Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Yes, first time I’ve been back since your little bit of bother,’ said Libby. ‘It hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘Long story,’ said Ben, ‘but all to do with another pub.’

  ‘Another pub?’ echoed Patti.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘Here, next door to the old hotel that Colin owns.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was another pub here!’ said Anne.

  ‘I’d better explain,’ said Ben, and was in the middle of doing so when Ian brought Colin to the table.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Libby, and they all shuffled round to make room for two more chairs. Colin was introduced to Anne and Patti.

  ‘From St Aldeberge?’ said Colin. ‘Long way to come for a drink.’

  ‘The Reverend Patti Pearson, actually,’ amplified Libby. ‘And they only allow her out once a week.’

  ‘Don’t take any notice,’ said Patti to a rather startled Colin. ‘I come over to visit Anne on my night off, and meet up with Libby. We have dinner in the Pink Geranium.’

  ‘That’s since my time, too, isn’t it?’ Colin turned to Ben.

  Ben explained about the restaurant, Peter, and Harry to Colin. ‘And we were over at Felling seeing your friend John Newman this morning.’

  ‘Were you?’ Colin looked even more startled.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘You see, it was my father who owned the land both your hotel and the old Hop Pocket stood on. Your parents bought the freehold from us, but John’s parents hadn’t, and now the lease reverts to me.’ He looked round triumphantly at the company. ‘And I plan to re-open it!’

  There were gasps and exclamations of astonishment all round the table.

  ‘But what about this place?’ asked Anne. ‘Won’t Tim be upset? He’s only just got this place going.’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ said Libby, ‘but apparently he’s all for it.’

  ‘And what I was wondering, Colin,’ said Ben, ‘was about your bat and trap.’

  ‘Here we go,’ murmured Libby.

  Now Colin was looking completely bewildered.

  ‘Well,’ continued Ben, ‘the pitch will still be there, won’t it?’

  ‘Completely overgrown, I expect,’ said Colin.

  ‘We could see to that,’ said Ben. ‘And what about the equipment? Would that still be in the building?’

  Colin shook his head. ‘It was never kept in the hotel. Don’t you remember, we had a proper shelter at the end of the pitch?’

  ‘But that was open,’ said Ben.

  ‘With a locked chest. I don’t know if that’s still there.’

  ‘What I was thinking was, if I could lease the pitch from you, I could start up a new team attached to the Hop Pocket. There’s access from the footpath that runs behind the hotel and beside the pub, isn’t there?’

  Colin was beginning to look interested. ‘Yes, there is. I might be tempted to come over more often if you did that.’

  ‘Well,’ began Ben, but Colin interrupted.

  ‘Only I was planning on trying to sell the old place. How would that affect your plans?’

  A somewhat loaded silence fell at this, and Ian stood up.

  ‘Another drink, anyone?’

  Only Libby and Ben answered and Ian went to the bar.

  ‘Is that why you give Ted Sachs the keys to survey the building?’ Libby turned back to Colin.

  ‘Yes – I got his name from John.’

  Ben and Libby looked at each other. Mystery solved.

  ‘We couldn’t work out why you hadn’t used someone from here,’ said Libby.

  ‘John said he was just starting up and could do with the work. He vouched for him, so I took a chance. I didn’t want a lot done, just tidied up, really.’

  ‘And do you know why he let Mrs Darling have the keys?’ asked Ben.

  Colin frowned. ‘No, I don’t. I wasn’t pleased when I heard about that from the police. I don’t think Mr Sachs will get the job after all.’ His face turned gloomy. ‘If they ever let me do anything with it, of course.’

  ‘Who, the police?’ said Patti. ‘They will when they’ve finished their investigations.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Colin made a face. ‘And will anyone want to buy it?’

  ‘It depends on what you were selling it for,’ said Ben. ‘Presumably not a hotel/restaurant?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Colin with a sigh. ‘For development. Flats, or something.’

  ‘So the purchaser would have to pay for complete remodelling anyway,’ said Libby.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t want Ted to do much,’ said Colin.

  Ian, who had returned with the drinks during this conversation, said: ‘There would have to be a change of use application.’

