Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘You remember last night?’

  ‘It was only about twelve hours ago,’ said Patti, grinning.

  ‘You know what I mean. Well, Fran and I have just been to see an old reporter in Felling who looked into the disappearance of that girl.’

  ‘Was it useful?’

  ‘Up to a point,’ said Fran. ‘And that point is, do you happen to know who owns the big Victorian manor house just outside the town? On the Nethergate road? We couldn’t see a name on the gateposts.’

  ‘It doesn’t need a name,’ said Patti. ‘Everyone knows it.’

  ‘We thought they might,’ said Libby, ‘but we don’t.’

  ‘Hawley House,’ said Patti. ‘It’s Sir Nigel’s place.’

  ‘Sir Nigel?’ repeated Fran and Libby.

  ‘Preece. Come on!’

  ‘Nigel Preece!’ gasped Libby.

  ‘Sir Nigel now. Hereditary baronet,’ said Patti.

  ‘And disgruntled former MP,’ said Fran. ‘Goodness.’

  ‘Why did you want to know?’ asked Patti.

  ‘Well, we think the party that Colin went to where the girl disappeared was held in a barn on that property, and there’s a fair chance that it was a young Nigel who hosted it. All our reporter said was a rich kid.’

  ‘He wouldn’t like that being brought up,’ said Patti.

  ‘It’s only supposition on our part,’ said Fran. ‘And we can hardly ask him.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Patti. ‘That might give you lots of clues.’

  ‘It might,’ agreed Libby, ‘but we got the impression he was hosting in order to get in with the locals. But if he was already local himself, why would he want to?’

  ‘He’d never mixed with the locals, as far as I can tell,’ said Patti. ‘He did the classic thing of prep school, public school, and Oxbridge. Oxford, I think.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Fran. ‘So the locals wouldn’t have had much time for him.’

  ‘Probably not. He isn’t very popular now, at any rate.’

  ‘Well, that clears that up, then,’ said Libby. ‘A dead end, as far as we’re concerned.’

  ‘Unless you can find someone else who was at that party,’ said Patti. ‘Now, lunch?’

  The lunch, served and cooked by the ladies of the parish, was, as predicted, an excellent shepherd’s pie.

  ‘Almost seems an anachronism, doesn’t it?’ said Patti, smiling round at her parishioners. ‘Scenes like this have been familiar for at least the last hundred years or so. You wouldn’t think they would have survived.’

  ‘In these days of poverty and food banks, I expect they’re vital,’ said Fran.

  Patti nodded sadly

  As Libby and Fran were leaving, she said ‘Would you like me to ask around? See if anyone here remembers anything about that party or the girl? Or even Sir Nigel?’

  ‘If you can do it without raising suspicions,’ said Libby, ‘it would be helpful.’

  They parted on the vicarage drive, and Libby was thoughtful as she drove back to Steeple Martin. The trip had done little to convince her or otherwise of Colin’s guilt, but had added a few strands to the enquiry.

  Once back at home, she tried calling Colin again, but again, it went straight to voicemail. She called Ben.

  ‘He’s still with the police,’ Ben told her. ‘It doesn’t sound good, does it?’

  ‘No. But we learnt quite a bit down in Felling.’ Libby went on to relate their findings of the morning, including Patti’s information on Nigel Preece.

  ‘He always struck me as a nasty piece of work,’ said Ben. ‘I wasn’t surprised when he was dropped as an MP.’

  ‘No. There was a bit of a scandal, wasn’t there? A woman?’

  ‘Yes. Can’t remember the details, though. Do you think you ought to let the police know what you’ve found out?’

  ‘I would have thought they would have found it out themselves,’ said Libby dubiously. ‘They’ll say I’m interfering.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Ben was obviously thinking. ‘There’s always the back door.’

  ‘Eh? What back door?’

  ‘Edward. He might be able to see Ian at home and tell him off the record.’

  ‘He can hardly lie in wait for him to come home,’ said Libby, ‘but I suppose it’s worth a try.’

