‘Yes,’ said Fran, on being appealed to, ‘I got the calls, too. Jane understands and just wants an exclusive if ever we’re able, Campbell got pushy, and the policeman just sounded uninterested.’
‘Same here,’ said Libby. ‘Do you know who’s coming to interview you?’
‘I expect it will be someone from the local police station here. I’m not close enough to the enquiry to warrant anything else. What about you?’
‘No idea. How close are Ben and I to the investigation, do you think?’
‘Close. You’re both on the board of directors of the theatre, for a start, and you took on Dominic. And Peter, because he wrote the play and had quite a lot to do with the nuns. Although it was only Sister Catherine, not the others. In fact, we hardly saw any of the others, did we?’
‘No,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘But we don’t know the murder was anything to do with the reliquary.’
‘With Martha sprawled in front of it? Suggestive to say the least.’
To Libby’s perturbation, she and Ben were interviewed separately, she at number 17 and Ben at the Manor. Two solid and dependable-looking detective constables, both young enough to be her own sons, interviewed Libby, and accepted tea.
‘How well did you know the deceased, Mrs Sarjeant?’ asked detective A.
‘Not very well.’
‘But he was in your play.’ Detective B squeezed his eyes together suspiciously.
‘So were a lot of people. I don’t know all of them very well. People audition, we don’t check them for a criminal record.’
‘Pity you don’t.’ Detective B bristled.
‘Sorry – what I meant was, he auditioned for a part last year when we put out an open call, so we had his name and address – at least we have somewhere – but that’s about it. He never volunteered anything about his life to me, although he used to see us in the pub sometimes. He’d been a professional actor.’
‘Open call?’
‘For a play. We advertise for actors in the local press and on the internet.’
‘Don’t you vet them?’ Detective A was surprised. ‘They could be anybody.’
‘We don’t pay them. We have no right to go delving into their personal lives,’ said Libby.
‘Well, we have to,’ said Detective B. ‘We know he and his wife were separated, he was in debt and out of work.’
‘He was talking about going back into medicine,’ said Libby.
‘Medicine?’ Both detectives looked up.
‘He had been a house surgeon, I believe, before he got his break on television.’
‘Limehouse Blues.’ The detectives looked at one another. ‘Not exactly a favourite of the police force.’
‘I can imagine.’ Libby grinned. ‘I don’t watch it myself.’
‘Glad to hear it, madam,’ said Detective A, with the suspicion of a smile. ‘So you didn’t know Mr Butcher well. Did he ever show any interest in this – er –’ he consulted his notebook, ‘this relic?’
‘Only as much as we all did,’ said Libby. ‘I remember him commenting once on the security arrangements. Most of the cast and crew knew what was going on with it as it was the whole reason the play was being done.’ She sighed. ‘It’s such a shame. It was a good play.’
‘It wasn’t the play that died, Mrs Sarjeant,’ said Detective B.
‘No,’ said Libby, feeling hot colour sweep up her neck and into her face.
‘What about Cornelia Fletcher?’ asked Detective A.
‘Who?’
‘The woman who was attacked.’
‘But her name’s Martha!’
‘Not according to her bank statement.’ Detective B looked up from his notebook. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘Of course not! Sister Catherine introduced her to me as Martha, their resident alongsider –’ Libby caught Detective B’s frown ‘– or oblate, as they’re known. And that’s all I’ve known her by. I suppose she took Martha as a sort of Christian nom-de-la-vie.’
Both detectives looked at her disapprovingly.
‘You never saw her away from the Abbey?’ Detective A was back in charge.
‘No. She looked after us, and always locked up the atrium and the reliquary. She and the security guard were the only ones allowed anywhere near it. There were lasers – and – and – and things.’
‘Yes. They were turned off.’ Detective B looked at Libby accusingly.
‘Well, I didn’t do it,’ said Libby indignantly. ‘And how come the security guard didn’t see anything?’
‘He did,’ said Detective A. ‘He saw Ms Fletcher and Mr Butcher.’
