Ian laughed. ‘Sorry – but I can just picture it!’
Libby smiled reluctantly. ‘I bet you can.’
Ben was regarding Ian thoughtfully. ‘Where was this music festival?’ he asked suddenly.
‘What?’ Ian looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘I just wondered. I hadn’t heard of any round here.’
‘The other side of Canterbury actually. Between Canterbury and Ashford.’
‘Then why are you on your way back to Canterbury from this direction?’
Ian stared back at him.
‘Well?’ said Libby, having finally worked this out. ‘He’s right. You should have hit Canterbury before you got to us.’
‘I really don’t have to answer that,’ said Ian, in his most apologetic tone. ‘Do I?’
‘Legally, no,’ said Libby. ‘Personally, yes. There must be a reason. And it isn’t for the sake of my blue eyes.’
Ian’s mouth quirked. ‘As if I’d do anything for the sake of your blue eyes,’ he said. ‘Even if they aren’t blue.’
‘Stop stalling,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, tell us.’
Ian sighed. ‘Actually, it was to do with Lisa Harwood.’
‘I knew it.’
‘I reported your phone call to my boss, and we had a meeting about it. The general consensus was that it was a hoax to get us interested. Probably to make fools of us. We reviewed all the evidence we had so far, which, after all, wasn’t much, and came to the conclusion that she must have gone off on her own accord.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Libby. ‘Nothing was gone from her house, was it?’
‘We don’t know. Nobody knew her.’
‘The husband. What about him?’ asked Ben.
Ian shook his head. ‘A devoted father to their two sons. He’d never even been to her house. She used to come to his place to pick the boys up and take them out, that was all.’
‘So even the boys had never been to her house?’ Libby was aghast. ‘Those poor children.’
‘It was a very odd set-up altogether,’ said Ian, twirling his coffee cup in his hands. ‘The husband said she’d never really wanted the children, and when she started running, she became obsessed. Eventually, he told her to go, because she was never there anyway.’
‘Did she look after the children?’ asked Ben.
‘She was supposed to, but she farmed them out.’ Ian shook his head again. ‘At least now the arrangement is on a proper footing and the husband isn’t having to support her.’
‘That sounds a bit hard,’ said Libby.
‘According to Don Harwood, she didn’t work and made no contribution to the household. He offered to make her some kind of allowance when she left, but she refused.’ Ian drained his coffee cup. ‘That’s why I said it was odd. If she didn’t work, how was she supporting herself? The rent on her cottage can’t have been cheap.’
‘How far have you looked into it?’ asked Libby. ‘Shouldn’t there have been more of an investigation?’
‘We followed the missing persons guidelines. There is a risk assessment process, and the risk seemed minimal.’
‘Really?’ Libby seemed doubtful.
‘Think about it,’ said Ian. ‘A woman who lives alone, who has virtually shunned her family, who invites no one to her house, who doesn’t socialise and whose only hobby is running. She doesn’t have much of an online presence, merely a profile, such as it is, on the Harriers’ social media pages.’
‘You took her computer, didn’t you?’ said Ben. ‘And tracked her status?’
‘Yes. She used a popular app, but it only appeared on the Harriers’ page. It’s been silent ever since. Her computer was virtually empty, if you can imagine such a thing. Virtually no emails, no banking information.’
‘Isn’t that suspicious?’ asked Libby. ‘Doesn’t it look as though she’s hiding? Or hiding something?’
‘If so,’ said Ian, ‘then she had another life. And how she could have done that when she was still living with her husband and children …’
‘But you said she was hardly ever there. Couldn’t she have begun her other life then?’
‘Don Harwood gave us all the details of where he and she met and married. We even got in touch with her father.’
Libby looked at him solemnly. ‘And this wasn’t enough of a risk?’
‘No. It’s a deliberate situation. I know it’s suspicious, but we traced her as far as we could. Then – whoosh! Gone in a flash.’
‘There must be a footprint somewhere,’ said Ben. ‘Virtual, I mean.’
