Murder Repeated

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Tell her what?’ said Libby.

  ‘We know quite a lot about that party,’ said Ron.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Libby felt that she couldn’t take any more shocks.

  ‘How?’ she said.

  Ron and Maria laughed.

  ‘It’s quite logical if you think about it,’ said Ron. ‘I’m a member of a rock band.’

  ‘A famous rock band,’ put in Maria.

  ‘And the bloke who held that party thought it would be a feather in his cap if I went. Well, what he really wanted was the band. Course, by that time we weren’t performing much, except for festivals.’

  ‘Do you mean Nigel Preece?’ Libby hadn’t been prepared for this. ‘But no one we’ve spoken to said you were there.’

  ‘We weren’t,’ said Maria.

  ‘Then how...?’

  ‘Local singer goes missing. Local rocker gets asked a) if he knew her and b) what he thinks about it – and her.’ said Ron. ‘So I got told quite a lot about that party. And Sir bleedin’ Nigel gets on to me. Wants me to speak up for him.’

  ‘What? But you didn’t know him, did you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We’re both local, you see,’ said Maria.

  ‘I didn’t know that!’ Libby gasped.

  ‘No reason why you should.’ Maria smiled. ‘I was Felling, yer man here was Itching. And if you were Felling you knew the Preeces. The old man was a tartar. Thought we were still living in the last century.’ She stopped. ‘Oh, century before last, I mean.’

  ‘And Sir bleedin’ Nigel still does,’ said Ron. ‘Anyway, I said how could I speak up for him – I hadn’t been at his party, and he had the gall to threaten me!’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby nodded. ‘Running true to form.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. Two friends of mine have had similar experiences. One was Dame Amanda Knight and the other was Guy Wolfe.’

  ‘Your mate Fran’s husband? The artist?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘And Dame Amanda Knight? That’s going for the big guns, isn’t it? Why was he upset with her?’

  ‘Same as you, reading between the lines. He was trying to get on intimate terms – not that sort of intimate – and with Guy...’ she paused.

  ‘He tried it on,’ said Maria shrewdly.

  ‘Oh – you knew?’

  ‘Swings both ways,’ said Ron. ‘We all knew.’

  ‘Who’s all?’

  ‘The locals.’ Ron shrugged. ‘Thing is, this sort of thing had happened before.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Libby was feeling out of her depth.

  ‘The party,’ said Maria. ‘There’d been others. And other girls.’

  Libby sat in stupefied silence.

  ‘Give her another cuppa,’ Ron said to his wife with a grin. ‘I think she needs it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Libby. ‘I just can’t understand it. If you know that, why didn’t the police know it? Didn’t the locals say anything?’

  ‘Any word against Nigel and his cronies and his bully boys’d be on to you. And the girls didn’t say anything.’

  Maria sniffed. ‘Silly cows were flattered half the time. And he paid up.’

  ‘Paid up?’ Libby faltered.

  ‘He’d send one of the boys round with a nice little wad,’ said Ron. ‘Never a cheque. Notes.’

  ‘I can’t believe this!’ Libby looked from one to the other in horror. ‘How come we haven’t heard a whisper of this? And how come the police haven’t? He can’t have silenced everybody?’

  ‘They haven’t asked the right people,’ said Ron. ‘Now, if they’d come to me...’

  ‘Why didn’t you come forward?’

  ‘And say what? I wasn’t there? And Preece’s name hadn’t come out, so there wasn’t anything to say. You can tell them now, if you like.’ Ron smiled. ‘You still mates with that DCI?’

  ‘Ian Connell, yes. I’ll tell him, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’

  ‘No – anything to help.’

  ‘I’ve lost track now,’ said Libby. ‘Originally I came here to talk about Ted Sachs. Was he one of Preece’s cronies? The people we know were at the party said he was there.’

  ‘He was one of the bully boys,’ said Maria. ‘The cronies were all much posher than Ted. They’d all been to school together.’

  ‘Eton?’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, no. One of the smaller ones. I don’t think Eton or Harrow would have taken Preece. His father didn’t have quite enough money.’ Ron pulled a face. ‘It was in Kent – what was it called?’

