Murder at the Manor

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘I wonder if there’s a connection to Green Country? That would be their sort of thing, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not sure what Green Country actually does,’ said Libby. ‘Are they like the Green party?’

  ‘They have the same basic aims but disagree on things like nuclear fuel and some preservation issues. They stand for “best use”, which doesn’t always chime with the ecologists.’

  ‘I’m confused.’ Libby put down her mug. ‘Perhaps we ought to find out more.’

  ‘But not now,’ said Fran. ‘There’s Guy pulling up outside and Ben’s with him.’

  Guy kissed his wife and explained that he’d gone to the Manor to pick her up, where instead he’d found Ben.

  ‘Mum says lunch at one thirty,’ said Ben, ‘and we’re to see if Peter and Harry are coming.’

  ‘He’s been opening Sunday lunchtimes for weeks,’ said Libby. The Pink Geranium closed on Sundays for the first months of the year, but usually began opening at Easter.

  ‘What have you two been up to?’ Ben swung the laptop round to face him before Fran could do anything, and whistled. ‘Guy, look at this! Our women seem to have developed rather exotic tastes.’

  ‘Erotic, rather,’ said Guy, laughing. ‘Go on, then, what’s this all about?’

  Libby and Fran explained.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you can achieve now the suspects have all gone home. It’s nothing to do with us at all. We’re only on the periphery due to being the place where the body was found,’ said Ben.

  ‘We’re a bit more involved than that,’ said Libby. ‘Don’t forget she booked in with us using a false name.’

  ‘I don’t think the police are considering that an “involvement” exactly,’ said Ben.

  ‘But Libby and Fran are,’ said Guy. ‘And after all, what would you expect? It’s like expecting a cat to ignore a whole salmon left on the floor by mistake.’

  ‘So what have you found out about your suspects?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not a lot, except that Melanie Joseph was, as Pete said, quite important and there are probably far more motives for her murder than for her as an adjunct to Patrick.’

  ‘Yes.’ Guy was frowning. ‘Of course. Here, can I have a look?’ He pulled the laptop towards him and typed Melanie Joseph into the search engine. Scrolling down the entries, he clicked on one. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I knew I remembered. She received death threats.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘NO WONDER THE POLICE were not that interested in the writers,’ said Libby.

  ‘I expect they are,’ said Fran. ‘They’ll be looking into all their backgrounds to see if they have any connections to organisations which might be in opposition to Melanie Joseph or Green Country.’

  ‘See? We were on the right lines with Dee Starkey,’ said Libby. ‘Her and her ancient monument.’

  Ben and Guy looked confused.

  ‘It’s all right, we’ll tell you about it on the way,’ said Libby.

  ‘It’s not time to go back to the Manor yet,’ said Ben.

  ‘No, but it is time to go the pub,’ said Libby. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I remember one thing Green Country were against,’ said Guy, as they strolled back towards the high street. ‘And that was defiling ancient monuments. They took the position that they should all be preserved and the public should not be allowed anywhere near them, except at a safe distance.’

  ‘Like Stonehenge? Where the only time they let people in is Midsummer and Midwinter? That’s right, isn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘Something like that. Their idea was that the general public damage these monuments, and they disapproved of the solstice gatherings.’

  ‘But a lot of the monuments are protected,’ said Fran. ‘The public can only look from a safe distance.’

  ‘But some, like Stonehenge, are focal points for pagan ritual,’ said Libby. ‘I mean, they even do the May Day and summer solstice thing around Grey Betty in Steeple Mount, don’t they?’

  ‘But that’s not real druid celebration, it’s an excuse for a jolly,’ said Guy.

  ‘Some of those Cranston Morris people took it very seriously,’ said Fran. Libby and she had got involved in a murder that had taken place during May Day celebrations some time ago.

  ‘If Dee Starkey is involved in protecting ancient monuments, I bet she’s a druid or something. A lot of them seem to be into the Goth look,’ said Libby.

  ‘That really is stereotyping,’ said Ben.

  ‘Let’s shelve the subject,’ said Guy, pushing open the door of the pub. ‘What’s everyone having?’