  ‘Up to the purchaser, isn’t it?’ said Colin.

  ‘You’d find it hard to sell without one,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t have to apply for one for the Hop Pocket, as it always was a pub.’

  Libby was looking thoughtful. ‘I don’t think Fiona Darling knew any of this.’

  Ian’s lips twitched. ‘I’m pretty sure she didn’t. And Ted Sachs hadn’t told her anything.’

  ‘I must see him,’ said Colin. ‘You’ve spoken to him, haven’t you?’

  ‘We have,’ said Ian.

  ‘Have you?’ said Libby. ‘When? Not on Saturday?’

  ‘No, you know I didn’t. And Inspector Maiden doesn’t have to tell you what progress has been made.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby, chastened. ‘But I thought...’

  Ian sent her a warning glance. Anne, brightly inquisitive, looked from one to the other. ‘Was he being a bit elusive, then, this Ted? And who was he, exactly? A builder?’

  ‘Apparently,’ said Ian. ‘He’s been working on Edward’s summerhouse.’

  Libby looked at him suspiciously. He returned the look with a bland smile, and she knew she would get nothing more from him – certainly not in company.

  The conversation turned to more general subjects, including the St Aldeberge Summer Fete. Ben went into a huddle with Colin, presumably about bat and trap, until Colin pushed back his chair and stood up.

  ‘Sorry, everyone, but I’m done! I was up at the crack of dawn this morning to get here.’

  ‘Are you staying here?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Yes.’ Colin nodded towards Ian. ‘The police fixed it up for me. So I’ll say goodnight.’

  ‘So,’ said Ben, when Colin had departed to his bedroom, ‘not such a mystery after all. When did you get hold of him?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Ian. ‘Inspector Maiden did. And no – not such a mystery.’

  ‘Didn’t you find it a bit odd, though?’ mused Libby. ‘About the change of use - he was bit vague, wasn’t he? I thought his business was property development. He should know all about that.’

  ‘Hardcastle Holdings, isn’t it?’ said Ben. ‘Oh, well, perhaps I can get him chatting about it tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ said Libby and Ian together.

  ‘We’re meeting at the back of the hotel to see if the bat and trap pitch will still be usable, and if the equipment is still there.’ Ben grinned happily at Ian. ‘That won’t compromise the crime scene, will it?’

  Ian sighed. ‘I’d check with Inspector Maiden first, if I were you.’ He stood up. ‘Peter! Harry not with you? What will you have?’

  ‘I’ll get them, Ian. Not coffee this time?’ Peter grinned across at Ian. ‘Harry won’t be a moment. He’s just mopping up his tears because Donna’s told him she’s having another baby.’

  All three women exclaimed with pleasure and Ben and Peter looked amused.

  ‘So will he lose his right-hand woman permanently this time?’ asked Ian.

  ‘I doubt it. She’ll still carry on doing the books and ordering and so on from home. He’s been bloody lucky up till now. Anyone else?’

  There was a chorus of ‘No thanks’ and Peter went to the bar just as Harry came in with a flouris
h and threw himself into a chair.

  ‘We were just hearing about Donna,’ said Libby. ‘Is she feeling all right?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ said Harry disconsolately. ‘I’m the one with the problem.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of waiting help these days,’ said Anne, ‘and I gather young Adam’s getting quite handy in the kitchen.’

  ‘Well, maybe,’ said Harry grudgingly.

  ‘And,’ said Peter, coming back to the table, ‘she and her husband have just bought a house here, so she can wheel her babies round in the mornings to pick up or deliver orders and things.’

  ‘The older one’s school age now, though,’ said Libby. ‘Thank goodness we’ve still got a school. Where’s the house?’

  ‘Steeple Well, I think,’ said Harry. ‘All posh people out there.’

  ‘That’s where Fiona Darling lives,’ said Libby. ‘They’ll be neighbours.’

  ‘Don’t start interfering, Libby,’ warned Ian.

  Libby looked back innocently.

  ‘Come on, you old trout,’ said Harry. ‘What have you been up to now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ben, ‘for a change. Just speculation.’

