Murder in the Blood

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘You were asleep,’ he said.

  ‘Only dozing. I’d have woken up if I’d slipped under the water.’ Libby struggled upright. ‘Ooh, it’s got cold.’

  ‘So why are you in here? Is it something to do with the smell of lemon polish downstairs and the gleaming tiles in the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes. I had a sort of spring clean. Pass me my towel, will you?’

  ‘So what brought that on?’ Ben handed over the towel and Libby slithered out of the bath.

  ‘To take my mind off the murders,’ she said truthfully. ‘I needed to stop thinking about it. I phoned Fran because I thought maybe Geoff Croker had a contact in this area and that was why he’d found my number and she told me to stop it. Like you.’

  ‘So you cleaned the house. I must remember to remind you of this when you need to take your mind off things.’

  Libby squelched into the bedroom. ‘It didn’t though, not really. I was still thinking about it. Off on all sorts of tangents.’

  ‘There is, of course, another way,’ said Ben approaching with an evil look on his face.

  ‘No, there isn’t. I’ve got to cook and we’re rehearsing,’ said Libby, retreating to the other side of the bed. ‘Stop it, Ben …’

  The rehearsal went as well as it could, and Libby arranged for a few of the cast to visit a costume store in Canterbury to plug the gaps in their own wardrobe. When Susannah professed herself satisfied with the musical efforts of the chorus, Libby sent them all home and she and Ben locked up the theatre. Ben, Libby, and Fran walked down the Manor drive to the high street and turned left towards the pub. To Libby’s surprise, Ian was already there, seated at a table with Peter, the Reverend Patti Pearson, and her friend Anne Douglas.

  Peter and Ben went to the bar to fetch more drinks and Libby and Fran sat down at the table.

  ‘We’ve been hearing all about your murders,’ said Anne, moving her wheelchair sideways to make room for Libby.

  ‘Really?’ Libby raised her eyebrows at Ian. ‘Well, you heard about them last week, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s another one now,’ said Patti. ‘It’s whetted Anne’s appetite. The Canterbury connection, you see.’

  Ian was looking amused. ‘I think Libby’s rather puzzled that I should have said anything about it, when I’m always telling her to keep quiet.’

  ‘Well, I was, rather,’ said Libby.

  ‘I simply asked Anne if there were any special events going on in Canterbury at the moment. It might have provided our victim with a reason to come over here.’

  ‘And there weren’t,’ said Anne.

  ‘Ah,’ said Libby. Deliberately turning away from Ian, she spoke to Patti.

  ‘How are you? How’s the parish?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Patti, looking surprised. ‘And yours is fine, too. I went to see Bethany earlier.’

  Bethany Cole was the vicar of Steeple Martin, and lived in the vicarage on the corner of Allhallow’s Lane with her husband John.

  ‘Good.’ Libby fidgeted a bit and turned to Fran, who was watching her with as much amusement as Ian.

  ‘You don’t know what to talk about, do you?’ said Ben with a sigh, placing a frosted glass on the table in front of her. ‘Honestly, she can’t stop thinking about this case.’

  ‘And making up scenarios,’ said Fran, accepting her coffee.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Ian, ‘what’s the latest?’

  Libby felt her cheeks growing hot. ‘Don’t be patronising,’ she snapped.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ said Ian. ‘Go on. You know your theories can often provide results.’

  ‘Not this one,’ sighed Libby. ‘I just wondered if Geoff Croker had any contacts in this area which was how he got my telephone number, and if so, could it be who Justin was coming to see?’ She sighed again. ‘See. Far-fetched as all get out.’

  ‘No, it’s logical,’ said Ian. ‘But I have a piece of news.’

  ‘We haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ said Patti, ‘but go on. It’s still interesting.’

  ‘Inspector James heard from the team in Turkey, who are just about to give up and come home.’

  ‘And?’ said five voices.

  ‘The Turkish policeman has uncovered the fact that it was Alec Wilson’s own boat that took him out.’

  Libby and Fran gasped.

