LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

‘Are the Island police having another look at the case?’ asked Libby.

  ‘They let me see everything they’d got,’ said Ian, ‘but frankly, it wasn’t much. The whole beach had been covered in water, the little house, or chalet, whatever it was, was knocked almost flat –’

  ‘Yes, we’ve seen it,’ said Peter.

  ‘And there was no chance of any identifying marks or prints. Celia did have a wound on her head, but she’d been in the water for over twenty-four hours when she was found, and not in one place, either. She was found further up the beach.’

  ‘Horrible,’ said Fran.

  ‘So in fact, the sisters already know we know all about the scandal. Harry doesn’t need to confront the sisters with Keith after all,’ said Libby.

  ‘And I’m not sure Harry will be fit to travel any time soon,’ said Peter. ‘Can I tell him all this tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ian, ‘but don’t send his temperature and blood pressure up so they don’t let him out.’

  ‘Where’s Franklin now?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Back at home in north London. He said he’s quite willing to go anywhere and do anything. He doesn’t yet know our suspicions about his nephew.’

  ‘Poor bloke. That’s going to come as a shock, on top of everything else,’ said Ben.

  ‘What are you going to do about him?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Make sure forensics haven’t missed anything, for a start, otherwise we haven’t got anything concrete,’ said Ian.

  ‘Talking of concrete,’ said Peter, ‘did you find a weapon?’

  ‘No.’ Ian shook his head. ‘The wound didn’t match anything in the garden. I would guess Jones took it away and disposed of it somewhere.’

  ‘As far from Steeple Martin as possible,’ said Fran.

  ‘So, that’s it,’ said Libby. ‘All cleared up.’

  ‘Except for Celia, and I think we’re just going to have to admit failure on that one,’ said Ian, ‘although there’s something else the sisters are hiding, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Oh, I know what that is,’ said Libby carelessly.

  ‘What?’ came the chorus.

  ‘Harry’s forebears, obviously. And I think Matthew’s sister is in the frame to be his gran.’

  ‘And Franklin’s mother,’ said Fran, nodding. ‘Of course. Do you think if we got the whole crowd together, the Dougans, the Clippings, Lady Bligh and the sisters, they’d break down and tell us?’

  ‘That sounds like a Hercule Poirot moment – gathering the suspects together,’ said Ben.

  ‘And Nero Wolfe. He always did it, too,’ said Libby.

  ‘Who’s Nero Wolfe?’ asked Ian.

  ‘American detective. Written by Rex Stout.’ Libby looked round at the group. ‘What do you think? Could we do that?’

  ‘You could try,’ said Ian, ‘but not under the aegis of the police. And without us, I doubt you’d get them all to agree. And you haven’t met any of them except the sisters.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well. Perhaps we’ll just have to wait until Harry’s well enough to go back to the Island to have his meeting.’

  ‘Although I doubt if they’ll tell you anything more, even then,’ said Ian, standing up. ‘I must be off. I’ll keep you informed as and when I can.’

  ‘What a let-down,’ said Libby after he’d gone.

  ‘You can’t expect every – what? – investigation? – adventure? – to end with a firework display,’ said Ben. ‘I’m much happier that it hasn’t.’

  ‘And none of them are adventures, really,’ said Fran gently. ‘They are all very sad cases. And look at what’s happened to Harry.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Libby. ‘But that’s why I want the fireworks in a sense. As revenge. Retribution.’

  Ben laughed as he stood up. ‘Come on, Nemesis. Let’s go home. I’ve got a timber-yard meeting in the morning.’

  Thursday morning Libby decided to make good her promise to go through Harry’s bookings for the next couple of weeks, and collected The Pink Geranium keys from Peter before he left for hospital to fetch Harry.

  Before settling down with the book, she made herself a cup of coffee and unearthed some of Harry’s personal stash of biscuits. Then she pulled the high stool up to the counter, opened the book, reached for the phone, and fell on the floor.

  She found herself looking up into a horrified face. Robert Jones’s face. Her insides began to go watery, a feeling she was experiencing far too often in life in recent years.

