Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  Libby slewed her eyes round to Ben. He sighed. Edward laughed.

  ‘He said – Colin, that is – he thought you might want to come over for a drink? Ted’s arranged for his wife to pick him up from here.’

  ‘Do we?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Ben. ‘The things you get us in to.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me!’ said Libby indignantly.

  Colin was standing at the bar with the man Libby had last seen with Fiona when Edward ushered them into the pub.

  Ted Sachs looked slightly embarrassed as Libby was introduced.

  ‘Yes, we’ve met before!’ she said brightly. ‘At Edward’s party last week. You were with Fiona, weren’t you?’

  Ben gave her a dig in the ribs on one side, while Edward did the same on the other.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Libby?’ asked Colin, sounding amused.

  Libby accepted graciously and allowed herself to be led to the round table in the centre of the room.

  ‘Just shut up, Lib,’ whispered Ben. ‘Don’t make things awkward.’

  ‘As if I would.’ Libby sat down and tried to look innocent.

  ‘Colin was just telling me you intend to re-open the bat and trap pitch,’ Ted said, as he joined them.

  ‘That’s the plan,’ agreed Ben. ‘Have you ever played?’

  ‘Years ago,’ said Ted vaguely. ‘Don’t remember much about it.’

  ‘You’ll have to come over and give it a try,’ said Colin. ‘Don’t think it’s my sort of thing. And I don’t get over here often.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve done work for me and the Darlings we’ll have to get you some more work here,’ said Edward. ‘You’ve made a good job of the summerhouse, hasn’t he, Ben?’

  ‘Very good.’ Ben nodded.

  ‘Kind of you,’ said Ted, unsmiling, ‘but I’ve got a bit booked up now.’

  Libby looked interested, and opened her mouth.

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Colin quickly, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be able to sell the Garden anyway.’

  ‘You’ve said that before,’ said Ben. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no trouble, once the police investigation is over.’

  ‘How is it getting on?’ asked Ted, not looking particularly interested.

  ‘We don’t really know,’ said Colin. ‘They haven’t asked me to stick around, so I assume they have other lines of enquiry.’

  ‘But you’re going to stick around, aren’t you?’ said Edward.

  ‘Yes.’ Colin’s thin, nervous face lit up with a grin. ‘I want to help get the bat and trap pitch ready.’

  ‘And it is his, after all,’ said Ben.

  Ted nodded and looked down at his beer. A strained little silence fell, until Edward cleared his throat and turned to Libby.

  ‘We haven’t heard anything about panto yet this year, Libby. Any news?’

  ‘Libby’s relinquishing the helm,’ said Ben. ‘You remember the panto at Nethergate last season? Well, Dame Amanda’s bringing that over here.’

  This subject tided them over until a small, thin woman with drawn back hair shot into the bar and came to a halt next to Ted.

  ‘Ready?’ she said.

  Ted got to his feet. ‘This is Kath,’ he said to the company. ‘My wife.’

  Kath nodded curtly in the general direction of the table. ‘Got to go,’ she said, and turned for the door.

  Ted shrugged. ‘Nice to meet you all,’ he said and followed.

  ‘Well!’ said Libby, as the door closed behind them.

  Colin smiled ruefully. ‘Not the charmers of the decade, were they? Quite pleased he won’t be working for me.’

  ‘Did he tell you why he gave the keys to Fiona?’ asked Ben. ‘That seems to be the main question.’

  ‘He thought she was a “prospect”, was how he put it,’ said Colin. ‘Which, I assume, meant he thought she was a possible buyer.’

  ‘I still think it’s odd,’ said Libby. ‘According to Fiona she never gave him that idea.’

  ‘Well, whatever was going on, if it was a scam of some sort, it’s been knocked on the head now,’ said Ben. ‘He wasn’t very happy was he?’

  ‘Neither was she,’ said Edward.

  ‘It’s probably all come out about his affair with Fiona now,’ said Libby.

  ‘You don’t know for sure there was an affair,’ said Ben.

  ‘Course there was,’ scoffed Libby.

  ‘He wasn’t interested in the bat and trap, either,’ said Colin.

