‘Somewhere over Felling way, apparently,’ said Ben. ‘He’s done some work for our friend Edward, too. Oh, and did you hear about Ian?’
‘Your copper friend? No, what’s he done?’
And they settled into a cosy conversation about Ian’s surprise move to Shott.
‘It is a bit odd, isn’t it?’ said Libby, as she and Ben walked back to Allhallow’s Lane. ‘No one knows anything about Fiona or Ted.’
‘Except Edward,’ said Ben.
‘But he doesn’t know much, and he’s a newcomer himself.’
‘Did you find out where he got Ted from?’ asked Ben.
‘Did I? Was it a leaflet? We’ll have to check.’
‘Mind you, the police will have done all this anyway,’ said Ben. ‘They’ll have had teams of people beavering away in the background, the same as those expert forensics people over there now.’
‘I don’t know what they can hope to find, though,’ said Libby. ‘After all, it isn’t a new body.’
‘Oh, there’ll be all sorts of tiny details to pick up. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t find out exactly who he is.’
The truth of this was soon borne out when later in the afternoon a knock on the door announced DS Trent and a uniformed officer.
‘What’s up, Rachel?’ said Libby, alarmed.
‘Oh, nothing to worry about, Libby - er, Mrs Sarjeant,’ Rachel corrected herself, with a look at the officer. ‘We’re just making some enquiries about the, um, deceased.’
‘Do you know who it is, then?’ asked Ben, coming up behind Libby.
‘We think so.’ Again, Rachel cast an anxious glance at the officer, who stood stolidly behind her and kept his gaze fixed in the middle distance.
‘Well, come and sit down,’ said Libby. ‘We saw the forensics people up at the Garden earlier. Did they find something?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you that,’ said Rachel, ‘but we do have a tentative identification.’ She opened the tablet she was carrying and swiped at the screen. ‘He was an Oscar Whitelaw, known as Ossie. Here.’ She turned the screen to show them an obviously cropped shot of an apparently teenaged boy wearing the ubiquitous bomber jacket and beanie.
Libby and Ben peered at the screen.
‘No,’ said Libby. ‘Never seen him as far as I know.’
‘Was he part of a gang?’ asked Ben. ‘I’ve never seen him either.’
Rachel sighed. ‘A couple of people who told us some teenagers had been using the hotel as a sort of den. We thought he was one of them. And forensics have confirmed the identity.’
Ben frowned. ‘That’s odd in itself, isn’t it? After all, he only looks about fourteen, so if he was with a gang of his peers none of them would be old enough to drive. How did they get out here?’
Rachel sighed again. ‘We don’t know.’ She stood up from where she had been perching on the edge of a chair. ‘Well, thank you both. Can you suggest anyone else we might ask?’
‘Does Beth still run the youth club?’ Ben turned to Libby.
‘I think so, although it isn’t as well patronised as it used to be,’ said Libby. ‘You could try her, Rachel.’
‘Beth?’
‘The vicar. You know, you’ve met her. She lives in the vicarage on the corner of this road.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Rachel was enlightened. ‘She’s lent us her church hall, hasn’t she?’
When she and her shadow had departed in the direction of the vicarage, Libby went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
‘Do you think Beth will be able to help?’ Ben wandered in after her.
Libby shook her head. ‘I doubt it. Not many youngsters want to go to an old-fashioned youth club these days, do they? I don’t know what Beth does with them, to be honest.’
‘I wonder if it’s just the latest example of this awful knife crime epidemic among youngsters?’ said Ben.
‘I wouldn’t say that outside of this room,’ warned Libby. ‘It sounds a bit ageist to me.’
‘Sorry.’ Ben made a face. ‘I never know what we’re allowed to say these days. But the truth is, we’ve not had any trouble with gangs of kids of whatever flavour, have we? And do we think that’s the reason he was killed? Or was there another reason?’
Chapter Ten
‘Tell you what you ought to do,’ said Libby, ‘get in touch with that whatsisname, Newman. You’ve got to find out about the lease of the Hop, anyway, and it sounds as though he might have known Colin Hardcastle – they might have been round about the same age.’