  ‘But why hadn’t the British found that out? They must have searched his boat, surely?’ said Peter. ‘That’s one big black mark against them.’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s the cause of some tension between our Commander Smith and his troops.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Ben. ‘So has this got them thinking the murderer is definitely local?’

  ‘It’s certainly got Smith going back out there. I think he’s looking to work more closely with the Turkish force – or that particular policeman, anyway.’

  ‘So the investigation will close down over here?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Ian. ‘Inspector James is still in charge of Justin Newcombe’s murder.’

  ‘But it’s probably just a coincidence, his coming over here,’ said Fran.

  ‘If only we knew whether Alec Wilson was a criminal or in the witness protection scheme,’ said Libby. ‘At least we might have a clue.’

  ‘You might,’ said Ian. ‘But it looks to me as if it was neither.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘But Commander Smith said it was,’ said Libby, when everyone had registered astonishment.

  ‘He didn’t say definitely,’ said Fran. ‘He just confirmed that Alec was a false name and that the Met were “aware” of him.’

  ‘I’ve been given a clue,’ said Ian turning to Patti. ‘You remember the smuggling operation going on near you a few years ago?’

  A murmur went round the table. ‘How could I forget,’ said Patti.

  ‘And you remember that at the time we said there wasn’t enough cover from the Border Force to prevent the illegal landings along the coast?’

  ‘I do,’ said Libby.

  ‘Well since last summer the Border Force cutters are all over the English Channel because of the increase in immigrants trying to get to Britain.’

  ‘Are you saying,’ said Libby, her eyes wide, ‘that Alec Wilson was a Border Force officer?’

  ‘It’s just possible,’ said Ian, ‘although of course it wasn’t called Border Force then. And I’m not at all sure about this, but the hint has been dropped.’

  ‘By whom, and in relation to what?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Now, you know I can’t say that,’ said Ian, with great good humour, ‘but what Inspector James has been led to believe is that Newcombe’s arrival in this country has something to do with illegal immigration.’

  ‘In what sense?’ asked Peter. ‘Was he for it, or agin it?’

  ‘There’s no proof of anything, but we believe he was here to make contact with someone.’

  ‘And it wasn’t any of us!’ said Fran with relief.

  ‘Inspector James doesn’t know that,’ said Ian with a grin.

  ‘He still thinks it was one of us?’ Libby was indignant.

  ‘There’s a connection to the Kent coast, as I said, so it makes sense to question visitors to Erzugan from Kent.’

  ‘But we can’t be the only ones!’ said Libby.

  ‘No, but you’re the most recent. And don’t forget Sally Weston came from here, too.’

  ‘Not recently,’ said Peter.

  ‘Surely she didn’t have anything to do with – with – well, whatever it is,’ said Libby.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said Ian, ‘but it does look suspiciously like all roads leading to Kent.’

  ‘And Guy,’ said Fran slowly. ‘He went there years ago with Sophie. And now he’s been back, and he lives on the coast at Nethergate.’

  Silence fell round the table. Anne and Patti were looking horrified, Ben and Peter concerned and Fran and Libby thoughtful.

  Ian broke the silence. ‘I’m not sayi
ng that James is looking specifically at anyone, only that his investigations are pointing to the involvement of someone in the Kentish community.’

  ‘And especially recent visitors,’ said Libby bitterly. ‘Why, oh why did we go?’

  ‘It was Guy’s suggestion,’ said Fran. ‘That makes it even worse.’

  ‘How are you going to find out who it is, though?’ said Libby. ‘I mean, we know it isn’t any of us, but it could be anybody living in Kent at the moment. Anybody.’

  ‘The Met, Border Force, Commander Smith, and the Turkish police are currently looking for any recent contacts that show up in Newcombe’s phone or computer.’

  ‘Would he have been silly enough to keep any contacts in either place?’ asked Fran. ‘If he was over here to meet someone, he wouldn’t have had any details on him I would have thought.’

  Ian smiled at her. ‘Quite right. I believe they now think there must have been a second, unregistered phone.’

  ‘So the call to Harry is really a red herring?’ said Peter.

  ‘To us, it is,’ said Ian, ‘but not necessarily to Inspector James, or Commander Smith. They may think it’s all part of a conspiracy.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ said Peter, throwing himself back in his chair. ‘Where is this going to end?’