  ‘Get up,’ he said, his voice as horrified as his face. Libby struggled to get up and he yanked her roughly to her feet, pushing her in front of him into the kitchen.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Libby through a thick throat. ‘Harry’s not here.’

  ‘No.’ Jones, still holding on to her, was looking round the kitchen as if he didn’t know what to do next. Libby thought he probably didn’t. Which was dangerous.

  ‘Where is he?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Still in hospital,’ said Libby. ‘Safe from you.’

  Robert Jones shook her. ‘Shut up, you cow! It was you who reported me to the police last week, wasn’t it? Nosing around like on the Island. Oh, I know, I was there.’

  ‘I know you were,’ said Libby, as calmly as she could. ‘That’s why I recognised you.’

  Out on the counter, the landline began to ring. Robert Jones just gripped Libby tighter, his mouth in a thin line. Eventually it stopped, and seconds later, Libby’s mobile started warbling, it, too, out of reach.

  ‘Somebody will come looking for me, now,’ she said, looking straight into the nervous brown eyes in front of her. ‘And then you’ll stand no chance.’

  ‘Then they won’t find you.’ His voice was wavering up and down the scale now. ‘Out the back.’ He began to push her towards the back yard.

  ‘I know you managed to get over that wall,’ said Libby, her heart now threatening to bang right out of her chest, ‘but you’ll never get me over there. And you’ll be seen. It’s a Thursday morning, for goodness sake.’

  ‘Shut up!’ howled Jones again. ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Mum? What’s going on?’

  Libby’s legs crumpled, and Jones made a panicked sound before gripping her even tighter. She looked up at her son, standing at the back door of the flat, at the top of the spiral staircase. ‘Call the police.’

  ‘It’s all right, Ma.’ Adam smiled. ‘They’re already on their way. I’m a diversion.’

  Robert Jones swung her round to face the kitchen just as Ben, Bob the butcher, and Joe from the Cattlegreen Nursery burst out and grabbed him. Libby sank gracefully to the floor and Adam flew down the stairs and threw his arms around her.

  ‘God, Ma! You do keep doing it, don’t you?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault!’ wailed Libby, close now to tears. ‘I was only doing what Peter asked me to.’

  The sirens could be heard now. Bob, Joe, and Ben were still holding a now-limp Robert Jones. Libby stood up and faced him.

  ‘What exactly were you intending to do?’ she asked, in a slightly firmer voice. ‘How did you plan on getting rid of me, and what did you want with Harry?’

  ‘I don’t think there was a plan,’ said Ben. ‘I think he was just panicking. For all he knew, Harry had seen him.’

  ‘So – what?’ said Libby. ‘You planned to have another go? Bit stupid, wasn’t it? And why here? I’m sure your uncle told you Harry was still in hospital.’

  The sound of heavy policemen approaching was now heard, and Robert Jones seemed to shrink, still not having said a word. One of the officers put on the handcuffs while another read him his rights. Then they saluted Libby and told her DCI Connell would be in touch about a statement.

  When Bob and Joe had been thanked profusely and given beer, Libby, Ben, and Adam sat round the little table in the courtyard drinking coffee, and Libby had one of her increasingly rare cigarettes.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘that really wasn’t my fault. I didn’t
barge into anything, I was just about to do all Hal’s bookings.’

  ‘We know.’ Ben had his arm round her shoulders.

  ‘And how did you know? And how did the police get here so quickly?’

  ‘Ian called home and got no answer, then he called me to tell me that Robert Jones, idiot that he is, had been seen in the car park behind the doctor’s surgery,’ said Ben.

  ‘Seen? Who knew him?’

  Adam and Ben laughed.

  ‘Flo!’ said Libby. ‘Of course! She saw the whole thing last week. Fancy her recognising him.’

  ‘So she called the landline, too, and then with great presence of mind called 999, and then the Canterbury station to speak to Ian. Who called me, and I called Adam. Luckily, he was actually working in Steeple Martin and still has the key to the flat.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Libby, shaking her head. ‘Well, we’ll have to treat Flo to a bottle of champagne, won’t we?’

  ‘She’s probably got better than we could buy in her own cellar,’ said Adam. Flo Carpenter had been tutored by her late husband, a notable wine buff, and was known locally as a bit of an expert.

