Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘What’s she persuaded you to do?

  ‘Nothing. I had to persuade her.’ Libby patted the sofa beside her and proceeded to tell him all that she and Sandra had talked about.

  ‘The woman must be deranged! Of course she should go to the police.’

  ‘I know, I know, but I can understand her reluctance. Some people never think that their evidence can be worth anything, and I expect she’s still scared she’s under suspicion about the factory.’

  ‘So you’ve asked her here.’

  ‘You and Ian have said I mustn’t go a-scouting. I want to persuade her to go to the police. I’m going to ask Fran to be here, too.’

  Ben sighed. ‘All right, I suppose you’ll be safe – unless the police suspect his wife killed Bowling.’

  ‘Not as far as I know, but then, I don’t know everything, do I? As Ian said.’

  Fran enthusiastically agreed to be present for the proposed visit and reminded Libby that they were only just over two weeks away from Christmas.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell. And I can’t go shopping. What shall I do?’

  ‘Internet. You did it last year. But you’ll have to start now, or it won’t all be delivered in time. And Ben can choose the Christmas tree for a change.’

  Libby relayed this information to Ben and set about making a list of things needed for Christmas. She was halfway through this, with a bowl of soup to hand, when the phone rang.

  ‘Libby, it’s Sandra. Denise says yes, she’ll come and see you. When would be convenient?’

  ‘Well, I suppose the sooner the better. Is she free this afternoon? Are you?’

  ‘I can be. I’ll call you back.’

  Fran agreed to come as soon as she could get away, and by the time Libby had ended her call, Sandra was calling back to say she and Denise would be there at three.

  ‘It’s the Monday ukulele meeting tonight, so I don’t want to be too long.’

  ‘Not at the hall?’ said Libby.

  ‘No, back at The Poacher. I don’t think the vicar wants us back in the hall!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that isn’t true,’ said Libby. ‘Bethany’s lovely. But I believe the police had it in quarantine, or whatever they call it, up until the weekend, so perhaps best you stay away. Anyway, I’ll see you at three.’

  Promptly at three, Sandra arrived with Denise Bowling. Fran had arrived at half past two, so Ben had taken the opportunity to go up to the Manor. Fran had set out the tea things, and the kettle was gently steaming on the Rayburn.

  ‘This is Denise.’ Sandra pushed a small, mousy-looking woman forward towards Libby. ‘Denise, this is Libby Sarjeant.’

  Denise held out a trembling hand and nodded nervously.

  ‘And I’m Fran Wolfe.’ Fran came forward smiling easily and ushered Denise into the armchair opposite Libby’s sofa. ‘I’m just making tea.’

  Denise looked at Sandra, who took another chair and smiled encouragingly.

  ‘So, Denise, did Sandra tell you I really think you should go to the police?’ Libby leant forward.

  Denise nodded, and swallowed visibly.

  ‘Why don’t you want to go?’

  Denise opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but no sound came out. Luckily, this fish-like scenario was stopped by Fran arriving with the tea. Denise shook her head at the offer of sugar and clasped her mug with both hands.

  ‘Come on, Denise,’ said Sandra suddenly. ‘This is silly. You agreed to come and see Libby. You at least have to speak to her.’

  ‘Yes.’ The whisper could barely be heard.

  ‘What are you scared of, Denise?’ asked Fran gently. ‘Not the police, surely?’

  Denise first shook her head, then nodded. Libby and Fran exchanged exasperated glances.

  ‘I think,’ said Sandra, ‘that although the inspector who came to see her at first was very nice, when the drugs people came, they scared her.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby nodded. ‘Yes, they were pretty horrible to Mike as well.’

  ‘Mike Farthing?’ Denise’s voice finally came out as a squeak.

  ‘I told you,’ said Sandra. ‘They think he had something to do with the – factory.’

  ‘No.’ Denise shook her head, more violently this time, and Libby raised her eyebrows at Fran.

  ‘And you knew nothing about it?’ said Fran. ‘The factory?’

  Denise drank some tea, sat up straighter in her chair, and nodded.

  ‘You mean, you did?’ gasped Sandra.

