Murder in the Blood

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘This end?’ said Libby. ‘Why here? Because Sally Weston had a house here? But she didn’t live in it.’

  ‘No,’ said Ian. ‘Because Justin Newcombe had a return train ticket in his pocket to Canterbury.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Libby gaped.

  ‘Canterbury?’ said Ben. ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s what we want to find out, sir,’ said Inspector James. ‘Now you and Mrs Sarjeant have both said you only met Mr Newcombe while you were on holiday in …’

  ‘Erzugan,’ supplied Libby. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’d never met him before? In this country?’

  Libby sighed in exasperation. ‘No! We’d never met any of them. It was the first time any of us had even been there.’

  ‘Except Guy,’ said Ben.

  ‘Mr Wolfe,’ explained Ian. ‘He went there a couple of times some years ago with his daughter.’

  ‘So he could have known all the victims?’ said Inspector James.

  Libby felt a cold ball form in her stomach.

  ‘He could have, but he didn’t,’ said Ian firmly. Inspector James stared at him for a few minutes, then turned to Libby and Ben. ‘We have to find out why he was coming to this area, and it turns out that you all live around here. And that Newcombe actually called –’ he paused to look down at his notebook, ‘Mr Harry Price on the Friday before he died.’

  ‘But we’ve been through all this,’ said Libby, turning to Ian. ‘Can’t you just pass over all the interviews or whatever?’

  ‘We have,’ said Ian.

  ‘Has Commander Smith?’ asked Ben.

  Ian and Inspector James looked each other.

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Ian.

  ‘You wouldn’t have expected him to, would you,’ said Libby. ‘Sneaky b –’

  ‘Libby!’ Ben broke in sharply.

  Inspector James’ gloomy face shifted into what could almost be a smile.

  ‘It’s difficult when you don’t know key parts of the investigation,’ he said, ‘which is why we are having to go back to the beginning.’

  ‘Are you part of Commander Smith’s team?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Not exactly.’ James sighed deeply. ‘Very difficult.’

  ‘So you’ve got to ignore the murders in Turkey and concentrate on Justin Newcombe?’ said Ben.

  ‘In a way,’ said Ian. ‘But we can’t ignore the events in Turkey because it’s obviously where the motive for this killing exists.’

  ‘And nobody from the village flew into London and straight out again, I suppose?’ said Libby.

  Ian and James both smiled at this.

  ‘It’s been checked,’ said James.

  ‘So the murderer is definitely in this country?’ said Ben. ‘But it could be anybody – somebody none of us would have heard of.’

  ‘It could,’ said Ian reasonably, ‘but we’ve got to start somewhere, and the people who had recently visited and were there at the time of the murders would seem to be logical.’

  ‘What about Justin’s family?’ asked Libby. ‘Surely they’d be the first people to speak to?’

  ‘Both his parents are dead, and his only sister lives in Australia,’ said Inspector James. ‘And no correspondence with anyone in the UK was found in his apartment in Turkey.’

  ‘No emails?’ said Ben.

  ‘And before you ask, no phone calls to this country except from the one to Harry,’ said Ian. ‘Believe me, everything has been checked and double-checked, both this end and in Turkey.’

  ‘What about the Turkish policeman who’s turned up over there?’ asked Libby. ‘We were told he wasn’t exactly welcome.’

  ‘Who told you?’ asked James.

  ‘Martha, I think. One of the restaurant owners. She’s British, married to a Turkish man, Ismet.’

  ‘You’re in touch with her, then?’

  ‘We all email each other. The visitors and Martha, and Jimmy talks to us on his Facebook page.’

  ‘Social media.’ Inspector James glared at his feet.

  ‘Don’t give anything away, will you?’ said Ian.

  ‘Of course not. I can be discreet, you know,’ said Libby.

  Ben and Ian laughed, and Inspector James looked puzzled.

  ‘Nosiest woman in the world,’ said Ben, draping an affectionate arm round his beloved’s shoulders.