  An hour later, they trooped back up the drive to the Manor.

  ‘Fewer Socos,’ commented Ben.

  ‘Fewer we can see,’ said Libby. ‘I bet they’re all over the house. And the huts.’

  ‘There aren’t so many vehicles,’ said Fran, as DC Sharif in a boiler suit emerged from the house. He smiled brightly at them.

  ‘Be out of your hair soon, Mrs Sarjeant.’

  ‘Have you combed every inch, then?’

  ‘Every millimetre.’ He grinned. ‘Just finishing off over in those bungalow things, then we’ll get the go-ahead from the boss and be away.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Libby. ‘Not being nasty, but I shall be glad to see the back of you!’

  ‘Might pay a couple of visits if there’s anything else comes up,’ Sharif said, ‘but I think the investigation’s moving away from here, despite being the murder site.’

  ‘Ah. That would be Mrs Joseph’s own life, rather than the connection to her husband?’ said Libby.

  Sharif’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what would you know about that, Mrs Sarjeant?’

  Libby opened her eyes at him. ‘Only what everyone knows. The death threats, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Ah.’ He relaxed. ‘Anyway, I’ll come and find you when we’re ready to go.’

  ‘We’ll be in the kitchen,’ said Ben. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Honestly, Lib, why did you say that?’ he muttered, as they went inside.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because they might start taking a closer look at you if they think you knew too much about Melanie Joseph,’ said Fran.

  ‘But I don’t,’ said Libby as they entered the kitchen. ‘I don’t even know about the death threats because Guy didn’t tell us. Hello, Het.’

  Hetty was laying the table. ‘Them police are still about,’ she said.

  ‘But they’ll be gone soon, Mum,’ said Ben, his arm round her shoulders. ‘You should have let us help with this.’

  ‘You can clear up after,’ said Het. ‘Go and get the wine. ‘There’s a white Bordeaux in the fridge and a claret open on the dresser.’

  During Hetty’s perfectly roasted rib of beef and vegetables, the conversation turned once more, as it would, to the murder, and the death threats to the victim.

  ‘I remember that,’ said Hetty surprisingly.

  ‘Do you?’ Ben stared at his mother.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? Made all the papers and the telly. Bomb under her car and everything.’

  ‘Who did they think it was?’ asked Libby. ‘Or did someone claim it was them? You know, with one of those coded phone calls.’

  ‘No one claimed responsibility, as far as I remember,’ said Guy, ‘but there were various theories. Anti-nuclear protestors were the favourites, I think.’

  ‘But I thought the Greens were anti-nuclear?’ Libby frowned.

  ‘Some are, but Green Country are for it and against the coal-powered systems,’ said Ben. ‘I remember that bit.’

  ‘So they’re a bit divisive?’ suggested Fran.

  ‘A foot in both camps, it seems to me,’ said Libby. ‘Not all out Green at all.’

  ‘No, they’re not,’ said Guy. ‘They purport to be the green face of the government, but independent, of course.’

  ‘So there could be lots of people with a motive to get her out of the way politically?’ said Fran.

  ‘There could
,’ conceded Guy, ‘but doing it here doesn’t seem to make sense, unless one of your guests was a member of an opposition organisation and took the opportunity on the spur of the moment.’

  ‘That’s what the police will be looking into now,’ said Libby. ‘The guests’ backgrounds.’

  ‘Treacle pud?’ said Hetty, standing up.

  Hetty, now having relinquished doing the “pots” herself for good, retired to her flat, leaving the rest of them to clear up and load the dishwasher. Young DC Sharif interrupted them.

  ‘You can get on with cleaning the rooms, now,’ he said. ‘We’ve finished, but we’ve cordoned off the room Mrs Joseph occupied for the time being. DCI Murray will be in touch.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sharif,’ said Libby. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?’

  He looked longingly at the cafetière and shook his head. ‘Thanks all the same, but they’re waiting for me.’ He looked round the table. ‘Thanks for all your help. Sorry if we’ve been a nuisance.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Fran, when he’d gone. ‘Fancy the police apologising for being a nuisance.’

