‘Oh, he’s just visiting an old mate of his who’s in a home, bless him.’
‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry,’ said Libby.
‘Yeah, it’s a shame,’ said the landlady. ‘I never knew him, but he wasn’t all that old. Alzheimer’s, you know.’
Chapter Twenty-six
IF THE LANDLADY NOTICED the frozen expressions on the faces in front of her, she gave no sign of it. Libby was the first to recover.
‘Alzheimer’s? That’s terrible. An old friend, was he?’
‘Yeah. Frank knew him before we met.’ The landlady nodded at them cheerfully. ‘I’ll leave you to your salads. I’ll tell Frank as soon as he gets back.’
‘It couldn’t be, could it?’ whispered Libby, as they carried their plates back into the garden.
‘I don’t see how,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just one of those coincidences that crop up all the time. After all, if this Frank knew where Gerald Shepherd was all the time when the hunt was on for him, and especially now with the discovery of the skeleton, he would have spoken up, wouldn’t he?’
Libby nodded. ‘And the wife isn’t in the first flush of youth,’ she said, through a mouthful of ham, ‘so they must have been married for some time.’
‘Which means the friend must date from years ago,’ said Fran.
‘But,’ said Libby, pointing her fork, ‘that doesn’t mean it isn’t Shepherd. Frank might have known him years ago, but only started to visit him when he got Alzheimer’s.’
‘I think we’re making too much of it,’ said Fran, squirting mayonnaise from a sachet onto her lettuce. ‘It’s coincidence, like I said.’
They finished their meals and loitered for as long as they decently could, but Frank declined to put in an appearance, and they were forced to leave, promising the landlady (‘Call me Bren, everyone does’) they would return.
Fran drove down the lane and parked next to the church.
‘Will it be open, do you think?’ asked Libby as they climbed out.
‘I think they lock them these days, don’t they?’ said Fran. ‘Vandalism.’
Libby went up to the door and checked. ‘Yup,’ she said. ‘Locked.’ They stood together in the porch and read the few notices; times of services, a couple of appeals and a poster advertising meetings of a local branch of the WI.
‘Churchwarden’s number, look,’ said Fran. ‘Perhaps we should ring him.’
‘And perhaps we shouldn’t,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, we can’t go that far.’
‘Shall we go down and see Adam, then?’ Fran walked out of the porch and began to go round the church, peering at the bottom of the walls.
‘We can if you like.’ Libby watched her friend with amusement. ‘You’re not going to find anything here, you know,’ she said.
‘I know, I know.’ Fran straightened up and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘Shall we walk across to the house?’
‘What are you actually looking for?’ asked Libby, as they crossed the lane to the Creekmarsh drive.
‘The opening of a passage,’ said Fran.
‘But they will all have been closed up,’ said Libby.
‘What about the ice-house?’ said Fran. ‘I bet the tunnel to that will be somewhere in the kitchen area.’
‘And the strong room? Did you find any more references to that?’
Fran shook her head. ‘What would you keep in a strong room?’
‘The dictionary says jewellery and valuables.’
‘So it would be an ideal place for Tony West to hide any of Cindy’s and Gerald’s documents.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but we’ve searched the house and so have the police. They’d have found a secret room or a hidden passage even if we didn’t.’
‘What about the unrestored part of the house?’
‘The police would have searched that, too,’ said Libby.
They continued towards the house in silence and found the big oak door open. Following sounds of clattering crockery, they went into the kitchen and found Mog and Adam making tea.
‘Tea break,’ said Adam cheerfully. ‘Want some?’
‘No thanks,’ said Libby, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘We’ve just had lunch at The Fox over the road.’
‘Oh?’ Mog looked interested. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Average pub food. We had salads, so you can’t really tell,’ said Libby.
‘But the ham was good,’ said Fran, sitting beside Libby.
‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ asked Adam. ‘Lewis still isn’t back.’
‘I know,’ said Libby, looking at Fran.
‘I’m still interested,’ she said, looking down at her hands clasped before her on the table.
‘Even if the police aren’t,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, they are,’ said Adam. ