Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘It was attached to the Garden Hotel, but the pitch is still there, and accessible from the Hop. People seem quite enthusiastic, but I’ve never seen it played.’

  ‘Well, that’s going to make a story,’ said Jane. ‘Reopening of a village pub – will Ben be selling his own beer?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the whole point; it’ll be an old-fashioned ale house. Tim at the other pub is quite happy. He says it’ll leave him free to make more of his events and hotel business.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Jane. ‘And reviving bat and trap! There’s a huge appetite for nostalgia these days. People seem anxious to return to what they see as happier, more uncomplicated times.’

  ‘Even if they weren’t really,’ said Libby.

  After finally consuming a bowl of soup, Libby decided to wander down the high street and see if Ben was still furtling in the undergrowth behind the old hotel. However she met him and Colin crossing the road just outside the Pink Geranium.

  ‘Lunch?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘Come on, Libby,’ said Colin, sounding a lot more cheerful than he had the day before. ‘I’m buying.’

  ‘I’ve just had soup, thank you,’ said Libby, eyeing the open door wistfully.

  ‘I’m sure you could manage a glass of wine, though,’ said Colin, and successfully urged her inside.

  Harry greeted them with raised eyebrows. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked, showing them to their usual table in the window, after being introduced to Colin.

  ‘We’ve just been inspecting the old bat and trap pitch,’ said Ben.

  ‘Ah – bucolic frolics.’

  ‘I know some books about bucolic frolics,’ said Libby, ‘but not the bat and trap sort. Is the pitch still there?’

  ‘It is, although as we thought it’s a jungle. But the old shelter is still there, and believe it or not, so was the equipment!’ Ben grinned triumphantly.

  ‘Dad kept it in a locked safe sort of thing,’ said Colin. ‘It was still there, and the key was on the hotel bunch. It’ll need a bit of restoration, and the bat wasn’t there.’

  ‘But the ball and the posts were,’ said Ben, ‘so all we’ve got to do is get the ground cleared.’ He and Colin shook hands and beamed at each other delightedly. Libby and Harry looked at each other and grinned.

  ‘Big kids,’ muttered Harry. ‘Now, are you eating, or just drinking?’

  When Harry had supplied them with wine and gone away to assemble Ben’s and Colin’s lunches, Libby asked how they were going to set about reviving the bat and trap team.

  ‘I’ll just ask for volunteers,’ said Ben. ‘There’ll be a lot, I should think. Very popular, it was. There’s only eight players in a team, but you can have as many teams as you want! We’ll just advertise for friendly matches, first, before applying to join the league.’

  ‘You’re going to take it seriously, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes! No point in doing it otherwise,’ said Ben.

  ‘And what about the pub? And the brewery?’

  ‘They go hand in hand,’ said Ben. ‘And I’ve got a Master Brewer now, haven’t I? So as long as I’m still around, the brewery’s fine. And I shan’t run the pub myself – I told you, I’ll get a manager.’

  ‘Very organised, isn’t he?’ Colin said to Libby. ‘I must say, I’m impressed with the way the village seems to operate these days.’

  ‘Why? Was it different when you lived here?’ asked Libby. ‘Most of the people I know who’ve been here a long time don’t seem to think so.’

  ‘It wasn’t as friendly,’ said Colin, looking uncomfortable, and Libby suddenly realised what he meant.

  ‘I don’t think all the oldest generation have quite got round to accepting the entire LGBT community,’ she said, ‘but everyone else is more or less happy with it. I think Harry here, and Ben’s cousin Peter, helped a lot. I was their best woman when they got married,’ she added proudly.

  ‘Were you?’ Colin gazed at her admiringly. ‘So perhaps I should have stuck it out?’

  ‘But that wasn’t why you went away, was it?’ said Libby. ‘I thought it was because you were upset about Shareen Wallis.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Colin’s face froze, and Libby was instantly contrite. She leant forward and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just what John Newman said.’

