Murder in the Blood

by Lesley Cookman

  When they arrived back at the hotel, they asked Betty to join them for a nightcap, but she refused. ‘I might as well go and make peace with Walter,’ she said, ‘or else my life won’t be worth living.’ And she trotted off quite cheerily.

  ‘Fortitude, that’s what she’s got,’ said Harry. ‘Great old girl.’

  They were all surprised to find Justin and Neal sitting at the bar staring morosely into their glasses.

  ‘Hello!’ said Ben. ‘Where have you been all day? Have you heard the news?’

  ‘About Sally?’ said Justin. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you manage to speak to her?’ asked Neal.

  ‘No. Martha did, though.’ said Harry.

  ‘When? This afternoon?’ asked Justin. ‘That will help them narrow down the time of death, won’t it?’

  ‘If they look into it that closely,’ said Peter. ‘No one seems to have any faith in the Jandarma.’

  ‘But Martha said the Antalyan consulate was going to look into it, didn’t she?’ said Fran. ‘Now with two Brits dead – murdered – they’ll have to act.’

  ‘This is awful,’ Neal suddenly burst out. ‘It almost seems as though it’s my fault. I only came out here for a bit of peace and quiet, and now …’ He looked ready to cry.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Libby, patting his shoulder. ‘You know it’s not your fault. Just because it happened while you were here – it could have happened any time.’

  ‘But I’d met him.’ Neal turned tragic eyes on Justin. ‘And I seem to have set the police on to Justin and all their other friends.’

  Justin looked uncomfortable. ‘Nonsense,’ he muttered.

  ‘I suppose they’ll go and question Geoff and Christine, too, won’t they?’ said Libby.

  Justin now looked surprised. ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘No, but Greta and Tom have been there, and Mahmud at The Red Bar was telling us about them. It seems like a sort of local for you ex-pats.’

  Justin pulled a face. ‘Not for everyone. We don’t get on.’

  ‘Oh?’ Libby glanced at Fran, eyebrows raised. ‘Did Alec get on with them?’

  ‘No. We weren’t particularly welcome there.’

  ‘Ah.’ Peter exchanged glances with Harry. ‘I don’t think we’ll be going there, then.’

  ‘Just Fran and me, then,’ said Libby, ‘after we’ve seen Martha. Now, who wants a drink?’

  Chapter Seven

  Before the sun rose too high in the sky, Libby and Fran walked along the bay towards the river and Martha’s restaurant.

  ‘That must be the Istanbul Palace,’ said Fran, pointing to an attractive red-roofed cream building set on its own amid acres of uncultivated vegetation. ‘No signage at all.’

  ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘I wonder how you get to it? There’s no entry from here.’

  Martha answered the question for them as they sat sipping iced tea on the terrace above the restaurant.

  ‘There’s a turning off this road. You’ll pass it on your right as you go back to the beach road. Very discreet little sign. It’s almost as if they don’t want any trade.’

  ‘You don’t like Geoff and Christine?’ asked Libby, noticing Martha’s expression.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind them. They’re just a bit – well, snobby, I suppose.’

  ‘Snobby?’ Fran’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I thought out here it would be exactly the opposite in an ex-pat community. A classless society.’

  ‘Anything but,’ said Martha with a laugh. ‘Geoff is supposed to be ex-military and from a posh background and Christine is an ex-model. They think they’re better than most of the rest of us.’

  ‘They would have known Sally and Alec, though?’

  ‘Knew them, yes,’ said Martha with a sniff. ‘I don’t think they were on visiting terms.’

  ‘Ah. We got that impression,’ said Libby. ‘Homophobic, are they?’

  ‘They would say no, of course. But yes. They are. And many of their so-called friends are, too.’

  ‘So there’s a divided society out here? I mean, we’ve met Justin and you, and heard about Sally and Alec, and Mahmud at The Red Bar said they used to go there. There must be a whole other set of ex-pats we don’t know about.’

  Martha nodded. ‘Except that they’re all like Geoff and Christine, so unlikely to know anything about Alec’s death – or Sally’s.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe it, you know. Sally was such a good person.’

