‘Can’t you ask Martha?’ said Harry. ‘She’d know.’
‘She might not,’ said Ian. ‘She’s very fragile still, and her memory hasn’t come back.’
Libby sighed with frustration. ‘There must be something we can do.’
‘The police will, Libby,’ said Ian with a slight smile. ‘All you can do is keep your eyes open and if you see either of them again, separately or together, let me know.’ He stood up. ‘Good try, though, and it’s certainly given us another lead.’
‘Well,’ said Harry, when Ian had gone. ‘I’ll have to get going if my punters are going to get any lunch. Are you staying here, Ad?’
‘No, I’m having lunch at Hetty’s.’ Adam stood up. ‘I’ll just go and let Edie know we’ve been in.’
On the drive back, Libby explained the entire story of the murder and the attack on Martha to Adam.
‘And this is the ex-husband of the woman who was attacked and the ex-wife of the man who was murdered?’ asked Adam. Libby nodded. ‘Well, I just wish he wasn’t called Dominic.’
‘I didn’t like that when I first met him,’ said Libby. ‘He wasn’t a particularly likeable sort, was he Harry?’
‘I really only knew him as a customer,’ said Harry. ‘Embarrassingly chatty with other diners.’
‘Oh.’ Adam pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘So we don’t think either of them will show up in the village?’
‘Estelle won’t – at least, I shouldn’t think so – but David might.’
‘So I ought to keep out of sight if they do?’
‘So they don’t connect you with the rest of us? I wonder if that’s what Ian meant? Perhaps it would be useful.’
‘How much do they know about your set-up? I mean, the theatre and everything?’
‘Not much. Estelle only found out about it when she heard of Dominic’s death, the same with David.’
‘Do we know how David knew about his wife being attacked?’ asked Harry.
‘She was in the paper under her real name. When David came down here and found Susannah was working with us he must have thought his troubles were over,’ said Libby.
‘But what troubles?’ asked Adam. ‘You haven’t explained that.’
‘No, because we don’t know. I got the impression from Martha that she was through with all men and had been out of touch with her ex. Ian confirmed that, so what David wants is anyone’s guess.’
‘And now they’re in cahoots,’ said Harry. ‘Very Spies-are-us. Makes you wonder, lovies, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Libby.
‘I mean – do we know absolutely positively that Estelle knew nothing about what was going on with Dominic before his death?’
‘No, not provably,’ said Libby. ‘Ian said there was no contact obvious in his house. Not even an address. Only a couple of solicitors’ letters, I think.’
‘Hmm,’ said Harry. ‘I reckon you should take a look round it.’
‘Harry! How could we do that?’
‘New Barton Lane, isn’t it? You could go and have a bracing Sunday afternoon walk after lunch.’
‘After one of Hetty’s roasts? You must be joking!’
‘All right – tomorrow. My day off. I shall take you hiking.’
‘But we can’t go into the house. What point would there be?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just got a hunch.’
‘Where does David live?’ asked Adam.
‘In a rented cottage near Nethergate. I don’t know where, exactly.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Adam, as Harry parked the car outside The Pink Geranium. ‘I could have gone and had a reconnoitre.’
‘You keep out of it, sonny,’ said Harry, swinging himself elegantly out of the car. ‘I need my staff in one piece, however part-time they are. Not to mention my tenant.’
‘It doesn’t matter about me, then?’ said Libby, scrambling rather more inelegantly out of the back seat.
‘Oh, you’re always in trouble, you are. More lives than a cat.’
‘Thanks.’ Libby handed over the bags full of vegetables they’d managed to salvage after the unscheduled interrruption. ‘I’ll see you at Hetty’s, Ad.’
‘And I shall see you tomorrow complete with walking boots,’ said Harry. ‘They suit me.’
‘All right,’ said Libby. ‘Let me know what time.’
‘À la bonne heure, as my beloved might say,’ said Harry.
His beloved was waiting for them, already ensconced at Hetty’s huge pine table with a glass before him.