‘Oh.’ Libby shifted on the sofa.
‘Now, Mrs Sarjeant,’ continued Detective A, ‘tell us what you know about this – relic. We understand you have been enquiring into its – um –’
‘Provenance,’ supplied Libby. ‘Yes.’ She sighed, offered more tea, was refused, and settled down to relate the entire circumstances of her knowledge of the reliquary, including the trip to Maidenhaye and as much of the history of St Eldreda as she could get away with.
‘However,’ she concluded, ‘I expect you know all that, as DCI Connell does, and is investigating himself.’
This time she’d thrown them a curve ball, Libby could see it in their suddenly rigid faces. They didn’t know, she thought with glee. Big Bertha didn’t tell them.
Detective B made up their collective minds. ‘Very well, madam,’ he said getting massively to his feet. ‘That will be all for the moment. No doubt we’ll be in touch.’
‘No doubt,’ said Libby sweetly, holding the front door open for them, before rushing to the phone to warn anyone who had not been questioned yet of this delightful fact.
‘I’ve got Superintendent Bertram herself,’ hissed Peter. ‘Here now. Go away!’
‘I can see two large gentlemen approaching the front door,’ said Ben. ‘I shall wave Ian in front of their noses.’
‘I’ve already had a couple of uniforms who were completely uninterested,’ said Fran. ‘Told you.’
‘What did they ask you?’
‘How well I knew Dominic and when did I last see him. Did he seem to have any particular interest in the reliquary – although they couldn’t pronounce it.’
‘Neither could mine, and the same questions. They hadn’t been briefed properly, unless Big Bertha is genuinely trying to keep Ian out of the investigation.’
‘She can’t hope to do that,’ said Fran. ‘She’d know one of us would tell him, or the other officers.’
When the phone rang ten minutes later, Libby nearly fell over in her eagerness to snatch it up.
‘Ben?’
‘No, Libby, another of your gentlemen,’ said an amused Ian.
‘Oh! Sorry, Ian, I was expecting Ben to report on his questioning by Big – Superintendent Bertram’s men.’
‘Oh, they’ve been, have they?’
‘Yes, to me first, then Ben, and Peter’s got the lady herself. And, Ian, my two didn’t know about you!’
‘That was silly of her, wasn’t it? I take it you put them right?’
Libby repeated her conversation with the two detectives. ‘It completely put them off,’ she finished gleefully.
‘I bet it did. Well, I thought I’d better put you in the picture, as I’m pretty sure the superintendent won’t. She obviously had to get in touch with me, but sadly for her I was on a day off and for once, out of range. She had to leave a message with the team. I did actually receive the message from one of my sergeants, but I decided, as I wasn’t SIO, I would only respond this morning.’
‘After she’d had a chance to make a fool of herself?’ suggested Libby.
‘Of course not,’ said Ian, sounding shocked. ‘However, I was able to give her some background detail.’
‘Oh? Are you going to tell me what it is?’
‘You know what it is. The murder of Bernard Evans.’
‘Oh.’ Libby was disappointed. ‘Nothing more on that?’
�
�A little, but I think I’ll keep it to myself just now. What did you tell the police?’
‘Well, actually, that’s rather odd. Big – Bertram came to the theatre yesterday morning and interviewed Pete, Ben and me, yet we’ve all had separate interviews going over the same ground this morning. Why would that be?’
‘I expect she decided to have another go at you all individually in case you changed your stories. And I expect she’s digging really deeply into Peter because he wrote the play.’
‘Surely she’ll have questioned Sister Catherine about that? And what would that have to do with Dominic’s murder?’
‘Oh, come on, Libby! Dominic, on the face of it, was hidden in the Monastery in order to steal the reliquary and Martha looks as though she was protecting it from him.’
‘That’s mad,’ said Libby. ‘In that case, why was Martha attacked by the reliquary when Dominic was found at least ten metres away?’
‘I’ve no idea, it isn’t my case, but I expect that’s what it looks like to Bertram. And if that’s what she thinks, she’ll put someone else in the frame to have killed Dominic.’
