Briefly, they filled Sir Jonathan in on their “adventures” since they had last seen him eighteen months before.
‘And nothing going on now?’ he said when they’d finished. ‘What about old Bill Frensham? You ought to have a look into his death, you know.’
Libby’s mouth dropped open.
‘Did you know him?’ asked Fran.
‘Of course! Frensham Holdings have used Anderson Place for meetings and conferences for years.’ He narrowed his eyes at them. ‘You are looking into it, aren’t you?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Libby hastily. ‘A friend of mine from the Morris side he belonged to asked me to – well – to speak to the other members, although why, I can’t think. We’re not investigators.’
‘No, but you’ve been involved, unwillingly, I admit, but definitely involved in several murder investigations. And with Mrs Castle’s rather – ah – unusual talents,’ he winked at her, ‘it’s not surprising if people think you are investigators.’
‘Hmm,’ said Libby.
‘It’s an interesting case,’ said Fran, ‘but Inspector Connell – do you remember him? – has more or less told us to keep off.’
‘Ah, well.’ Sir Jonathan shrugged. ‘I suppose he would have to say that. But if you came up with anything useful, he’d be pleased, wouldn’t he?’
‘What do you mean, Sir Jonathan?’ Libby frowned suspiciously.
‘I know you haven’t got time now, but if you fancied popping along for a coffee one morning, There are one or two things I might be able to tell you.’ He grinned like a naughty schoolboy and stood up. ‘Now you must get back to your party. You will come and see me, won’t you?’
‘The old rascal,’ said Fran as they made their way back to the bar. ‘If he’s got anything to say, he should have told the police.’
‘If he has, it’s probably something the police would dismiss,’ said Libby. ‘Ian would, anyway.’
Fran looked at her. ‘He’s not that bad,’ she said.
‘He scared me to death the other morning at the Mount,’ said Libby. ‘But I can see that you would find him – um – appealing.’
‘Well, don’t you go finding him appealing,’ warned Fran. ‘You’re having enough trouble with the relationship you’ve already got.’
The taxi booked to take them home arrived after another half an hour, and they said goodbye to Jane after settling their part of the bill. As they went out of the bar, Trisha scooted up behind them.
‘I say,’ she said in a breathless whisper, ‘somebody was just saying that you are actually detectives.’
‘No,’ said Libby and Fran together, ‘we’re not.’
‘But you’ve done murders? I mean you’ve sort of – been involved?’
‘Yes,’ said Libby reluctantly.
‘Only I think there’s something funny going on at work. I don’t know whether it’s to do with Mr Frensham, or what. I don’t know what to do.’
‘If you think there’s anything going on that could possibly be to do with Mr Frensham’s death you should go to the police,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t seem like much,’ said Trisha, looking uncertain. ‘Couldn’t I tell you?’
Libby sighed. ‘OK. But not now.’ She took out her mobile and pressed a few keys. ‘There – put your number and name in. I’ll ring you.’
‘So much for not ferreting things out,’ said Libby in the taxi. ‘Who would have thought it?’
‘Two people offering us information on a crime we’re not involved with,’ said Fran, amused. ‘And somewhere we wouldn’t even have dreamed could have any connection.’
‘Mad.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I suppose we’ll have to talk to them, now.’
‘Don’t sound so smug,’ said Fran. ‘You know you wanted to, all along.’
Libby sighed. ‘Like a bloody drug, isn’t it? I know I shouldn’t, yet I want to. It’s like Steeple Farm in reverse.’
‘Eh?’
‘Well, I know I ought to love Steeple Farm, but I can’t.’ She turned to her friend and grinned. ‘So, which one do we start with, then?’
Chapter Seventeen
As it was Sunday the following day, Libby decided it would not be politic to start making enquiries. Hetty had once more invited everybody to lunch, after which Ben played chess with his father, who was looking considerably better, and Libby and Harry went out into the garden for a cigarette.
‘Well, petal?’ Harry sat down on a bench. ‘How are things now?’
‘Much better.’ Libby perched on the stone wall that ran round the terrace. ‘I’ve told Ben I don’t want to move to Steeple Farm.’