  Colin shook his head and looked down at the table. After a moment he took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said, looking up into Libby’s concerned face. ‘I honestly didn’t think it would still affect me. And you’re right. It was why I went away.’ He looked from Libby to Ben. ‘And it’s a nonsensical reason, really, isn’t it? A girl I was at a party with disappeared – that was all.’

  ‘John said you were all questioned by the police,’ said Ben. ‘That can be scary in itself.’

  ‘It was.’ Colin sat back in his chair. ‘Not something I’m proud of, but it completely spooked me.’

  Harry appeared carrying two plates. ‘Here you go, gents,’ he said. ‘I’ll just go and fetch the accoutrements and a glass for myself, if you don’t mind.’

  Libby looked round the restaurant and realised that since they had been seated, it had emptied. ‘If Colin doesn’t mind,’ she said.

  Colin smiled rather shyly at Harry. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Harry grinned and went of to fetch bread, tapenade, and butter, as well as another glass.

  ‘Well then,’ he said, seating himself. ‘What were you all looking so serious about?’

  Colin took another deep breath. ‘Actually about why I left the village.’

  Harry’s eyebrows went up. ‘Really? When?’

  ‘Nearly twenty years ago,’ said Colin.

  Harry looked at Libby. ‘Before our time, ducky.’

  ‘And not quite so tolerant,’ said Ben. ‘Although it’s hard to believe, now.’

  ‘Ah.’ Harry nodded. ‘Amazingly enough, there were quite a few people who were quite upset about Pete and me, and thought we should never have been allowed to open a restaurant here. Anyway, if you come back, you’re among friends. Drink up!’

  The atmosphere relaxed again, although Libby was convinced Colin still had something on his mind.

  ‘There must be more to that story, you know,’ she said to Ben on their way home, leaving Colin and Harry happily chatting over the last of the wine.

  ‘What story?’

  ‘About that girl disappearing. Why did it affect Colin so badly? It was nothing to do with him.’

  ‘We don’t know what went on.’ Ben looked sideways at Libby. ‘And don’t go questioning him.’

  ‘Is it to do with him being gay? You forget how much prejudice there was even recently.’

  ‘I don’t see the connection,’ said Ben. ‘Anyway, to my surprise, I like the guy. Shame he doesn’t want to re-open the Garden, really.’

  ‘That would be proper competition for Tim,’ said Libby, ‘so I hope he doesn’t.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t want to. He’s got no background in “hospitality” as he calls it, and was never any good with the customers when he used to help out when he was still at school. He said Mrs Mardle was better at it than he was.’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t actually to do with the girl – perhaps something horrible happened to him at the party.’ Libby returned to the original subject. ‘Abuse or threatening behaviour – something like that.’

  ‘Could be. But unless he comes out with it of his own accord, we are NOT going to pry, Lib.’

  ‘No, Ben,’ said Libby meekly.

  Ben went back to the Manor estate office, from where he also ran the brewery, intent on getting his plans for the Hop Pocket underway. Libby went into the conservatory and stared at the easel which held her latest painting. She painted originals of the area – mainly Nethergate – for Guy to sell in his shop-cum-gallery. He turned some of them into smaller prints, which had proved very popular over the years, and very occasionally she
had been commissioned to paint something for a specific customer. However, as she was essentially undisciplined, progress on any particular painting tended to be erratic.

  Today, the scene was from the top of the cliffs that rose up behind The Sloop and the jetty and included the redundant lighthouse on the headland, the little island in the middle of the bay, and a portion of the headland on the opposite side of the bay. She decided it was not inspiring. The mobile ringing from the kitchen interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Listen, you old slapper,’ said Harry. ‘Colin has suggested dinner here for you and Ben and those mates of his from Felling. Apparently the bloke came from the pub Ben wants to do up.’

  ‘Has he? When?’

  ‘He thought tonight was a bit short notice, so he suggested tomorrow. I can just squeeze you in, I think. What d’you reckon?’

  ‘Yes – great,’ said Libby. ‘As far as I’m concerned, anyway. Do you want me to ask Ben?’

