Murder on the Run

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘No. Well, I thought if yougave me their addresses I could actually go and harass them on their doorsteps.’

  ‘Ah! An excuse to investigate! Now I see.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘But my step-ma said you’ve been warned off.’

  ‘We were. But do you know, I’ve had a thought about that.’

  ‘Oh? What thought?’

  ‘I’m surprised Ian took it so seriously. After all, it was the surest way to get people to take notice of Lisa’s disappearance. If the phone call hadn’t been made, it might have faded into the woodwork.’

  Libby was sure Sophie was frowning at the other end of the connection.

  ‘I don’t get it. Look, you come down and talk to Step-ma and I’ll see if I can give you any addresses. Which, actually, I doubt.’

  Libby cut the call. She had expressed the same thought to Ben at breakfast this morning, who, surprised, had actually agreed with her, but was not in favour of her hunting out the Harriers in their dens.

  The phone in her hand rang.

  ‘Hello, Fran. Has Sophie been talking to you? That was quick!’

  ‘She has. It was a bit garbled. Are you going to brave Nethergate and come and tell me all about it, or shall I come to you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll come to Nethergate. All right if I come now? Then we can have lunch.’

  ‘OK. See you in half an hour.’

  ‘So,’ said Fran, when they were settled in the sitting room of Coastguard Cottage with tea, ‘what exactly is this theory of yours? I don’t think Sophie had it quite right.’

  ‘If that phone call hadn’t been made, I think Lisa’s disappearance would have – well, not been ignored, exactly, but wouldn’t have been looked into so thoroughly.’

  ‘Could be, but I don’t think a disappearance would be shelved as quickly as that,’ said Fran.

  ‘If they don’t know anything about it, it could just be that they feel the police weren’t doing enough and wanted to draw attention to things.’

  Libby stared thoughtfully into her tea.‘I thought the phone call would make sure the police looked into the case properly, but what I was surprised about was Ian taking the threat to us seriously.’

  ‘I think what he was actually worried about was getting in trouble with his boss for involving us. I’m sure he doesn’t really think there’s a threat to us.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or pleased. ‘So he’s only concerned with himself?’

  Fran was amused. ‘Come on, don’t be silly. This isn’t about us, is it? Somebody’s vanished. Whether it’s suspicious or not, it’s about Lisa, no one else.’

  ‘Oh, OK. So I ought to tell Ad to forget what I said?’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘Told him not to talk about us. He wouldn’t have stayed away from Nethergate anyway, because of Sophie.’

  ‘She also said,’ Fran fixed her friend with a stern stare, ‘that you wanted the addresses of the Harriers to go and sell them raffle tickets.’

  ‘I thought better of that,’ said Libby, sheepishly. ‘I know that was a bit daft. I’ll try and sell them in the village.’

  ‘Leave some here and we’ll see if we can sell any in the shop,’ said Fran. ‘And now I’m going to put the soup on, so you can come and talk to me in the kitchen. About anything other than running.’

  After a bowl of Fran’s famous lentil and tomato soup and a large chunk of fresh bread, Libby got back into her car and drove away from Nethergate feeling rather foolish. She’d over-reacted to both the phone call and the effect on Ian, and in fact, to Lisa’s disappearance altogether. Yes, it was odd, and someone had to get to the bottom of it, but the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the answer probably lay with Lisa herself. They knew next to nothing about her, except that she had moved from Canterbury toShott, ran most mornings and had a husband tucked away somewhere. Nobody even knew what she did for a living.

  * * *

  ‘I suppose,’ she said to Harry, who had popped round for a chat that afternoon, ‘I’ve got so used to things being mysteries and murders I turn everything into one.’

  ‘Anyone could have told you that.’ Harry stretched out his long legs and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘But to be fair, people do ask you to look into things, so you can’t be entirely blamed.’

  ‘Anyway, no more looking into the disappearance of the long-distance runner,’ said Libby. ‘I daresay she’s gone off on her own.’

  ‘I daresay she has. Or it’s white slavers.’