  ‘Not Foxgrove?’ said Libby.

  ‘That’s it! That’s what he called his gang, too – his little Foxes.’

  ‘That is very unfair on foxes,’ said Libby. ‘It’s all beginning to make sense, now. So Ted Sachs was one of the people who went round cleaning up after him – them.’

  ‘We think so,’ said Maria. ‘ Mind, nothing was said outright. But when we had Sachs in to fix the panelling in the hall – he’s a carpenter, did you know? – we recognised him.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise the name?’ asked Libby.

  ‘We didn’t have it.’ Ron shrugged. ‘We got hold of the old bloke who did it in the first place, and he’d retired, but said this guy had been apprenticed to him and worked with him for years, so he sent him along. And there he was – Sachs in person.’

  ‘And he couldn’t get out of here fast enough!’ said Maria, laughing. ‘So what’s he been up to?’

  ‘Well, nothing, really. He’s just there. He was the one who gave the keys to the woman who found the first body. He’d been asked to do the renovations on the building by the landlord. Again, on recommendation.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Ron.

  ‘He just keeps cropping up,’ said Libby. ‘I wondered if it was him who tried to break in to my house today.’

  ‘What?’ Maria and Ron looked startled.

  ‘You never said anything about that,’ said Maria.

  Libby told them. ‘But it wasn’t,’ she said eventually. ‘Wrong sort of van.’

  ‘Have you met him?’ asked Ron.

  ‘Briefly.’

  ‘Beefy bloke. Nervous type, though.’

  They all sat silent for a minute.

  ‘Well, I’d better go,’ said Libby. ‘Are you sure about telling the police what you know?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ron. ‘Keep on the right side of the law.’

  He and Maria saw Libby to the door.

  ‘Keep in touch,’ said Maria. ‘We want to know how it goes. And come over to dinner.’

  Libby had so much to think about as she drove home she completely forgot about going to see Edward. Which was just as well as she was much later than she had intended to be. In fact, Ben was already at home when she let herself in. He offered tea, and made it while she regaled him with the information she’d gathered.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, accepting the mug he held out, ‘I’ve had a lot of tea. I should have asked for a scotch.’

  ‘Too early,’ said Ben. ‘Make do with that. Now, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I can’t keep this to myself, can I? Besides, Ron’s asked me to pass it on. And, Gawd ’elp us, it’ll have to be Ian, not Rachel or Rob Maiden.’

  ‘Text,’ said Ben promptly. ‘Then he can’t shout at you.’

  So Libby sent the text. She had barely pressed send when the phone began to ring. She sent Ben a significant look and answered.

  ‘What’s this about, Libby? Why does Ron Stewart want to see me?’

  ‘Or talk to you,’ said Libby. ‘It’s about the case. The girl singer and the party. He’ll explain.’

  ‘He’d better!’ said Ian. ‘Why hasn’t he come forward?’

  ‘Because Sir Nigel’s name hadn’t come out in the media.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Ian’s reply was explosive.

  ‘I’m sure the police must have known a lot of what he told me,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t see why they wouldn’t have.’


  ‘Right, I’m ringing him now.’ Ian ended the call.

  ‘Not even a thank you,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Can I have that scotch now?’

  Ben volunteered to cook his speciality prawn curry, and Libby called Fran to update her on what had been a rather busy day.

  ‘What was Ian going to do?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Ring Ron. I don’t know what else, and I don’t feel I can ask. But it’s fantastic, isn’t it? Why has all this stuff stayed hidden?’

  ‘Ron told you. The locals were scared of Preece and his boys.’

  ‘But neither John nor Emma said anything about it. Emma, at least, must have known.’

  ‘Come to that, so must Barrett,’ said Fran. ‘No wonder he didn’t want to say anything. So what’s happening about your white van man?’

  ‘I don’t know. Rachel put out a call for the van, but I haven’t heard anything.’

  ‘It can’t have gone out to the media,’ said Fran, ‘or you’d have had Jane on the phone asking for details.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, well, I shall have to contain my soul in patience until someone sees fit to tell me something.’

