Murder in the Blood

by Lesley Cookman

‘I know – Agnes!’ Libby pointed. ‘That’s her house, and she’s got an empty drive.’

  ‘You nip out and ask her then. We’re early, so hopefully no one will see you.’

  Libby ran across the road and panted up to Agnes’ door. The lady herself opened it looking surprised.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Agnes, but we need to park somewhere for a little while and –’

  ‘Park here then. Come and have a cuppa after,’ Agnes interrupted.

  Libby gave her a grateful grin and within minutes, the Smart car was parked on the drive and Fran and Libby were watching out of the front room window while Agnes made tea.

  ‘Not hardly hidden there, it isn’t,’ said Agnes coming in with mugs. ‘Suppose you tell me what’s going on?’

  Fran told her a sanitised version of recent events while Libby kept an eye out for visitors to Sally’s house.

  ‘Well,’ said Agnes when Fran had finished, ‘if it helps catch whoever killed our Sally, you can do what you like.’

  ‘There’s a car coming,’ Libby announced. ‘Looks like it’s stopping.’

  Agnes and Fran joined her at the window.

  A tall young man with a fresh face and an ill-fitting suit got out of the driver’s side and looked at his wrist.

  ‘Checking the time,’ said Libby. ‘Is he the viewer or the agent, do you think?’

  ‘The police, I think,’ said Fran, as the young man now checked a smartphone. Agnes looked at her sharply.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I don’t,’ began Fran.

  ‘Look!’ said Libby. ‘Another car.’

  The second car drew up behind the first and the door opened.

  Libby and Fran gasped.

  ‘Neal Parnham!’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Agnes looked surprised.

  ‘Young Neal? What’s he doing here? He hasn’t changed much.’

  Fran and Libby turned to her open-mouthed.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Course I do! I told you I used to help with the children all those years ago? Neal’s Valerie’s boy. Lost touch years ago, they did. Valerie’s husband made millions, so they say.’

  ‘Oh, good grief,’ said Libby. ‘If only we’d known!’

  ‘What do we do now?’ said Fran. ‘They’ve gone into the house.’

  ‘And the policeman – or whoever he is – is coming out again, look,’ said Libby.

  ‘Let’s go and tell him,’ said Fran, making for the door.

  ‘He might not be a policeman,’ said Libby, falling over her feet in her haste.

  But Fran had already laid her hand on the startled young man’s arm.

  As Libby arrived beside her, the door opened behind them.

  ‘Let ’em in, son,’ said a familiar voice.

  Commander Johnny Smith stood aside to let the women pass him. Inside, standing in the sitting room as if poised for flight, stood Neal Parnham.

  ‘Now then, young man,’ said Smith, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms. ‘Suppose you tell me who you really are. You aren’t John Hamilton, are you?’

  ‘Don’t you recognise him?’ Libby burst out. ‘He was in Erzugan with us. He’s Neal Parnham.’

  ‘Oh?’ Smith looked interested. ‘I don’t think I ever met him. I wonder why not.’

  ‘None of us were really of interest to you then, were we?’ said Fran.

  ‘No, of course not. So come on, son. Out with it. Why are you here?’

  Neal’s colour, which had faded to grey under his lingering tan became almost transparent. ‘I – er –’

  ‘You knew Sally as a child, didn’t you?’ said Fran gently.

  Neal turned to her with relief and nodded.

  ‘So why didn’t we know this?’ asked Smith.

  ‘I should imagine because he was scared he’d been implicated in her death if he admitted it,’ said Libby, and watched as Neal’s face brightened.

  ‘Ah. So why Hamilton?’ Smith strolled over to stand in front of Neal, who shrank back against the mock fireplace.

  ‘They were friends of his parents, weren’t they, Neal?’ said Fran. ‘I suppose it was the first name that came into his head.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Neal, in a strained voice. ‘I was visiting them … I even sent the request to the agents from their computer.’

  ‘So you stuck with it,’ said Smith. ‘And why did you want to come here?’

  Neal, with three curious faces turned towards him, crumpled. Smith caught him before he reached the floor. Libby went into the kitchen and filled a mug with water.

  ‘Did you think there would be something here that would link you to Sally?’ said Fran, on her knees beside Neal who was now sitting on the sofa.

  Neal nodded.

  ‘You killed her because you knew her?’ Smith’s voice was harsh.

  Libby and Fran turned to him aghast.

  Neal shook his head.

  ‘Right.’ Smith hauled Neal to his feet. ‘You’re coming with me, son. You stay here ladies. I’ll see to you later.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said a dark voice from the doorway. ‘I think I’ll take charge of Parnham, Smith.’

  Ian walked forward and took Neal’s other arm as Johnny Smith turned quickly to the window and then back towards the kitchen.

  ‘No escape, I’m afraid,’ said Ian, as the young policeman/estate agent came in accompanied by a burly uniformed constable. ‘Take him back to the station.’