  ‘No!’ Denise shook her head impatiently. ‘Yes, I didn’t know anything about it. Not exactly.’

  The other three waited.

  ‘I knew there was something going on. I knew he’d got some very expensive equipment because I saw it delivered. I thought he was doing experiments with drugs – he never stopped doing experiments.’ Denise continued to stare into the fire. ‘After Dellington – well, it seemed he couldn’t stop. Even though all those experiments were banned. He used to do things at home, in his shed at the bottom of the garden.’

  ‘You don’t know what those experiments were?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No. I didn’t want to know.’ Denise shuddered. ‘We had so much trouble after Dellington. Those poor boys.’

  ‘Did he tell you what he was doing there?’ Libby was surprised.

  ‘Oh, no, that wasn’t allowed. It all came out afterwards. He used to get death threats, you know.’

  ‘You have told the police all this, haven’t you?’ said Fran.

  Denise looked surprised. ‘No. He was killed because of the cannabis, wasn’t he?’

  ‘They don’t know why he was killed,’ said Libby, ‘and it’s highly likely that the murderer was a relative of one of the Dellington victims. They’ve uncovered one already.’

  ‘Who?’ Denise’s face twisted. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No, we can’t,’ said Fran.

  ‘Why? How is it you know, then?’

  Fran glanced at Libby. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I’m sure Sandra told you we’re involved in the investigation, so we’re bound to preserve its integrity.’

  The other three women stared at her.

  ‘I say, Fran, that was brilliant,’ said Libby. Fran blushed. ‘Anyway, Denise, I’m sure Sandra said we’d help you if we could, but I really think you ought to tell the police yourself. We can pass on information, but they would have to talk to you themselves after that.’

  Denise subsided. ‘I know.’

  ‘So, come on, then,’ encouraged Fran. ‘Tell us why you thought Vernon was being threatened and why you think whoever it is will turn to you next.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘Could I have some more tea?’ Denise asked plaintively. It was obviously a delaying technique. Fran got up and collected the mug.

  ‘Anybody else?’

  Sandra and Libby shook their heads.

  They sat in silence until Fran reappeared with a fresh mug of tea and handed it to Denise.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘You were worried enough to tell Sandra and to let her bring you here. So tell us what the problem is.’

  Denise sighed. ‘I overheard some phone calls.’

  ‘Do you know who they were from?’ prompted Libby, when Denise seemed once more to have come to a stop.

  ‘No. I only heard what Vernon said.’

  ‘And what was that?’ asked Fran, controlling her impatience better than Libby.

  ‘It just sounded as if he was being threatened.’

  ‘How?’ Libby asked. ‘For goodness’ sake, Denise – I’m really sorry you’ve lost your husband, and I know you’re upset, but you must try and help us out here. What were his actual words and how many times did you hear these calls?’

  Denise did an impression of a rabbit in headlights.

  ‘Would you rather tell the police?’ asked Fran, still gently. ‘We can call them now.’

  ‘No!’ It was almost a screech.

  Startled, the other three women looked at each other.

&n
bsp; ‘We’ll have to tell them what you’ve said, though,’ Fran pointed out.

  Denise stood up, knocking her tea mug into the hearth. ‘Then I shall deny everything. I thought you were going to help me.’

  ‘We were.’ Sandra also stood up. ‘But I think we misunderstood what you meant by help.’

  ‘I agree.’ Libby looked up at them both. ‘I think you wanted help to cover something up, Denise, didn’t you? So that someone couldn’t come after you?’

  ‘I’m going home.’ Denise turned to the door.

  ‘How are you going to get there?’ asked Sandra.

  ‘You’re driving me.’ Denise didn’t turn round.

  ‘Why should I? You’ve been rude to my friends – and to me. I feel no obligation to drive you anywhere.’

  Libby could see Sandra was shaking and felt sorry for her. ‘Give me the phone, Fran, I’ll call a taxi for Mrs Bowling.’

  When she ended the call she said, ‘Ten minutes, Mrs Bowling. You can wait outside.’