  ‘Wouldn’t get Ian doing that,’ giggled Libby.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Guy, ‘when are you going to phone him and ask for the low-down?’

  ‘Don’t think we haven’t thought of it,’ said Libby, ‘but apparently he turned down this case because we were involved, so he’s hardly going to be amenable to being pumped. Anyway, according to DS Wallingford he’s now a Detective Chief Inspector.’

  ‘I might be able to tell him something off the record, though,’ said Fran thoughtfully.

  ‘You mean your “moment”?’ said Libby. ‘About seeing a woman drinking?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound much though, does it?’ said Fran apologetically.

  ‘What did you see?’ asked Guy, who was still coming to terms with his wife’s occasional psychic ability.

  Fran told him.

  ‘No, it doesn’t sound much,’ said Ben, ‘but he always looks into anything you tell him, and you could hardly tell Murray. Ian might think it’s worth pursuing, like he did with White Lodge.’

  White Lodge was a building Libby and Fran had investigated on behalf of Rosie.

  ‘We could try,’ said Libby. ‘You could try.’

  ‘I’m not ringing him today,’ said Fran. ‘It’s Sunday. He might have the day off.’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘we’ve got his email address, haven’t we? Wasn’t it on that card he gave us last year?’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ said Ben. ‘You needn’t tell him what it is, just say you think you might have some information that DCI Murray wouldn’t listen to.’

  ‘That way we’re not putting him on the spot. He can come back to you or not, as he chooses.’ Libby nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Poor Ian,’ said Guy with a smile. ‘I bet he regrets ever having met you.’

  ‘We’ve been very helpful,’ said Libby indignantly.

  ‘Do you want to do it now, Fran? You can use the computer in the office,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes, come on, Fran. I’ll come with you,’ said Libby.

  In the office, Fran logged on to her email account and Libby found the card with Ian’s contact details in a drawer in Ben’s desk.

  ‘There. I’ve just said exactly what Ben suggested,’ said Fran sitting back so Libby could see. ‘And added congratulations on his promotion.’

  ‘That should do it,’ said Libby. ‘You could send my regards.’

  ‘Let’s not make it too personal,’ said Fran, and hit send. Libby switched off the computer.

  ‘We can’t do any more,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll just have to sit back and wait.’

  After they’d been to say goodbye to Hetty, Guy and Fran left and Ben and Libby walked back down the drive. Passing The Pink Geranium, Peter waved to them from the sofa in the left-hand window. ‘Coming in?’ he mouthed.

  Harry appeared in his whites and waved a bottle. They went in.

  ‘We do nothing but drink alcohol these days,’ said Libby, eyeing the bottle.

  ‘You don’t have to drink it,’ said Harry, nevertheless producing four glasses. ‘You can have coffee if you like.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Libby, ‘I’ll have wine.’

  ‘Under duress, of course,’ said Peter. ‘Now tell us what’s been going on up there today.’

  Libby and Ben told them.

  ‘So you’re going to get poor old Ian into hot water again,’ said Harry. ‘I have to hand it to you, petal. You never know when to give in.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Libby.

  ‘It never occurred to you that Ian’s still carrying a torch for your mate? That’s why he jumps when she says jump?’

  ‘No.’ Libby felt colour rising up her neck. ‘Anyway, I’m always more worried about Guy being jealous. After all, he pinched her from under Ian’s nose.’

  ‘I don’t think Ian would get involved if he didn’t think it was important,’ said Ben. ‘He’s a nice bloke, and a very dedicated policeman.’

  They finished the bottle, then Ben and Libby went home. Time enough to do any final administration for the weekend tomorrow. Tonight it was mindless television and an early night.

  But at nine o’clock Fran rang.

  ‘Ian just called,’ she said.

  ‘Was he cross?’

  ‘No, just interested. I said what I’d seen, stressing it could be nothing. He checked and said the post mortem isn’t being done until tomorrow morning, and he’ll look into it. He knows nothing about the case, as we thought. He didn’t want to get mixed up with us again.’

  ‘Poor Ian,’ said Libby. ‘But he’s quite happy to do this?’