  ‘When we find Newcombe’s murderer,’ said Ian with a shrug. ‘If we can find his contact over here we should be close enough.’

  ‘And how do you do that if you haven’t got the right phones or whatever?’ asked Libby.

  ‘All the computers in the case will be undergoing forensic examination, you know that,’ said Ian. ‘Any links between any of the protagonists will be investigated.’

  ‘Including Geoff Croker?’

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe. I told Smith about his call to you.’

  ‘Oh, goody.’ The corners of Libby’s mouth turned down. ‘Now he’ll start threatening me.’

  ‘There’s not much he can do while he’s in Turkey,’ said Ben.

  ‘And anyone who’s of concern to the police in either country will be carefully watched. He’s not likely to slip away,’ said Ian.

  ‘Unless he comes by night in an unmarked vessel,’ said Libby. ‘If that’s what the powers that be are thinking that’s what’s been happening.’

  ‘I think that’s what they’re afraid of,’ said Ian. ‘And I’ve told you far more than I should, as always. Patti, I fear you may have some unwelcome police presence around for a while.’

  ‘They blocked up the tunnel from the inlet, didn’t they?’ said Patti. The isolated inlet near her village and church of St Aldeberge had been the focus of police attention in the past.

  ‘Oh, yes, but there are many beaches along our coast where small boats can land. It’s happened a lot in the past, although now that the Border Force cutters are so omnipresent, it’s not happening as frequently. The lifeboats and the coastguard are also more vigilant. There’s far less opportunity to land than there was ten years ago.’

  ‘Ten years ago?’ Libby fastened on to this. ‘That’s when Alec went out to Turkey.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think there’s anything in that,’ said Ben.

  ‘Here’s Hal,’ said Peter, standing up. ‘Fill him in while I get him a drink. Anyone else?’

  Ian précised his explanations for Harry, with frequent interpolations from Libby, and occasionally from the others. At the end, Harry looked round the table.

  ‘So I’m still not off the hook?’

  ‘Only in Inspector James’ mind,’ Libby hastily assured him. ‘We know you’re as innocent as a babe, and so does Ian.’

  ‘And what about Johnny-come-lately? Our precious commander?’

  Libby looked uneasily across at Ian. ‘We don’t know about him.’

  ‘I’m trying to act as a sort of buffer state between you all and the other forces,’ said Ian. ‘I know you all, and while I see that as an advantage, James and Smith might see it as a hindrance. I’m expecting to be told to butt out any minute.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Ben. ‘I mean, I know I’m not usually keen on the girls getting involved with investigations, but if Harry and Guy are potentially under suspicion (even though we don’t quite know of what) it seems we ought to do something.’

  Libby beamed at him.

  ‘I don’t know what you can do,’ said Ian. ‘If I’d been taken into Smith’s confidence and knew the actual background to this, it would help, as Libby said earlier. Even James is whistling in the dark. All I can say is that it appears that Wilson was on the side of the angels, as far as it goes.’

  ‘And we don’t know how far that is,’ said Ben.

  ‘No,’ said Ian, standing up. ‘And while I appreciate that you’re all still on edge about this, possibly even more so, now, I still say don’t go barging in.’ He turned to Libby. ‘Especially you, Lib.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know where to barge in to,’ said Libby. ‘There’s not a hint of anything to go on, is there?’

  When Ian left, and Patti and Anne had gone back to Anne’s little house in New Barton Lane, they all sat in silence round the table.

  ‘So I’m about to be even more thoroughly investigated,’ said Harry eventually. ‘Me and Guy.’

  ‘Ian didn’t say Guy definitely,’ said Libby.

  ‘But he will be,’ said Fran. ‘As I said earlier, it couldn’t look more obvious.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ben, leaning forward, elbows on the table, ‘so what do we know? Ian said illegal immigration. You’ve dealt with that before, Lib and Fran. What do you know about it?’

  ‘It wasn’t this sort of illegal immigration,’ said Libby. ‘This looks like small groups of people being brought in on small boats, doesn’t it?’