  Ian sent the red-haired and amiable Sergeant Maiden to take a statement from Libby that afternoon, and said he would call and see her this evening.

  ‘Can you tell Ian – DCI Connell – that we’re going to see Harry and Peter this evening, please, Sergeant Maiden? So please could he come there?’

  Sergeant Maiden promised to relay the message, and so it was that, at just after eight o’clock, Ian arrived to find Harry ensconced on the sofa and Libby, Ben and Peter just about to pour glasses of champagne.

  ‘Are you allowed any?’ Ian asked doubtfully.

  Harry grinned. ‘Just the one. I’ve obviously got a very hard head. Now tell us what’s been going on.’

  ‘Wait until he’s sitting down, Hal,’ said Libby. ‘Ian, will you have some? One won’t hurt, will it?’

  Ian accepted a glass and sat down by the table.

  ‘Well, Robert Jones, as you might have gathered, is not the brightest bulb in the bunch. This was one of the reasons he was relying on his uncle’s legacy. He’s never managed to hold down a job for long, and runs through what money he has got very quickly. He’s always done odd jobs for his uncle, and was quite happy to help on this occasion, until he found out what was really going on. Then he decided that it would be totally unfair – his words – if Harry were to inherit after all his hard work. So he decided he would have to put him out of the way. The trouble was, he is not the stuff murderers are made of, and he made a terrible hash of it.’

  ‘I’m glad to say,’ said Harry.

  ‘And so say all of us,’ said Libby. ‘But what about this morning?’

  ‘He’d heard from us, and he’d heard from his uncle. His thinking was that if he could get to Harry again, no one would think anything of it, it would just be counted as some sort of a relapse. He broke into the restaurant thinking there might be keys to the house there. He didn’t realise Harry wasn’t home yet.’

  ‘How on earth was he going to make it look like a relapse?’ said Peter. ‘And didn’t he realise it would point straight at him?’

  ‘I don’t think he thought it through at all,’ said Ian. ‘By today, he was panicking, out of control.’

  ‘That’s how he struck me,’ said Libby. ‘Poor Keith.’

  ‘Yes, he’s rather upset about it all,’ said Ian. ‘But quite happy to fit in with your idea of going to the Island to see the sisters, Harry. When you’re quite well. He says he can stay at Beech Manor again.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Harry, lifting up his glass, ‘here’s to our next trip to the Island. And the end of the whole bloody business.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  In fact, Harry felt well enough, endorsed by the doctors, the very next week. Libby took the bookings book home with her and cancelled all bookings for the next three weeks, with the proviso that Harry would ring again if he was open earlier.

  The summer holidays had started by now, and so had The End Of The Pier Show. The week after Harry was allowed home, Libby made arrangements for Fran, herself and Ben, all of whom were regular performers, to be out of the cast, and on Thursday they all set off once more for Portsmouth and the ferry to Fishbourne.

  Libby and Fran leant over the rail to watch the Island come closer.

  ‘It is a lovely place,’ said Libby, ‘but I think it is tainted a bit, now.’

  Fran nodded. ‘I wonder if Harry will keep the houses? With those old biddies as his neighbours it could be very awkward.’

  ‘He might just keep Ship House to let it,’ said Libby. ‘I’m wondering more what his reaction is going to be to Keith Franklin.’

  ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘Not a word. Ben had to set up the meeting. He’s coming to Ship House this afternoon, then we’re all going up to the sisters’ house this evening.’

  ‘All of us?’ said Fran.

  ‘Except Ben and Guy.’

  ‘I don’t know what it’s going to accomplish,’ said Fran, shaking her head.

  ‘I think Harry’s hoping to find out about his gran. And Keith’s mother.’

  ‘I can’t see them giving that up at this stage,’ said Fran. ‘And we’ll never know about Celia.’

  ‘Do you think they’re connected?’ asked Libby.

  ‘After all our speculation?’ Fran smiled. ‘I think Celia was to tell Keith Franklin something about his parentage, yes. And she died before she could do so.’

  ‘And the idea is still that the sisters wanted to find out who killed her because he or she might know the secret. The scandal, as they called it.’

