Murder in the Green - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Yes.’ Wilhelmina tucked her feet under her and examined her nails. ‘You know my husband was killed.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘On Beltane night. Before Bill Frensham was killed.’

  ‘Yeah. So it couldn’t have been him, could it? John, I mean. He couldn’t have killed Bill?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Libby.

  Wilhelmina shifted uncomfortably. ‘Only you see, I went to see him that day.’

  ‘The day he died? Have you told the police?’ said Fran in a surprised voice.

  ‘No. That’s why I wanted advice.’

  ‘But why me?’ said Libby. ‘You were fairly angry with me last week.’

  ‘But you were right.’ Wilhelmina’s colour was rising. ‘We were all part of this Goddess thing, and Bill and Diggory had got it all tied up with some coven thing.’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Libby.

  Wilhelmina looked up under her brows. ‘Yeah. Some black magic thing that happened and they broke up.’

  ‘And reformed as the Goddess cult as an offshoot of Cranston Morris,’ said Libby.

  ‘John joined in, but he didn’t like it when I got too friendly with people, especially Bill.’ She was looking down at her hands again.

  ‘And Diggory?’ said Fran.

  ‘Only since John left,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘Bill and I had broken up by then.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really what?’ Wilhelmina looked belligerent.

  ‘You’d broken up?’

  ‘He was off with that woman from his work, wasn’t he.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Anyway, you went to see John the morning he died, you were saying,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I needed money.’ Wilhelmina lifted her chin.

  ‘So what do you need advice about?’ Libby was frowning. ‘You can tell the police that, can’t you?’

  ‘Not that.’ Wilhelmina stood up. ‘I’m going to have a coffee. Want one?’

  Libby and Fran both shook their heads and she wandered off, presumably into the kitchen, leaving them looking at each other in puzzlement.

  ‘What’s she on about?’ said Libby quietly.

  ‘Something he told her, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘She’s working up to telling us.’

  Wilhelmina returned carrying a large blue mug.

  ‘You were saying?’ prompted Libby.

  ‘Well.’ Wilhelmina sighed, took a sip of coffee and winced. ‘See, it was John. He said he couldn’t give me much at the moment but he would soon.’

  ‘Meaning?’ said Libby, after a pause.

  ‘I don’t know. He was angry.’ Wilhelmina looked up. ‘This is why I thought I’d talk to you.’

  Libby regarded her silently for a moment, then heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘Look, Willy,’ she said, ‘let’s get this straight. You’re not making much sense at the moment. Start from the beginning. You were married to John Lethbridge. He and Bill Frensham were friends, right?’

  ‘Some kind of business connection,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘They knew one another before we got married.’

  ‘Right. So did Bill suggest you both joined the coven?’

  ‘I never belonged. I think John did, but there was this murder, you see –’

  ‘We know about the murder,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, do you?’ Wilhelmina looked surprised. ‘Well, anyway, then John suggested this Goddess thing, and it sounded fun, you know, one up from wife swapping. Sort of gave it an extra – I don’t know – thrill, somehow.’

  ‘And you got too friendly with Bill Frensham?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yeah, well, he and I were the King and the Goddess and we had to do it.’ She paused, gazing out of the window. ‘In front of the others, too. They all pretended it was sort of religious, but it wasn’t. They just used to get turned on and go off and shag each other.’

  Libby glanced sideways at Fran’s pained expression. ‘So you and Bill carried on outside the group?’ she said.

  Wilhelmina nodded. ‘And John found out and I left. The he took up with that Monica. To pay Bill out, I reckon.’

  ‘And Diggory?’

  ‘Oh, he’d always fancied me. We thought we might as well, but we had to keep it sort of secret because Richard was still in the group. But they couldn’t get another Goddess like me, see?’

  ‘Gemma certainly wouldn’t be up for it,’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, no. But they had to keep the Goddess and King stuff going or the others would wonder what was going on.’

  ‘The ordinary Morris dancers, you mean, the ones not involved in the – er – cult.’

  Wilhelmina nodded again.