  Libby giggled. ‘Oh, God, yes! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  Harry sat forward. ‘Actually, it isn’t that funny anymore, is it? With illegal traffickers forcing people into slavery and prostitution.’

  Libby sobered immediately, remembering a recent adventure which had centred around that very branch of criminality. ‘No, that’s true. But this isn’t that.’

  Harry quirked an eyebrow. ‘No? But you aren’t going to find out, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby impatiently. ‘And why did you come round, anyway? Are you interrogating me?’

  Harry laughed. ‘No, dear heart! I’ve been coming round for chats with you for years, haven’t I? Actually, I was going to tell you Max and Owen are coming down for the weekend.’

  ‘Are they?’ Libby cheered up. Max Tobin and his partner Owen Talbot ran an all-male dance company which had used the Oast Theatre for a preview of a new ballet somemonths earlier. ‘Aren’t they on tour or something?’

  ‘No – they’re preparing for their West End debut. They’ve got a theatre for Pendle.’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ The new ballet’s transfer to a London theatre had been delayed last year due to unfortunate circumstances. ‘That’s fantastic. So they’re coming here for a bit of R and R, are they?’

  ‘Yes, Friday to Monday – or possibly Tuesday morning. They’re staying with us, as the pub’s full of people to do with this blasted Fun Run.’

  ‘Mad, isn’t it? I still don’t get the appeal. I mean, you can’t even take in the countryside and surroundings when you’re pounding along like that, can you?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Waste of energy, if you ask me. If you’re going to work out, why not go to a gym?’

  ‘Isn’t that more expensive?’ asked Libby doubtfully.

  Harry shrugged. ‘I suppose so, but they all have to have special clothing and gadgets, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes – those calculator things that we thought might track the missing runner.’

  ‘Her phone would do that anyway, wouldn’t it?’ said Harry.

  ‘It would have to have the right – um – app?’

  Harry laughed. ‘How old is this woman?’

  ‘I don’t know. Thirties? Forty?’

  ‘Then she’ll have a smartphone, so yes, it will have all the bells and whistles.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby looked up into the cherry tree. ‘I still get caught out by modern technology.’

  ‘Never mind, petal.’ Harry patted her hand. ‘We keep you on the straight and narrow.’

  Over the next few days, the matter of the missing runner was allowed to lie fallow. Posters about the Steeple Martin Fun Run appeared all over the village, in Ali and Ahmed’s eight-til-late store, the pub, even in the window of the Pink Geranium. Libby, having volun-teered to sell raffle tickets, was coerced by Amy to help put posters up in the surrounding villages, and spent the whole of Thursday driving around the countryside in the Land Rover. She went to The Red Lion in Heronsbourneand The Poacher in Shott, where she knew the landlords, and The Ashton Arms in Cherry Ashton and The George and Dragon at Steeple Cross, where she didn’t. The Reverend Patti Pearson put a poster up in the St Aldeberge community shop, and the bakery in Steeple Mount actually took some raffle tickets as well.

  Pleased with her efforts, and having not had the traditional Wednesday evening meeting in their own pub with Ian Connell, she called Fran.

  ‘Hear
d anything?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Lisa Harwood, of course.’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  Libby sighed. ‘I know. I just wondered if Sophie …’

  ‘She won’t have heard either. She’s been out running on her own and with Adam, and as far as I know, hasn’t seen anyone from the Harriers or anywhere else.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby stared thoughtfully at the empty fireplace.‘I went out postering today.’

  ‘Posturing?’

  ‘Postering! Sticking up posters in the villages. George at The Red Lion and Sid from The Poacher said to say hello.’

  ‘Posters for what?’

  ‘The Fun Run! You’re coming up for it, aren’t you? We were going to go to the caff on Saturday night. Oh – and I forgot to tell you – Max and Owen are coming down for the weekend.’

  ‘For the Fun Run?’Fran sounded totally confused.

  Libby sighed. ‘No, for a weekend off before Pendle goes in.’

  ‘Oh, they’ve got a theatre at last!’

  ‘They have. They’re staying with Pete and Harry as the village is full up with runners.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’ll be lovely. We’re staying with you, are we?’