‘You would think so.’ Ian shrugged. ‘We tried to find the agents who rented her the house, but couldn’t. There was no documentation about it anywhere. The account only ever received deposits by cash and was only used to pay household bills and as far as we could see, no rent payments – no online trail at all.’
‘You wouldn’t think that was possible, would you?’ said Libby.
‘Except that an awful lot of people over eighty are the same,’ said Ian.
‘You’re right,’ said Ben. ‘My mum and her friends are quite happy with modern technology, although they only use it sparingly. They prefer to do things face to face. But all of them would have a limited online footprint.’
‘And Lisa Harwood doesn’t.’ Ian shook his head again. ‘And the reason I’m here today, to be truthful –’
‘I knew it,’ muttered Libby.
Ian shot her an amused look. ‘The reason I’m here is to check out this route, for one thing, and because I’m going to be here tomorrow to talk to some of the runners.’
Chapter Ten
Ben and Libby stared at Ian suspiciously.
‘Why?’ said Libby eventually. ‘Is one of them a suspect?’
‘They could all be suspects,’ said Ian. ‘You’re quite capable of believing everyone is a suspect, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but particularly.’
Ian sighed. ‘I have to investigate the stewards. And the cup that was found.’
‘Oh, I’d almost forgotten about that,’ muttered Libby.
Ian fixed her with a warning eye. ‘You are not to go round talking about it. And I shall be here tomorrow on my own time, so it will be very unofficial.’
‘In that case, do you want to come to the pub with us tomorrow evening? We’re going there for dinner,’ said Ben.
‘As long as I’m not compromising myself, thanks, I’d love to.’ Ian grinned at Libby. ‘Although I’d prefer to be able to stay overnight. Drinking is usually involved with the Steeple Martin contingent.’
‘I daresay you could use one of the guest rooms at the Manor,’ said Ben. ‘We haven’t opened it up for the runners as we didn’t really know anything about this Fun Run until this week.’
‘Won’t Hetty mind?’ asked Ian.
‘Of course not. I’ll give her a ring now.’ Ben fished out his phone.
‘We’ve got other visitors arriving,’ Libby said while Ben talked to his mother. ‘Max and Owen are coming for the weekend, too.’
‘For the run?’ Ian raised his eyebrows.
‘No, of course not. They’re here for a spot of R&R before Pendle goes in.’
‘Goes in where?’
‘They’ve got a London theatre. Isn’t that terrific? That’s what it’s called if a piece that’s been in the provinces manages to get a theatre. “Going in.” See?’
Ian nodded. ‘So it’ll be quite a gathering of the clans.’
‘You could come with us to the caff tonight, too, if you wanted to.’
Ian shook his head. ‘No, I’d better get off home. Besides I’m already going out tonight.’
Libby opened her mouth, but Ben interrupted.
‘Hetty will be pleased to see you whenever you want.’ He cast Libby a minatory glare. ‘And we’ll see you sometime during the day. The run finishes at the end of Maltby Close and there will be refreshments in Carpenter’s Hall.’
Ian stood up. ‘Thanks, Ben. And shall I park at t
he Manor or in your brand new car park?’
Ben grimaced. ‘The Manor. You might never get out of the field.’
‘You must not ask him where he goes,’ Ben said after Ian had left.
‘I didn’t,’ said Libby, huffily.
‘You were going to.’
‘But I didn’t.’ Libby looked at him sideways. ‘And why not?’
‘He keeps his private life to himself. If he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.’
‘I know. But we’ve known him for years, now, and all we know about him is that he has family still in Scotland and he went up there for a wedding. We don’t even know where he lives. And he knows everything about all of us.’
‘Because we’ve been part of his official investigations. We don’t need to know about him.’
‘Hmm,’ said Libby.
Ben grinned at her. ‘Just because you fancy him!’
Libby went bright red. ‘I don’t!’
‘Yes, you do.’ Ben reached across and patted her hand. ‘It’s all right, I know it’s not serious and I’m not jealous. But he’s a very attractive man, in a saturnine sort of way. If ever we wanted to do a version of Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice at the theatre –’
‘He’d be a brilliant Rochester or Darcy,’ Libby finished for him. ‘I just can’t understand why he’s single.’