  ‘So what happened then?’ asked Fran after a short silence.

  ‘Diggory wouldn’t help me with any money,’ said Wilhelmina, ‘said he’d got a lot of other things on his plate. He was investing in his business, or something.’ She shrugged. ‘He always seemed to be out, if you ask me. Doing deliveries, he said.’

  ‘Of his bread?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Yeah. So I thought I’d go and see John.’ She looked down at her mug again. ‘And he was – I don’t know – strange. Different.’

  ‘You said angry?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yeah. He kept striding about the place and saying things.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  Wilhelmina’s eyes slid sideways. ‘Not really sure. Kept saying it was disgusting.’

  ‘What was?’ said Libby and Fran together.

  ‘I don’t know. Then he was talking about – you know – that night.’

  ‘Beltane? He meant to go?’

  ‘Well, he did go, didn’t he? He was still a Morris dancer.’ Wilhelmina’s tone indicated that Morris dancing was on a par with drain cleaning.

  ‘So what was disgusting?’ pursued Libby.

  ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know.’ She looked up at Libby and quickly away again. ‘He mentioned Bill.’

  ‘He said Bill was disgusting?’ Libby was bewildered.

  ‘I’ve told you! I don’t know!’ reiterated Wilhelmina, suddenly standing up. ‘What I want to know is, do I tell the police?’

  ‘Well, of course you should, even if it does seem insignificant to you,’ said Libby. ‘They’ll want to know if he mentioned seeing anyone, or if he knew he would be doing something different that night. They’ll also –’ Libby stopped as a thought struck her.

  ‘Also what?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Also be pleased to know that he was alive that afternoon,’ said Libby slowly.

  ‘Course he was,’ said Wilhelmina. ‘He was killed at night, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby gave her a small smile. ‘But they’ll still be pleased to know.’ She contemplated her hands for a moment. ‘So why did you need my advice about this, Willy? You knew what you should do. What is it you aren’t telling us?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Wilhelmina sat down again. ‘I just don’t have experience with the police. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Were you frightened?’ asked Fran softly.

  Wilhelmina looked up quickly.

  ‘You are, aren’t you?’ said Libby. ‘What of?’

  ‘I’m not scared,’ said Wilhelmina in a shaky voice. ‘I just didn’t know – didn’t want – well, I didn’t. I just didn’t.’

  ‘Were you scared of other people like Diggory finding out if you spilt the beans about the Goddess business?’ asked Libby.

  Wilhelmina’s colour started changing again. She and Diggory were like human rainbows, thought Libby.

  ‘That’s what it is, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Well, I don’t see why you should be scared, but you can rest assured we won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Right.’ Wilhelmina was looking down again. ‘So what do I do?’

  Libby looked at Fran. ‘Would you like us to get in touch with the police for you?’ she said. Fran sighed.

  ‘Yeah.’ Wilhelmina looked up. ‘Will they come here?’

 
; ‘I don’t know. They might want you to go to the police station,’ said Libby. Wilhelmina seemed to shrink. ‘I expect they’ll come here, though,’ she continued hastily. ‘They usually do. Haven’t they been here to talk to you already?’

  ‘Yeah. Last Saturday after I’d seen you, Diggory was here with me.’ Her eyes slid sideways again.

  ‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Well, I’ll – we’ll – get in touch with the police and they’ll make an appointment to come and see you.’ She stood up. ‘Was there anything else?’

  Wilhelmina shook her head.

  ‘We’ll be on our way, then,’ said Fran, also standing up. ‘Thank you for talking to us, Wilhelmina, and don’t worry.’

  Out on the pavement, Libby let out a long breath. ‘Cor,’ she said. ‘That was a bit difficult, wasn’t it?’

  ‘She’s hiding something, isn’t she?’ said Fran, beginning to walk back towards the seafront.

  ‘Sure she is,’ agreed Libby, ‘but hadn’t we better phone Ian before she changes her mind about speaking to the police? I almost wanted to camp out there until they turned up.’

  Fran nodded. ‘For a variety of reasons.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Just let me call Ian,’ said Fran, pulling out her mobile.