  ‘Let’s face it,’ said Edward, ‘he just doesn’t fit in Steeple Martin.’

  ‘Oh, do I then?’ asked Colin. ‘Oh, yes,’ said Libby.

  ‘You might even become one of Libby’s Loonies!’ said Edward.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Harry’s idea,’ said Ben. ‘He says anyone who gets involved with Libby’s – er – adventures becomes a member of the gang, and of course, they must be “loony”.’

  Colin grinned. ‘I’d be flattered.’

  ‘So was I,’ said Edward. ‘So flattered I’ve moved here. Well, nearby.’

  ‘And it really isn’t anything to do with me,’ said Libby. ‘These things just seem to happen.’

  ‘Whatever it is,’ said Colin, ‘the village is a lot more friendly than it used to be.’

  ‘So you said.’ Ben smiled at him. ‘Tempted to come back?’

  ‘Maybe to visit now and then,’ agreed Colin. ‘I’m going to see Nanny Mardle this afternoon.’

  ‘She was the first one to tell us you were living in Spain,’ said Libby. ‘We had no idea she used to look after you.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’d have been lost without her.’ Colin looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to come and have a holiday with me, but she won’t.’

  ‘So she said. Too much for her at her age, she said.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Didn’t think there was anyone who felt like that these days.’

  ‘I’d better get back.’ Ben got to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go into the brewery.’

  ‘I’d better, too,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘I had a phone call this morning asking when the next painting will be delivered.’

  ‘You paint?’ Colin looked interested.

  ‘Daub, really. I do stuff for our friend Guy’s gallery in Nethergate.’

  ‘If I walk with you to see Nanny Mardle, would you let me see some?’

  ‘Of course.’ Libby was surprised. ‘Are you coming, Edward?’

  ‘I’ve got to pick up the car, so yes,’ said Edward. ‘Then I’m going up to Cattlegreen for supplies.’

  ‘Not coming to Hetty’s for lunch tomorrow, then?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Don’t want to push my luck,’ said Edward, with a grin.

  At Allhallow’s Lane, Colin was ushered through to the conservatory, where he was shown the current masterpiece and some of Libby’s previous work.

  ‘Were you trained?’ he asked, standing in front of the easel.

  ‘Sort of,’ said Libby. ‘While I was at college doing drama I did a subsidiary course in set design. A bit of it must have rubbed off.’

  ‘Your style reminds me a bit of Frank Sherwin – do you know him?’

  Libby was surprised. ‘Yes, I do! But I never expect anyone else to know him. And thanks – that’s a real compliment.’

  He smiled. ‘Good. I’d like to buy something of yours before I go home, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Libby, now even more surprised.

  ‘So would I,’ said Edward from the doorway. ‘It never occurred to me to ask.’

  Gratified, Libby saw her guests off the premises, Edward to his car and Colin to knock quietly on Mrs Mardle’s yellow front door. Inspired, she set about putting the finishing touches to the painting on the easel.

  Saturday evening and Sunday passed in time-honoured fashion, and it wasn’t until Monday morning that Libby was able to load the painting into her little car and drive it down to Nethergate. Once again, she had to park behind The Sloop. She called at
Coastguard Cottage first, before going on to deliver the painting to Guy.

  ‘Our new friend Colin said I had a look of Frank Sherwin,’ she told him. ‘I was very flattered.’

  Guy grinned at her. ‘So you should be! He’s becoming more and more fashionable – the rise of nostalgia! And Stanley Badmin, of course.’

  ‘And all those jigsaw puzzles,’ said Libby. ‘Showing an England people would have liked to exist. Except it probably didn’t.’

  ‘Oh, the Derek Roberts ones! They are lovely, though. He did railway posters, too, like Sherwin and Badmin, and the whole idea was to present an idealised picture of Britain.’

  ‘It did that all right,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, is this one OK?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Guy. ‘Now I want you to paint a couple more from our window. That’s always gone well.’

  Libby went back to Coastguard Cottage to refresh her memory of the view from the front window and to beg a cup of tea.

  ‘You hardly need to look at it again,’ said Fran, retreating to the kitchen to make tea. ‘You should be able to paint it with your eyes closed by now.’