  ‘Mahmud said she was a family favourite,’ said Fran. ‘His wife was upset.’

  ‘She would be. Sally babysat for them, taught the little ones English and played games with them. And they liked Alec, too. He was good with the children.’

  ‘So it could be someone from the other group who had it in from them,’ said Libby. ‘Doesn’t that seem likely?’

  ‘I can’t see how,’ said Martha. ‘If they don’t have anything to do with them why would they kill them?’

  ‘I think you can cut out extreme homophobia, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘And anyway, Sally wasn’t gay, was she?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’ Martha smiled sadly. ‘She frightened some men, but they all quite fancied her. Even my Ismet.’

  ‘So what’s happened with the consulate?’ asked Libby after a moment. ‘Have they traced Alec’s mother?’

  ‘No. They’ve been really helpful, and apparently they’ve managed to get the police – or whoever it is – to investigate more thoroughly, especially now Sally’s dead. They saw the connection immediately. They have traced his flight back to England, but there’s no joy there. He flew into Gatwick back in March, and flew back here ten days later. But where he was in between is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘They think Sally was killed because she knew something?’ said Libby.

  ‘I suppose. They were friends and were killed within two days of each other. Must be.’

  ‘The mother. That’s the reason,’ said Fran. ‘Alec told Sally about his mother.’

  ‘But why would anyone want to keep that secret?’ said Martha, looking bewildered. ‘I know he didn’t tell any of us, but I expect it was because he was a private sort of person. I don’t think he could have been going to make a thing of it.’

  ‘Well, I still think it’s worth us going to meet Geoff and Christine,’ said Libby. ‘Can you just go in for a drink?’

  ‘You can, although they’d be surprised,’ said Martha with a smile. ‘It’s usually only their regulars in the bar. They’ll be open now.’

  ‘Regulars is what we like,’ said Libby with satisfaction. ‘We’ll keep you posted, Martha.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you if I hear anything from the consulate or the Jandarma. Or whoever’s in charge now.’ Martha stood up and waved away the offer of payment for their tea.

  Libby and Fran crossed the bridge and wandered down the track towards the branch road. Sure enough, soon, on their right appeared two very new-looking pale stone walls, curving into a smooth drive. On one of the walls a small plaque announced ‘Istanbul Palace. Hotel, restaurant and bar.’

  ‘This is it, then,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s have a look at them.’

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ asked Fran, following her friend onto the drive, either side of which were planted night scented Melissa shrubs.

  ‘We’re just going for a drink. Holidaymakers do visit lots of different bars.’

  ‘But why are we going?’

  ‘To check them out, of course. I want to see what it is that divides opinion so much. And if there’s any suggestion of a motive.’

  ‘You’re not just being nosy?’

  Libby turned and grinned at her friend. ‘Of course I am. It’s what I do best.’

  There were shallow steps running the length of the building when they reached it, leading to a covered terrace where several people sat at tables. Libby started up the steps. Immediately, a short, round man with a bald head and a cheerful expression appeared.

  ‘Hello! Welcome to the Palace
,’ he called.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve only come for a drink.’

  He held out his hand as Libby reached the terrace.

  ‘Geoff Croker, pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Libby.’ Libby took the proffered hand. ‘And this is Fran.’

  Geoff shook hands with Fran. ‘Come along in then. Bar’s in here.’

  He led the way inside to a cool marble floored room where comfortable chairs were place around small tables. Fran and Libby exchanged glances behind his back.

  ‘Now, ladies, what’ll you have?’ Geoff sidled behind the imposing polished bar.

  ‘Two beers, please,’ said Libby. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

  ‘Yes.’ Geoff looked round the bar complacently. ‘We like it.’ He placed two frosted glasses on the bar and began to pour the beer. ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘We were exploring,’ said Fran, before Libby could speak and put her foot in it. ‘We saw the building from the beach road –’ she waved a vague hand ‘– and when we walked up here we saw the sign. We guessed it was the same place.’