Libby frowned. ‘But why, in that case, was the reliquary not stolen?’
Ian sighed. ‘I’ve told you, it isn’t my case. I’m only interested in case it links up with the murder of Bernard Evans.’
‘I wish it was your case,’ grumbled Libby.
‘So you could get away with poking around?’ Ian sounded amused.
‘No, because Big Bertha is so horrible. She hates me.’
‘Oh, I’m glad you’ve stopped watching what you call her! I don’t suppose she’s got over your – er – help on the Creekmarsh case.’
‘I’m sure she hasn’t.’ Libby paused. ‘Oh, Ian, I hated that case.’
‘Do you actually like any of the investigations you’ve muddled your way into?’
‘Well … you can’t enjoy murder, can you? But Fran and I have quite enjoyed the process of investigation. It’s just when it comes so close to home, or is so sad.’
‘I know. It’s satisfying in a way when a murderer is brought to justice, but sometimes …’
‘Yes,’ said Libby on a sigh. ‘But this one – it’s different, isn’t it? I didn’t like Dominic, but he’s close to home, and the reason he was there is because Patti asked me about the reliquary, Peter got interested and wrote the play.’
‘Stop right there, Libby, or you’ll be taking the blame for the whole thing.’
‘I know, I know. I said to Ben I bet Patti feels responsible, and she does, and I know neither of us should. Anyway, you didn’t call to talk about Patti, did you?’
‘No. I went to see your Alastair Beaumont and his wife.’
‘Oh!’ Libby was taken aback. ‘Didn’t you trust my reporting?’
‘It wasn’t that, Libby, and you know it. I wanted to find out how genuine the documents the solicitor has actually are. The date puts it well beyond the time when the Beaumonts sold to Bartholomew Tollybar, but I’ve got a sample, rather reluctantly given, I have to say, of a document of around the date it purports to be. If we can match it up, then it looks as though someone, either in the family or very close to it, has been up to no good.’
‘Do you mean up to no good now? Or in the past?’
‘In the past, I would say. That document went with the reliquary when it was sold to the collector whose estate it’s in now, and that was a long time ago.’
‘What, as long as Bernard Evans’s murder?’
‘No, some years later than that.’
‘So,’ said Libby slowly, ‘it was stolen from Bernard Evans, then sold on later by a Beaumont?’
‘Possibly. Or perhaps Bernard Evans also had the document. Perhaps the person who left it to him had it.’
‘So have you found out who left it to him?’
‘Not yet. We’re trying to trace any relatives who might have known.’
‘The beneficiaries of Bernard’s will, perhaps?’ suggested Libby.
‘Well done. We’re going through the website which has details of most of the wills in the last forty years.
‘Do you really think the Beaumont family have something to do with all this?’
‘I’m not sure. I would hate to think that Alastair or Jennifer have, but there are all sorts of other lines of descent, don’t forget.’
‘And what about Old Barty Tollybar? What about his will?’
‘If you can find it, I’d be glad to see it,’ said Ian, ‘but at the moment, I’ve enough on my plate. I’ve an appointment with Bertram in an hour, and I need to marshal my thoughts before I see her.’
‘And your forces,’ said Libby. ‘I felt sorry for the Inspector who was with her yesterday.’
‘Davies? Yes, poor bloke. He’s a good detective, but she won’t let him do anything. Right, Libby. Don’t forget to keep me informed.’
‘What even on your work line?’
‘Even that.’ Libby could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Now go and see if Peter survived his encounter.’
Peter wasn’t answering his landline, so rather than interrupt if he was still being interviewed, she called Harry’s mobile.
‘He’s here, dear,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll hand you over.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the caff in shock,’ came Peter’s voice. ‘Harry came over here to get out of the way while I was grilled, so I’ve joined him for tea and sympathy.’
‘Tea?’
‘OK, alcohol. Do you want to join us?’
Ten minutes later Libby was sitting at the big table in the window watching Harry pour wine.
‘I shall fall asleep this afternoon,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, then. What happened?’