‘And?’
‘He was fine with it. I wasn’t being fair to him, was I?’
‘No. And how was Cornwall? It was Cornwall, wasn’t it?’
Libby told him all about Cornwall.
‘Did you find anything out about your murder?’
‘It isn’t my murder. Although –’ she paused.
‘Don’t tell me. Fran has had one of her moments and you’re hot on the trail.’ Harry shook his head at her. ‘It’ll all end in tears.’
‘No, it won’t.’ Libby hesitated. ‘What’s happened, you see, is that we’ve been presented with a couple of leads. No –’ she held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth ‘We didn’t look for them. It happened last night.’
‘And they were?’
Libby told him.
‘So Cornwall was no use, then.’
‘It made my mind up about Ben and Steeple Farm. And although there was all the spooky goings-on in the woods I couldn’t see that any of that had anything to do with Bill Frensham’s murder.’
‘Unless they’re part of a cult that gets together down there,’ suggested Harry. ‘They do that sort of thing in Cornwall, don’t they?’
‘Well, in a way that’s what Mannan Night is all about,’ said Libby, ‘although it appears to be a once a year sort of cult.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Harry.
‘Cranston Morris only go down there once a year, so they couldn’t be part of it.’
‘It doesn’t have to be your Mannan stuff,’ said Harry. ‘It could be a cult that has branches everywhere.’
‘Like the WI?’ Libby laughed. ‘I suppose so. I did wonder if there was any connection to the group that used the old chapel for black masses.’
‘Why not? Satanists or something. That’s what the lot at Tyne Chapel were, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m not sure we ever found out. I thought they were just in it for the sex.’
‘I reckon most of these odd groups are in it for the sex,’ said Harry. ‘The witchcraft, or devil worship or whatever just adds spice.’
‘I don’t think they’d agree with you.’ Libby stubbed out her cigarette and poked it into a flowerpot. ‘I do wonder what the point of frightening poor Gemma with all the sacrifice business was, though.’
‘Do you think it was simply to frighten her?’
‘Well, she said everyone knew about it, but I wonder who told her that?’
‘Her husband? Whats’isname?’
‘Dan. He seemed as bewildered as she did. I think there’s a sort of splinter group of Cranston Morris, and I think Bill Frensham was in it, and so was – or is – Richard Diggory. He went off into the woods with the Goats Head lot.’ She thought a bit. ‘And I bet John Lethbridge was in it, too.’
‘Who?’ said Harry.
‘The bloke who disappeared. Who might have murdered Bill.’
‘Blimey, it’s complicated,’ said Harry, shaking his head. ‘Come on, let’s go back inside. I must sweep my young man off home soon.’
‘Will he want to be swept?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry firmly. ‘He needs to unwind in the comfort of his own bathrobe. He went to see Mad Millie this morning and it always upsets him.’
‘It’s such a shame that seeing your own mother should upset you,’ mused Libby. ‘I hope I don’t do that to my kids.’
‘Oh, you al
ready upset them,’ said Harry, ducking. ‘I practically live with your son, don’t forget.’
It wasn’t until the following morning that Libby phoned Fran.
‘I wondered if I ought to phone Trisha and you ought to go and see Sir Jonathan,’ she suggested. ‘I think he likes you better than me.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Fran. ‘You phone Trisha, yes, we can hardly both do it, but we go and see Sir Jonathan together. He said coffee, didn’t he? We could go now.’
‘Now?’
‘I’ll come and pick you up on the way. You can phone Trisha while you’re waiting.’
‘She might not be able to talk at work,’ Libby demurred.
‘Well, make arrangements for a more convenient time, then. Come on, Lib, you’re usually the one who rushes ahead –’
‘Like a bull in a china shop,’ Libby finished for her. ‘Yes, I know.’
Sure enough, not only was Trisha unable to talk while at work, she showed distinct signs of having changed her mind about talking at all.
‘It was the champagne, I expect,’ she said giggling nervously. ‘It’s nothing really.’