  ‘Ah.’ Geoff pushed the glasses towards them. ‘I only asked because we don’t get many people coming in for drinks, only our guests who are staying here.’

  ‘And the locals,’ said Libby.

  Geoff looked at her sharply. ‘Locals?’

  ‘Someone said this is the place to meet the locals.’ Libby smiled, charmingly, she hoped.

  ‘Really? Now who would that be?’ Geoff’s ‘mine host’ smile had stayed in place, but his eyes had narrowed.

  ‘Mahmud at The Red Bar,’ said Fran. ‘We had dinner there last night.’

  ‘Ah, Mahmud.’ Geoff appeared to relax, and Libby wondered whom he’d expected them to name. ‘Good food. Nice little family.’

  ‘Yes. He was telling me Sally Weston was a good friend of theirs,’ she said.

  Geoff’s face froze again. ‘Sally?’

  ‘You did know, didn’t you?’ Libby covered her mouth with her hand and hoped she looked shocked. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry …’

  ‘Oh – yes. Of course. Terrible thing. Poor old Sally.’ Geoff’s smile had gone now. ‘Didn’t know her well, of course.’

  ‘Oh, really? I thought you would have done. Mahmud said all the ex-pats come here.’ Fran sipped her beer and stared at him over the rim of her glass.

  ‘Er – no. Well, not all of them. All know each other of course,’ he added hastily. ‘Sally had her own crowd.’

  ‘Who don’t come here? Oh, that’s sad,’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes, well, each to their own.’ Geoff’s smile tried to come back but didn’t quite make it.

  A door opened at the far end of the room and a tall, blonde woman walked in. Libby instinctively took a dislike to her. Geoff greeted her with relief.

  ‘My wife, Christine,’ he said proudly. ‘These ladies dropped in for a drink, Chris.’

  As the woman approached, Libby was irresistibly reminded of a young woman she’d encountered in a supermarket car park back home. The woman had parked her huge American-style cruiser in a disabled parking bay. Her make-up and over-the-top clothes had been more suitable for nightclubbing than a trip to the supermarket, and her spoiled little girl had danced around irritating the other shoppers.

  Christine Croker could have been her older sister.

  She slid onto a bar stool next to Libby, crossing her legs and showing off her bejewelled high-heeled sandals, which revealed her toenails, each one a triumph of the pedicurist’s art. She nodded at the women.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Geoff held a lighter out to his wife as she put a cigarette to her glossy lips. Libby tore her fascinated gaze away.

  ‘Where? Oh – Jimmy’s,’ she said.

  Christine lifted her eyes to meet her husband’s.

  ‘Nice little place,’ said Geoff.

  Libby and Fran picked up their glasses and retreated to a table on the terrace.

  ‘They knew who we were,’ whispered Libby, once they were seated as far away from the bar as possible.

  ‘He was just too quick off the mark, wasn’t he?’ Fran let her eyes drift across the terrace to where Geoff and his wife now stood with a group of people, all of them looking serious.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ Libby leant back in her chair. ‘Have they got something to do with the murders? And if so – why? Even if this is a little outpost of homophobia, they surely wouldn’t kill someone because of that.’

  ‘I think they’re just worried. If they didn’t get on with either of the victims, it could bring the police knocking at their doors.’

  ‘Well, it would in England, but it doesn’t look as though the Jandarma would bother,’ said Libby.

  ‘I wonder if the consulate has had any joy in prodding them into action? I had a look on the tablet this morning and consulates and embassies don’t actually have the power to intervene in local court cases or investigations.’

  ‘But if the government – our government – decides it should help, they can send people over, can’t they?’ said Libby. ‘They’ve done that before.’

  ‘I suppose they might. Now it’s two deaths.’

  A head popped up over the balustrade and smiled at them.

  ‘Quite right. And that’s just what they’ve done. Johnny Smith, at your service.’

  Chapter Eight

  Libby and Fran just gaped.

  ‘Sorry if I startled you.’ The man followed his head up the steps and came round to their table. ‘You are Libby and Fran, aren’t you?’