  No one disturbed the evening, and apart from checking on Mrs Mardle to see if she had quite recovered from the morning’s adventure, it was spent quietly watching more old movies on television.

  Wednesday morning brought Libby an email from Mike Farthing with details of intruder-proof hedging, suggesting pyracantha, holly, and berberis, and finishing up with a question about her visit to Ron Stewart. Feeling guilty that she hadn’t told him yesterday, Libby rang.

  ‘Hello, Libby,’ said Cassandra. ‘We were wondering...’

  ‘Yes, I know, and I should have rung yesterday. But yes, Ron had a little bit of news about Ted Sachs.’ She didn’t feel she could share everything she’d been told. ‘I’ve passed it on to the police. It was just that he had known him vaguely about twenty years ago.’

  ‘And any news on your intruder?’

  ‘No, nothing. I like the sound of the hedging, though. Will Mike order it in for me?

  ‘I expect he’ll even come and plant it for you,’ said Cassandra with a laugh. ‘He’s dying to know more about your murders.’

  I wish people wouldn’t keep saying my murders, Libby thought, as she ended the call. Deciding that she really ought to get on with Guy’s paintings, which remained two pieces of blank stretched paper in the conservatory, she left the kitchen.

  Half way through the charcoal outline of the first, her phone rang.

  ‘Van’s been found,’ Rachel told her. ‘Burnt out. Reported stolen yesterday morning.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby sighed. ‘I did wonder.’

  ‘The guy who reported it said he thought it was rather funny, as it wasn’t worth anything.’

  ‘Where was it taken from?’

  ‘Ashford way. He said it wasn’t even worth part exchange, and when he’d bought his new one, he kept it as a spare, intending to run it into the ground, more or less.’

  ‘No link, then?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Oh. Did DCI Connell say anything about going to see Ron Stewart yesterday?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Rachel was guarded.

  ‘I know, you can’t tell me. But I passed on some information – I wondered if he’d acted on it.’

  ‘You were right – I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ sighed Libby. ‘I know the drill by now. Thanks for letting me know about the van.’

  The charcoal sketch had lost its appeal, and on impulse,

  Libby decided to pay Fiona Darling another visit. She wasn’t quite sure why, but Fiona was a link to both her husband, Whitelaw senior, and Ted Sachs.

  ‘You’ll be stepping on people’s toes,’ said Fran’s voice in her head, but she ignored it.

  The converted barn was quiet. Libby could hear a bell ringing somewhere inside when she pressed the ornate bell push, but no one came. After a moment, wondering whether to use the heavy iron knocker, she turned away.

  ‘Hello?’ said a voice.

  She turned back to see a fair, stocky man coming round the side of the house. She forced herself to smile. Well, she thought, they didn’t know their David was Mr Darling.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, stepping forward. ‘I’m Libby Sarjeant. I just popped in to see Fiona.’

  His face darkened. ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby bit her lip. ‘Could I leave a message? Is it Mr Darling?’

  ‘Yes, it is. And no, you can’t leave a message. I don’t expect her back.’

  Chapter Thirty Four

  ‘Oh.’ Libby was nonplussed. Now what? ‘Oh, well, thank you,’ she said, and once more turned away.

  ‘Why did you want to see her?’ David Darling’s voice was close behind her. She jumped.

  ‘I just wanted to check on her,’ she said. ‘She was lonely, and my friend Donna -’

  ‘You were interfering.’ He stood glowering at her, hands on hips.

  ‘Interfering? How?’

  He apparently had no answer to this, but simply stood there, a threatening presence.

  ‘I’ll go, then,’ said Libby, hoping her suddenly shaky legs would carry her back to the car. She managed to get there, open the door and climb in before a second man came round the side of the house, stopped dead and retreated. She started the car, crashed the gears, and reversed to the lane. The second man had been Ted Sachs.

  Again, she drove to Cattlegreen Nurseries, parked the car and took out her phone.