  ‘Save me a phone call, won’t it? And if he says yes, can he let Colin know?’

  Ben was duly informed and promised to let Colin know. ‘And the solicitors don’t think there’ll be any problems about the Hop Pocket, although it’s listed, so I shall have to submit plans to the relevant authorities. The Tindall brothers have said they’ll take it on, bless ‘em. Oh – and I asked them if they’d heard of Ted Sachs.’

  ‘And had they?’

  ‘Funnily enough, they had. Although they didn’t know he’d set up on his own.’

  ‘How did they know of him then?

  ‘Apparently, he was apprenticed to a local carpenter when he left school.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘They didn’t say.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s his credentials established, then,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder if Mrs Mardle’s Gary turned out to have heard of him, too?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, now, does it?’ said Ben. ‘We know why Colin used him, and there’s no mystery about it.’

  Libby called Fran to update her on the results of her enquiries about Shareen Wallis, Colin’s invitation to dinner and the fact that Ted Sachs seemed to be genuine.

  ‘No one to be suspicious of, then,’ said Fran.

  ‘Fiona Darling,’ said Libby promptly.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lib!’ Fran burst out laughing. ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s the mystery at the centre of it all.’

  ‘Not simply because she’s the only one left?’

  ‘Well, there is that...’

  ‘She’s a newcomer to the area, she’s obviously younger than Colin Hardcastle -’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Libby interrupted.

  ‘I’m assuming. He left years ago, so he’s got to be in his forties, and I’ve seen her, don’t forget. No more than early thirties, I would have thought.’

  ‘But what difference does that make?’

  ‘She’s too young to have had any contact with Colin.’

  ‘But what about young Ossie? Oscar Whitelaw?’

  ‘Who? Oh, the body.’

  ‘He is the actual victim in all this. I think Colin and even Ted Sachs are simply red herrings. Just because no one could work out why Sachs gave Fiona the keys and we couldn’t locate Colin,’ said Libby.

  ‘And now all that’s settled,’ said Fran. ‘And I’m sure the police are well ahead with their investigation.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Libby. ‘By the way, did I tell you Harry’s Donna is going to have another baby? And she and her husband are moving to Steeple Well?’

  There was a short silence. ‘Where the Darlings live,’ said Fran eventually.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘And you’re suddenly going to become Donna’s best friend?’

  ‘Of course not!’ said Libby, with an air of injured innocence.

  Fran sighed. ‘Look, Lib, just leave it. There’s nothing to look into. Just get on with painting that picture for Guy and start thinking about next season’s pantomime, or something.’

  ‘I’m off panto,’ grumbled Libby. ‘And we’ve got enough outside hirers at the theatre to keep us going right through the season.’

  ‘Lost interest?’ asked Fran.

  ‘A bit,’ admitted Libby. ‘It takes so much more effort than it used to, and there are so many more laws and regulations to comply with.’

  ‘You’ve got dedicated staff to deal with that, now, though, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby sighed. ‘It’s taken all the fun out of it, somehow.’

  ‘What about Puss in Boots, though? I thought our favourite Dame was keen to bring that production to the Oast.’

  The previous winter, The Alexandria in Nethergate had staged its first ever pantomime, starring Dame Amanda Knight, an old friend of Libby’s and Fran’s, and her daughter Clemency. It had not been an untroubled run, but Dame Amanda had thoroughly enjoyed returning to the stage in panto, and wanted to do it again.

  ‘She does,’ admitted Libby, ‘and I suppose we ought to let her. She’ll organise everything, including the director, so I can stay out of it.’

  ‘There you are then,’ said Fran. ‘Get hold of her and start negotiations. That’ll take your mind off the Garden Hotel.’

  Libby consulted briefly with Peter and Ben, her co-directors of The Oast Theatre, than called Dame Amanda and, after a short chat with her husband, Coolidge, set up a meeting at the theatre for the following week.

  ‘So that’s that,’ she said to herself. ‘Now what do I do?’

