‘Roland wasn’t the murderer, then.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘Pity. He was quite nasty enough. I wonder why he was murdered, though. Surely not by Carl as revenge?’
‘We are, of course, questioning Mr Oxenford. I suppose, by rights, I should officially question you, too.’
‘OK,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘Your place or mine?’
Ian laughed. ‘It’s all right, Libby, I won’t. Now tell me what you found yesterday in the church.’
Libby reported the visit to the church, seeing Adelaide Watson’s car outside the Oxenford house, and Edward’s subsequent discoveries.
‘Is that why you asked me about secret passages?’ asked Ian, when she’d finished.
‘In a way, but that would have meant you going down into the cellar, and I bet you didn’t.’
‘We didn’t even know there was one. Mrs Watson didn’t say anything about it.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t know?’
‘How,’ said Ian testily, ‘can you live in a house and not know there’s a cellar?’
‘She doesn’t like the house. Never has. I don’t suppose she’s bothered to get to know much about it except for paying for constant updates and renovations.’
‘Well, I think I’m going to suggest that she allows us to have a thorough search with a buildings expert. Lewis, perhaps, as he knows the house? You said he was going to be in on the original search.’
‘Shall I ask? Or will you?’ asked Libby. ‘And will we still be allowed to join in?’
‘I think so,’ said Ian slowly. ‘I think I want to hear if Fran senses anything.’
‘Do you know she said herself she felt she might be of use. And she had that dream about being in the grotto.’
‘Right. I’ll make an official approach to Lewis – have I got his up-to-date contact details?’ Libby recited them. ‘Then you can make the follow-up call. Meanwhile, I’ll get someone to call Adelaide to see if she wants to see you.’
‘Not sure I want to see her,’ grumbled Libby.
‘Just for me, Libby, just for me,’ said Ian with a smile in his voice, and rang off.
Adelaide did want to see her.
‘I just don’t know who to turn to,’ she complained. ‘None of my London friends want to come down here.’
‘Have you asked them?’
‘Well, no. But I know they wouldn’t.’
What you mean is, thought Libby, you don’t really know them that well. Fair-weather friends, probably.
‘What about your sons?’
‘Julian’s here, staying in the hotel, but I can’t really – well, I just can’t. Not about Ramani and everything.’
‘Well, I’ll come over if you want me to,’ said Libby reluctantly, ‘but I can’t stay too long.’
‘That’s fine. I felt so much better after talking to you and Fran the other day. Will she come too?’
‘I can ask her,’ said Libby. ‘One or both of us will be with you this afternoon.’
Libby rang off and called Fran.
‘Of course I’ll come. How did she sound?’
‘Petulant and irritated. How on earth those two stayed married I shall never know. I suppose we ought to ask her about the search. Ian will have been on to Lewis by now.’
They agreed to meet at the hotel in Canterbury at two o’clock and Libby rang Lewis.
‘Yeah, I just got a message from your mate Ian. I’m free from tomorrow, so anytime after that. What about Adelaide?’
‘Fran and I are going to see her this afternoon.’
‘Give her my best and say all the right things, won’t you?’ Libby heard him sigh. ‘Can’t say he sounded like a great bloke to me. D’you know much about what’s going on?’
‘A bit. We’ll tell you when we do the house search. Ian wants Fran’s reactions.’
Just after two o’clock that afternoon, Fran and Libby found Adelaide in an anonymous room in a city centre hotel.
‘I can’t stand this,’ she said. ‘It’s like being in prison.’
‘It’s not the nicest hotel,’ said Libby. ‘There are much nicer ones, and a couple of lovely ones just outside Canterbury. Wouldn’t you prefer to be in one of those?’
Adelaide shuddered. ‘No. I never want to live in the country again.’
Libby and Fran exchanged a look.
‘What about the house?’ asked Fran. ‘Won’t your boys want it?’
‘No. They were away at school all the time we lived there. It was never home to them.’