  ‘That was the idea, if you remember,’ said Libby. ‘And Sophie will stay with Adam. Shall I see if we can book a meal at the pub on Sunday evening? Hal will be closed.’

  ‘Good idea. I hadn’t really forgotten …’

  ‘Of course you hadn’t,’ said Libby, with a grin. ‘See you Saturday evening, if not before.’

  On Friday, Ben appeared at lunchtime with a scowl on his face.

  ‘You’ll never guess what.’

  Libby placed a bowl of soup in front of him.

  ‘No, I won’t. What?’

  ‘The idiots who are organising this bloody Fun Run had forgotten to make provision for parking.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby sat down at the kitchen table and took a paintbrush from behind her ear. ‘And that means – what?’

  ‘They’ve asked me.’

  ‘You? What can you do?’

  ‘Apparently, as the largest landowner in the village I’m bound to have the odd field to spare.’

  Libby looked at him seriously. ‘Well, you have.’

  Ben looked up sharply. ‘I have? Where? If you’re thinking of the field at the top of our lane –’ he gestured wildly with his spoon ‘think of the chaos it would cause getting up there.’

  ‘No,’ said Libby calmly, ‘I was thinking of the field between the theatre and the back of the high street.’

  Ben stared at her, his mouth open.

  The Manor drive ran up from the high street to the Manor itself and the Oast Theatre. On the right of the drive was an open space from the theatre to the backs of all the premises in the high street, including The Pink Geranium and the pub.

  ‘And there’s access at the top of the drive,’ Libby continued,‘and it’s wide enough to allow traffic both ways.’

  Ben closed his mouth. ‘You’re right.’ He squinted at her. ‘It’ll need stewarding, though.’

  ‘That’s up to the organisers,’ said Libby. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The Nethergate Harriers.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Really?’ Libby gaped at him.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Ben grinned. ‘I was surprised, too. But I didn’t ask and they didn’t explain. No doubt you can find out more.’

  ‘Well, I expect I will, but why didn’t they tell me last week?’

  ‘Why should they have?’

  ‘When Fran and I were asking questions.’

  ‘Did you tell them where you were from?’

  ‘Er – no.’ Libby frowned. ‘I don’t suppose it’s relevant.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it is.’ Ben began to drink his soup. ‘Anyway, now you’ve given me the idea, I shall go back to the office and put wheels in motion.’

  Libby stuck the paintbrush back behind her ear and started on her own soup.

  ‘But why,’ she said after a moment, ‘didn’t Sophie tell us? We’ve actually talked about the Fun Run. And you said did the Harriers know where we came from. Sophie bloody well does!’

  ‘I don’t suppose she thought it was in the least important,’ said Ben.

  ‘What about that Steve? The chair of the Harriers. He asked us to look into Lisa’s disappearance.’

  Ben sighed. ‘That was just over-reaction at the time. It’s all gone quiet now, hasn’t it? I expect the police have discovered she’s just gone off somewhere on her own.’

  ‘Ian hasn’t told us that.’

  ‘Why should he?’ asked Ben reasonably.

  ‘Well, for a start, he dragged Fran up to the cliff path to see if she could sense anything, and then he got bothered about that phone call. He could at least have called to tell us we were safe.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Ben stared thoughtfully into his bowl. ‘We’ll see if he appears tomorrow. Or Sunday morning.’

  In fact, Detective Chief Inspector Connell did appear on Saturday, while Ben and Libby were attempting to set up the car parking area behind the Pink Geranium and the pub.

  ‘Have the police been informed?’ he asked, as Libby paused and wiped her forehead.

  ‘That’s the Harriers’ job, surely?’ she said, tying the tape she was holding to a post.

  ‘Yes, it is. I just haven’t heard anything about it.’

  ‘Oh, come on, everyone knows about the Fun Run, Ian.’ Ben stomped across the slightly muddy ground looking weary. ‘I just wish they’d thought about this earlier.’

  Ian looked amused. ‘When did they tell you?’

  ‘Yesterday.’ Ben snorted. ‘Why they hadn’t sorted something out before, I really don’t know.’