  Fran and Libby watched open-mouthed as, with a policeman attached each arm; Commander Johnny Smith was marched out of the house looking furious. Neal sank back onto the sofa and put his head in his hands.

  Ian glared at Fran and Libby from under beetling brows.

  ‘I suppose there’s no point in asking you what you’re doing here?’

  ‘Um,’ said Libby. Fran said nothing.

  ‘I’d like them to stay,’ Neal said suddenly. ‘I want to explain.’

  ‘Then they can stay,’ said Ian, in a gentler voice. ‘You know the kitchen, obviously, Libby. Do you think you could rustle up some tea or coffee?’

  ‘There’s no milk,’ said Libby dubiously.

  ‘What about the lady who allowed you to park on her driveway?’ Ian lifted an eyebrow. ‘If I asked one of our nice policemen outside, do you think she’d let him have some?’

  Libby sighed. ‘I’m sure she would.’

  Ian moved to the window, opened it a crack and signalled to someone outside. Standing up, Libby saw two squad cars and four large policemen. She shook her head and went to put the kettle on.

  After a sheepish-looking constable had handed over a delicate jug, Libby brought in four mugs, the jug, and some sweeteners on a tray.

  ‘No sugar,’ she said. ‘Carol didn’t take it.’

  ‘Now,’ said Ian. ‘Tell us all about it, Mr Parnham.’

  Neal took a sip of tea and straightened his back.

  ‘It was all because of my mother, you see,’ he said to Fran and Libby.

  ‘Your mother? Valerie?’ said Libby.

  ‘You should have got her surname,’ said Fran.

  ‘Ladies!’ said Ian. ‘Go on, Mr Parnham.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have helped. I have my father’s name. My mother remarried. She’s Valerie Nassar now.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Libby.

  ‘I didn’t know anything about this at first, but apparently she decided she wanted to find her adopted son.’

  Fran and Libby looked at each other.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. He was Alec Wilson. He came to see her after Sally wrote to Mother –’

  ‘Sally?’ said Ian, Fran, and Libby together.

  ‘My mother wrote to Sally’s mother saying she was looking for him and he seemed to have disappeared. Sally’s mother – Carol – told Sally in a letter. Well, of course, Sally knew where Alec – Gerald – was. She asked his permission to tell my mother. And that was that.’

  ‘But –’ began Libby.

 
‘Ssh, Libby,’ said Ian.

  ‘So then my mother told me all about it.’ Neal’s face hardened. ‘I couldn’t believe it, especially as I’d almost grown up with the bastard.’

  Fran nodded. ‘And Agnes used to look after you when the mothers had lunch.’

  ‘Yes. Of course Gerald was older than I was. But he was Aunt Jean’s. I never knew he was adopted.’

  ‘Neither did he,’ said Ian. ‘It was all hushed up by Jean and Valerie. She was engaged to your father, so she went away to stay with a relation, supposedly, had the baby, Gerald, and handed him over to Jean and Bob. But she never forgot him.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to my mother?’ Neal looked scared stiff.

  ‘Yes. She rang us, actually. Because Carol Oxford –’ he paused and looked at Libby, ‘had called her to ask about the Hamiltons.’

  ‘Oh.’ Neal had slumped back again, and Libby had to rescue his mug.

  ‘So Alec – or Gerald – was threatening your inheritance, was that it?’ asked Fran.

  Neal looked at her. ‘My stepfather is a very rich man and has no children. his fortune goes entirely to my mother. And as he is almost eighty …’

  Ian stood up. ‘Come along then, young man. Let’s get to the station.’ He looked over at the two women. ‘Will you lock up?’

  ‘But …’ began Libby.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran.

  He smiled. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I can. You’ll want the whole story.’

  ‘Today?’ said Libby.

  Ian shook his head. ‘No, Libby. I’ve been up all night and I’ve now got another full night to do. Possibly tomorrow.’

  Neal was ushered out and they saw him driven away in one of the squad cars, while Ian disappeared round the back and reappeared driving his own long low black saloon.

  ‘If we’d gone round the back after all we’d have seen he was here,’ said Libby.

  ‘And perhaps we wouldn’t have gone in,’ said Fran. ‘Come on. Let’s wash up and take Agnes’ jug back.’

  Agnes, who had watched everything from her window was naturally agog. They told her what they could, and promised that Carol would be in touch with her.

  ‘And we don’t know anything about Johnny Smith,’ said Libby as they drove away.

  ‘We said he knew all about it right from the start, didn’t we?’ said Fran.

  ‘You did. But he didn’t apparently know the murderer.’

  ‘But he had to find out if it was anything to do with the trafficking operation. I expect that’s why he was here today. Why he asked you to find out about the Hamiltons.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Ian will explain it all. Tomorrow, I hope.’

  ‘I shall send him a text and invite him to Hetty’s for lunch,’ said Libby. ‘Then he can do his Poirot gathering afterwards.’

  ‘If he can spare the time, poor man.’

  Ian could spare the time.

