park – and in the morning I told him who I was.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘He just smiled and said he’d guessed. I reminded him of someone. But he wouldn’t say who. So off we go to this club he knows where he goes straight through to the kitchen and the next thing I know I’m employed as a kitchen boy. Living in.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you fell on your feet.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. Now you know why I was so grateful to Matthew.’

  ‘So now tell me the story from Matthew’s point of view.’ Libby settled herself more comfortably on the lounger. The sun was higher now, the sky pale blue, the sea pearl grey.

  Harry turned to look towards the sea. ‘Now it gets difficult,’ he said.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Matthew said he knew my grandmother.’

  ‘Not your mother?’ said Libby.

  ‘No. I got a bit annoyed and said if he knew my grandmother, why didn’t he know my real parents and why I’d been farmed out. All he would say was that it wasn’t his story, but he’d promised my granny to look out for me.’ Harry shook his head. ‘God knows what would have happened to me if he hadn’t found me.’

  ‘Was it really a coincidence that you bumped into each other?’

  Harry looked surprised. ‘I approached him, remember? How could it have been otherwise?’

  ‘He could have been prowling around that spot for days – weeks, even – just waiting for you to turn up.’

  ‘I’d never been there before. It wasn’t my patch. I was strictly a West End bloke, this was Fleet Street.’

  ‘Oh. Just a thought. What happened next?’

  ‘I carried on working at the club. Matthew and I met from time to time, I learnt the business and hung around the gay bars in the meantime. When I was about nineteen, Matthew told me my grandmother had come from the Isle of Wight, where he himself lived. That was when he brought me here for the first time.’ Harry nodded towards the next cove. ‘Did you know that was actually called Candle Cove?’

  ‘Candle …?’

  ‘They lit candles for the ships. I’m not sure if it was to lure them in or warn them of the rocks.’

  ‘Smugglers, then.’

  ‘Oh, yes. And, when the tide’s in, you can’t get out of the cove because the rocks are under water and it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘So when you stayed there you really were marooned?’

  ‘Yes. But he sailed me all round the island to show me where everything was. And told me about his family.’

  ‘But didn’t introduce you to anyone?’

  ‘No. I gathered it was because no one else knew about me.’ Harry shook his head. ‘And I guessed there must be some kind of scandal. Although what it could have to do with Granny I’ve no idea. I would have thought any scandal would be attached to my parents, whoever they were.’

  ‘OK, so coming up to date, what is it you didn’t want the sisters to tell us? What made you so scared?’

  ‘After Matthew died, Alicia sent me a letter that had arrived at The Shelf. It said that the writer knew I existed and told the sisters to tell me.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Did it say the writer knew your name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did Alicia know he – or she – meant you?’

  ‘It said something like “your cousin wouldn’t tell me the name of his young friend”. And that he knew all about the scandal.’

  ‘Why did Alicia assume it was you?’

  ‘Because I’ve spoken to the sisters on the phone over the last few years, and they’ve known Matthew and I were close. I was the only “young” friend he had.’

  ‘So there was a letter.’

  Harry looked startled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We wondered if you’d received a letter. A threatening letter. Fran did.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly sent to me, but yes, I suppose she was right. She often is.’

  ‘I don’t understand why this person would send a letter to the sisters – was it to all of the sisters? – virtually announcing his or her intentions. If it did, of course.’

  ‘It didn’t exactly, it sounded more like a warning. And it was addressed to Miss DeLaxley, so it looks as though the writer didn’t know much about the family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘DeLaxley was Matthew’s surname, the sisters were cousins on his mother’s side, and anyway, they all married, so have different names now.’

  ‘I still don’t get it.’ Libby was frowning. ‘If the writer didn’t know much about the family, how did he know about you? And why didn’t you want them to know? They’d already read the letter.’

  Harry sighed. ‘Because the morning after the funeral – bloody hell, that was only the day before yesterday – I got up early and went for a walk on the beach. When I got back there was a note pinned to the railings – here.’ He gestured. ‘It said –’ he took a deep breath ‘– “I know you now.” That was all.’

  ‘Someone had been watching?’ Libby’s eyes were round with shock.

  ‘Must have been. And that was a threat.’

  ‘And you didn’t want any of us to know you’d been threatened? Why?’

  ‘Because you’d all go round protecting me and we’d probably leave the Island.’

  ‘And that would be bad – why?’

  ‘Because, actually, I want to find the bastard who killed Celia and then Matthew. Because he did kill Matthew.’

  ‘So you let the sisters think it was their idea to call us in?’

  ‘Let’s say I put the idea into their heads. Well, Alicia’s head, anyway.’ He smiled. ‘I did tell them it wasn’t a good idea because you’d cause mayhem.’