‘What’s all this I hear about cop chases and expeditions?’ he asked, as soon as Libby appeared.
Hetty turned from the Aga and raised her eyebrows. ‘What yer been up to now, gal?’
Ben groaned. ‘I’ll go and fetch the wine, shall I, Mum? I’ve heard this already.’
Libby sat down. ‘Didn’t Harry tell you?’
‘He hasn’t had time. He had to get straight on with opening the caff. He said you’d tell me. And Het wants to know, don’t you Auntie?’
‘Don’t you Auntie me,’ said Hetty, flicking him with a tea towel. ‘Go on, gal.’
So Libby repeated the story, including Harry’s decision to take her spying on Dominic’s old house.
‘I don’t understand what good that will do,’ said Peter, leaning back and crossing elegant ankles.
‘Neither do I. He says he has a hunch. And as I’ve never seen where Dominic lived, I’d quite like to.’
‘Why?’ Peter’s eyebrows disappeared into his blond hair, which as usual, hung over his forehead.
‘Nosy, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘Hello, Ad.’
Adam went to kiss Hetty’s cheek and she gave him an affectionate push.
‘Filled everyone in, Ma?’ he said.
‘Yes, and now I think we should talk about something else,’ said Libby, or Ben will get cross.’
‘Yes, he will,’ said Ben, returning with two bottles. ‘Just pour this out and let’s get on with the real business of the day.’
On Monday morning, Libby dealt with three queries about the End Of The Pier Show, two from performers and one from the Alexandria, and, on a sudden inspiration, called Susannah to ask for hers and David Fletcher’s addresses as they needed them for insurance.
‘It’s something to do with not being covered if you’re not a member of the company,’ she said vaguely. ‘I don’t understand it, but better safe than sorry.’
‘Isn’t that covered by public liability insurance?’ said Susannah.
‘Is it? Peter and Ben deal with all that stuff – I’m clueless.’
‘Oh, that’s OK,’ said Susannah. ‘As you say, better safe than sorry.’
Harry rang a little later.
‘Guess what I’ve got!’ she told him gleefully. ‘David Fletcher’s address.’
‘You weren’t thinking of walking all the way over there, were you?’
‘No, but I can drive over there at some point. Or Ad can.’
‘Leave your darling boy out of it. You already have a posse, no need for a junior branch.’
‘All right, all right. When are we going for our walk?’
‘After lunch, I thought, if the rain holds off.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Yes, Pete had it. I shall call by in my hiking gear with my knapsack on my back at two o’clock. Be ready!’
Libby dug out some old trainers bought with the intention of taking up jogging, which had never happened, put chicken and vegetables in the slow cooker and made herself a sandwich. By two o’clock she had also found an old plastic poncho in case of rain, and felt quite proud of herself. Harry, she discovered, really had turned himself into a hiker.
‘Rambler, really, petal,’ he said, looking down at himself. ‘Up until a few years ago, before you arrived to set the place talking, I did a lot of this.’
‘Proper walking boots and socks and everything,’ said Libby, admiring him. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
>
‘Not you, obviously. Now, come on.’
Chapter Twenty-six
They walked to the end of Allhallow’s Lane and turnedleft, away from the village, into New Barton Lane. After passing the New Farm cottages on their right, the houses petered out.
‘Are there more houses down here?’ Libby asked, looking round at the flat fields, colourless under a heavy grey sky.
‘Over there, see?’ Harry pointed to his left, where there was a stand of trees.
‘How do we get there? Tramp across a field?’
‘Gawd, but you’re thick. A lane, stupid.’
Sure enough, a few yards further on a lane hardly worthy of the name turned off to the left.
‘More like a farm track,’ said Libby, peering at the tyre ruts.
‘Exactly,’ said Harry. ‘That’s what it is. There’s a public footpath and a bridleway along here, although you’d never know it. The farmer wasn’t any too happy about it.’
‘They often aren’t,’ said Libby. ‘Is it still a farm?’