  ‘Why did he want to come to Canterbury?’ Libby ignored them and pursued her own thoughts. ‘Unless – perhaps he came from round here? I suppose you’ve looked into that, haven’t you?’

  ‘His last known address in this country was in London,’ said Ian, ‘and that is definitely verified.’

  ‘Because he was in trouble here before he left?’ said Libby.

  Inspector James frowned at her. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘That old dodge,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t, but I do now.’

  Ian sent her a warning look. Inspector James sighed.

  ‘Yes, he was involved in some – shall we say – creative accounting. He wasn’t prosecuted, but he had to sell up to pay the money back, then he just cleared out. I don’t know what he was living on out there.’

  ‘More creative accounting, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Libby.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked James.

  ‘There were several ex-pats out there who we thought probably had pasts. It would make sense if he worked for them, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘He’d have to get to know the workings of the Turkish tax and legal system pretty quickly and thoroughly,’ said Ian.

  ‘It’s an angle to follow,’ said James. ‘I wonder if Smith’s team will give us any leads?’

  ‘They’ll be pursuing their own agenda,’ said Ben. ‘I bet the Turkish policeman is looking into the ex-pats thoroughly.’

  ‘He is. So are the British,’ said Libby.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked two policemen together.

  ‘Geoff Croker phoned me.’

  Libby described Geoff Croker’s angry phone call and how he refused to reveal how he’d got her phone number.

  ‘I’ll pass this on,’ said Inspector James, ‘but I don’t know if it will help us in finding Newcombe’s killer.’

  ‘Justin could have upset someone if he really was into tax fraud – or something similar,’ said Ben.

  ‘Meanwhile, we have to look into his reasons for coming to England,’ said Ian. ‘His passport shows that he’s not been back here for at least eight years.’

  ‘Has he been anywhere else?’ asked Libby.

  Inspector James looked startled. ‘I don’t know. We’ll check.’

  ‘Why, Lib?’ asked Ian.

  ‘I’ve got a theory.’ Libby pressed her lips together stubbornly.

  ‘Well, share it, then,’ said Ben.

  Libby shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Does it explain why he was coming to Canterbury?’ asked Inspector James.

  ‘No.’ Libby’s face fell. ‘But it’s a nice theory. To do with Alec Wilson.’

  Both policemen looked at her suspiciously.

  ‘Not our business, Lib,’ said Ben hastily.

  Ian stood up. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’ He motioned Inspector James out of the front door, leaving it ajar. Libby looked at Ben.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ she whispered.

  ‘We’re just about to find out.’ Ben nodded towards the door, where the two men were coming back.

  ‘Now, Lib,’ said Ian, after they had re-seated themselves, ‘strictly off the record – I’ve told Inspector James to forget it unless it’s relevant – what’s the theory?’

  Libby looked nervously at the London policeman. ‘It concerns something I don’t think I’m supposed to know.’

  ‘I guessed that,’ said Ian. ‘But I think you had your guess confirmed by Commander Smith, didn’t you?’

  ‘More-or-less,’ said Libby.

  ‘What guess?’ said Inspector James.

  ‘I – we – thought it was possible tha
t Alec Wilson was a false name and that he could be in the witness protection scheme. We don’t know if it was that, or whether he was a plant, or a criminal, but we know if anything happened to him it would be flagged up and reported to the Met.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wondered if Justin and Alec were working together on something that got Alec killed and then Justin was killed to cover it up. After all, Smith thinks Sally Weston’s murder was to stop her talking about Alec. Why not Justin’s?’

  ‘What sort of thing would they be working on?’ asked James.

  ‘Some sort of smuggling operation? Justin could be – oh, I don’t know – sorting out the finances?’

  The two policemen looked at each other.

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ said Ian. ‘So what’s that got to do with him going somewhere other than England?’

  ‘Well,’ Libby looked from one policeman to the other, ‘if it was smuggling, he could have been going to where the stuff was going or coming from.’