  ‘Gee thanks. You said last night you didn’t want them to call us in.’

  Harry cleared his throat and looked away. ‘For their benefit.’

  Libby slapped his legs. ‘I shall never believe a word you say again, Harry Price.’

&n
bsp; Harry sat up and swept her into a bear hug. ‘You love me really.’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby’s voice was muffled against Harry’s towelling robe. ‘Let me sit up.’

  Harry let her go and peered into his empty mug. ‘More tea?’

  ‘In a minute. Tell me first why you’ve been so pre-occupied. Is it just the threat? You weren’t yourself even before we came to the Island.’

  ‘I’d read the first letter. It was anonymous, and it seemed sinister. I thought someone was looking for me.’

  ‘So were you a bit scared about coming here?’

  ‘A bit. But I agreed with Alicia that Celia could have been murdered and that letter seemed to confirm it. And then the note. It shook me.’

  ‘We could tell,’ said Libby. She stood up. ‘Come on, let’s make some more tea and you can go and give Pete a cup.’

  ‘And tell him everything,’ said Harry, following her into the kitchen.

  ‘Will he mind you’ve told me first?’

  ‘No. I think he expects it. I must say, you old trout, I feel better.’

  ‘But still a bit scared?’

  Harry nodded. ‘I just hope Pete doesn’t try and drag me off the Island when he hears.’

  ‘He might want to.’ Libby poured boiling water into four mugs. ‘And you can hardly blame him. I do see why you were keeping quiet – I think.’

  ‘Will you tell Ben?’ Harry paused with two mugs in his hands.

  ‘If you want me to. And Fran?’

  ‘Better everyone knows. But I don’t want to do it.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I’ll see if I can’t get them all on to the deck.’

  ‘You were up early.’ Ben was sitting up in bed when she went in with his tea.

  ‘Yes. Do you think you could bring your tea outside? I’m going to make tea for Fran and Guy – oh bother, Guy likes coffee – and see if they’ll come out there, too.’

  ‘Why?’ Ben’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘To tell you Harry’s story.’

  Twenty minutes later, Libby finished the story and looked at each of her listeners in turn.

  ‘Well? What do you think? Do you understand why he was nervous? Why he lied?’

  ‘Not really.’ Guy frowned. ‘Well, yes, I do, about being threatened, but one thing – the note he found pinned to the deck. How did he know it was for him?’

  ‘Oh!’ said Libby. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Whoever it was had pinned it there after seeing Harry go out on his own. They were watching.’ Fran was staring towards Candle Cove.

  Libby involuntarily looked over her shoulder.

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Ben. ‘What do we do now? What does Hal want us to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, apart from finding out who killed Celia. And Matthew by default. He’s telling Pete now.’

  ‘Pete may well want to cart him off home,’ said Ben. ‘And I don’t blame him.’

  ‘But if that someone is after Harry, they know who he is and could come after him anywhere,’ said Fran.

  ‘But why are they after Harry?’ Libby scowled at her mug.

  ‘It isn’t Harry personally, is it?’ said Fran. ‘It was Matthew’s “young friend”. Whoever this person is, they knew that there was someone connected to the old scandal, but they didn’t know who.’

  ‘How did they know it was Matthew’s “young friend”?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How do we find out?’

  ‘Just what I was asking.’ Peter’s voice issued from behind them. He strolled over and pulled up a chair. ‘It’s someone who knows about the old scandal. So shouldn’t we look into that, first?’

  The other four looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You want to go on with this?’ asked Libby. ‘We thought you’d want to drag him off the Island.’

  ‘I do, but the place to start, surely, is this old scandal, and we can’t look into that from Kent. We need to talk to people.’

  ‘But who?’ said Guy.

  ‘The sisters, first. Together or separately?’ said Fran.

  ‘They always seem to be together,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know how we would separate them without turning it into an inquisition.’

  Fran turned to Peter. ‘Who was Lucifer?’

  They all looked at her.

  ‘Who?’ said Peter.

  ‘Oh, I know!’ said Libby. ‘The love of Matthew’s life, Hal said. What made you think of that?’

  ‘Because he’s the only one Matthew might have told.’

  ‘But he died, Hal said.’

  ‘No, he said he might have died. Matthew just stopped talking about him.’

  ‘Sounds like the end of the affair, to me,’ said Guy. ‘If this man had died, Matthew would have told Harry, surely. Everyone wants a shoulder to cry on.’

  Peter nodded. ‘So do we look for him or the scandal?’

  ‘I don’t see how we can possibly find anything out about Lucifer,’ said Libby, ‘so we’ll have to start with the scandal. Do you think any of the people at the funeral knew about it?’