‘No. The people who bought it turned the farm buildings into cottages for holiday lets. Never took off, though. I suppose that’s why Dominic got one.’
As they reached a bend in the lane the trees appeared, and, beneath them, a large brick farmhouse with a Kentish Peg roof to the right, and on their left a cluster of converted stables and barns. One, looking more like a prefab than anything else, had blue-and-white police tape fluttering across the front door.
‘That’s it,’ said Libby, coming to a halt. ‘Bleak-looking, isn’t it?’
‘I wonder why he didn’t have one of the prettier ones,’ said Harry.
‘I expect it was the cheapest. Oh, and look! It’s got a garage.’
The attached garage also had police tape across the door.
‘Did the police find his car?’ asked Harry, trying to peer through a crack at the side of the metal door.
‘I don’t know. I suppose it would have been in the car park at the Abbey. That’s where we always parked.’
‘If it was, wouldn’t the alarm have been raised earlier?’
‘Oh.’ Libby stopped and stared at him. ‘Of course. He must have hidden it somewhere else.’
‘Unless his accomplice was to have taken him home. Or pretended he was going to.’
‘Oh, I wish Martha could remember a bit more,’ said Libby.
‘Perhaps she doesn’t want to, dear.’ Harry went up to one of the front windows and peered in. ‘Can’t see a thing. Shall we knock?’
‘What for? There’s no one there. They seem to have even removed the police guard.’
‘Still,’ said Harry, and gave the front door a sharp knock.
Much to their surprise, they heard a noise inside. Holding their breath, they waited, but no one came. Libby motioned Harry back and they retreated round the side of the garage.
‘A cat? Did he have a cat?’ whispered Libby.
‘How do I know? Anyway, the police would have taken a cat to the RSPCA.’
‘Mice?’
‘Don’t be a prat. No, that was a person.’
‘Why didn’t he come out to see what we were doing prowling around? He must have heard us talking.’
‘Because he, or perhaps she, is not supposed to be there,’ said Harry. ‘My knock must have made her jump, or she wouldn’t have given herself away like that.’
‘Not the police then?’
‘Be your age! I don’t know where you got your brains from, woman. My guess is the fragrant Estelle.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Libby. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Tell Ian, of course. Why, do you think we should mount a commando raid ourselves?’
‘He is going to be so fed up with me,’ said Libby.
‘What, when you’ve supplied him with valuable information two days running?’
‘Because I’ve been blundering round his investigation.’
‘Rubbish. You were very kindly accompanying me on a walk on my day off. You didn’t know he lived here, did you?’
‘No, but I knew it was off New Barton Lane. Ian would never believe I’d stumbled on the place by accident.’
‘What about yesterday? That was a genuine accident, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘There you are then,’ said Harry. ‘I’m going to ring up now, before she can make a run for it.’
‘You are?’
‘Yeah, me. After all, I quaite fancy the lovely Chief h’Inspector. Give me the number.’
Libby handed over her mobile. ‘They’re both under “Ian”,’ she said. ‘I’m going to keep a look out in case she breaks free.’
But there was no movement from the house.
‘Back door,’ said Harry’s voice in her ear, making her jump. ‘I’ll go and look.’
He was back in a moment. ‘Boarded up,’ he whispered. ‘Ian says to walk away as though we’re leaving. Someone will drive along the lane in an unmarked car after us. They don’t want to alert her.’
‘Does Ian think it is Estelle, then?’ asked Libby, as they made their way back to the farm track.
‘Possible. Come on, the track goes beyond the farm and joins up with another lane further on.’
On pushing further up the track, Libby realised how difficult it was to listen for sounds of escape from behind, when your ears were full of the sound of your own breathing, the squelch of mud beneath your feet and the rustle of waterproof clothing. What she did hear, after a while, was the sound of a car engine.
Harry turned round. ‘I think it’s the police.’
They stood back to let the car pass, but as it drew level the passenger window slid down and the red-haired head of Sergeant Maiden stuck out.