  ‘Yes. He’s going to suggest they do a complete tox report even if they do find she’s been stabbed. I don’t suppose DCI Murray will like it.’

  ‘And did he say anything about his promotion?’

  ‘Just thank you when I congratulated him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was disappointed. ‘Well, did he say he’d let you know about the results?’

  ‘Not exactly, but I expect he will, though it will be strictly on the QT. Otherwise I shall be given the third degree by Murray who will be convinced I know more about it.’

  ‘Let me know as soon as you hear,’ said Libby.

  ‘As if I wouldn’t,’ said Fran and cut the connection.

  Libby relayed this to Ben. Sighing, he stood up and went to pour himself a restorative whisky.

  ‘Here we go again,’ he said.

  Monday morning was grey and drizzly. Ben and Libby went back to the Manor to finish the work of the weekend to find all the casual staff turning out the bedrooms and cleaning the public rooms with a certain amount of ghoulish zeal.

  ‘Ben,’ said Libby, looking up from her guest list, a copy of which they’d given to the police. ‘Look at this. All the guests’ car registration numbers are here, but nothing next to Ann Marsh’s name.’

  ‘Well, as she was being secretive about everything else and she seems to have checked herself in, it stands to reason she wouldn’t leave a car registration about to be recognised,’ said Ben.

  ‘But if she came in a car,’ said Libby, ‘where did it go? There was no extra car in the forecourt, nor up by the huts. In which case, how did she get here?’

  Chapter Twelve

  BEN SAT BACK IN his chair. ‘That’s a point, but I can’t think the police wouldn’t have thought of it.’

  ‘But they haven’t asked me about it, and surely they would have done? Especially after we found that Melanie’s name – or false name, I suppose – wasn’t on Lily Cooper’s list. And they had a copy of our check-in sheet, so they should have noticed the lack of registration number, too. Why didn’t they ask?’

  Ben frowned. ‘True. But I’m sure they wouldn’t have overlooked something as crucial as this. Could she have come in a taxi?’

  ‘Wouldn’t someone have noticed a taxi outside? And come to that, when did
she arrive? We still don’t know that. When exactly did I notice her name had been ticked off?’

  ‘Before dinner on Friday. While the guests were having drinks.’

  ‘And I asked Lily Cooper if everyone was there.’

  ‘So while you were checking things were OK and then we were changing. How much time is that? And no one was in the hall?’

  ‘No.’ Libby shook her head. ‘But the odd thing is, if she was checked in, why didn’t the guests in the huts see her – or hear her? They would have seen if there was a car near the huts.’

  Ben thought about it. ‘Suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘one of the other guests gave her a lift?’

  ‘How would that work, though?’ said Libby. ‘I greeted everyone else. I would have noticed someone else in a car, and it would have meant slipping back to tick the check-in sheet and somehow give Melanie the key to the hut. And how would she know how to get to it?’

  ‘Ah.’ Ben tipped back on his chair and gazed at the ceiling. ‘You don’t think someone knew the back way into the estate?’

  ‘What, up to the top of Allhallow’s Lane and on to the track?’ Libby was incredulous. ‘Hardly anyone, even in the village, knows about that.’

  Ben tipped his chair back on to two legs and grinned. ‘Don’t you be so sure! People have been using it for years. Especially when we kept game.’

  ‘Poachers?’ said Libby. ‘How feudal.’

  ‘Everyone who had an estate kept game. Large estates still do, you know that. As the Manor estate grew smaller we stopped. It didn’t help that Dad didn’t hunt or shoot and was rather against blood sports. Not the thing to do for a Squire.’

  ‘So someone could have found out about the back way in, dropped her at the Huts – no, that won’t work. They’d have to know which hut she was in.’ Libby made a face. ‘God, this is difficult.’

  ‘Did someone take his, or her, car out again after he’d checked in?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Libby shook her head. ‘And if he or she did, that would mean Melanie would have had to stay hidden until the person came back to the car. No,’ she said, ‘I can’t see any of this working at all. I reckon the murderer drove the car away after the murder.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Ben. ‘What possible reason would there be to do that? All the evidence of her real identity was in the hut.’