  ‘It’s a bit far-fetched,’ said Inspector James, ‘but we’ll check his passport. As long as it hasn’t been handed over to Commander Smith.’

  ‘Why should it be? He was killed here.’ said Ben. ‘Smith’s looking into the other two murders.’

  ‘He’ll want all information. And if there was anything at all in Libby’s theory, he’d have tied it up as tight as he could.’

  Libby nodded, but kept quiet.

  ‘So there’s nothing you can tell us about Newcombe, then?’ Inspector James stood up. ‘Or why he came here?’

  ‘But he didn’t come here, did he?’ said Ben.

  ‘He was on his way to Canterbury, though.’ Libby was frowning. ‘I suppose …’

  ‘Now what?’ said Ian. ‘More theories?’

  Libby looked up and smiled brightly. ‘No, no. Of course not.’

  Ian regarded her suspiciously for a moment. ‘Well, it you hear anything else, be sure to let us know.’

  ‘Who? You or Inspector James?’

  ‘Talk to DCI Connell,’ said Inspector James. ‘He’ll forward anything relevant to me.’

  ‘So what new theory were you forming?’ asked Ben as they watched the long black car disappear down the lane.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Libby turned and went back inside.

  ‘Because you were. Ian and I both knew it.’

  Libby went to check on the progress of the dinner. ‘I was just wondering whether Carol’s old friends had anything to do with it all. You know, the ones Agnes told us about.’

  ‘Why would they have anything to do with it? That was years in the past before either the business at White Lodge or Sally’s departure to Turkey. Come on, Lib! That’s pretty tenuous, even for you.’

  ‘I was just thinking about – oh, what was his name? – the boy Sally had been so friendly with. Gerald, that’s it.’

  ‘What about him? That must have been – what? Thirty years ago?’

  ‘We don’t know. All Carol said was that his mother had died and she’d lost touch with him.’

  Ben opened a bottle of red wine. ‘And you’ve now decided he went to Turkey and became either Alec Wilson or Justin Newcombe.’

  ‘Or even Neal Parnham,’ said Libby.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘Neal Parnham?’ Ben stopped in the act of pouring wine.

  ‘Well, it all started after he went out there, didn’t it?’

  ‘But that was simply a coincidence,’ said Ben.

  ‘What if it wasn’t?’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, for …’ Ben broke off and poured the wine. ‘Look, now you’ve got Neal Parnham going out there and causing three deaths because he’s someone Sally Weston knew when she was a child. Where on earth is the sense in that?’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I was just thinking that Gerald had disappeared and supposing he turned up in Erzugan and these people all knew him.’

  ‘But there’s no connection between any of them before they met in Erzugan. None whatsoever. Come on, Libby, this is pure fantasy.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I suppose it is. I just can’t help thinking there’s something somewhere that connects everything. And you have to admit, Justin having a ticket for Canterbury brings it rather close to home.’

  ‘I think Inspector James still suspects Harry,’ said Ben, going back into the sitting room.

  ‘Simply because Justin called him? But that was because Harry’d emailed him and given him his phone number.’

  ‘It does look suspicious, you must admit,’ said Ben. ‘And it probably all comes from being nosy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Libby was indignant.

  ‘We were trying to find out what was going on, if you remember. If you and Fran hadn’t asked Harry to email, none of this would have happened.’

  Libby was stricken. She sat down suddenly on the sofa.

  ‘Oh, God, it wouldn’t.’

  Ben sat down beside her and gave her a squeeze. ‘Now don’t start blaming yourself. The police suspect Harry simply because of the phone call. It wasn’t your fault that someone killed Justin.’

  ‘No.’ Libby stared at the empty fireplace. ‘Perhaps we need a council of war.’

  ‘Who with?’ Ben was wary.

  ‘The other guests are too far away, so just us, I suppose. I’ll let the others know, of course, Greta and Tom and Betty.’

  ‘And Neal.’

  ‘Must I?’ said Libby.