‘He might not be,’ said Ben. ‘For all we know he’s got a wife and seven children tucked away somewhere.’
Libby gave him a disgusted look.
That evening, having showered away the effects of setting up the car park, Ben and Libby, Fran and Guy joined Peter, Max Tobin and Owen Talbot at the Pink Geranium. After affectionate greetings had been exchanged and drinks provided, Max asked Libby what she was investigating at the moment. Fran’s lips tightened.
‘Nothing,’ said Libby brightly, concentrating on her wine.
‘What about this missing runner?’ said Max, leaning forward.
Libby looked up at Peter reproachfully. He held up his hands in surrender.
‘I just happened to mention it. And we know you’ve been warned off.’
‘We just don’t think there’s anything to investigate,’ said Fran, with an air of shutting down the conversation.
‘Then why is Ian coming over tomorrow?’ Harry appeared at the table with menus.
‘How …?’ Libby, Ben and Fran all stared. Guy, amused, took a menu.
‘He popped in after the pub. Of course, that could have been because I was on the watch for him, having seen you all go in.’ Harry beamed round at his guests. ‘Now, come on, order up before I run out of everything.’
When dishes had been chosen and orders given, despite Libby trying to turn the conversation towards tomorrow’s Fun Run, Owen returned to the attack. In the end Libby capitulated.
‘Ian’s visit is strictly unofficial. He doesn’t want us talking about it, but as far as I can see, he thinks there’s something more to it.’
‘More than what?’ asked Max.
‘Than a simple missing person,’ said Ben.
‘She was such a solitary, hidden sort of person.’ Fran frowned down at her napkin. ‘As if she didn’t want anyone to know anything about her.’
‘And yet she had a perfectly legitimate husband, children and father. But the police couldn’t find any online traces of her after she left them in Canterbury.’ Libby made a face. ‘Weird.’
‘We had a couple of those,’ said Owen. ‘Remember?’
Max nodded. ‘That was weird, too.’
‘Weirder than that boy Paul from last year?’ said Libby.
‘Oh, he was par for the course,’ laughed Max. ‘No, these were a couple of boys who auditioned about a year ago, was it, Owen?’
‘One of them in March and another in May,’ said Owen. ‘They both gave minimal information, and we took them both on – they were good, but neither of them really talked to any of the others.’
‘What about each other?’ asked Guy.
‘I didn’t make myself clear – they didn’t come together. The first one, in March, when we began to research his background – you know, where he’d trained, what he’d actually done – he disappeared. Then exactly the same thing happened with the other one.’
‘How odd,’ said Fran. ‘Presumably they both gave details of where they’d trained?’
‘Both at the same place, oddly,’ said Max, ‘which couldn’t supply a current address for either of them. After they’d graduated the school didn’t keep in touch.’
‘Really?’ Libby leant forward. ‘But they were proper dancers?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Owen. ‘They were both good.’
‘Oh, God.’ Ben put his head in his hands.
‘What?’ Libby looked worried.
‘Now you’ll want to investigate that.’
Everyone laughed. Except Fran.
‘Shouldn’t it have been investigated at the time?’ she asked.
Owen and Max looked surprised. ‘Investigate what?’
‘The two boys disappearing.’
‘They just didn’t turn up,’ said Max. ‘Happens all the time. And when we tried to get in touch, their phones were off and they weren’t at the addresses they’d given. But you know what youngsters are – especially in the business, whichever end of it they’re in.’
Fran nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Libby. ‘It’s nothing to do with us.’
‘No.’ Fran looked down at the table. Libby exchanged glances with Guy, who shook his head slightly.
The food arrived and with it a new conversational topic, when Max asked where Adam was.
‘Resting before tomorrow, I should think,’ said Libby. ‘He’s doing the Fun Run with Sophie, Guy’s daughter.’