  Fran nodded. ‘Seems so. Perhaps they’ll admit it tonight.’

  Harry had decreed that they should not park in the car park behind The Shelf and the sisters’ house, as they would be seen, and he was counting on the element of surprise. They parked instead further along the road towards Ventnor and walked down to the path which the men had found previously, leading across Candle Cove and into the bay. Keith Franklin had been given instructions to do the same.

  The walk, even though it hadn’t been very long, had tired Harry, and when Keith Franklin arrived at Ship House late in the afternoon, he was asleep. ‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Libby, after they had settled an uncomfortable-looking Keith on the deck, and Peter went to wake Harry.

  ‘He says will you go and see him in the bedroom,’ said Peter frowning as he came to join the others. ‘Is that all right?’

  Keith Franklin stood up. ‘Quite all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll take in his tea, shall I?’

  ‘Think it’ll be OK?’ said Libby, watching Keith’s retreating back.

  ‘I think it’s best they do it privately,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t think Hal’s mad any more, except about Robert Jones, but that’s hardly Keith Franklin’s fault.’

  It was half an hour before Keith and Harry emerged, Harry grinning, and Keith looking a little sheepish.

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ said Harry, sitting down at the table on the deck. ‘That’s my dad, everyone.’

  They all murmured and smiled.

  ‘Not that I’ll be calling him Dad, any time soon,’ Harry continued, ‘any more than I shall be calling Jeanette Mum. But, fancy that, I actually know where I come from after all this time.’

  ‘Nearly,’ said Ben. ‘And hopefully, you might get the rest of it tonight.’

  ‘Are you sure you want us to come too?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yes. You’ve been in it from the beginning,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s face it, the old girls wanted you in, didn’t they?’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Libby. ‘Now. Are we going to see if they’ve got room for us all at the restaurant?’

  There wasn’t room for them, but the restaurant could, and did, provide a take-away service. Keith joined them for the meal, and after Ben and Guy volunteered to wash up, the other five began the ascent to the top of the cliff.

&nbs
p; Libby found that she was incredibly nervous as Harry approached the sisters’ front door, although he seemed quite calm. As usual, Alicia opened the door. Her hand flew to her mouth as she saw who stood outside.

  ‘Great-aunt Alicia,’ Harry began. Alicia’s face bleached of all colour and she hung on to the door frame. ‘We’re all here to see you and finally clear up any outstanding questions you or we might have. OK?’ He took her arm and gently led her inside and to the room at the back which Libby and Fran had only been in once before. Amelia and Honoria both stood as Harry led them all in.

  ‘Sit down, Great-aunts,’ he said, obviously relishing the term. ‘We’d like to talk to you.’

  But he’d lost their attention. Their eyes were fixed on Keith Franklin.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Harry. ‘Sorry. This is my father, Keith Franklin. Son of your brother, Alfred.’

  There was a silence so deep Libby felt it as a palpable entity.

  ‘You know,’ whispered Alicia.

  ‘Detective Inspector Connell told you we knew,’ said Libby.

  ‘No,’ said Fran, her eyes on Alicia. ‘Not about Keith’s father. About his mother. Isn’t it, Alicia?’

  In the background they were all aware of Amelia and Honoria.

  ‘His mother,’ whispered Alicia, and suddenly there was a sharp movement by the window.

  ‘All for nothing,’ said Honoria. ‘My poor darling Celia. All for nothing.’ And she was gone out of the French windows.

  Peter started out to follow and then saw a figure darting down the path after her. He stopped and turned round, puzzled.

  Alicia and Amelia were staring out of the window, horrified. Harry and Keith exchanged glances and went to put their arms round the old ladies’ shoulders, just as Ian Connell walked through the French windows.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to the sisters, with a slight bow. ‘There was nothing I could do. She went straight over.’

  ‘What? What has she – Honoria?’ Alicia tried to get to the French windows. Ian stopped her.

  ‘You’re not saying she killed Celia?’ said Amelia, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Of course not! She was here – with you,’ said Alicia.

  ‘Well, she was out in the garden, I didn’t actually see – oh my God!’ Amelia gasped.