Frustrated, Libby puffed out a sigh. ‘If you change your mind, give me a ring,’ she said, and gave Trisha the number.
‘Right,’ said Trisha. ‘Er – I’ll maybe, um – ring you some time. Like –’ she stopped suddenly. ‘Later,’ she almost whispered after a moment.
‘It was so strange,’ Libby said later to Fran, as they bowled along the road to Anderson Place once more. ‘First of all she didn’t want to talk to me, then she said she’d ring me.’
‘Perhaps there was someone in the office,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, but all she had to do then was say she’d call me back. She was – odd.’
Fran pulled in to the car park. ‘Do you think we should have called ahead?’ she said. ‘He might not be here.’
But as they walked into the impressive foyer of the Place, Sir Jonathan was coming towards them, obviously on his rounds, and professed himself delighted to see them.
‘Come up to the flat,’ he said. ‘More comfortable up there.’ He led the way to the gilt lift cage and they ascended slowly to the second floor.
When they were provided with coffee, Libby sat back in her chair and put her head on one side. ‘So, Sir Jonathan. What was it you wanted to talk to us about?’
‘First of all, are you going to look into his death?’
‘You know we can’t actually do that. We said so on Saturday night.’
‘And you remember what I replied. I only ask because I knew the man and I know his wife. I don’t think the police are looking in the right direction.’
‘I don’t know where the police are looking,’ said Libby. ‘Frankly, I doubt if they’d tell me, either.’
‘Of course they wouldn’t,’ said Sir Jonathan, ‘but I gather the investigation has centred on the Morris connection.’
‘Because of where and when he was murdered,’ said Fran. ‘I still find it amazing that someone could be killed like that in full view of everyone in broad daylight.’
‘But the other dancers were milling around all the time. Any one of them could have got close enough to do it,’ said Libby. ‘That’s why the police are concentrating on that side of his life.’
‘And the fact that John Lethbridge has disappeared.’
‘And why haven’t they found him?’ asked Sir Jonathan.
Libby and Fran looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘Yes. If he killed poor Bill, he’s gone into hiding. That’s what they think, don’t they? But why did he kill Bill?’
Libby looked bewildered. ‘Why?’ she said again.
‘Think about it,’ said Sir Jonathan, his eyes sparkling under the bushy white eyebrows. ‘If John Lethbridge killed Bill, there must have been a reason. If it was to keep himself safe from some threat he wouldn’t go into hiding. He might go into hiding to avoid the threat, but he wouldn’t kill – do you see?’
Libby was still looking bewildered, but Fran nodded slowly. ‘I see. If Bill was killed to keep a secret safe, that must mean that the killer wanted to carry on living as he’d always done.’
Libby’s face cleared. ‘Oh, I see! That’s clever, Sir Jonathan. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Oh, please, drop the Sir.’ The old man chuckled. ‘I must say, awful though this is, I’m quite enjoying working things out.’
‘I can see that,’ said Fran, amused. ‘What made you want to, though?’
‘I told you. I knew Bill, and his wife. Funny little thing, she is. Very quiet.’
‘And you’d been doing business with Bill and his company for some time?’
‘Oh, yes. Since we first opened. Frensham Marketing did all our publicity, set up the website, everything. Even found us Mel.’
‘Really?’ said Fran. ‘They interviewed her?’
‘Not exactly. She was working for another of their clients. I’m afraid we poached her.’ He chuckled again. ‘Stripy hair and all.’
‘Yes, she’s changed since I first saw her,’ said Libby.
‘Did you know John Lethbridge?’ asked Fran.
‘No. I’d met him when he came here to one of Bill’s functions, but that was all. But you see, if he’s disappeared and they suspect him, they must have linked him to Bill, and it surely wouldn’t just be because of any connection to the Morris men.’
‘Something outside, then. Perhaps he was having an affair and Bill found out?’ said Libby.
‘No, he was divorced, remember? Your friend told us,’ said Fran.
‘Oh, yes. Willy.’
‘But, as Jonathan says, if he killed Bill to stop him telling all, he would have meant to stay around.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Libby frowned. ‘Complicated isn’t it? So do we believe Lethbridge’s disappearance has nothing to do with Bill’s death?’