‘I don’t see that I could have any reason to ask that,’ said Ben, fishing the crumpled envelope Dan had given him out of his pocket. ‘And anyway, the police know where to find him, don’t they? You passed on the Spanish address and they already had the registered address in London. And,’ he went on, fixing Libby with a look, ‘what would he have to do with a teenager’s body in a derelict hotel he hasn’t been near in years?’
Libby hitched a shoulder and turned away. Ben sighed and pulled his mobile out of his pocket and wandered back into the sitting room. Libby carried on making tea.
‘Well?’ she said, when she took in the two mugs. Ben was putting the mobile back in his pocket looking smug.
‘John Newman’s still at the address Dan gave us, and said he thought the solicitors would have been in touch when his dad died. Apparently on the paperwork, it says the lease dies with him, and can be renewed at the freeholder’s discretion.’ He beamed. ‘That’s me!’
‘And does he want to renew it?’
‘What do you think? Of course not. He’s still got a lot of the paperwork and offered to send it to me. Again, he thought the solicitor would have taken care of all that. But,’ he took his mug from Libby and sipped, ‘I thought perhaps we could go over and collect it. He’ll be in tomorrow morning.’
Libby gave him a kiss. ‘Genius!’ she said.
Wednesday morning was dull. Libby loaded the dishwasher and made the bed while Ben went up to the Manor to fetch the 4x4 which he preferred to travel in rather than using Libby’s ‘silver bullet’.
They drove across country, skirting Bishop’s Bottom, and entered Felling through the Sand Gate, the enormous stone gatehouse that was the only way into the little town, passing on to the ring road, which enclosed it almost like a castle wall.
‘Does he live in the town itself?’ asked Libby.
‘We’re not meeting him there,’ said Ben. ‘He said it’s a bit difficult to find and to park, so we’re meeting him in a cafe in the town square.’
‘Not the “Tea Square”?’ said Libby. ‘Fran and I had tea there during that business of Patti’s at St Aldeberge.’
Ben gave her a swift grin. ‘So you’ll know where to park, then? I don’t know the place at all.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Libby confidently. ‘In the car park by the Quay.’
‘Odd place,’ said Ben, when he’d parked. He strolled over to the stone wall above the moorings. ‘That’s the way to St Aldeberge, is it?’ He pointed to the narrow stream leading out of the yacht basin. ‘And that’s inland?’ At the other end of the basin, a much broader river went under the bridge to the ring road. ‘Only one way in by road, and only one by water, seemingly.’
‘Like a medieval walled town,’ said Libby. ‘Which it once was. Come on, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
They crossed the square to the self-consciously named “Tea Square”, which Fran had commented probably got past most people, and went inside, to find a table already set out with tea and coffee pots, two plates of cakes, and a very thick buff folder. The man sitting at the table rose with a smile and an outstretched hand.
‘You’re Mr Wilde?’ he said.
‘Oh, call me Ben!’ Ben shook the offered hand. ‘And this is Libby Sarjeant. You must be John Newman? I’m sorry I never met you.’
‘Oh, well, you’d gone to London,’ said John, sitting down again. ‘I didn’t know if you’d prefer tea or coffee?’
When they had settled down
with Ben’s coffee and Libby’s tea, Ben turned to the subject of the Hop Pocket.
‘I’m really sorry no one ever contacted you,’ said John. ‘Dad’s affairs weren’t in the best state, and I just handed the whole lot to the solicitor. It never occurred to me that we were still holding on to the lease.’ He glanced nervously at Libby and back to Ben. ‘Do we owe you a huge amount of rent?’
That explains the lavish elevenses and the willingness to be helpful, thought Libby cynically.
‘No, no!’ said Ben, smiling. ‘Don’t give it another thought. I’ve been as lax as your solicitor – I should have sorted it out, but my father died, too, and the estate got a bit on top of me.’
‘Oh!’ John smiled in relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘As a matter of fact, it’s rather fortunate,’ Ben went on, and outlined his plans for the Hop and his brewery.
‘Do you think you could make it pay?’ asked John, doubt written all over his broad, ruddy face. ‘Dad said it was a struggle, especially with the other pub and the Garden next door.’