  Libby waited impatiently while Fran left a message on Ian’s personal mobile and another at his office. ‘What then?’ she said as Fran put the phone away. ‘What other reasons?’

  ‘Do you want that ice cream?’ asked Fran as they reached the promenade.

  ‘No! I want you to tell me what you mean,’ said Libby, leading the way to a bench overlooking the beach.

  ‘She was scared. We both agreed that.’ Fran brushed the worst of the damp from the bench with a tissue before sitting down. ‘She’s scared that someone will find out she’s been talking.’

  ‘Who, though? Diggory? What they’re doing isn’t illegal is it? I mean, I know I told them last week the Black Mass was illegal, but it doesn’t sound as though they’re doing that. In fact, apart from the Cornish goings-on, it doesn’t sound as though they’re doing much at all. Why should anyone worry if the police found out about a bit of extra-marital shenanigans?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s just that,’ said Fran. ‘She’s scared of something else. I think Lethbridge said more to her that day than she’s telling us.’

  Libby frowned. ‘Even if he did, nobody knows. Why is she scared?’

  ‘Because of what he said. If he told her something was going on and she was – oh, I don’t know – in the firing line?’

  ‘In that case the best thing she could do would be to tell the police. Then they can go and arrest whoever it is,’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that,’ said Fran. ‘And unless she tells the truth, which she probably won’t, I would think she’s in danger.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘WHAT DID YOU MEAN,’ said Fran, as they parted at Libby’s car, ‘when you said the police would be glad to know he was alive in the afternoon?’

  ‘It suddenly occurred to me that he could easily have been killed earlier in the day. It didn’t have to be during the Beltane thing.’

  ‘But he was in full black-faced regalia,’ said Fran. ‘And it felt dark when I first – well, saw him.’

  ‘It threw her, though,’ said Libby. ‘Do you think she was doing something she shouldn’t?’

  ‘I think she spends a good deal of her time doing things she shouldn’t,’ said Fran. ‘I just want to know what Lethbridge was talking about.’

  ‘If she was telling the truth,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, I think she was,’ said Fran. ‘About him being angry, anyway. And about calling Frensham disgusting.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘A bit pot and kettle if you ask me.’ Libby unlocked Romeo’s door. ‘I must get going. I said I’d meet Ben at the Manor at one o’clock. Let me know when you hear from Ian.’

  It wasn’t until Libby and Ben had stopped off at Peter and Harry’s cottage on the way home from the Manor that Libby’s mobile rang.

  ‘I thought you’d be home by now,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve just left a message on the landline.’

  ‘No, we often stop off at Pete and Harry’s,’ said Libby. ‘What’s up? Did you hear from Ian?’ She struggled out of her sagging armchair and making “excuse me” signs in the air wandered into Harry’s kitchen.

  ‘I did. He was quite nice about it.’

  ‘Has he followed it up, though?’

  ‘He said he would. Said it was “interesting”. He asked if we had any ideas about Frensham being disgusting, too.’

  ‘Perhaps he should ask Monica,’ said Libby, ‘although I can’t see her answering. And she said Lethbridge was kind, didn’t she? Perhaps he meant the way Frensham treated his wife was disgusting?’

  ‘But hadn’t that affair stopped? Lethbridge and Monica, I mean?’

  ‘Do we know that?’ Libby frowned. ‘Or did we assume it?’

  ‘Oh, heaven knows,’ said Fran wearily. ‘Let’s leave it to Ian. Nothing we can do about it now.’

  Libby switched off her phone and stood staring at Harry’s colourful shelves.

  ‘Whassup, petal?’ He came in and picked up various bottles from the dresser. ‘Still figuring out whodunnit?’

  ‘More or less.’ She grinned at him. ‘But Fran and I have dumped everything in Ian’s lap and now it’s up to him.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ said Harry. ‘Come on, now, drinkie-poos time. Wine or whisky?’