  ‘About Colin Hardcastle mainly, and how I’m going to manage the old Hop.’

  ‘Definitely going ahead with it, then,’ said Peter.

  ‘I suppose he told you all about it, too,’ said Libby, with a hard glare at Ben.

  ‘Just mentioned it,’ said Peter carelessly.

  ‘So, Ian,’ said Patti, tactfully changing the subject, ‘have you actually moved in to your new home yet?’

  ‘I’m camping out at the moment,’ said Ian, ‘but I’m moving in properly at the weekend.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Libby looked affronted.

  ‘I’ve hardly had a chance,’ said Ian, amused. ‘But yes. Removals firm all booked.’

  ‘You didn’t walk here tonight, did you?’ asked Ben, eyeing Ian’s pint of bitter.

  ‘Taxi,’ said Ian, finally bursting out laughing. ‘You’re all so concerned!’

  Harry leant over and patted his knee. ‘Nosy and interfering, that’s what,’ he said. ‘You ought to be used to it by now. I wonder that you wanted to move closer.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Ian. ‘I must be a masochist.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You know what we should be concentrating on,’ Libby said to Fran on the phone on Thursday morning.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The poor boy who was killed. Everybody’s been talking about Colin Hardcastle and Ted Sachs, and even Fiona Darling. We’ve hardly mentioned the body. What was his name? Ossie.’

  ‘Ossie? Who told you that?’ said Fran.

  ‘Rachel. She came round with a photo. Oscar Whitelaw, apparently. She didn’t tell us anything about him, just asked if we recognised him. She was going to ask Beth if he was a member of the youth club.’

  ‘Do kids go to youth clubs these days?’ asked Fran doubtfully.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll ask Beth. We don’t know anyone with children that age, do we?’

  ‘I don’t, but Sophie might. And you could ask Adam. But why? The police are obviously on the case.’

  ‘Don’t they say that in a case of murder the answer is the victim? Who he or she was and why were they killed.’

  ‘Yes – and that’s what the police are doing,’ said Fran. ‘I expect they know where he came from, who his parents were, things like that. They aren’t likely to tell you, are they?’

  ‘They have in the past.’ Libby sniffed.

  ‘When it was necessary,’ said Fran, ‘and when Ian was SIO.’

  ‘Well, he is now, except he’s supposed to be deskbound.’

  ‘And Inspector Maiden is the actual SIO on the ground. And you aren’t anything to do with the case.’ Fran sighed. ‘Look, Lib. You’ve had this pointed out to you. Leave it alone.’

  ‘Well, what about your chair?’ countered Libby. ‘Your room with a chair? You’ve been thinking about it, too.’

  ‘It has been rather thrust under my nose,’ said Fran, sounding amused. ‘To be honest, I’m far more interested in the Hop Pocket and bat and trap.’

  Now Libby sighed. ‘That’s where Ben is this morning. He and Colin Hardcastle were going over to inspect the old pitch, and to see if the equipment was still there. Frankly, I’d be surprised.’

  ‘It can be any area of flat land, though, can’t it? I’ve been looking it up.’

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t know anything about it, except that it exists,’ said Libby. ‘Colin seems quite enthusiastic about it.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I wish I knew more about that girl who disappeared, though. I didn’t like to ask him yesterday.’

  ‘Why?’ Fran sounded exasperated. ‘What’s that got to do with the murdered teenager?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing. I just wanted to know. Neither Ben nor I remember anything about it. She was a singer, apparently.’

  ‘You could always ask Jane. She might know.’

  ‘I don’t like to interrupt her at work,’ said Libby. Jane Baker was assistant editor on the Nethergate Mercury, and other local newspapers in the group.

  ‘She works at home a lot,’ said Fran. ‘She’s told us that in the past. You could always send her a tweet, or something. Or a text message. Then she doesn’t have to answer you if she’s busy. Like we do sometimes with Ian.’

  ‘Yes, I could.’ Libby was thoughtful. ‘And I wouldn’t be treading on anyone’s toes, would I? Like the police, I mean.’

  ‘No, Lib. And it’ll give you something else to think about.’