  ‘I think Fran was right,’ she said to Ben later in the evening. ‘I’ve just been trying to find things to look into.’

  ‘That’s a first!’ said Ben. ‘You admitting that.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby sighed and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps I should just concentrate on helping you with the Hop project.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ said Ben, looking nervous.

  Libby looked undecided, then wandered back into the conservatory and stared at her painting again. She heard the knock on the front door, and Ben’s voice as he opened it, but was not prepared for the voice that sounded suddenly behind her.

  ‘Libby.’

  Libby swung round. ‘Beth!’

  Bethany Cole stood in the doorway, tawny hair as usual breaking free from its constraining plait. She smiled.

  ‘Surprised?’ she said. ‘But you sent the police to me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, sorry! But you were the only person I could think of in the village who might know something about teenagers. Because of the youth club – except I didn’t even know if you still ran it.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it’s still going, although I’ve only got about fifteen members. Mainly the children of the more – er – conservative with a small c parishioners. But yes, Ossie Whitelaw had been a member.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  On this bombshell, Libby let out a ‘Whoosh!’ of surprise.

  ‘This needs a glass of something,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on – we’ll sit in the kitchen if Ben’s watching something in the sitting room.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Ben, appearing behind Beth. ‘You two go in there and I’ll bring refreshments. Red? White? Something else?’

  ‘Are you trying to nobble the clergy?’ asked Beth with a grin. ‘Red, please, if there’s some open.’

  ‘And for me, too, Ben, please,’ said Libby. ‘Actually, Beth, we haven’t seen you and John in the pub recently. I wondered if you’d renounced the demon drink.’

  ‘John’s been working late recently, and I don’t like to come on my own,’ said Beth, following Libby into the sitting room.

  ‘That’s daft,’ said Libby. ‘You know we’re always there on Wednesday evenings, and if we aren’t for some reason, Patti and Anne are. I shall have to make a point of calling for you if you’re not careful.’

  ‘You’re a bad influence,’ said Beth, sitting opposite Libby and welcoming Sidney on to her lap.

  ‘Now, about Ossie Whitelaw.’ Libby fixed her visitor wit
h an enquiring eye. ‘How did he come to be a member of the youth club? I didn’t think he lived here.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, his parents lived at Steeple Well.’

  ‘Not Steeple Well again,’ groaned Libby.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Oh, it just keeps cropping up. You said lived – have they moved?’

  Ben appeared with two glasses of red wine.

  ‘Thanks, Ben,’ said Beth. ‘Yes, they moved – oh, about a year ago? Yes, it must be.’

  ‘And they didn’t report their son missing?’ asked Ben, frowning.

  ‘He wasn’t missing when they moved.’ Beth sipped her wine.

  ‘Where did they move to?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Right out of the area, I think. Something to do with the father’s job. He worked for a pharmaceutical company.’

  ‘ So the boy wasn’t a – a – err...’ Libby struggled for the right word.

  Beth gave a crooked smile. ‘No, he was a perfectly ordinary middle-class boy. But he got into bad company.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Well, yes. His father sent him to Foxgrove.’ Beth paused and looked at each of them in turn. ‘Foxgrove? You don’t know it?’

  Libby shook her head. Ben was frowning again.

  ‘It’s a very exclusive independent school,’ he said. ‘At least, it thinks it is.’

  Beth sighed. ‘Indeed. Ossie just didn’t fit in. He was bullied and – and taunted.’

  ‘But why?’ Libby gasped. ‘Wasn’t he, oh, I don’t know, the right sort? I thought that was illegal?’

  ‘Oh, it is. And they have an “open” policy. Which means, in effect, that they’ll take on the sons and daughters – mainly sons, but daughters at a pinch – of overseas millionaires who haven’t quite made the grade for the more established public schools. So their students are, let’s say, not tolerant of those they consider inferior.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Ossie told me.’ Beth shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. ‘Some of the others in the club said something about him carrying a knife, so I tackled him about it.’

  ‘That was brave,’ said Libby.