  ‘They do seem a little disorganised,’ said Ian.

  ‘Any more news about Lisa Harwood?’ asked Libby.

  Ian looked round sharply. ‘None. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘No. But after that phone call …’

  Ian smiled. ‘I think that was an attempt by someone to get us to take notice.’

  ‘Yes, we came to that conclusion.’ Libby scowled at him. ‘But you could have let us know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lib. I have been rather busy.’

  ‘You must have been – we didn’t even see you at the pub on Wednesday.’

  ‘I do have crimes to work on other than those you’ve involved yourself in.’

  ‘Ooh, cutting.’ Libby grinned at him. ‘Nothing you can tell us about, I suppose?’

  ‘You know better than that, Libby.’ Ian turned to Ben. ‘What’s this field usually used for? I’ve only ever seen it when we’ve had to search it for something – or someone.’

  ‘Not used for anything,’ said Ben. ‘There’s no access for farm machinery except from the theatre car park, and it backs on to the pub, Hal’s caff, Bob’s butcher shop and the eight-til-late.’

  ‘Surely it would be good for village events, then?’ said Ian. ‘You haven’t got a green here in Steeple Martin. You don’t ever have Morris dancers or a Maypole …’ He broke off to find Libby and Ben staring at him in surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘Since when have you been interested in that sort of thing?’ asked Libby. ‘You’ve always seemed rather disdainful of good old English folklore when we’ve come up against it in the past.’

  ‘Just thinking.’ Ian grinned rather sheepishly. ‘I happened to be at a small music festival yesterday, so …’

  ‘Really?’ Ben’s eyebrows rose even higher. ‘You?’

  Ian sighed. ‘I do have a life outside the force, you know.’

  ‘Sorry, Ian.’ Libby went over and patted his arm. ‘We don’t see much of you outside working hours, except on Wednesdays.’

  ‘And even that tends to be work-related. And, as it happens, so was the music festival.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Libby hopefully.

  ‘Oh, no, Lib, you’re not getting it out of me like that.’ Ian s
hook his head at her. ‘But it struck me that this would be an ideal space for a small festival, especially as it backs onto the pub at one end and the theatre the other.’

  Ben looked startled, then turned to survey the space behind him.

  ‘It would, Ben,’ said Libby.

  Ben shook his head. ‘No. What about car parking? We’ve had to let the Harriers use this for car parking. There isn’t anywhere else in the village.’

  ‘What about the field at the top of Allhallow’s Lane? The one that goes past the Hoppers’ Huts?’ Ian suggested.

  Ben stood with an arrested expression on his face.

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ said Libby, watching him, ‘even if you did say it wouldn’t work yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought.’ Ben gave Ian a reluctant grin. ‘Serve you right if I do it and someone murders one of the musicians.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ian.

  ‘Anyway, why are you here?’ Libby shoved her handkerchief back in her pocket.

  ‘I was passing.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows again. ‘On the way to where?’

  Ian burst out laughing. ‘Actually, to Canterbury and back to the office. No clues there. As it was round about lunchtime, I wondered if anyone wanted a drink. I’ve been working what seems like non-stop for two days, so I’m off duty.’

  ‘Great idea!’ Ben beamed. ‘Can I just pop into the Manor for a wash?’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ian. ‘I haven’t seen Hetty for months.’

  When Libby and Ben had washed the grime from their faces and hands, they followed Ian down the Manor drive to the pub. They waved as they passed The Pink Geranium, and Harry waved back.

  As usual, Ian ordered coffee, while Libby and Ben both had beer.

  ‘Are you going to watch the Fun Run tomorrow?’ asked Ian when they were settled with their drinks.

  ‘Yes. Fran and Guy are coming over this evening and staying the night. Sophie and Adam are running.’ Libby leant back in her chair. ‘I can’t think why they want to put themselves through it. I’m exhausted just setting up the car park.’

  ‘We aren’t very fit.’ Ben rubbed his slightly expanded waistline. ‘I suppose we ought to do something about it.’

  ‘But not running miles in sweaty clothes,’ said Libby. ‘Not my style.’