‘Or annoying,’ said Libby. ‘What shall we do now?’
‘You will do nothing,’ said Ian, standing up. ‘At some point, we’ll ask Mrs Conway to sign a statement, and that is all we shall need from her for the moment. Meanwhile, ladies, just stay out of trouble.’
‘Of course,’ said Fran serenely. ‘See you tomorrow?’
Faith and DC Turnbull both looked surprised. Ian coloured, very slightly.
‘Possibly,’ he said. ‘Thank you all for your help.’
‘He’s a friend,’ Libby explained to Faith as Ian practically hustled Turnbull out of the door. ‘We usually see him on Wednesday evenings here at the pub.’
‘Oh,’ said Faith, not looking as though she understood. ‘He’s very good-looking.’
‘He is, isn’t he,’ said Libby, avoiding Fran’s eye.
‘There’s something I forgot to tell him, though.’ Faith frowned down at her empty plate.
‘What’s that?’ asked Libby.
‘What Rowena Harris’s married name was, I should think,’ said Fran. ‘He kept referring to her as Mrs Harris. I wondered why you didn’t correct him.’
‘I didn’t think. I’ve never been questioned by the police before.’
‘We’ll leave a message at the police station,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t want to risk Ian’s personal phones again!’
Fran was put through to CID and gave her message to the person who answered the phone.
‘Oh – what was her name, Faith?’ She held her hand over the phone.‘Samuels,’ she repeated into it after Faith told her. ‘Thank you.’
‘So,’ said Libby, ‘Rowena Samuels. The daughter of Mr and Mrs Harris, who inherited the house from the Hays family. And who thinks it should go back to them.’
‘There really isn’t much there,’ said Fran. ‘Two cottages, is it? Chestnut and another one, I think.’
‘Maple Cottage,’ said Faith. ‘Not far from Chestnut, Rowena said.’
‘We didn’t come across that, did we?’ said Libby.
Fran shook her head. ‘Maybe we’ll find it when we take Faith over for a look.’
‘Do you mind if we don’t go today?’ asked Faith. Her voice, always quiet, was almost inaudible now.
‘You’ve had quite a day, haven’t you?’ said Libby. ‘We’ll leave you to settle in, now. Is there anything you want?’
Faith smiled timidly. ‘No, thank you. I can call you if I need to, can I?’
‘Of course.’ Libby stood up.
‘It’s been nice meeting you.’ Faith stood and turned to Fran. ‘And thank you.’
‘Will she be all right, do you think?’ asked Libby, as she and Fran walked back to Allhallow’s Lane. ‘After all, we did bulldoze her a bit.’
‘I think she’ll be fine,’ said Fran. ‘And she’s not as frail as she makes out. She came over here from Ireland on her own, hired a car and started making enquiries. I should say she’s quite resourceful. And it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if our Prof Wylie comes beetling over to make sure she’s all right.’
‘Really? Well, if he does, I hope it works out better than his romance with Rosie.’
‘He’s old enough to look after himself,’ said Fran. ‘Now. I shall comeup tomorrow evening, as I’ve told Ian I would. Is there anything we can do at the theatre?’
‘No, but if you’re coming up, shall we see if Harry’s got room for us all at the caff?’
‘That would be nice,’ said Fran. ‘And I’ll try and find out from Sophie if any of the Harriers has the surname Samuels.’
‘Or Harris or Hays, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘Do you really think it’s got something to do with Notbourne Court? Lisa’s death, I mean.’
‘It looks like it,’ said Fran. ‘I’m sure Ian will find something.’
Neither Fran nor Libby heard anything from either the police or Faith Conway over the next twenty-four hours. Libby resisted the urge to call Faith to see if she was all right, and Fran to see if she’d found anything out. She concentrated ferociously hard on a painting for Guy’s gallery, and roughed out a few sketches for future paintings. She was surprised to see that the last two were rather impressionistic images of the remaining wall of Notbourne Court.
When she and Ben arrived at the Pink Geranium, they found Fran and Guy already at a table with the Rev. Patti and Anne Douglas and, surprisingly, Faith Conway and Andrew Wylie on the sofa in the left-hand window. Faith smiled hesitantly, but Andrew beamed and stood up.