‘I was questioned about practically everything but the colour of my underwear,’ said Peter wearily. ‘It’s obvious she thinks I got the reliquary down here to steal it but can’t quite make it fit the facts because it wasn’t me who requested the reliquary but Ian.’
‘That’s exactly what Ian said.’ Libby recounted the substance of her conversation with Ian.
‘So he thinks a third party killed Dominic and beat up Martha, but didn’t steal the reliquary?’ said Harry. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘No, that’s what he said Big Bertha will think. So she’s trying to find someone to fit that third party.’
‘And she’s picked on me,’ said Peter morosely. ‘Great.’
‘It’s all right, chuck,’ said Harry, ‘you’ve got about a hundred and one witnesses to where you were until at least two in the morning.’
‘What about after that?’ said Peter. ‘There’s only you, and they would discount your evidence as being partisan.’
‘They could look at cars and amounts of petrol,’ said Libby. ‘If your car has no petrol …’
‘We don’t exactly jot down how full the tank is before and after each journey, dear heart,’ said Harry. ‘Be your age.’
‘Did she ask you about Ian and his investigation?’
‘Not a word. She barely mentioned Sister Catherine and St Eldreda’s. She was just focussed on me, the reliquary, if I knew of the security arrangements, and how well I’d known Dominic. She practically accused me of having an affair with him, at one point.’ He shuddered delicately.
‘I wonder where his family is?’ mused Libby. ‘Won’t they be contacted? His ex-wife?’
‘Oh, I expect they’ve done that already. Although she kept asking me questions about his background as though I’d lived in his pocket for years.’ Peter shuddered again. ‘What a woman.’
‘Ian’s got an appointment with her,’ Libby looked at her watch, ‘in about ten or fifteen minutes. I wonder what will happen?’
‘He’ll tell her all about the Bernard Evans investigation and she’ll hijack it,’ said Harry.
‘Do you think so?’ Peter looked thoughtful. ‘After all, superintendents don’t tend to go out in the field, do they? They stay at home and pull the strings.’
�
��So you think she might give it to Davies?’
‘No, I think she might turn it over to Ian.’
Harry grinned. ‘Oooh, lovely! Do you think they’ll fight over it? I love a good fight.’
Ben appeared in the doorway.
‘I guessed you’d be here.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down. Harry fetched another glass.
‘I texted you,’ said Libby. Ben pulled out his phone.
‘So you did.’
‘How did your interview go, then?’ asked Peter. ‘I’m almost under lock and key.’
Ben’s interview had gone along the same lines as Libby’s, but he was indignant to hear about Peter’s.
‘The woman’s deranged,’ he said. ‘She gives the police a bad name.’
‘Let me tell you about the other stuff Ian told me,’ said Libby, ‘and what he said we could do.’
‘We?’ said three male voices warily.
‘Well, me. He said if I could find Bartholomew’s will, I was welcome to try.’
Chapter Thirteen
The smell of the sea wafted in through Fran’s open sitting-room window, a window that had been immortalised in Libby’s paintings more than once. The walls were a foot thick, so the windowsill was deep, and Fran always had a small vase of flowers there. The curtains, small too, to fit in the embrasure, were a light yellow cotton with a small and indeterminate pattern, vague as an impressionist painting. This afternoon they drifted in and out with the slight breeze. Libby sniffed ecstatically.
‘Gorgeous. I could sit here all day.’
‘So could I,’ said Fran, ‘which is why I only come in here if I’ve nothing else to do. Let’s take the laptop into the kitchen.’
‘I found that website Ian told you about,’ said Fran, clicking on a link.
Libby lifted Fran’s fat black-and-white long-haired cat, Balzac, off the table and onto her lap. He turned round once, purred, licked her hand and went to sleep.
‘The one for wills?’
‘Yes, it doesn’t cover anything that far back, but I’ve finally found where to look. It would have been heard at an ecclesiastical court, and their probate records should be held at the National Archive. It’s likely to be probated at the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, as we think he was a wealthy businessman.’
Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) Page 9