  ‘Rachel! I don’t know if this means anything, but I’ve just been to see Fiona Darling and her husband said she’s not there and isn’t coming back. And Ted Sachs was there and didn’t want me to see him.’ She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Rachel sounded concerned.

  ‘He was threatening – Darling. He said I was interfering.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Outside Cattlegreen Nurseries.’

  ‘Stay there.’ Rachel was brisk. ‘Someone will be along.’

  Libby ended the call and realised someone was staring through the side window. She stifled a scream.

  ‘Libby!’ Joe and Nella’s son, Owen, looked worried. ‘Dad said he saw you and sent me out.’

  Libby opened the door and got out.

  ‘Oh, Owen, I’m sorry.’ She leant against the car.

  ‘Shall I make you some hot chocolate?’ Winter or summer, Owen’s cure for everything was hot chocolate. Libby patted him on the arm.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. Can I come inside?’

  Owen beamed and took Libby’s arm.

  Inside, Joe was just finishing with a customer, who looked at Libby curiously as she went out.

  ‘Here,’ said Joe, pulling out a battered chair. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Chocolate,’ Owen told his father and disappeared into the back of the building.

  ‘Do you really want chocolate?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Do you know, I think I do,’ said Libby. ‘Comforting.’

  ‘So what’s up?’

  ‘I just had an awkward encounter and the police told me to wait for them here. Sorry, Joe.’

  ‘You getting up to your tricks again?’ Joe shook his head at her. ‘What shall we do with you?’

  Libby gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘Wasn’t my fault, honestly.’

  ‘These murders at the old Garden, is it?’

  ‘Yes – well, connected, I think. Really, Joe, I wasn’t involved.’

  ‘You went with that Mrs Darling, though, didn’t you?’

  Joe jerked his head in the direction of Steeple Well. ‘She comes in here.’

  ‘Well, said Libby with a sigh, ‘I don’t think she’ll be coming again.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her husband said she’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? They’ve only just come!’

  ‘I think she�
�s left him,’ said Libby.

  Owen came back with a large steaming mug. Libby smiled gratefully.

  ‘You all right?’ He asked her.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Owen. How’s Tessa?’

  Owen and Tessa, an unlikely couple, had been married only a couple of years. Owen was stepfather to Davey and Kayley, Tessa’s children. He smiled broadly.

  ‘Fine, Libby, fine! We all are.’

  The sound of a car on the gravelled forecourt caught the attention of all of them. Libby turned her head to see Rachel and the silent PC Robinson get out.

  ‘Mrs Sarjeant,’ said Rachel formally. ‘Are you all right?’

  Owen drew closer protectively.

  ‘Yes thank you, DS Trent.’ Libby smiled up at Owen.

  ‘Owen’s made me some hot chocolate.’

  Owen smiled proudly back. Rachel looked slightly bewildered.

  ‘Perhaps we could have a word?’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’ Libby stood up and handed her mug to Owen. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she assured him. She followed Rachel outside.

  ‘So tell me what happened,’ Rachel said.

  Libby described her encounter with Darling.

  ‘I wasn’t even sure that he was the David who had been with Preece and Whitelaw at that party, but when Sachs appeared... And he was so belligerent.’ Libby frowned. ‘You don’t think he’s done anything to Fiona, do you?’

  ‘DI Maiden’s gone over there to speak to him now. Although I don’t suppose he’ll get much out of him,’ said Rachel. She moved a little nearer to Libby. ‘It’s all a bit confusing, isn’t it?’ she said confidentially.

  ‘Yes.’ Libby sighed. ‘I’m glad it’s your pigeon, not mine!’

  ‘Yes, thanks!’ said Rachel, with a wry smile. ‘So there’s nothing else you can tell us, then?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘We’ll get on, then. You go back to your hot chocolate.’

  Libby went back inside and retrieved her mug.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Yes, thanks, and thank you for providing shelter,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll go home and get some lunch.’

  She finished her hot chocolate, gave Owen a kiss, and went back to the car. Before she started it, she rang Fran to give her an update.

  ‘Just don’t do anything else, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘You’ve obviously got a bit close and they’re getting rattled.’