‘Hello, Mrs S! Just looking around. House back there, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Are you going to have a look?’
‘I expect so. Don’t want to alarm anyone, though, do we. You going to go along home?’
‘Eventually,’ said Libby, ‘if Harry can find his way. You don’t want us walking back past the house, do you?’
‘Rather not, if you don’t mind,’ said Sergeant Maiden. ‘I expect the Chief Inspector will be in touch.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ grunted Libby, as she watched the car pull into a farm gateway.
‘Reckon they’re going to stage a raid?’ said Harry, as they walked on past.
‘No,’ said Libby. ‘I do wish we knew who was inside.’
‘It can only be Estelle, can’t it?’
‘Possibly with David. Perhaps they’re both in there looking for something.’
They tramped on up the lane until it forked.
‘Which way now?’ asked Libby.
Harry grinned at her. ‘Oh, ye of little faith! We go right here, back on ourselves and we rejoin New Barton Lane. Then we can go home.’
‘Glory be,’ muttered Libby, as they set off down the right-hand fork.
This lane was better surfaced and didn’t seem quite as long as the one going through the old farmstead.
‘That’s because it doesn’t twist and turn as much,’ said Harry. ‘Here we are – New Barton Lane.’
‘And not even very far from where we left it,’ said Libby with relief.
‘Come on, then, keep up,’ said Harry, looking back over his shoulder at her. ‘You’re not fit, that’s your trouble.’
‘I didn’t think you were, either,’ grumbled Libby. ‘I’m not going out with you again.’
‘Promises, promises,’ carolled Harry, as he strode ahead.
Libby’s feet knees and back were protesting violently by the time she reached home. She made a cup of tea and took it upstairs to drink in a hot bath, but just as she was about to step into it, the phone rang. Shivering, she answered the bedroom phone.
‘You’re at home, then?’
‘Yes, Ian, I’ve just got in and I was about to get in the bath.’
‘Oh.’ Ian sounded disconcerted. ‘How long will you be?’
/> ‘Why?’
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Now?’
‘I’m in Canterbury. I’m just about to leave to come to Steeple Martin.’
‘I’ll be out by the time you get here,’ said a resigned Libby.
She thought she heard someone knocking at the front door ten minutes later, but decided it couldn’t possibly be Ian yet. By the time she’d climbed out of the bath and wrapped her damp hair in a towel, the knocking had stopped and she swore under her breath.
Ian arrived about fifteen minutes later, by which time she was wearing her most disreputable painting trousers and a very baggy sweater. She blushed when she saw Sergeant Maiden standing behind Ian on the doorstep.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’ve just had a bath.’
‘I know,’ said Ian. ‘What I’m wondering is – did you happen to leave a downstairs window or door open while you were up there?’
Fear clutched Libby’s stomach. ‘I don’t think so, why?’
‘We saw someone disappearing into the wood at the end of the lane.’
Libby frowned. ‘He could have come from anywhere.’
‘He or she came from behind your terrace of houses. Has your back hedge been thoroughly repaired?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Libby.
‘Then let’s go and have a look at it,’ said Ian, and led the way through the house to the garden.
‘Someone’s pushed through,’ he said, pointing at a gap in the hedge. ‘How long that been there?’
‘It hasn’t,’ said Libby. ‘We were only out here the other day.’ She looked at Ian. ‘I did actually hear someone knocking while I was in the bath, but by the time I’d got out it had stopped.’
Sergeant Maiden nodded. ‘Fits,’ he said.
‘But you said you saw someone as you arrived.’
‘I don’t think we did, we just said we saw someone. Actually a good five to ten minutes before we knocked on your door. We went to see if we could find it.’ Ian led the way back into the sitting room.
‘So what did you want to talk about?’ asked Libby, sitting on the sofa.
‘What exactly happened when you went on your supposed walk today.’
Libby sighed. ‘I told Harry you’d be angry with me.’
‘Now, why should you think that?’ Ian raised one eyebrow.
Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) Page 19