  The both nodded, still staring.

  ‘May I sit down?’

  Libby nodded again.

  ‘I’d better explain, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, please. How did you know who we were or that we’d be here? And why?’ Libby had found her voice.

  ‘Your friend Martha –’ he jerked a thumb over his shoulder ‘– got in touch with the consulate in Antalya, didn’t she? And it just so happens I’m spending a few weeks in Antalya and I have a friend on the staff. I come every year, so everyone knows me and they’ve asked me to have a quick look into things – not officially, you understand, but with the co-operation of the local Jandarma – as the two victims were both British nationals. I went to see Martha, and she told me something about you two and your friends and told me you were coming here. And as I came up the steps I heard you talking. So, no great detective work there.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Libby smiled at Fran. ‘And there we were, thinking we could sort it all out. I’m Libby Sarjeant, by the way, and this is my friend, Fran Wolfe.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Johnny Smith, extending a hand to each of them.

  ‘How did the consulate persuade the Jandarma to give you their co-operation?’ asked Fran.

  Johnny’s wide smile almost split his face in half. ‘Because I was part of a team that came out here to train them years ago. I’ve kept my links. I’m actually staying with a rather senior member of the force in Antalya. Lucky, huh?’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Libby.

  ‘Don’t knock it. Coincidences happen far more in real life than they ever do in films or books.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to get a beer. Would either of you like anything?’

  They both refused, and watched as he made his way to the bar. Medium height, rather shabby shorts and shirt, with grizzled grey hair and a bit of a paunch, he looked like any other middle-aged man on holiday.

  ‘I wonder what he trained them in?’ murmured Libby.

  ‘Let’s hope it was detection,’ whispered Fran.

  ‘Right.’ He returned to the table with a bottle and glass. ‘Now, Martha tells me you have a bit of a reputation. Care to tell me?’

  Libby cast an anguished glance at her friend.

  ‘I don’t know that you’ll approve,’ said Fran calmly, ‘but we’ve been involved in a few cases in England. Strictly unofficially, of course.’

  Shrewd grey eyes surveyed her. ‘I exp
ect I could find out if you don’t want to tell me.’

  ‘You’re actually still in the police force?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Not the Met, though?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, did I?’ He laughed and carefully poured his beer into the glass. ‘Yes, still with the Met. So, as I said, I expect I could find out …’

  ‘Oh, we’ll tell you,’ said Libby. ‘You see it all began …’

  Over the next twenty minutes they related the bare bones of some of their adventures.

  ‘You’ve been lucky,’ said Johnny Smith when they’d finished. ‘I know forces who would have kicked your butts long before now.’

  ‘Which is why we haven’t said much about our wonderful local police.’ Fran took a sip from her glass and looked away.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Johnny, after a moment. ‘Is there a reason you get involved? Are you used as specialists in some area?’

  Libby looked quickly at Fran, opened her mouth, and closed it again.

  ‘No,’ said Fran coolly.

  Johnny grunted and finished his beer. ‘Right. Tell me what you’ve found out about these murders.’

  ‘We haven’t found anything out,’ said Libby. ‘But we were there when the first body was discovered.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Fran, still cool, ‘we only have your word for it that you’re who you say you are.’

  The wide smile broke out again. ‘I wondered how long it would take you.’ He pulled a wallet out of his shorts pocket. ‘Here. And I’ve got a letter from the consulate, but it’s in Turkish.’

  Fran picked up the wallet and held it open for Libby to see. They both gasped. Commander J D Smith was shown in uniform, looking a good deal smarter than he did slouching in the chair opposite.

  ‘Sorry.’ Libby felt herself flushing.

  ‘What for? Not asking?’ He laughed. ‘Well, now we’re straight. What can you tell me?’

  They told him everything, from finding Alec Wilson’s body and Neal Parnham’s recognition of him, to their suspicion that Geoff and Christine Croker knew who they were.

  ‘Hmm. Homophobia rife, then, is it?’ Johnny leant back in his chair and scratched his chin. ‘Lot of it at home, still, but mostly undercover.’