  ‘I’m waiting in here.’ Denise still didn’t turn round.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Libby, and Fran moved to Denise and began propelling her towards the door, when she whipped round and lashed out at Fran’s face. Fran ducked and Sandra leapt forward.

  ‘Out,’ she said, capturing both Denise’s arms and shoving her to the door, which Fran managed to get open. Together, they pushed the furious woman outside and locked the door behind her. Fran moved to the window and Sandra collapsed in the armchair, her hands over her face. Libby got slowly to her feet and retrieved the mug from the hearth.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sandra. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.’

  Fran turned a pale face towards her. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘No, I’m perfectly capable as long as I don’t move too fast,’ said Libby. ‘You ought to sit down too.’

  By the time Libby had made fresh tea, the taxi had collected Denise Bowling.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sandra. She’d recovered her poise and tucked an errant strand of silver hair out of sight. ‘I didn’t realise …’

  ‘You’ve only known her since you married Alan, haven’t you?’ said Fran.

  Sandra coloured faintly. ‘Yes. It’s really quite odd, marrying when you get to our age, and there were several people in the village – Alan’s friends – who didn’t take to it. Denise seemed different, but I realise I didn’t know her very well at all.’

  ‘I think Libby was right,’ said Fran. ‘She knows something and she wanted us to help cover it up.’

  ‘But is she afraid of whoever it is or the police? Strikes me it’s the police she’s more afraid of.’ Libby sat upright on the sofa and pushed her bandage back from her forehead.

  ‘Or of the whoever it is finding out she’s told the police,’ said Fran.

  ‘I wish I’d never got involved,’ said Sandra, looking wretched. ‘I just wanted to help.’

  ‘I think,’ said Libby, ‘as long as she doesn’t try and get back at you, you just stay away from her. We’ll have to pass on what she’s told us, and we’ll have to give your name as corroboration, after that it’s up to the police.’

  Sandra nodded. ‘I hope Alan won’t be cross. He’s never been fond of Denise.’

  ‘Was he close to Vernon?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Not especially.’ Sandra frowned. ‘I mean, they knew one another, had a drink together, that sort of thing, but we never went to dinner with them or anything like that. I got friendly with Denise through darts. In fact, over the last few months it struck me that Alan rather disapproved of Vernon, and that was why he didn’t really like me being friendly with Denise.’

  ‘Has he ever said why?’

  Sandra shrugged. ‘I never asked him.’

  ‘Well, I should,’ said Libby. ‘And if there’s anything you think the police should know, get him to tell them. I don’t suppose you were questioned because you weren’t around the night he was killed.’

  ‘And we will be now?’ Sandra sighed. ‘I suppose we must.’

  ‘We’ll tell our friendly policeman,’ said Libby, ‘and he’ll decide what to do with it all.’

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ asked Fran. ‘Do you feel able to drive?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Sandra. ‘I lived alone for years after all. I’m very independent. And at least I don’t have to go near Shott or Bowling House on the way home.’

  ‘Fancy naming your house after you,’ said Libby. ‘He wasn’t self-effacing, then?’

  ‘Actually, that’s what’s so odd. He was, rather. Quiet, you know. That’s why everybody’s so surprised about all this.’

  ‘Well, I must be going,’ said Fran. ‘Can I do anything for you before I go, Lib?’

  ‘Yes, so must I.’ Sandra stood up. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you for trying to help, and I’m so sorry it turned out the way it has.’

  Libby stood and gave her a hug. ‘Not your fault. Keep in touch.’

  ‘Are you really going?’ Libby eyed her friend askance after their guest had left. ‘Or was that just to get rid of her so we could talk it over?’

  ‘Of course.’ Fran resumed her seat. ‘I thought we ought to discuss what we’re going to tell Ian and who’s going to call him.’

  ‘You can do that. He’d probably come over and strap me into bed if I did it.’ Fran raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you know what I mean. So what do we tell him?’

  ‘Everything. Perhaps a little truncated.’

  ‘Omit Sandra’s first visit and run the whole thing together?’

  ‘Without the pauses,’ said Fran. ‘She really was a piece of work, wasn’t she?’

  ‘I can’t believe Sandra was friends with her. I wonder what she’ll do now.’