‘I’ve already said hello to the others,’ he said, waving a hand in the direction of the other table. ‘Nice to see you again, Ben.’
‘And you,’ said Ben politely, shaking hands. ‘And you must be Mrs Conway.’
‘Faith, please,’ said Faith in her fading voice.
‘We’ll see you later,’ said Libby, moving as fastas she could to their own table.
‘You were right,’ she said to Fran as she sat down. ‘That Andrew’s a fast mover.’
‘He hasn’t got any time to waste,’ said Anne. ‘Sorry, was that bad taste?’
‘You’re terrible, you know that?’ said Patti. ‘Fran’s been bringing us up to date with everything that’s been happening, Libby. How on earth do you get yourselves mixed up in these things?’
‘Not on purpose,’ said Libby. ‘Let’s talk about something else or it will look as if we’re talking about them.’ She turned to Guy. ‘I’ve just finished a painting for you. I would have brought it over tonight, but it’s not dry yet. And I’ve done a couple of little studies, as well.’
They continued to talk art for most of the meal, a subject Patti and Anne were both interested in. They had been on a painting holiday in Italy only a couple of years ago, which they had loved.
‘Do we,’ Libby asked her table after Harry had presented them with the bill, ‘ask them to join us at the pub?’
‘They’ll be going there anyway,’ said Fran. ‘Faith’s staying there. We can hardly ignore them.’
‘What about when Ian comes in – if he does?’ asked Ben. ‘She’s a witness in his case.’
‘Let him decide,’ said Fran. ‘They’re not finished yet, anyway.’
They all filed past Andrew and Faith saying goodbye.
‘I expect we’ll see you in the bar later,’ Andrew sang out, just as Patti was getting Anne’s chair unstuck from the doorway.
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Bother.’
Patti, Anne and Libby all emerged into the street, flustered. Harry came up behind them.
‘What happened there?’ he asked. ‘Has my doorway shrunk?’
‘No, I got myself at an awkward angle by being nosy,’ said Anne. ‘I was trying to look over my shoulder.’
‘Good job you haven’t got a chair, me old trout.’ Harry patted Libby’s shoulder. ‘You’d be stuck forever.’
By the time Libby, Patti and Anne arrived in the pub, they found Fran, Guy and Ben already ensconced at a table with Ian.
‘You’re in mufti!’ said Libby in surprise.
Ian laughed. ‘I’m in disguise, actually.’
‘No, you don’t look like you.’ Libby surveyed him from top to toe. ‘I’ve never seen you in a T-shirt before, have I?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ian. ‘Have you?’
‘Stop it, you two,’ said Fran. ‘Have the lovebirds emerged yet, Lib?’
‘No, but Andrew said he’d probably see us in here,’ said Libby.
‘If he’s not predated first,’ said Ian.
Patti looked shocked. ‘That little woman?’
Ian looked serious. ‘That little woman has already seen off two husbands,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope Andrew doesn’t become the third.’
Chapter Twenty-five
There was a chorus of protest.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Libby. ‘She seems too wet and weedy to be a predatory female.’
‘And what do you mean by “seen off”?’ asked Fran.
‘They both died,’ said Ian.
‘
That’s not her fault – it’s bad luck,’ said Patti.
‘I hope so,’ said Ian dubiously. ‘I’ve asked for details.’
‘Did you find anything else?’ asked Libby.
‘As far as I could see, everything she told you is true. She’s another one with a fairly limited online footprint, but at least we’ve now got a line on Rowena Harris – or Samuels, as we now know she is.’
‘And is sheactive online?’ asked Fran.
‘Not hugely, but more than Mrs Conway. Nothing at all for several months, though, which doesn’t look good.’
‘And how does the young woman who died here fit in with her?’ asked Anne. ‘I think I’ve got a bit lost.’
Ian looked guilty. ‘I shouldn’t be discussing it with any of you.’
‘No, but you know perfectly well Libby will tell us everything she and Fran know, so you might as well,’ said Anne, with a mischievous grin.
‘I can’t help thinking we’ve strayed an awful long way from Lisa’s death and disappearance,’ mused Libby.