‘Where was home?’ asked Libby. ‘In the beginning?’
‘Oh, London. South London.’ Adelaide smiled sadly and reminiscently. ‘I always dreamed of being able to live in one of the big houses on the edge of the common.’ She brightened. ‘I can now! Roland can’t stop me selling the house, and I can live where I want. I’ll stay in the flat until I find the right place.’
‘Why can’t you go back to the flat now?’ asked Fran. ‘Do the police need you to stay here?’
Adelaide shrugged. ‘Well, of course they do. I’m a suspect now, aren’t I? I was before, but now Roland’s been – well, it stands to reason.’
‘You don’t mind?’ Libby’s voice rose in surprise.
‘No, why should I? I didn’t do it.’
‘Why did you wait until yesterday before telling the police you were worried?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’ said Adelaide. ‘Well, I wasn’t worried about Roland, exactly. I mean, over the last week I’d had my eyes opened, hadn’t I? But I thought he’d done a runner, and I didn’t want it to look as though I’d helped him.’
‘I see.’ Libby watched her thoughtfully. ‘So is there any new information since we last saw you? We saw you were at Carl Oxenford’s house Monday morning.’
Adelaide’s mouth dropped slightly open.
‘And we know he’s not holding his surgeries at present,’ put in Fran.
‘If you must know,’ said Adelaide, rallying, ‘I was consulting him about Roland. He thought I should have told the police earlier that I was worried.’
‘You didn’t tell the police that when they came to search the house,’ said Libby.
Adelaide turned from the window where she had been standing. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘Of course not,’ said Libby wearily. ‘Look, you wanted to see us. Is there anything we can help with?’
Adelaide sat down. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’ She plucked at the arm of the chair. ‘I’m a bit scared, to tell the truth.’
Fran leant forward. ‘I’m not surprised, so would I be.’
‘Really?’ Adelaide gave a half smile. ‘I suppose you can’t see anything? You know, like you have before?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Sadly not. But the police want me on the search of the house to see if I can pick anything up. When is that to be, have you heard?’
‘I’ve told your policeman friend he can do what he likes with the house now. I don’t care.’
‘So you won’t want the swimming pool finished, then?’ said Libby.
‘I said before, if you remember, they can finish that because it’ll add value. But I don’t know when the police will let them back in.’
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, and you know Lewis is being consulted as a buildings expert? He asked me to send you his best wishes and condolences.’
Adelaide almost preened. ‘How nice. Do thank him for me.’
Half an hour later, Fran and Libby were outside.
‘Bloody star-struck about Lewis,’ grumbled Libby. ‘And what exactly were we there for? All she did was whinge. She’s not even vaguely upset.’
‘She wanted someone to whinge at,’ said Fran. ‘And she is scared. It was coming off her in waves.’
‘Scared of what. though? If she doesn’t know anything about Ramani’s or Roland’s murders she’s not likely to be the next victim. And if she’s the murderer, she definitely isn’t.’
‘But if she’s the mu
rderer, she’ll be scared of being caught.’ Fran looked into a shop window. ‘Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.’
Libby obligingly peered into the window at an artfully arranged group of shoes. ‘Who by? How do you know?’
‘He came out of the hotel just behind us and has been hovering about ever since.’ She pointed at the window, and Libby saw the reflection of a plump, dark young man in a suit looking into another window a few yards away.
‘One of Adelaide’s sons,’ said Libby. ‘Bet you. He looks just like his father. Why is he following us, do you suppose?’
‘Because he wants to speak to us without his mother knowing, I expect,’ said Fran. She turned round and walked over to the young man, who stood, irresolute, his face a mask of embarrassment.
‘Are you Adelaide Watson’s son?’ she said pleasantly.
He nodded.
‘And you want to speak to Mrs Sarjeant and me?’
He nodded again.
Libby joined them. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of coffee, then. There’s a nice little place just down here.’