  ‘I know.’ Libby grinned and perched on the window seat. ‘It’s an excuse.’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Fran, sounding resigned. ‘What have you got to tell me?’

  Libby recounted the events, or non-events, as she called them, of the weekend.

  ‘So Ted Sachs is a no-go,’ she said. ‘Having thought about it, he must have thought Fiona Darling was a genuine prospect and decided the community project was a good excuse for not having to do too much work.’

  ‘Very risky, if so,’ said Fran. ‘And he didn’t do his research properly, did he?’

  ‘About Fiona?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Suppose not. Anyway, all our mysteries seem to have been cleared up.’

  ‘Except who killed the Whitelaw boy.’

  ‘Of course. Poor kid.’ Libby chewed her lip. ‘He seems to have had a raw deal all the way through. Being sent to a school where he didn’t fit in, being bullied, a father who didn’t understand him...’

  ‘It would be easier if we knew he was a tearaway, wouldn’t it?’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes, but Beth said he was a good lad, really.’ Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well, there isn’t anything else we can do, is there?’

  Fran laughed. ‘No, Lib, there isn’t!’

  They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘You didn’t have any more moments, I suppose?’ asked Libby tentatively.

  ‘No, not a one. I think that one was a fluke.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby looked despondent.

  ‘Stop digging!’ said Fran. ‘The only involvement you’ve got now is with Colin Hardcastle.’

  ‘What – you mean the bat and trap pitch?’

  ‘Yes. He seems enthusiastic about that, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but he won’t be around much.’

  ‘Pessimistic as ever!’

  Libby sighed. ‘I just need something to get my teeth into.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t me. Why don’t you try writing a book?’

  ‘A book? Me?’

  ‘Well, I tried, didn’t I? And you used to write for the stage.’

  ‘No. It doesn’t interest me.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what I would like to do – archaeology.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you join the local club?’ Fran pulled her laptop towards her, ‘Here, look.’

  ‘Canterbury Archaeological Trust?’

  ‘You could join as a Friend,’ said Fran. ‘Here, see?’

  ‘Hmm.’ said Libby. ‘I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, I’ve got some proper excavating to do.’ She grinned at Fran. ‘Going to come and help? Ben wants us to start on the Bat and Trap pitch tomorrow.’

  Fran grinned back. ‘If Guy gives me time off, yes. I think I might enjoy grubbing around in the undergrowth. You never know what we might find!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘I’m not sure we’ll be able to do anything in this,’ said Ben, peering out at the torrential rain.

  ‘It might stop,’ said Libby doubtfully.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ said Fran.

  They had been sitting in the front room at Allhallow’s Lane for the last hour. Fran, having taken the day off from the art gallery and shop, was getting restive.

  ‘It’s nearly midday,’ said Ben. ‘Shall we go and get a sandwich from the pub and review the situation with Colin?’

  Libby sighed. ‘Might as well. Fran?’

  Fran shrugged and stood up. ‘Come on then.’

  They trudged through the deserted village, splashing through puddles. In the small bar in the pub, Tim had actually lit the fire, and they sat at the round table steaming gently. Colin joined them, dressed, as they were, ready for some undergrowth action.

  ‘Is it worth going over there?’ he asked, when they had given Tim their sandwich order.

  ‘Would the rain make clearing the site any more difficult?’ asked Libby. ‘Or would it just mean getting even wetter?’

  ‘It would make clearing the rubbish more difficult,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve got to bring the flatbed over to take it all away.’

  ‘I vote we go anyway,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve come over specially.’

  ‘And I won’t be here for much longer,’ said Colin. ‘I vote we go, too.’

  ‘All right by me,’ said Ben. ‘If you’re willing to risk it. Lib?’

  ‘You said we wouldn’t be able to do anything in this,’ said Libby.

  ‘I said I wasn’t sure. But if everyone’s willing to give it a go... It’ll take longer than a few hours this afternoon, anyway, so we’ll just do as much as we feel like.’