‘That’s what I think,’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘I think someone from outside mingled with the Morris dancers.’
‘Outside the Morris side, you mean?’ said Libby. ‘So it could be anyone? A business associate?’
‘It seems logical to me,’ said Sir Jonathan.
Fran and Libby looked at one another. ‘In a convoluted way, it does to me, too,’ said Fran.
‘And Trisha!’ said Libby excitedly. She turned to Sir Jonathan. ‘Trisha works at Bill’s company for a man called – what was his name, Fran?’
‘Phillips, was it?’
‘Yes, Phillips. And she wanted to talk to us because she said she thought there was something funny going on.’
‘Really?’ Sir Jonathan’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. ‘I’d never have thought it. Bill was always the most honest and straightforward businessman I knew.’
‘Maybe,’ said Libby slowly, ‘she didn’t mean business-wise. Maybe she meant personnel-wise.’
‘Ah.’ Sir Jonathan nodded. ‘That could be it, of course. I think there was a bit of friction with a woman there at one time.’
‘Trisha said someone was gutted about Bill’s death,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m not sure in what way.’
‘Well, you’ll find out if Trisha phones you, won’t you?’ said Fran, and stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee, Jonathan, and for the ideas. If we find anything else out we’ll let you know.’
‘Please do,’ said Sir Jonathan, looking wistful.
Libby impulsively kissed him on the cheek. ‘And if we go off looking for something, you can come too.’
Sir Jonathan brightened immediately. ‘Good stuff!’ he said. ‘I’ll see you out.’
Back in the car, Fran turned to Libby with a frown. ‘Why did you say that?’
‘What, that he could come too? Well, why not. If we go and see someone to ask questions he could be useful.’
‘Has it occurred to you that we have no right to ask anybody any questions? We’re only looking into this as an intellectual exercise, remember?’
Libby turned to look out of the window. ‘Sure,’ she said.
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‘That’s all very well,’ she told Sidney later, ‘but Fran was the one who was interested in the first place. She’s just dying to find out more about this, I know she is.’ Sidney put his ears back, but didn’t move. ‘What she needs is a good “moment” that will send her off on the right track, then she can make the excuse that she’s actually helping the police. And,’ she added gloomily, ‘she probably will be.’
A trip to the Cattlegreen Nurseries Farm shop seemed indicated in order to buy vegetables for a stir fry, so Libby collected her basket and set off down the lane. Just as she reached the bottom a car turned in rather fast and shot past her, only to pull up abruptly almost in front of number 17. Libby stood and watched, frowning, as the car door opened and a blonde head poked out.
‘Trisha!’ Libby started back up the lane again.
Trisha got out of the car and stood looking uncomfortable, her hand on the door handle.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.’
‘No,’ said Libby in an admonitory tone. ‘I could tell. Did you want me?’
Stupid question, she thought, seeing as she’s standing in front of my house.
‘Yes. Am I holding you up? Were you going out?’
‘Yes, but it’s not important.’ Libby fished in the basket for her keys and unlocked the door. ‘Watch the step – oh, and the cat.’
Sidney, affronted, darted between their legs and off up the lane.
‘So, is this your lunch hour?’ asked Libby. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, no that’s all right, said Trisha, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the armchair. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Tea, then? Or coffee? I’d offer you a glass of wine, but you’re driving.’
‘Coffee, then, that would be lovely.’
‘Right.’ Libby went into the kitchen and tested the kettle on the Rayburn. She moved it onto the hotplate and left it to boil.
‘Come on then, you’ve obviously got something to tell me that you didn’t want to over the phone.’ Libby sat on the sofa. ‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘Jane told me.’ Trisha looked down at her hands twisting together in her lap. ‘I thought I ought not to tell you, it seemed disloyal, somehow, but I talked to Jane about it, and she said you were very discreet’ (really? thought Libby) ‘and you were very good at making sense of things.’ Trisha looked up. ‘You and Fran, of course.’
Murder in the Green Page 13