  ‘Well, one did,’ said Harry, joining them on the deck. ‘Because that’s where he saw me, obviously.’ He sat down on the edge of one of the loungers and looked round at them all. ‘Now you know about my sordid past, what do you all think?’

  ‘I think you need to know about your parents,’ said Fran. ‘Matthew should have told you the whole story.’

  ‘But he was protecting someone from this scandal,’ said Libby. ‘And trying to protect Harry, too.’

  ‘So how do we find out about the scandal, which was obviously about my parents?’ Harry leant back on the lounger and swung his feet up. ‘Ask the sisters? Because they must know, surely.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem as though they do,’ said Fran. ‘If Matthew wouldn’t introduce you to them, there was a reason. Perhaps they would have seen a family resemblance, or something?’

  ‘They haven’t noticed it now,’ Libby pointed out.

  ‘And someone is still concealing that scandal,’ said Peter. ‘Although why you should be a threat when you don’t even know what it is, I have no idea.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re watching me to make sure I don’t know.’ Harry sighed. ‘Perhaps when we leave the Island, they’ll heave a sigh of relief and forget all about it.’ He swung his legs off the lounger and stood up. ‘And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything. Eggs Benedict for breakfast, anyone?’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Is there any way we could get to meet the funeral guests?’ Libby wiped her plate to get at the last remnants of breakfast.

  ‘I don’t see how. We don’t know any of them,’ said Harry, pouring coffee.

  ‘The sisters do,’ said Peter. He seemed happier this morning, Libby thought. Probably because Harry had now told him the whole – rather garbled and improbable – story.

  ‘We talked about that earlier,’ said Fran. ‘I wish we could talk to them separately, but we can’t really.’

  ‘Why don’t you two go up on spec and just talk to whoever you find? They can’t be together all the time. Someone will have to go shopping, or do the gardening. Or something.’ Guy looked from Fran to Libby to see how his suggestion had gone down.

  Fran looked at Libby. ‘I suppose we could.’

  ‘Of course we could. And they asked us into all this – they can’t object.’

  ‘Amelia can,’ said Harry.

  ‘Oh, it seems to me Amelia can object to anything,’ laughed Peter.

  ‘Let’s go up now,’ said Libby, standing up.

  ‘And avoid the washing-up?’ said Ben.

  ‘Loading the dishwasher you mean,’ grinned Fran, pushing her chair back. ‘I’ll just go and clean my teeth.’

  ‘You don’t think we’re too early?’ said Libby ten minutes later as they climbed towards the top of the cliff.

  ‘It’s nine thirty. I suppose it is a bit early.’ Fran stopped. ‘But don’t old people get up very earl
y?’

  ‘I think that’s a myth. My mother didn’t.’

  ‘But I often see our old ladies in Nethergate off to do their shopping at nine. I’m not usually dressed by then.’

  ‘Well, it’s no use speculating. We’re on our way now.’ Libby started off up the path again. ‘And we’ve been seen, anyway.’

  Amelia was waving from outside the little house.

  ‘Hello! Did you want to see us?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ puffed Libby. ‘No wonder you’re fit, if you have to keep going up and down that path!’

  ‘Oh, we hardly ever go down. When Ship House is let we have a cleaner who goes in – she’ll be with you today or tomorrow, I think – and there’s no reason for us to go down otherwise. We’re not beach people.’

  ‘What do you do with yourselves?’ Libby asked.

  ‘Oh, this and that.’ Amelia turned towards the house and Libby noticed her faintly discontented expression. Not enough, she thought.

  ‘I think Alicia’s already gone shopping.’ Amelia peered into the room on the right of the front door as she led them inside. Fran and Libby exchanged triumphant glances. ‘But Honoria’s here. In the garden, probably.’

  Libby was grinning broadly at the accuracy of Guy’s prediction.

  ‘Well, perhaps we could just have a quick word with you, Amelia,’ said Fran quickly, before Libby disgraced them both.

  ‘Me? Why?’ Amelia raised perfectly pencilled eyebrows.

  ‘We were wondering about the people at the funeral, and if any of them had – well – known about whatever might have happened in the past.’

  ‘I don’t suppose so. They’re an uninteresting bunch.’ The discontented expression intensified. ‘There’s nothing to do on the Island any more.’ She took them into a comfortable but slightly shabby sitting room and indicated chairs. ‘It used to be such fun when we were younger.’

  ‘Have you always lived here?’ asked Libby, as she sank into a large chintz-covered armchair.

  ‘Oh, no, dear.’ Amelia preened slightly. ‘I’ve lived all over the world. My late husband was in the Diplomatic.’

  ‘Goodness!’ said Fran, in appropriately admiring tones. ‘You must have led such an interesting life.’