  ‘Sandra or Denise?’

  ‘Denise, of course. You don’t think she’ll disappear, do you?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Fran, reaching for her phone, ‘I think she may do just that. I’ll try Ian.’

  She was able to reach him on his official police phone and after a brief conversation, she ended the call.

  ‘He’s sending someone to question her right now, so let’s hope she hasn’t already done a runner, and he’s calling in here to get the lowdown.’

  ‘Here? Where is he now?’

  Fran grinned. ‘In the churchyard!’

  Ian arrived ten minutes later.

  ‘It really is no use telling you to keep out of things, is it?’ he said to Libby, as he sat down opposite her.

  ‘Wasn’t my fault,’ she said indignantly. ‘Sandra called me and brought Denise to see us.’

  ‘It’s true, Ian,’ said Fran. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with Libby.’

  Ian sighed. ‘Well, whatever it was, it sounds as though you got hold of something.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Libby, ‘did you get hold of Denise?’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything to the contrary,’ said Ian warily.

  ‘Right. Well, what happened was …’

  ‘And that’s it,’ she concluded five minutes later. ‘Sounds very strange to us.’

  ‘The strangest thing is the way she turned on you at the end,’ said Ian. ‘It definitely sounds as if she’s hiding something.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is why she allowed Sandra to bring her to see us,’ said Fran, ‘unless it really was to see if we would help her cover something up.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure of that,’ said Libby. ‘Look how hesitant she was at first, and she gradually realised we wouldn’t do that, so she had to get out of the situation, somehow.’

  ‘I’m wondering now if the taxi actually took her home or somewhere else,’ said Ian. ‘Do you happen to know the name of the taxi firm?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘I called it.’ She found the number in her phone and passed it over. Ian made the call.

  ‘Odder and odder,’ he said as he ended the call. ‘She took the taxi to Derek Chandler’s house.’ He made another call, directing the officers
who had gone to pick up Denise back to Itching.

  ‘Oh, dear, Sandra lives in Itching,’ said Libby.

  ‘Does she now? And we haven’t spoken to her or her husband. I think I’d better do just that. Meanwhile, you two, stay put.’ He stood up.

  ‘I’ve got to go home,’ said Fran. ‘I can’t stay here.’

  ‘And I’m going to the rehearsal tonight,’ said Libby.

  ‘Is that wise?’ said Ian and Fran together.

  ‘Of course. I’m being far too cosseted. I shall just sit and regard my poor cast with an evil eye and let Peter do the shouting. No music tonight, which is a relief.’

  ‘Don’t do too much,’ said Ian as he went to the door. ‘And thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘Will you …?’ began Libby, but Fran frowned at her.

  ‘If I can.’ Ian grinned. ‘I may just see you on Wednesday evening.’

  ‘Well, what about that?’ said Libby, when he’d gone. ‘He was actually grateful.’

  ‘He often is,’ said Fran. ‘But I wonder why Denise has gone to Derek Chandler’s? Sandra said she didn’t have friends in the ukulele group.’

  ‘For protection,’ suggested Libby. ‘He’s a solicitor.’

  ‘Oh, yes. But that’s virtually admitting there’s something to hide.’

  ‘Why didn’t she just go home and phone him, though?’

  ‘Perhaps because she thought we’d send the police after her?’

  ‘Which we did,’ said Libby, with a smug smile. ‘I do hope Ian tells us what happens.’

  ‘Should we let Sandra know?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Libby found the number in her phone. ‘I hope she’s home. How long ago did she leave here?’

  ‘She’ll be home. It was well before we even called Ian.’

  Sandra was home.

  ‘I’ve just seen the police car outside Derek Chandler’s house. He lives in our road. What’s going on?’

  ‘Denise went there instead of home,’ explained Libby. ‘The police want to talk to her.’

  ‘Oh, lord.’ Sandra sounded upset.

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Sandra. And by the way, Ian said he will be talking to you and your husband.’

  ‘Ian?’

  ‘Our DCI friend, Ian Connell.’

  ‘Did he say when?’

  ‘No, sorry. But if you see anything happening in your road, let us know.’