  By the time they had eaten their sandwiches, the rain had eased off a little. A few hardy villagers had ventured out, and Nella had opened up the Cattlegreen shop. Cuckoo Lane had turned itself into a mudslide, and the footpath leading to the bat and trap pitch was almost impassable.

  ‘Oh, we can get through,’ said Ben. ‘Come on – keep to the edge.’

  Grumbling, Libby followed, holding on to the back of Ben’s jacket. Fran and Colin floundered behind, and Libby was surprised and rather put out to hear them giggling.

  ‘What’s funny?’ she managed, as soon as they’d reached the pitch.

  ‘Us,’ said Fran. ‘I feel like a teenager.’

  ‘And I haven’t done anything like for years,’ said Colin.

  ‘Actually – ever, come to think of it.’ He unlocked the shiny new padlock that hung round the gate. ‘Put this on when Ben and I came to look,’ he explained. ‘Not that there’s anything to steal.’

  ‘There’s the stuff in the cabinet,’ said Ben. ‘The trap and the ball and posts. That reminds me, we’ve got to order a new bat.’

  To Libby, the area looked like an overgrown patch of wasteland. At one end there appeared to be a corrugated iron shelter, which looked in severe danger of collapse.

  ‘Where do we start?’ she asked. ‘I don’t see how we can do anything without some sort of machinery.’

  ‘How do you normally clear undergrowth?’ asked Colin.

  ‘I’ve brought a couple of weed slashers,’ said Ben, ‘and as long as we’ve all got good thick gloves, we can pull a lot of it out.’

  ‘I brought my gardening gloves,’ said Fran.

  ‘So did I,’ said Libby.

  ‘I haven’t got any,’ said Colin.

  ‘Good job I brought two pairs, then,’ said Ben, with a grin. He lifted his face. ‘I do believe it’s stopped raining.’

  ‘I still think we’d do better with a mini digger,’ said Libby to Fran. ‘Do you want to slash or drag?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Shall I slash for a bit, and you drag it out, then we can swap over.’

  Ben directed them to start at the hotel end of the pitch, where there seemed to be fewer brambles, while he and Colin began on the other end. For a while, they worked in silence, until Libby announced she was g
etting rather hot.

  ‘Me, too.’ Fran lay down the slasher and began peeling off her thick jacket.

  This was the cue for all outer garments to be shed, and Ben collected them to put under the shelter.

  ‘Colin!’

  They all turned towards him. He was staring at the ground.

  ‘Was there a cellar door out here, do you remember?’

  ‘A door?’ Colin frowned. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s something here,’ said Ben. ‘It looks as though the rain’s caused some sort of subsidence and part of it’s washed away. There wouldn’t have been a cellar drop, would there?’

  ‘Yes, there was, at the front,’ said Colin. ‘Nothing at the back, I’m certain.’

  Fran and Libby struggled over to where he was standing.

  ‘Looks like a sink hole,’ said Libby.

  ‘A small one, but yes, exactly.’ Ben climbed through a tangle of brambles and bent to where a battered-looking plank door was hanging half open.

  ‘Don’t touch it, Ben!’ called Libby. ‘It’ll be dangerous.’

  ‘I’m only going to pull it open,’ said Ben.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Colin. ‘I’ll come and act as ballast.’

  Fran and Libby watched as Ben got down on his front, and with Colin hanging on to this legs, reached for what looked like a Victorian bow-shaped door handle. As soon as he touched it, there was a creak, and the door caved in and fell into the darkness below.

  Colin inched his way up next to Ben, and together they peered over the edge of the hole.

  ‘It is!’ He called. ‘It’s a cellar! Or perhaps part of our cellar. There are steps!’ He levered himself to his feet. ‘Do you think it’s safe to go down there?’

  ‘No!’ said Libby and Fran together.

  ‘I think we ought to tell the police,’ said Ben.

  ‘The police? Why?’ asked Colin.

  ‘Because the hotel is still a crime scene,’ said Libby. ‘And who knows? This might be the way the killer – or the victim – got in.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Colin stood with an arrested expression on his face. ‘Obvious, really. But how did they know it was here? I didn’t, and I used to live here.’

  ‘Poking around the back, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘Safer than the front, where anyone could see. This part isn’t overlooked at all.’