  ‘From Turkey, do you think?’ said Peter.

  ‘From Erzugan, I would think,’ said Fran. ‘It’s a tiny, unspoiled bay, miles away from most other civilisation, with the mountains between it and all the main roads. That would make sense of Alec being there.’

  ‘But doing what?’ said Harry. ‘He was living there as a quiet Englishman, he hadn’t any back-up. How would he have stopped anything like that going on?’

  They all thought about it for a moment.

  ‘We’d have to start this end,’ said Fran. ‘Find out what anyone knows about small boats being landed along the coast. Who would we ask?’

  ‘George and Bert,’ said Libby. ‘They go to all the little bays along the coast in the Dolphin and the Sparkler, don’t they? And they’ve been at it for years. I bet they’d know.’

  ‘What about the people in Felling?’ asked Fran. ‘They thought illegals were landing there, didn’t they?’

  ‘But it was disproved,’ said Libby. ‘The river’s too narrow – almost unnavigable.’

  ‘But there was a surveillance operation there,’ said Fran. ‘As we know only too well.’

  ‘So they’d have caught anyone who came that way,’ said Ben. ‘No, I think your idea of George and Bert is a good one.’ He looked round the table. ‘Are we all in on this?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this,’ said Peter, amused. ‘You’re usually counselling caution.’

  ‘Let’s face it,’ said Ben, ‘over the years I’ve got inured to these two,’ he indicated Libby and Fran, ‘getting into trouble, and several times I’ve even got a bit involved myself. So have we all, if we’re honest. Particularly if it affects one of our own. And this time it’s two of us.’

  ‘I’ll come down to Nethergate tomorrow,’ said Libby. ‘Will you tell Guy what’s going on?’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to keep it to myself, am I?’ said Fran, a little tetchily. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then. George and Bert usually have their lunch hour around one, so we should catch up with them then.’

  They broke up, then, Fran to drive back to Nethergate, Peter and Harry to their little cottage along the high street and Ben and Libby to walk back to Allhallow’s Lane.

  ‘Be careful of Fran,’ said Ben
, as they passed under the overhanging lilac tree on the corner.

  ‘Careful?’ repeated Libby.

  ‘She’s worried about Guy.’

  ‘Of course she is. If it was you, I’d be worried. I’m worried about Guy, too.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Ben. ‘She doesn’t know much about his life before they met.’

  Libby gasped. ‘You can’t believe that she thinks he’s guilty!’

  ‘No, in her heart of hearts she doesn’t, but she herself spelt out the reasons that the authorities might. I think it’s a very sensitive subject,’ said Ben, ‘so tread carefully.’

  ‘I always tread carefully,’ said Libby, huffily and erroneously.

  Summer had evidently settled in, and Libby drove to Nethergate with the windows down. She aimed to arrive in time to have a chat with Fran before they went to talk to George and Bert, but when she arrived at Harbour Street, there was nowhere to park, not even right at the end at the back of The Sloop. She turned the car and drove slowly back, across the square and past the ancient Swan Inn, before climbing up to Cliff Terrace, where she parked in front of Peel House, just in time to see Jane Baker descending the front steps.

  ‘Hello! How’s the investigation going?’ Jane crossed the road to speak to her.

  ‘Investigation?’ repeated Libby cautiously.

  ‘The murders in Turkey? And the other one in London?’

  ‘Oh, they aren’t anything to do with us,’ said Libby. ‘The murderer’s still in Turkey, they think.’

  ‘What about the woman who lived out at Cherry Ashton?’

  ‘Turns out she was only staying in her daughter’s house,’ said Libby.

  ‘So Sarjeant and Wolfe are out of the picture?’ said Jane, with a knowing look.

  ‘Quite,’ said Libby, uncomfortably.

  Jane laughed. ‘All right, I won’t push, but let me know if there’s anything remotely publishable.’

  Libby escaped gratefully back down to Harbour Street, and to her surprise, spotted Fran already seated at a table with George and Bert outside the Blue Anchor.

  ‘I’ve got some news for you,’ she said, as Libby came up. ‘George and Bert actually found a boat full of illegal immigrants ten years ago.’