  ‘I got home at four thirty this morning,’ he told Libby the next morning, ‘and I’m having the day off. Are you sure Hetty doesn’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all, but she says save the story until afterwards.’

  ‘Well, of course, or Harry wouldn’t hear it, would he?’ said Ian.

  Ian arrived in a taxi bearing wine and flowers, and surprisingly clad in jeans and a T-shirt. Fran, who had also been invited with Guy, looked quite startled.

  ‘Is Sophie looking after the shop again?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Yes. She’s quite happy. Some boyfriend or other is coming down to see her,’ said Guy.

  ‘So it really is off with Adam?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Fran. ‘I think it might still be on.’

  By the time they’d reached the coffee and brandy stage, Harry had joined them with Peter.

  ‘Go on then, Ian,’ he said, sitting down and pouring himself a large glass of red wine. ‘We’re all ears.’

  Ian settled back cradling his brandy balloon.

  ‘You all know by now what Neal Parnham told us yesterday. He was appalled by his mother’s decision to leave half her fortune to his newly discovered half-brother. In fact, she was planning to settle money on him in the immediate future. Neal himself, who hasn’t worked in years and has a habit of losing money, saw his chance of money dwindling away. So he found out where his half-brother lived and without telling his mother, booked himself a holiday.

  ‘Of course, when he got there, he found not only Gerald living under another name, but Sally as well.’

  ‘So did he kill Sally? And Alec?’ asked Fran.

  ‘He did. Alec Wilson’s was planned, but then he realised, especially after you started saying the long-lost mother ought to be found, that Sally would immediately realise what had happened, so she had to go, too.’

  ‘When he left Martha’s that time, not long after he’d got there,’ said Libby.

  ‘And then he turned up later with Justin didn’t he?’ said Peter. ‘Was he in on it, too? Is that why he was killed?’

  ‘No,’ said Ian. ‘I was sure you would have figured that out, as well.’

  ‘The trafficking?’ asked Fran.

  ‘The trafficking.’ Ian nodded.

  ‘And was it –?’ said Harry.

  ‘Johnny Smith!’ said everyone together.

  ‘Yes, it was. He really had put Alec Wilson, who was ex-Security Services, and Sally Weston, who was also undercover, there to keep an eye on the so-called problem, when in fact he was running it with the help of his friend in the Jandarma in Antalya. The Crokers were on the ground, and Walter Roberts was sent out every year to check up.’

  ‘But Alec and Sally hardly did anything,’ said Libby. ‘We were told that.’

  ‘No. They were almost like sleepers. Smith told them he would activate them as soon as he had any intelligence. He did a couple of times, we’ve now found out, but they were false trails.’

  ‘So he was using us as camouflage,’ said Libby.

  ‘And he had to keep tabs on you over here because you were ferreting around where he wanted no ferrets,’ said Ian. ‘I, of course, was an additional nuisance. He couldn’t keep me under control as he could Inspector James.’

  ‘Why did Alec/Gerald have a false name and Sally didn’t?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Gerald Burton was ex-Security Services, as I said, and had recently been involved in a very high-profile case – a secret one, of course. He was also left injured, so to protect him, he was given a new name and what appeared to be a cushy job in an idyllic Turkish village.’

  ‘But what I don’t understand,’ said Ben, ‘is why Smith risked having anybody out there who could have spoiled his racket.’

  ‘Because nothing actually left Erzugan.’

  There were expressions of astonishment all around the table.

  ‘You mean it was all a put-up job?’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes. There were trafficking operations, but not from there. A lot of it was organised from there by the Crokers, of course.’

  ‘And Justin? What about him?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, you said something about creative accounting to Smith, didn’t you?’ said Ian. ‘Well, that was exactly it. He did all the Crokers’ accounting, and several of their friends, too. He came over on business for them, but had to inform the police he was coming because of the ongoing investigation. By this time, he’d become suspicious of Smith, who he’d seen with the Crokers somewhere. We don’t know the details of that, just that he decided it would be a good idea to ask Smith and see if he could get cut in on whatever it was. And that was that.’

  ‘Poor Justin,’ said Fran.

  ‘I didn’t realise Smith was back in the country by then,’ said Peter.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ian. ‘Now, does that clear everything up? Can I have another brandy?’

  Hetty silently poured him a large brandy.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll think of more questions,’ said Libby, ‘but you’ve more or less covered it.’
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  ‘Thank you.’ Ian inclined his head. ‘And, as usual, you two managed to be quite useful.’

  ‘Even if you didn’t want to be,’ said Harry, giving Libby a dig in the ribs. ‘What now, Miss Marple?’

  Libby dug him back. ‘I’m going to manage a nice gentle End Of The Pier Show,’ she said. ‘And I’m never getting involved again.’

  END

  The Libby Sarjeant Series

  For more information on Lesley Cookman

  and other Accent Press titles,

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  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2015

  ISBN 9781783756933

  Copyright © Lesley Cookman 2015

  The right of Lesley Cookman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN