‘Tell me what your vicar said to you. She’s not in.’
Libby repeated what Bethany had told her.
‘And there’s another thing on similar lines,’ she said. ‘I expect you know this already, but Stan’s father was involved in so-called Satanic orgies. Well, one, anyway.’
Ian sighed. ‘Yes, we know. It was a nasty little ring of people who were quite high-profile.’
‘High-profile criminals?’
‘And others. You’ve read about the Krays, haven’t you? And their social circle?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t them, was it? It would have come out by now.’
Ian looked pointedly at Libby’s mug. ‘Any more in the pot?’
Libby grinned. ‘Am I the only person you know who still makes tea in a pot?’
‘No, you’re not, surprisingly.’
Libby looked at him sharply. ‘Who?’
‘Oh, just a couple of people I know. My mother included. Tea?’ Ian looked hopeful.
Frustrated, Libby went into the kitchen and topped up the teapot. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Carry on about the orgies.’
‘It was – well, I suppose you’d have called it an organised gang – of criminals who had links to both politicians and show-business personalities. They were often photographed at restaurants with them and emerging from nightclubs. All of them looking for the next high.’ Ian’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Very unsavoury.’
Libby handed him a mug. ‘And I suppose some of the cases have come to light in recent times?’
Ian nodded and followed her into the sitting-room. ‘There were a couple of young women and young men who tried to report it in the seventies, but they weren’t believed. What I find incomprehensible is that these orgies were brought into evidence in Willis’s trial, yet no further action was taken regarding the children.’
‘Different times,’ said Libby, shooing Sidney off the sofa. ‘But does it have anything to do with Stan’s murder?’
‘You’re bound to have thoughts about it,’ said Ian, with a grin. ‘So let’s have them.’
Libby repeated her theory about Stan’s fear of becoming like his father. ‘I think he must have equated his sexuality with his father’s – er – proclivities. This is why he was denying his sexuality. Maybe.’
‘Could be. It could also be why he was against Pendle itself.’
Chapter Twenty-three
Libby gaped. ‘He what?’
‘Oh, yes. I thought you would have worked that out.’ Ian gave her a tired smile.
‘Seb and Damian said he wasn’t all for it, but not that he was actually against it. So …’ Libby’s mind was grappling with this new idea. ‘That turns everything on its head, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly puts a new slant on things.’ Ian sipped his tea. ‘And your vicar’s story of hard-line religious cults adds another dimension. Although we did have a profiler suggest something similar.’
‘You’ve had a profiler on the case?’ Libby was surprised.
‘Yes. I’m not much in favour of them as a rule, but there were aspects of psychological disturbance, certainly regarding the incidents in London.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose there were.’ Libby was thoughtful for a moment. ‘So does it look as if Stan was killed because of his objection to Pendle?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And not to stop Pendle?’
‘Again, possibly.’
‘You’re not going to tell me.’
Ian laughed. ‘I’ve already let out far more than I should. You talk it over with Fran and see where you get to. Only whatever you do, don’t go barging off on some hare-brained wild goose chase.’
‘As if we would,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, I know what I was going to ask you – did you find out about Paul’s background?’
Ian’s expression became guarded. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, I told you he was thrown out of a cast, didn’t I?’
‘I think it was mentioned.’
‘And he was very keen on seeing the shrine and Grey Betty?’
‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’
‘Neither do I, at the moment, but I want to know why he was slung out of a panto cast.’
‘Haven’t you ever wanted to get rid of somebody in your cast?’ Ian eyed her over the rim of his mug.
‘Often,’ said Libby. ‘So have you found anything out?’
‘Not about that, no.’
‘So you have found something out?’
‘We’re looking into the background of everybody connected with the production, from Max Tobin downwards,’ said Ian, and Libby sighed in frustration. He stood up and handed her his empty mug. ‘I must go now.’ He touched her cheek with a long finger. ‘You’re often a great help, Lib, both of you, but I can’t tell you everything. You know that.’
Libby sighed again and stood up. ‘I know. I’m grateful for any crumbs.’
As soon as Ian had gone, she called Fran.
‘I can’t talk now,’ said her friend, as Libby heard a child’s wail in the background.
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot you said Chrissie was coming. Can you call me back when she’s gone?’
Fran sighed. ‘I suppose so. Is it urgent?’
‘Well, no, I suppose not, but there’s news. From Ian.’
‘OK. I’ll call you later.’
Balked, Libby took a turn round the sitting-room, then went to peer into the fridge to see if there was anything for supper. When she’d decided on jacket potatoes with whatever she could rustle up to go with them, she returned to the computer and began to search for hard-line religious cults. She was still wading through the multiplicity of sites when Ben arrived looking harassed. Libby immediately got up and went for the whisky bottle.
‘What’s happened now?’
‘Damian’s thrown a wobbly and said they can’t use his music.’
Libby stopped mid-pour. ‘Oh, no!’
‘Oh, yes.’ Ben sank down on the sofa. ‘And he did it loudly. So, of course, the whole boiling got into a shouting match. It was just as well Ian had gone. Did he come here?’
‘Yes, on his way somewhere else. Beth wasn’t in, but I told you that. So what was the upshot?’
‘Owen carted Damian off to the pub to talk him out of it and Sebastian and I were left to try and calm the dancers down. With what success I don’t know. But I made them all go back to the Manor and not to disturb Hetty on any account.’
‘Would they?’
‘They were all looking for someone’s shoulder to cry on, and as you’ve said, Hetty is a bit like a favourite aunt, despite the fact that she hardly says a word.’
‘Oh, dear. Do you think I’d better go up in case she needs support?’
‘I need support, you daft bat.’ Ben caught her arm and dragged her down beside him. ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve a bunch of hysterical dancers on my case all day.’
‘They aren’t usually hysterical,’ said Libby cautiously.
‘Well, they were this afternoon.’
‘Did you get any idea of who was in favour of going on and who wasn’t?’
‘Owen asked them that earlier, didn’t he? And the general consensus was that they all wanted to carry on. If you remember, at the time, it was only Damian who seemed ambivalent.’ Ben sipped his whisky.
‘Well, I hope Owen doesn’t drag him up to see Max. Poor old Max couldn’t cope.’
‘What did Ian say?’ Ben stretched out his legs.
Libby told him.
Ben whistled. ‘That puts a different complexion on things, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s what I said. It looks as though someone is trying to make sure Pendle goes on, rather than the other way round.’
‘And Stan was trying to stop it?’
‘Ian didn’t exactly say that, he just said Stan was against Pendle. Do you suppose he thinks Stan was behind the incidents in London?’
‘Perhaps he does. Perhaps he was. What does Fran think?’
/>
Libby stood up. ‘I haven’t told her yet. She has Chrissie and Montana visiting.’ She pulled a face.
‘Rather her than us,’ said Ben. ‘Where’s my dinner, woman?’
Fran called later in the evening sounding exhausted.
‘They’ve only just gone,’ she complained. ‘I had to give them dinner.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late for Montana to be up?’ said Libby.
‘I said that at six o’clock. Chrissie then brightly informed me that she thought they were staying for dinner. I then asked what Bruce was doing for dinner. He, apparently, was at some flash business dinner. And Montana wouldn’t eat the lasagne.’
‘I hope you didn’t go and find her something else?’
‘No.’ Libby guessed Fran was grinning. ‘I told her there wasn’t anything else. Chrissie kept suggesting things until Guy lost his temper.’
‘Oh, good for him! What did he say?’
‘If we’d have known they were coming we would have prepared something suitable, but as we didn’t they’d have to lump it. Or words to that effect.’
‘Did Chrissie take umbrage?’
‘A bit, though she couldn’t argue. But it was all a bit exhausting. So, come on, tell me this news.’
Libby filled her in on everything she and Ben had learnt during the afternoon.
‘I think the most surprising is Damian refusing to let them use his music,’ said Fran.
‘He really doesn’t think they should go on. I’d say he was scared,’ said Libby. ‘And in a way, it does seem disrespectful.’
‘Surely they’ve got a master tape or whatever it’s called? They could still use it?’
‘Then he’d probably sue them. Actually it’s now programmed into the theatre’s sound system, so as soon as that’s fixed they could use it, even if he withheld the master CD. It is odd, though, because he was so thrilled to hear it through the system when he first arrived. He couldn’t stop listening to it.’
‘He’s probably got the horrors about the whole thing now, though,’ said Fran. ‘Do you think Owen will talk him out of withholding permission?’
‘Max will, if Owen takes Damian up to see him. Poor Max. He was in two minds about going on today, too.’
‘Now, about Stan. You read that link I sent you?’
‘Yes, I told you, and Ian knew all about it. I want to know how he worked out that Stan was against the production. He said he thought I would have worked it out, and told me to talk to you about it.’
‘So there are clues, then. What did Sebastian tell you?’
‘Nothing except how he and Stan met and how Stan was practically psychotic about his own sexuality. Which must be related to what his father did … here, you don’t think his father could still be alive, do you?’
‘How old would he be?’ asked Fran. ‘Those news items were dated in the sixties and early seventies. He could be as young as seventy, so it’s definitely possible.’
‘A bit old to have a son of Stan’s age, surely?’
‘Not a bit of it. Some of Sophie’s friends have parents older than us.’
‘Anyway,’ said Libby, ‘alive or not, he was obviously not exclusively gay if he had Stan.’
‘No, just a thrill-seeker,’ said Fran. ‘and Ian was right, I think, when he said there were signs of psychological disturbance in the incidents in London. And Stan was in the perfect position to create those. For instance, he wouldn’t have been rehearsing with the dancers, so he was free to get to all the lockers.’
‘Oh, yes, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m still not sure I get Stan’s motive for not liking the show, though.’
‘Surely something to do with the Dennis Wheatley-style set-up his dad was involved with.’
‘That was devil worship, though, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s what the witches were accused of – being in league with the devil.’ Fran sighed. ‘It’s all pretty sordid.’
‘I started looking for hard-line cults online earlier after what Beth told me,’ said Libby. ‘The trouble is I didn’t know what search terms to use. I got lots of results about the Plymouth Brethren and other groups of Brethren, but I was looking for something like those little chapels, you know?’
‘Chapel of Zion? You know, the little tin chapel on the road into Nethergate.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten that. Yes, I suppose I mean that sort of thing. I don’t know what they all believe in, but I was assuming they’d be terribly strict and not approve of witches or actors.’
‘It was people like that who Beth was talking about? Who targeted The Crucible?’
‘Yes. She didn’t say which group it was, but it sounds awfully similar, doesn’t it?’
‘In which case,’ said Fran, ‘it was nothing to do with Stan.’
‘Unless …’ Libby paused. ‘Suppose Stan had joined a group like that as a response to what his father had done?’
‘It seems a bit extreme,’ said Fran doubtfully. ‘I can understand him denying his sexuality, but to actually go as far as joining some extreme sect, or cult?’
‘I was thinking more of a hard-line Calvinistic group. Strict Baptists or something.’
‘None of the recognised branches of the church would stand for illegal goings-on like that, though,’ said Fran. ‘No, if anything, it would be a sect, or a cult. Something secret.’
‘Where they keep their daughters at home and never let them out, and marry them to their brothers – that sort of thing?’
Fran laughed. ‘I doubt if they’re as extreme as that. But I know that there are organisations now set up to help people break free of those sorts of cults. They practice mind control, and they’re terribly successful.’
‘Somehow that doesn’t sound right,’ said Libby. ‘I can envisage a Prophet of Doom-like preacher bringing down wrath on his congregation about the wickedness of witches, or men prancing about as women, but not the cult aspect.’
‘Well, it doesn’t apply if Stan was the one behind the incidents in London, does it?’ said Fran. ‘That sort of strict religious group doesn’t come into it at all.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Libby woke in the morning to the sound of the landline ringing. Ungluing her eyelids, she struggled to sit up and realised it had stopped. She also realised she was alone, and then heard Ben coming up the stairs.
‘That was Hetty. Someone tried to get into the theatre again.’
‘What? When?’
‘Sometime during the night, obviously. No one heard anything, but when Sebastian went to open up with Max’s keys he found signs of forcing on the doors.’
‘Why didn’t the alarm go off?’
Ben passed a weary hand over his face. ‘No idea. Perhaps it doesn’t go off unless you actually get the door open. I’ll check with the alarm company.’
Libby swung her legs out of bed. ‘So they’re obviously going on with the show?’
‘Yes, they must be. I could wish they’d let us know.’ Ben turned to go back downstairs. ‘I’ve made tea.’
Sitting over tea and toast at the kitchen table, Libby said, ‘For the first time, I can honestly say I wish they’d never come here. Max said they’d been nothing but trouble, and he was right.’
‘More trouble for Stan,’ said Ben.
‘And that wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t come here,’ said Libby.
‘If someone was trying to stop the production they would have carried on trying to do that wherever they were. They might have gone straight into their London theatre and it would all have happened there.’
Libby nodded gloomily. ‘I just hope nothing else happens. I feel like running away until it’s all over.’
‘I thought you were keen to solve the mystery?’
‘I was keen to have it solved. After the conversation with Fran last night I don’t feel as though we’ve got anywhere near. And it’s all more unsavoury than we first thought.’
‘I thought,’ said Ben, buttering more toast, ‘you’d di
scarded the idea of the hellfire chapel and the hatred of witches?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘If Stan was behind the incidents, I can’t see where they’d come in. I think it was just Beth’s suggestion that put that into my head.’
‘What about young Paul?’
‘What about him?’
‘I thought you said he seemed interested in Grey Betty and the mock shrine?’
‘What would that have to do with hellfire chapels?’
‘They would be against pagan beliefs, too. Could it be that he’s secretly a member?’
‘Oh, Ben – that’s worse than even I could come up with.’ Libby laughed. ‘What a leap into the unknown.’
Ben grinned. ‘Just following your lead, my love!’
When Libby arrived at the Manor, she was met by an irritated Ian and several bored looking uniformed officers.
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ he said. ‘What on earth’s going on, Libby?’
‘Why ask me? I would far rather be shot of the whole thing, now.’
‘One thing’s for sure,’ said Ian, eyeing a boiler-suited figure subjecting the theatre doors to a detailed examination, ‘this is no professional.’
‘Professional criminal, you mean?’
‘Certainly nothing to do with Willis’s father.’
‘Do you mean to say he’s still alive?’ Libby was surprised.
‘Oh, yes. Alive and voluble. You would have thought the police were behind everything.’
‘He’s not in prison, then?’
‘No.’ Ian grinned. ‘Allegedly been “going straight” for years now. And denied any knowledge of the – ah – rescue of young Sebastian.’
‘Was he telling the truth?’
‘I doubt it. I think he was genuinely upset, and Stan’s mother – who is a lot younger than her husband – was devastated.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Libby’s hand went to her mouth. ‘That’s so horrible. Poor woman. Whatever Stan did to get himself murdered …’
‘He didn’t deserve it, and neither does she,’ said Ian. ‘Just another of the unpleasant facts about murder.’
‘A warning to everyone who treats it like an intellectual puzzle,’ said Libby, looking up at him warily.
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