  For the rest of the morning Libby tried, fairly ineffectually, to catch up on neglected housework, before giving up at lunchtime and sending Jane a text. Ten minutes later, while she was stirring her soup, her phone rang.

  ‘What do you want to know for?’ asked Jane, without preamble.

  ‘Hello, Jane! How lovely to hear from you,’ said Libby, moving the soup pan off the hob.

  ‘Hello, Libby, nice to hear from you, too. Now, why do you want to know about Shareen Wallis?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Shareen Wallis. The singer. Is she something to do with your body?’

  ‘Oh! Was that her name? How ghastly. And no, she isn’t - wasn’t. And it isn’t my body.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jane obviously thought for a moment. ‘Why are you asking, then?’

  ‘Someone over in Felling mentioned her yesterday. One of Ben’s former tenants, actually.’

  ‘Who? Why did he mention her?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Jane? Why are you asking all these questions? Have we touched a nerve?’

  Libby heard Jane sigh. ‘It was one of the great local mysteries. Made all the nationals, too. I’m surprised you didn’t remember it.’

  ‘Yes, John said it hit the headlines. You can’t have been here, then, though. Before your time.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s one of those things that keep cropping up. One of our old reporters had a real bee in his bonnet about it. She’d been on TV, you see.’

  ‘So John said. Was it a talent show?’

  ‘No, she’d been spotted singing in a local pub, I think, and put up for a spot on a Saturday morning children’s show. Remember them? Before umpteen channels?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Libby remembered. ‘So she got a spot on a kids TV show – how old was she?’

  ‘As far as I know, she was about seventeen, then. And then she got a regular slot on someone else’s show – just a song a week sort of thing – and she was starting to get really popular. I believe she was just signing her first record deal, something like that.’

  ‘So she was obviously good. John said she was at a party where he was, and it was the party she disappeared from. Do you remember anything about that?’

  ‘No. But I’ll see if there’s anything I can drag out of the archives, if you like. We’ve managed to get everything digitised, now. Pity old Barrett isn’t still here, he’d have talked
you to death about it.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t think so – I’d have heard. But he must be positively ancient. I’ll ask if anyone knows.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Libby. ‘How’s Imogen?’

  ‘Oh, fine – thriving. Quite grown up, now.’

  ‘I suppose she must be. And Terry – and your mum?’

  ‘Fine, too. Mum’s a lot slower, and is beginning to find the steps a bit of a bind, but she says they keep her fit. So, come on. What about this body?’

  ‘Honestly, Jane, it isn’t anything to do with me.’

  ‘Why has your name cropped up, then?’

  ‘Has it?’ Libby squirmed uncomfortably. ‘How? Who from?’

  ‘Oh, just around.’ Jane was evasive. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m not telling you if it’s going into a news story.’

  Jane sighed again. ‘All right, I promise.’

  So Libby once again told the tale of Fiona Darling, Ted Sachs, and the Garden Hotel.

  ‘So you nearly found the body,’ said Jane.

  ‘Yes – a near miss. And I know nothing more about it. Except that it’s brought the absentee landlord back from the continent.’

  ‘Absentee landlord?’ Libby could almost hear Jane’s nose twitching.

  ‘Well, not exactly, his parents ran the hotel – bought the leasehold from Ben’s dad – but after they’d both died, he didn’t want to come back and run it. So that’s why Ted Sachs had the keys. He was surveying the place to see how much renovation it would take to get it sale ready.’ It sounded quite reasonable put like that, thought Libby, wondering why there’d been such mystery surrounding Colin Hardcastle’s absence.

  ‘So why was the body there?’ Jane was persistent, as all good reporters should be.

  ‘No idea. And I don’t know what the police know, either. No inside track on this one. The only other bit of news is that Ben’s going to re-open the other pub in the village.’

  ‘Other pub? What other pub?’

  ‘I know – I didn’t know anything about it, either. It’s called the Hop Pocket and it’s in a little lane off the end of the high street, just behind the Garden Hotel actually. And Ben’s planning to re-start the bat and trap team at the same time.’

  ‘I didn’t know there’d been a team in Steeple Martin!’ said Jane. ‘We used to print all the league results on the sports pages.’