  ‘Just because you’ve decided to be suspicious of him doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’s innocent either. I mean, any of them could be guilty, I suppose. We don’t know any of them that well, do we? Are we jumping to conclusions?’

  ‘Yes, of course we are. Or you are. But if you want to talk to everybody, you have to include everybody.’

  ‘All right,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘I’ll email them all after we’ve discussed it.’

  ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow night after rehearsal? We’ll all be there then.’

  ‘So will Patti and Anne and more importantly, Ian,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll call Fran after dinner, and you can call Peter.’

  ‘Oh, can I?’ Ben grinned at her. ‘Thanks.’

  Fran was of the opinion that they need do nothing. Harry had no connection to Justin, so was unlikely to be wrongfully charged with murder, and agreed with Ben that the theory of Gerald, whoever he was, had nothing to do with the case. Ben reported that Peter had said the same thing.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Libby, settling back on the sofa with a large scotch to hand, ‘that’s that, then. Nothing we can do. But I will email all the others just to keep them up to date. The police are bound to ask them all if they have a connection to this part of the world, don’t you think?’

  ‘Of course they will, so I should leave it to the police. You don’t want to forewarn anyone. Ian would be rather annoyed, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I suppose so.’ Libby stared disconsolately into her drink. ‘I shall just have to give up, won’t I?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Ben sitting down beside her. ‘Leave it to the police. For once.’

  Wednesday dawned hazy and hot. Libby wandered into the garden to do something about the plants that had outgrown themselves and were now falling over each other, but soon became too hot to do anything more than sit under the cherry tree. Her mind kept returning to the three murders, trying to find some kind of pattern that linked them all. On second thoughts, she had decided that any one of the visitors could have been the catalyst for them, not just Neal Parnham, but it seemed highly improbable. She and her friends hadn’t even met any of the locals before they discovered the body of Alec Wilson, but she really couldn’t see Greta and Tom, or Betty and her grumpy Walter, having anything to do with anything illegal. Walter didn’t talk to anybody, so was unlikely to have had contact with any of the locals.

  Geoff Croker worried her slightly. How exactly had he got hold of her phone number? Earlier this morning she’d done a
search online for it herself and had been unsuccessful. Of course, if he had some kind of contact in the area he could …

  Libby sat up straight, struck as if by a thunderbolt. A contact in this area!

  She stood up, dislodging Sidney, who was curled up on her feet, and went back inside to pick up her phone.

  ‘Fran, listen,’ she said. ‘Suppose Geoff Croker had a contact over here in this area. Suppose that’s how he got my number.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Well, if he did, it could be the same contact that Justin had. Couldn’t it?’

  Fran let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Libby, you’re letting this get to you. It’s not all conspiracy theories, you know. I’m sure Geoff Croker has all sorts of dubious contacts in this country and any one of them could have found out your number for him.’

  ‘But if it was in this area …’

  ‘Libby! Stop it! I don’t suppose Justin’s murder has anything to do with you or anyone in this area. He probably had an old friend living in Canterbury. Or he could just have wanted to visit the Cathedral. Stop making mountains out of molehills.’

  ‘But the police have been to see me …’

  ‘Of course. Routine enquiries. I expect they will have been in touch with all the visitors to Erzugan by now.’

  ‘Have they been in touch with you?’

  ‘Your Inspector James called Guy last night because he was the only one of us who had been there before, but it was only a very brief call. I gather Ian had already told him Guy didn’t know anything.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, feeling guilty that Ben had told the inspector of Guy’s previous visit.

  ‘So stop looking for mysteries. There seem to be three separate police teams on the case now, British and Turkish in Erzugan and British over here. Surely between them they’ll get it right?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘I really should forget all about it, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Until something else crops up that sparks your interest, yes,’ said Fran, sounding amused.

  Libby cleaned the house. The tops of picture frames, light switches, fluff under the beds, limescale in the bathroom. By four o’clock she was exhausted and ran a bath, complete with her only expensive bath lotion. Ben found her in there nearly an hour later.