  Edward’s phone also went to voicemail, which meant he was probably working. Libby wasn’t exactly sure what his duties at the university were, but left a message. After which, she didn’t know what to do. Recalling Fran’s rather unflattering attitude to her as a working woman, she reluctantly went into the conservatory and started preparing paper for another sanitised view of Nethergate. To her surprise, she became absorbed and her phone burbling in her pocket made her jump.

  ‘Hi, Libby,’ said Edward. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, did I disturb you at work?’

  ‘We’re officially into the long vac now, so I haven’t got lectures or tutorials. I was catching up on paperwork. Just about to go home.’

  ‘Ah. Well, this is a bit difficult.’ Libby chewed her lip and stared cross-eyed at her paper.

  ‘Are you at home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall I pop in on my way? You can give me a cup of proper tea.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Libby was relieved. It would be much easier to explain face-to-face.

  ‘About forty minutes then,’ said Edward. ‘See you then.’

  In fact it was almost an hour before Edward arrived.

  ‘What’s the problem, then?’ he asked, as she poured boiling water into the brown teapot. ‘Is it to do with this business of Colin’s?’

  ‘Yes. You see, Fran and I went down to Felling today, and we learnt a few things. Ben and I didn’t know whether we should tell the police, but I thought they probably knew it all already, and would say I was interfering.’

  ‘So you thought if I passed it on to Ian at home, off the record, so to speak, it would help?’ Edward was smiling.

  Libby felt the colour rising up her neck. ‘Well, yes...’

  Edward laughed. ‘Go on, then. Tell me all.’

  Once more, Libby recounted everything she and Fran had learnt that morning. Edward, smartly dressed as usual, stretched his legs out in front of him and contrived to make the very English sitting room look exotic.

  ‘As far as I can see, nothing you found is anything but circumstantial, but the inference that it was Nigel Preece who hosted the party is worth looking into, surely?’ he said, when she’d finished.

  ‘But the police must know that!’ said Libby. ‘It would have been one of the first things they looked into at the time of the girl’s disappearance.’

  ‘You would have thought so. But you said your reporter friend said he couldn’t remember who it was.’

  ‘I’m sure that was a lie,’ said Libby. ‘And it’s only supposition, anyway. Also, I feel that telling the police about Emma being jealous of the girl would be dropping her in it.’

  ‘If it’s off the record, Ian doesn’t have to do anything about it,’ said Edward. ‘I think it’s worth me passing it all on, anyway. We often have a drink together if he comes in late, so it’ll be easy enough. He says it stops him feeling guilty for having a lonely nightcap.’ He took out his phone, looked at it, then put it away again. ‘I was going to send him a text asking him to drop in, but then it would look too contrived. I’ll just loiter.’ He grinned. ‘I shall feel like a proper Loony.’

  Libby laughed. ‘Heaven help us! But thank you, Edward, seriously. I don’t know why, but I feel sort of responsible for Colin.’

  ‘I don’t know why, either. It isn’t your fault he’s here, after all.’

  ‘It’s just that he didn’t have any friends here, unless you could call Mrs Mardle next door a friend. And we all suspected him before he arrived. I feel a bit guilty because of that.’

  ‘Well, he’s certainly got friends now,’ said Edward. ‘Let’s just hope the friendship isn’t misplaced.’

  Ben
arrived not long after Edward had left, and also seemed relieved that he was going to pass on the information. ‘I feel guilty about him, too,’ he said. ‘And I like him.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Libby. ‘As Edward said, let’s just hope it isn’t misplaced.’

  Chapter Twenty Five

  There was no word from Colin. Libby and Ben contrived a scratch meal from the remnants in the fridge and settled down to watch television, finally resorting to an old DVD as nothing appealed.

  ‘We’re getting old,’ Ben said with a sigh.

  It was nearly half past nine when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Colin?’ said Libby, as Ben went to answer it.

  But it wasn’t Colin. It was Ian, followed by an anxious-looking Edward.

  ‘Sorry, Libby,’ said Edward. ‘I didn’t think he’d take it like this.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Ben, looking at Ian’s furious face.

  ‘I said he’d say I was interfering,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Come on, Ian, spit it out.’

  Taken aback, Ian stopped dead in the middle of the room.

  ‘Well?’ said Ben, putting hands on hips and looking mulish. ‘What have we done now?’

  The look of fury faded.

  ‘You’ve done nothing,’ said Ian. ‘As usual, it’s the interfering Mrs Sarjeant.’

  ‘See? I told you,’ said Libby. She turned to Ian. ‘I won’t ask you to sit down, DCI Connell, because you’re just leaving. I shall be happy to come to the incident room in the morning and report to DS Trent. Good evening.’ She turned her back and went into the kitchen, leaving dead silence behind her. Desperately trying to control her breathing, she found the whisky bottle and poured herself a double. A throat was cleared behind her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Libby.’

  She didn’t turn round. ‘Hmph.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  Now she did turn round. ‘No, you shouldn’t. As I said, you thought I was interfering. Why do you think I didn’t want to tell you myself? Edward agreed to tell you off the record to deflect your – er – reaction, but neither of us – none of us – thought it would be so extreme.’

  Ian sighed and looked at his feet. ‘If you’ll come back and sit down, I’ll explain.’

  Head high, Libby pushed past him into the sitting room, where she took up her normal position in the corner of the sofa.

  ‘I’m driving,’ said Ian, ‘but coffee...?’

  ‘Can I have a whisky?’ asked Edward.

  ‘You deserve it,’ said Ben, and went into the kitchen. They heard him put the kettle on, and a moment later he came back with Edward’s whisky. ‘Coffee in a moment,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ said Ian. ‘Actually, Libby, we did, as you thought, know some of what you found out, but not all.’

  ‘Then what made you so mad? All Fran and I did was go and ask some questions of a couple of other civilians. We weren’t treading on anyone’s toes.’

  ‘Which civilians?’ Ian said sharply.

  Libby raised her eyebrows at him. ‘An ex-reporter called Fred Barrett and Patti.’

  ‘Patti?’

  ‘Yes. Fred Barrett said the party was hosted by a rich kid whom he couldn’t remember. Fran and I found the house -’

  ‘Found the house?’

  ‘We went looking for the site of the barn and found a house. We didn’t know who it belonged to, so we went and asked Patti if she knew. And she did.’

  ‘And you put two and two together.’

  ‘That’s what we usually do.’

  Ian sighed again and accepted the cup of coffee Ben held out.

  ‘We knew Nigel Preece hosted that party. That came out in the first investigation, and Preece was under suspicion for a while. His family were outraged.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Edward.

  ‘And,’ Ian looked Libby in the eye, ‘Sir Nigel, naturally, found out that the case was under investigation again and, via various channels, warned us off.’

  ‘Ah!’ came the collective response.

  ‘Chief Constable intervention?’ said Ben.

  ‘And the Crime Commissioner.’ Ian nodded. ‘Not to mention the family themselves.’

  ‘Above the common herd, of course,’ said Libby. ‘And you assumed Fran and I would go and put our size fives straight in the middle of it?’

  ‘We-ell...’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Libby. ‘What were we going to do? March up to his front door and start asking questions?’

  ‘No. You didn’t did you? But he could have got wind of you asking questions.’

  ‘From whom? Barrett? Who, presumably, has also been warned off. He was definitely lying when he said he couldn’t remember who the “rich kid” was.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ian took a thoughtful sip of coffee. ‘What was his other information?’

  Libby repeated it.

  ‘And we assumed that the man the singer was making a play for was Colin. No proof, of course.’

  ‘It was. He told us all about it today.’

  ‘Why was he with you for such a long time?’ asked Libby. ‘I couldn’t get hold of him all day.’

  ‘I’m afraid we had his phone,’ said Ian. ‘We saw your calls coming in.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby looked indignant.

  ‘Look, we had reasonable grounds for suspicion, you must admit that. So we had to question him. Luckily, Ben had provided a solicitor -’ Ian gave Ben a wry look, ‘and he quite understood. He’s told us quite a lot more about the evening, and his reasons for leaving the area.’

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. He’ll tell you if he wants to. But we’ve now let him go – with a warning not to leave the area.’

  ‘So he’s not under suspicion anymore?’ said Edward.

  ‘Not immediate suspicion, no.’

  ‘Has he got his phone back?’ asked Ben, taking his own out of his pocket.

  ‘Yes, and he’s back at the pub. But leave it until I’ve gone, will you?’

  Ben nodded and put the phone away.

  ‘Now what other information did you say you had?’ Ian asked Libby.

  Reluctantly, Libby told him about Emma and the possible jealousy between her and Shareen Wallis.

  ‘I don’t think it amounts to a row of beans, though. Shareen would hardly have agreed to meet her on the way home, would she?’

  ‘And you think that’s what happened? She arranged to meet someone?’

  ‘That’s what it looked like from the original investigation,’ said Libby. ‘Someone who had been at the party with a girlfriend, so couldn’t openly leave with her.’

  Edward was frowning. ‘Admittedly, I don’t know all the ins and outs,’ he said, ‘but if this girl was becoming well known as a TV personality, why would she be bothered meeting some local nonentity on the quiet?’

  The answer struck them all at the same time. Preece. Ian sighed.

  ‘Exactly. So you see why we need to keep this quiet.’

  ‘But if it seems obvious to us now, and we’re not even in the thick of it,’ said Ben, ‘why didn’t it originally?’

  ‘I told you – it did. He was investigated, and his alibi checked out.’

  ‘What was the alibi?’ asked Libby, frowning.

  ‘Various partygoers who swore they were with him all the time.’

  ‘Dubious,’ said Edward.

  ‘Quite. But after twenty years, how are we going to break them?’

  ‘Do you know who they are?’ asked Libby.

  ‘A few. But I think we might ask your friend John Newman if he knows any of them.’

  ‘He didn’t live there, then, though, did he?’ said Libby.

  ‘His wife did.’

  ‘Oh, hell!’ said Libby miserably.

  ‘We won’t say where the information came from,’ said Ian, ‘we never do. Anyway, it came from the reporter Barrett, didn’t it?’

  ‘So, to sum up,’ said Ben, ‘the reason you were so mad was because you
thought Libby and Fran might have stirred up Sir Nigel Preece.’

  Ian had the grace to look slightly ashamed. ‘I’ve said I was wrong. But, Libby, do you think you could bear to go in and give a formal statement tomorrow?’

  ‘Won’t DS Trent think it’s all unsubstantiated and irrelevant?’ said Libby with a grin.

  ‘No, she won’t.’ Ian grinned back.

  ‘And does this mean you think he’s the man you want?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Ian. ‘Just worth looking at.’

  ‘I know who else you could ask!’ said Libby suddenly. ‘Ted Sachs, the builder. He was there.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Ian nodded. ‘If we can pin him down – he’s rather elusive.’

  ‘He was,’ said Ben, ‘but that was because you were suspicious of him giving Fiona Darling the keys. You’re not looking into that, now, are you?’

  ‘Who says we aren’t?’ said Ian, with another grin, and stood up. ‘Time I left you in peace, once again, with apologies. Come on, Edward, let’s go and have a drink at home.’

  Libby got up and gave Edward a kiss. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Ian put a tentative arm round her shoulders. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Is it too late to report to Fran?’ asked Libby, when they’d gone.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben firmly. ‘You can have another whisky and then we’re going to bed.’ He took her glass into the kitchen and reappeared with a refill. ‘You quite scared me, you know.’

  ‘Scared you?’

  ‘When you told Ian where to get off.’

  ‘I scared myself,’ said Libby. ‘I was thinking we might never see him again.’

  The following morning, before going to the incident room, Libby called Fran and reported.

  ‘I wish I’d been a fly on the wall,’ said Fran, laughing. ‘To see the great DCI Connell humbled.’

  ‘He wasn’t very humble. Anyway, I’ve to go and make a formal report.’

  ‘Do you think I should come, too?’

  ‘Ian didn’t say so.’

  ‘Can’t hurt, though, can it?’ said Fran. ‘I’ll come.’

  ‘Is Guy all right with you taking this much time off?’

  ‘He’s quite interested, and we aren’t very busy at the moment. It’ll be different when the schools break up.’

  It was late morning when Fran and Libby entered the incident room, which seemed a lot busier than the last time Libby had been there. Rachel Trent saw them and came over, smiling broadly.