  It was Monday morning before Libby heard from Fran again. Twice she’d dialled her number, but both times it was engaged. Knowing her friend’s habit of forgetting her mobile entirely, she didn’t bother trying to ring that. Instead, after a little desultory dusting, she went into the conservatory and stared at paintings for a while. When the phone rang, she jumped.

  ‘Oh, it’s you!’ she said.

  ‘Were you expecting someone else?’ said Fran.

  ‘No, it’s just I’ve been trying to get hold of you this morning and you were engaged.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ said Fran, laughing. ‘I expect I was talking to Ian.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Libby went into the kitchen and moved the kettle onto the hotplate.

  ‘He interviewed Wilhelmina last night.’

  Libby let her breath out in a whoosh. ‘That’s a relief,’ she said. ‘I was dreading him finding her dead body instead.’

  ‘I know. But apparently after I spoke to him he called her and she was still there, so he arranged to go round in the evening. Told her not to go out. But apparently she said she wasn’t moving from the flat anyway.’

  ‘She was scared. So what did she say?’

  ‘As far as I can make out, exactly what she told us. It hasn’t taken him much further, he says, except he’s now wondering what it was about Bill Frensham that was disgusting, too. I told him you said he should ask Monica, and he said he intended to.’

  ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall in that interview,’ said Libby. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well, there was one thing that he wasn’t sure about. Apparently, Wilhelmina said that Lethbridge had said something like “positively Wagnerian”. She didn’t say that to us, did she?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby, slowly. ‘Was she referring to Frensham, or what?’

  ‘Lethbridge said it while he was ranting and muttering, she said. She didn’t get “Wagnerian” right, but Ian eventually translated it.’

  ‘Perhaps he was referring to her,’ suggested Libby doubtfully. ‘You know, her name. Wilhelmina sounds Wagnerian, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t think Ian thought so. Any ideas?’

  ‘Not right now,’ said Libby. ‘If you refer to something as “positively Wagnerian”, what would you mean? Very heavy and long?’

  ‘That sounds like a crowbar,’ said Fran. ‘What did he write?’

  ‘Um, the Maestersingers? Was that him
?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of Nuremburg. Wasn’t it? And the Ring Cycle.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Brunnhilde, the one with the plaits and the breastplate.’ Libby giggled. ‘That’s what you’d call Wagnerian. The voice.’

  ‘Hmmm. Well, perhaps if Wilhelmina was going on at him and her voice got out of control that’s what he meant?’

  ‘Willy’s voice just gets brash and hard. Sort of high,’ said Libby, ‘not what you’d call Wagnerian.’

  Fran sighed. ‘I don’t know, then. He said would we think about it. Seemed to think it meant something.’

  ‘Perhaps he was fond of opera. Could we ask Monica, do you think?’

  ‘I expect Ian already has. I’ll call him and tell him what thoughts we’ve had so far and then ask him.’

  ‘OK,’ said Libby. ‘Call me as soon as you know.’

  She switched off the phone and stood staring at the kettle, now emitting irritated puffs of steam. She moved it back off the hotplate and turned to the window. Now she didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Women,’ she muttered to herself, turning back to the sitting room. ‘That’s what Fran thought. Something to do with a woman. Which woman? Monica? Wilhelmina? Or Elizabeth Martin?’

  She stood stock still. Of course! Elizabeth Martin! With her statuesque looks and fiery red hair. Wagnerian.

  So how could she get to Elizabeth Martin? Both she and Ben were persona non grata at Frensham Holdings, even with the pleasant Barry Phillips, she suspected. Perhaps she could talk to Trisha?

  The phone rang again.

  ‘Libby, it’s Ian.’

  ‘Blimey,’ said Libby, not bothering to hide her surprise. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘That’s a fine way to greet an old friend,’ said Ian, sounding amused.

  ‘You’re not an old friend,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve only known you a couple of years.’

  ‘Don’t quibble. Now listen. I know I said I didn’t want you anywhere near this case, but, as usual, you and Fran have proved yourselves useful. So I want you to do something else for me. Completely off the record, of course.’

  ‘What? I don’t have my handcuffs with me, currently.’

  ‘I want you to talk to Monica Frensham.’