The coffee shop, still open but struggling a little against the might of the coffee chains, was warm and dim. The coffee was excellent, served by the owner and his wife, who scorned the pretentious title of “Barista”.
‘So, Mr Watson,’ said Libby, when they’d ordered. ‘What did you want to talk to us about?’
‘Please call me Julian,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I alarmed you.’
‘You didn’t,’ said Fran cheerfully. ‘You didn’t want your mother to know you wanted to talk to us, did you?’
‘No.’ Colour was seeping up his neck from under his tight, white collar. ‘I know that sounds mad, but …’
‘What is it you want to know?’ asked Libby, as their glass mugs in beautiful chrome holders were set before them.
‘She said you’d been helping her since they found that woman’s body. Are you private detectives?’
‘No,’ they said together.
He frowned. ‘But you’ve been investigating?’
Fran sighed and Libby made a face.
‘What happened was, we had a little local murder where I live and Mrs Wolfe here had a couple of psychic insights as to what was happening. It happened on another case and after that local people got to know and ask for advice, and sometimes, as in this case, the police themselves ask.’
‘Psychic?’ Julian’s face registered scorn and disbelief. ‘The police?’
Libby shrugged. ‘Fine, if you don’t believe me. No skin off our noses.’
Fran fixed him with a look. ‘I’m sure your mother made you aware that we had connections with the police.’
Julian looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes, she did. But I don’t know how much of what she says to believe. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’
‘OK,’ said Libby. ‘What do you know so far?’
‘The first I knew about anything was when a couple of constables came to my flat to ask if I knew who this dead body was.’
‘Ramani Oxenford?’ said Fran.
‘I guess so. I was questioned twice, and Henry says he was, too.’
‘Henry’s your brother?’
‘Yes. He’s at uni in Leeds. I called Mum a few times after that during last week.’
‘Not your father?’
‘No. The next thing I knew was the police coming to tell me my father was dead.’
‘We’re very sorry,’ said Libby.
Julian shook his head. ‘I’m not. He was a bastard. I’m afraid Henry and I have both become suspects because it’s obvious we hated him. He was foul to Mum, always having affairs. There must be hundreds of people who hated him.’
‘Enough to kill him?’ asked Fran.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what makes people kill.’
‘And do you know anything about this supposed treasure?’ asked Libby.
‘No.’ Julian now looked intrigued. ‘Mum was trying to explain but I couldn’t quite get it. There’s something about this black man, as well.’
Libby held her tongue with difficulty, while Fran said peaceably ‘Yes. Professor Edward Hall. He’s a historian with a particular interest in the civil wars.’
‘Oh? What has that got to do with us?’
‘The date of your house? 1643?’ said Libby.
‘What about it?’ said Julian, looking puzzled.
‘That’s in the middle of our civil wars,’ explained Fran. ‘We believe, from what your father told Mrs Oxenford, that something was hidden in your house at that time.’
‘Treasure?’ Julian’s face lightened.
‘It could be, but it may have been willed to someone, in which case it would pass to their descendants.’ Libby watched as his face fell.
‘I don’t believe it anyway. He would have said anything to impress a woman he was trying to sh– get into bed with.’
‘We did rather wonder about that,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve found nothing, so far, but Professor Hall and a buildings expert are going to do a thorough search of the house within the next couple of days.’
Julian looked interested. ‘Could I help?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It’s been ordered by the police, and they may not want the family there.’
‘Oh. No, of course not.’ Julian shifted in his seat and played with his coffee mug.
‘Julian, did you ever meet Mrs Oxenford?’
‘Didn’t recognise the picture the police showed me. I knew him, though. He knew Mum and Dad, well, Mum, mostly.’
‘Yes, he was their doctor, wasn’t he?’ said Libby innocently.
‘I think so. But he was around when Dad went away. He’d only just moved, then. But Henry and I had both left home by then, so we didn’t see much of him.’
‘I don’t think there’s much more we can tell you, Julian,’ said Fran. ‘If either you or your brother have anything else to ask us, your mother has our numbers. Are you staying down here?’