‘The new landlord at the pub says it will allow him to develop the dining and hotel side of his business,’ said Libby, ‘and the Garden’s been closed now for years.’
‘Colin didn’t sell it, then?’ John looked interested. ‘I thought he would once he went to London. He didn’t want to run it after his mum died, did he? No more’n I wanted to run the Hop.’
‘Oh, you knew Colin, then?’
‘Well, yes.’ John grinned. ‘We were next-door neighbours, weren’t we, and almost of an age. I’m a bit older, o’ course. How is he?’
Ben and Libby looked at each other.
‘The problem is, we don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘No one’s seen him.’
John frowned. ‘Not even Nanny Mardle?’
‘No – not even her,’ said Libby. ‘She lives next door to me. and the police want to see him.’
‘The police?’ John’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘What for? He was never a one to get into trouble!’
‘He’s not now,’ said Ben. ‘Have you not seen the local news in the last week?’
John’s face got even ruddier. ‘Don’t take much notice these days, especially as we don’t get proper papers anymore.’
‘No – even the Mercury’s online-only these days, isn’t it?’ Libby shook her head. ‘So sad.’
‘So you haven’t heard about the murder?’ said Ben.
‘Murder?’
‘A body was found in the old Garden. A young teenager, as far as the police can tell. Not been there long. So they have to speak to Colin. They’ve got his address in Spain from Mrs Mardle, and the company’s registered address in Holborn somewhere, but the only person available has been a woman who goes to collect stuff.’
‘Oh, yes.’ John looked down into his coffee cup. ‘What was her name? Carol? Caroline? I know!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Carina! Not that I’ve met her, but Colin told me last time he was over.’
‘Oh, you’ve seen him recently, have you?’ Libby was surprised. John looked equally surprised.
‘Oh, yes! That was why I wondered about no one in Steeple Martin being able to find him. He comes over regularly.’
‘He comes to see you, does he?’ asked Ben.
‘Yes, sometimes, although I’ll often go up to London to meet him.’ He frowned again. ‘I know he isn’t keen on Felling, but I thought he was all right about his home village.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Libby.
‘Oh, he used to get the horrors about that girl that disappeared here – do you remember? About twenty years ago? Maybe more. Yes, must be more than that. The singer.’
Ben and Libby shook their heads.
‘Well,’ John leant forward over the table, ‘ we were both at the party where she disappeared!’
‘Goodness!’ Libby said, round eyed.
‘Luckily for us, we weren’t involved. I’d been invited by my girlfriend, who’s now my wife,’ said John, looking coy, ‘and I took Colin along with me. We came home together, too, in my car, but of course everyone was quizzed by the police. It really seemed to affect Colin. But then, he was always a bit soft.’
‘Yes, Mrs Mardle said something similar,’ said Libby. ‘Said he was delicate, I think.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said John, looking at her sideways.
‘Oh,’ said Ben, with sudden understanding. ‘He’s gay!’
John looked relieved. ‘Didn’t think Nanny Mardle would understand. My dad didn’t, not really, and Colin’s mum never knew.’
‘Things have changed quite a bit now,’ said Ben. ‘My cousin’s gay, and married to his partner who owns our village restaurant. You’d be surprised.’
John was looking duly amazed. ‘The little Mexican restaurant? The missus and I have been there loads of times!’
‘Well, give us a shout next time you come over and we’ll have a drink,’ said Ben.
‘So tell us about this singer. Was she famous?’ asked Libby.
‘Not really. She was local and been to one of these special schools or something. And she’d been on the telly. And o’course we still had those local papers then and they made a fuss about her, saying she was the next big thing. So there was a hoo-ha when she went missing.’
‘I bet there was!’ said Libby. ‘How old was she?’
‘Eighteen? Nineteen? Young, anyway.’ John shrugged. ‘Col had always been a bit squeamish, and it put him right off. So off he went to London. Said he could be more himself up there. But we stayed mates.’
‘Well, if he gets in touch soon, could you tell him the police would like to talk to him?’ said Ben. ‘If he hasn’t already heard, of course.’
‘Course,’ said John, nodding firmly. ‘And I’ll let you know.’
‘Well,’ said Libby, as they drove back out of the Sand Gate. ‘What do you make of that? Bit of a surprise, wasn’t it?’
‘Was a bit,’ said Ben. ‘Do you think we ought to pass it on to Maiden?’
‘Or Rachel Trent.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘And at least it seems as though he isn’t actually in hiding. But what about that missing girl? Don’t you remember anything about it?’
‘No – I wasn’t down here then, was I? But a missing teenager would have made the nationals, I would have thought.’
‘Hm. Can’t have anything to do with this case, though, can it?’
‘I don’t see how.’ Ben sighed. ‘Anyway, it looks as though I’m safe going ahead with plans for the Hop Pocket. I’ll get everything over to the solicitor this afternoon.’
And I’ll get in touch with Rachel Trent, thought Libby.
As soon as Ben had dropped her off at Allhallow’s Lane and gone on to the brewery, Libby called Fran and told her the results of the trip to see John Newman.
‘And this helps how?’ asked Fran, when she’d finished.
‘Well, not sure, but at least we now know why Colin Hardcastle took against Kent. Although I don’t see why he abandoned his mum and the hotel.’
‘It sounds more as if he was one of those people who don’t like the rural lifestyle. More of a big city boy.’
‘But he’s living in Spain!’
‘Not all of Spain’s rural,’ said Fran, amused.
‘No, all right. But we should tell the police, shouldn’t we? Ben asked John Newman to tell him the police want to speak to him, but we should. Tell them, I mean.’
‘I suppose so, but I expect they’ve found out by now, with all their resources.’
‘Mmm. As it’s Wednesday, Ian might come to the pub this evening, so -’
‘Oh, Libby, don’t! Poor chap needs to relax if he comes to the pub. After all, you’re not really concerned in this murder, and anyway, he might not be able to get away.’
But, when Ben and Libby arrived at the pub later that evening to join their friends Patti and Anne, a weekly tradition, Ian was already there. And leaning on the bar speaking to him, a very slim man with dark hair and a thin, nervous-looking face, w
earing a rather loose light grey suit.
Ian turned to greet them.
‘Libby, Ben, meet Colin Hardcastle.’
Chapter Eleven
Luckily for Libby, who was uncharacteristically bereft of speech, Ben stepped forward with outstretched hand.
‘Colin! Pleased to meet you. I don’t think we’ve run across each other before.’
‘I remember you, though.’ Colin shook hands with a slight smile. ‘You played bat and trap with your dad, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did!’ Ben was delighted. ‘Not for long, because I left the village. But actually -’
‘Give him a chance, Ben!’ Libby, recovered, smiled and held out her own hand. ‘Hello, Colin. I’m new, so you won’t remember me.’
‘Not exactly new,’ said Ian. ‘Libby’s been here several years and made herself – well, part of the village.’
‘No, I know about you.’ Colin’s smile became a little broader. ‘You live next door to Mrs Mardle, don’t you? She’s told me all about you.’
‘Are you joining us?’ asked Ben, as he spotted Patti and Anne coming into the bar. ‘Or are you here to talk to Ian?’ He looked at Ian. ‘Sorry, DCI Connell.’
Colin looked from Ben to Ian and back. ‘I don’t know!’ he said.
‘We’ll finish our chat first, Ben,’ said Ian. ‘If Colin wants to join us afterwards, he’s welcome.’
By this time Libby had already joined Patti, who was pushing chairs aside to position Anne’s wheelchair by their regular table. Ben called over to ask about drinks and the women sat down.
‘So who’s that?’ asked Anne.
In a low voice, Libby briefly explained.
‘How do you do it, Libby?’ said Patti, shaking her head.
‘Do what?’ Libby looked offended. ‘I didn’t do anything! I merely went with the woman looking over the old Garden Hotel. I wasn’t even there when she found the body.’
Ben arrived with a tray of drinks. ‘I suppose she’s told you all about our newcomer? He might be joining us, if you don’t object.’
‘Oh, no!’ said Anne. ‘Not at all. So he’s the owner of this old hotel, is he?’
‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘Oh, and we were over at Felling this morning, Patti.’
Murder Repeated Page 7