‘To reassure you,’ said an amused Ian, ‘the police haven’t.’
‘I suppose we can’t ask?’ said Libby wistfully.
‘You can ask, but I won’t tell you.’ Ian swivelled in his chair. ‘And here comes Professor Wylie.’
Libby looked up quickly. ‘And Faith Conway.’
Andrew waved a hand as he escorted Faith to the bar.
‘Not sure what the etiquette is here,’ Fran whispered to Libby. ‘Do we ask them to join us? Will they expect to join us?’
‘I don’t know, but I don’t think Ian wants them to join us,’ Libby whispered back. ‘Very awkward. If he’s sensible – which he sometimes isn’t, as we know – Andrew will see that it’s inappropriate.’ She risked a look at the couple by the bar. ‘Faith’s shaking her head, so perhaps she doesn’t want to join us.’
Luckily, Ben, Guy and Patti kept up a flow of conversation, or the silence round the table would have been noticeable. At last, Libby let out a breath and leant back inher chair. ‘They’ve gone into the other bar. What a relief.’
Ian grinned. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to sharing a drink with a suspect.’
‘Suspect? How can she be a suspect?’ asked Fran. ‘She only arrived in the country a few days ago.’
‘Person of interest, then,’ said Ian. ‘You’re the ones who introduced her to me, you should know.’
‘Only because she had information which would be useful,’ said Libby. ‘Not as a sus – person of interest.’
‘What I would like to ask Andrew, though,’ said Fran, ‘is what he found out about the history of Notbourne Court. Neither he or Faith told us much, did they? We don’t know much about the history further back than the Edwardian era.’
‘It doesn’t have anything to do with the current situation, does it?’ asked Libby.
‘No, I was just interested. It seems so odd that a centuries-old house should be destroyed. I know they did it a lot after the Second World War because of death duties, but I didn’t know it happened earlier than that.’
‘I expect it’s always happened,’ said Libby. ‘You hear of houses being left to rot away after the Civil Wars, too, don’t you?’
‘That’s true,’ said Fran. ‘I could still bear to hear the history of this one, though.’
‘That should keep you out of mischief,’ said Ian.
Fran bristled. ‘Don’t patronise.’
Ian held up his hands. ‘I wasn’t! Simply saying it would keep you occupied while Kent Police are diligently investigating the death of Lisa Harwood, and the possible disappearance of Rowena Samuels.’
‘So you’ve already linked them,’ said Libby, unable to keep a note of triumph out of her voice.
‘Mrs Samuels’ name, as you know, has come up during the investigation process. You brought it up.’ Ian fixed them with a minatory eye. ‘And that’s as far as you go.’
Anne laughed. ‘I think he means it, girls. Tell you what, I’ll have a look in our archives too and see if I can find anything.’
Anne worked at the library in Canterbury.
‘Thanks, Anne.’ Libby turned to her with a smile.
‘Pleasure. Much as I love my job, it’s good to have something different to do now and then.’
‘That’s it, then,’ said Fran. ‘No more involvement.’
‘Interfering,’ said Libby. ‘No, perhaps not, but I still feel guilty about Roly. Dare I ask?’
Ian was now deep in conversation with Ben and Guy.
‘No.’ Fran sighed. ‘He’ll tell us if he thinks we ought to know.’
The door opened and Peter and Harry came in. Room was made at the table and Ben went with Harry to the bar.
‘Ian – I’m glad to see you,’ said Peter. ‘You remember my young brother James?’
‘Of course.’ Ian nodded.
‘He knows Roly Johnson. I don’t know how he knows him, but he was with us when your query came in on Sunday and mentioned it. So he’s been checking his social media pages and there’s been nothing since Saturday morning.’
Ian nodded again. ‘So have we, Pete, but do thank James for me. His parents have no idea where he could be and have tried everyone they can think of. If you think of anywhere, or who might know, would you ask and let me know?’
‘I’ll pass it on to James now, if you’ll excuse me?’ Peter stood up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘Whatever did we do without these things?’
‘So Roly really has disappeared,’ said Libby. ‘I feel so guilty about that.’
‘Don’t,’ said Ian. ‘Why should youfeel guilty? He not only told you his story of his own accord, he admitted to making threatening phone calls.’
‘Suppose he hasn’t run away, but someone’s – well, done something,’ Libby finished lamely.
‘There are an awful lot of vanishing people in this case, aren’t there?’ said Anne.
‘Oh, sorry, Anne,we must sound awful, going on and on about everything,’ said Fran. ‘But we are worried about the poor boy.’
‘Leave the worrying to me,’ said Ian. ‘Right now I’ve got two missing persons investigations to run alongside a murder. I do not need to be worrying about you two as well.’
‘No, Ian,’ they chorused.
‘All the same,’ said Libby, when Ian had gone back to his conversation about cricket, ‘I can’t help worrying. I mean when you go back to the beginning.’
‘How do you mean?’ Patti inchedher chair closer to the women and further away from the men.
‘Well, first Lisa disappears on the run. Then they find a cup, or whatever it was with dregs of some kind of a heart stimulant in it.’
‘And,’ said Fran, ‘it turns out that nobody knew about her heart defect.’
‘Except Roly,’ said Libby.
‘So, anyway, she’s dragged off to a car and loaded in, then her body’s kept somewhere for a week. And whoever the killer is, he then dumps her in a farmyard gateway just outside Steeple Martin. Presumably for someone to find her.’
‘So it looks like Roly, if he was the only one who knew about her defect,’ said Anne.
‘Or the husband,’ said Libby. ‘He’s the one who told the police about the heart defect.’
‘How did she get the drink?’ asked Patti.
‘They had stewards along the route handing them out,’ said Fran. ‘Anyone could have borrowed a hi-vis jacket and mingled. Except you would have thought she’d have recognised them.’
‘But even if she did,’ said Anne, ‘would that have mattered? She’d just think “Oh, what’s he or she doing here?” and run on. Under the circumstances she wouldn’t stop to chat, would she?’
‘That’s true,’ acknowledged Libby. ‘But I think if it had been Roly she’d have said something because he was supposed to be running with her, not prancing about in a hi-vis jacket. She’d be surprised if her husband was there, but maybe he regularly tried to get back with her, so it wouldn’t be that odd.’
<
br /> ‘Following that line of reasoning,’ said Patti, ‘it could be that she did recognise the person who gave her the drink, and trusted them. She wouldn’t even think there was anything odd about it. And the murderer wouldn’t care, because he or she knew that Lisa would be dead before she could say anything.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’
‘So that leaves the field wide open to everyone except the members of the Harriers,’ said Fran.
‘Heavens above!’ said Libby. ‘Anyone in the world!’
‘So then we go back to Roly,’ said Anne. ‘You said earlier that you thought his story sounded a bit made up.’
‘Yes, did Lisa make it up to impress him, or did he make it up to impress me,’ said Libby. ‘Obviously there’s something he thinks he knows, or he wouldn’t have bothered with the phone calls to me. Is he genuinely frightened of something – or someone – and has he run away to hide?’
‘If he is genuinely frightened,’ said Fran, ‘then it’s of the murderer. It’s got to be someone Roly knows.’
‘And their only mutual acquaintances were the running club!’ said Anne triumphantly. ‘There! It all makes sense.’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Fran. ‘There’s still the matter of Chestnut Cottage. Why was Lisa allowed to live there? And why does Roly believe it was the owner who installed her there, when it now turns out that the owner is an elderly lady who lives in London.’
‘Who has, it appears, also vanished into thin air,’ said Libby.
They sat in silence for a moment.
‘How’s this for a theory,’ said Patti eventually. ‘Speaking as someone who knows nothing about any of the characters, you understand. Someone, male presumably, but not definitely, wants to get Lisa into Chestnut Cottage for some reason as yet unknown.’
‘Roly said sex parties,’ muttered Libby.
‘OK, for sex parties. He has access to it, so in she goes. Then the real owner tells him or her that she’s coming down to do an inventory, or something, because she’s thinking of handing it back to the original owners. So he agrees to meet elderly lady and bumps her off. Then Lisa finds out what he’s done, so he bumps her off. And then, somehow, young Roly lets on that he knows all about it – or at least part of it – so he has to be bumped off, too.’
Murder on the Run Page 17