‘Yes, in that God-awful hotel. I’m going back to my flat as soon as I can. Mum says she’s not going back to Dark House, anyway, so as soon as they let her off the hook she’s going back to London, too.’
They parted outside the coffee shop.
‘City trader, do you think?’ Libby asked, as they watched Julian walk round the corner and disappear.
‘Could be. But not a suspect,’ said Fran.
‘No?’
‘Definitely not. Although he’s as greedy as the next man. Would love there to be treasure for him to get his hands on. And you sounded quite convincing telling him it may be willed to someone.’
Libby grinned. ‘And you sounded quite convincing when you called Edward “Professor”. Racist little twit.’
‘We don’t know that he isn’t a professor,’ said Fran. ‘Nor if Julian is a racist little twit.’
‘He’s his father’s son,’ said Libby. ‘Public school – minor, I guess – and just a little right-wing. Come on, let’s go back and have an un-Julian-tainted coffee and find out when we’re doing this search. Quite exciting, isn’t it?’
Chapter Thirteen
Dark House looked charming in the bright sunlight of a crisp early December morning. Even the drive there had been pleasant, with views between the previously impenetrable trees.
‘That was the fog,’ said Fran, meeting Libby on the forecourt of the house. ‘It turned everything into a sort of Birnam Wood.’
Edward and Lewis both arrived with Ian and DC Robertson.
‘’E wasn’t takin’ any chances of us not turning up,’ said Lewis with a grin, coming to kiss Libby’s cheek. ‘’Ow are yer, gal?’
‘Simply didn’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Ian, opening the huge front door with an equally huge key, before moving quickly to deactivate the burglar alarm. ‘Now, where do we start?’
Lewis moved to the round table in the centre of the hall and spread out a plan.
‘This is the architect’s plan
of the house when they moved in,’ he placed another on top of the first, ‘and this is when we did the alterations.’
‘What about English Heritage? The listing?’ asked Edward.
‘Everything approved. Took ʼem years.’
‘I didn’t think they’d been here that long,’ said Libby.
‘They come here when old Roland got his job down the road. Big step-up. The boys was at boarding school –’
‘Told you,’ whispered Libby.
‘– and he and ever-lovin’ Adelaide applied for permission almost immediately. It didn’t come through until the eldest was at university. Then she commissions me and I gets the architect.’
‘You, because of the TV programme?’ asked Libby.
‘Well, o’course!’ Lewis sent her another grin. ‘What else?’
‘So you and the architect did a detailed search and survey of the house?’ asked Edward.
‘Sure we did. Proper architectural and archaeological survey, an’ all.’
‘And nothing out of the ordinary turned up?’
‘The cellar.’ Lewis pulled the top plan towards him and they all leant forward. ‘See? It’s blocked off. But in this plan –’ he pulled the previous plan out ‘– you’ll see a dotted line all the way under the back of the house into the garden. Although it was blocked up when we first saw it, it can’t have been blocked up for that long.’
‘Didn’t the archaeological survey show anything up?’ asked Edward.
‘Said the bricks looked as though they was nineteenth-century, not seventeenth. Reckoned the passage went to the village behind.’
‘That’s what I found on the map,’ said Edward. ‘I believe the original passage, or tunnel, came up inside a building there. Probably a pub.’
‘Or a church,’ said Ian. ‘Brandy for the Parson …’
‘That’s what I said,’ nodded Libby. ‘But would it have been smuggling in the seventeenth century?’
‘It doesn’t really matter,’ said Fran. ‘What we’re looking for is something Sir Godfrey could have hidden for his wife. Do we know how he died, yet?’
‘Well, we know it wasn’t in battle,’ said Edward. ‘He survived until after the Restoration.’
‘And Rebecca outlived him.’ Libby sighed. ‘I still wonder if Roland wasn’t just giving Ramani the run-around.’
Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) Page 9