‘Did we meet Sophie last year?’ asked Owen.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Guy, ‘but to be honest, I can’t remember. The last few days of your visit were a bit hectic, weren’t they?’
Owen laughed. ‘The whole visit was! I’m surprised you’ve let us back into the village.’
‘Oh, we’re like Jessica Fletcher’s Cabot Cove,’ said Peter. ‘More dodgy characters than you can shake a stick at.’
At the end of the meal, when Harry had brought out the brandy he kept for special customers, Adam appeared via the kitchen.
‘I thought he wasn’t here?’ said Owen.
‘He lives upstairs,’ said Libby. ‘He’s come down the back stairs.’
‘Hey, Ma.’ Adam looked round the table and acknowledged everyone. ‘I just wondered if you knew that there are people in the back field.’
‘Already?’ Ben stood up.
‘There are tents there,’ said Adam.
‘Oh, Lord.’ Ben moved round the table, taking his mobile out of his pocket as he went. ‘Will you excuse me a moment, everyone? I’ll have to get them to move, or there won’t be room for cars there tomorrow. Who told them they could camp there?’ Still talking, he left the restaurant.
‘Well!’ Libby looked round the table, as Adam left in pursuit of Ben.
‘Explain,’ said Peter. Libby explained.
‘And the organisers are the Nethergate Harriers?’ said Guy.
‘Yes, amazingly.’
‘They’re remarkably disorganised, then, aren’t they?’ Guy shook his head. ‘Why didn’t Sophie say anything about that?’
‘It probably didn’t occur to her. Perhaps she thought we already knew, what with Ad running with her.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t know – first they lose a runner, then they fail to organise themselves for a fun run.’
‘I don’t think they did either on purpose,’ said Peter.
Ben and Adam came back into the restaurant.
‘Well?’ asked Libby.
Ben looked ruffled. ‘I’ve had to let them stay, but told them they have to strike camp before eight o’clock. We also blocked the entrance.’
‘How?’ said Libby.
Ada
m grinned. ‘We asked the campers to park their cars across it. They were only too pleased!’
‘And did you find out who told them they could get in?’ asked Max.
‘Steve, apparently,’ said Adam. ‘Do you mind if I go back upstairs, now?’
They waved him off, and Libby turned to Max and Owen. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Oh, don’t be,’ said Owen. ‘It’s so different from life in London – it’s fascinating.’
‘And who’s Steve?’ asked Max.
‘The chairman of the running group,’ said Fran. ‘I suspect somebody reminded him yesterday that there was no provision for parking and then checked up today to see if he’d done anything about it.’
‘And he gaily said he’d organised Ben,’ said Libby. ‘But how did they know where?’
‘Ah.’ Fran looked puzzled. ‘Hadn’t Ben told Steve where to go?’
‘Well, yes, he had to. I expect he put it on their Facebook page or something.’
‘There you are then.’ Fran smiled. ‘All mysteries solved.’
Libby grinned. ‘All right, all right.’ She turned to Max and Owen. ‘So, tell us more about Pendle. Terribly exciting, going in, isn’t it?’
Eventually Ben stood up. ‘We’ve got to be up early tomorrow to check on this blasted car park, so we’d better get going.’
Fran, Guy and Libby also stood up.
‘Can you put it on the tab, Hal?’ asked Libby. Harry had joined them after his last guests had gone. He now smiled smugly.
‘Already taken care of, petal.’
‘Our treat,’ said Max, holding up a hand. ‘And don’t argue.’
After many profuse expressions of gratitude, the Allhallow’s Lane party left.
‘Funny about those dancers disappearing,’ Fran said as she and Libby strolled along the high street behind Guy and Ben.
‘I don’t suppose it’s that unusual in London,’ said Libby. ‘I can remember a lot of itinerant actors in my day. Some I never saw again after working with them for a season.’
Fran nodded. ‘I suppose so. It was just the similarity to Lisa’s disappearance.’
‘Not that similar,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s forget it for now.’
The following morning Libby was cooking a full English breakfast when Ben appeared, back from opening up the car park.
Murder on the Run Page 7
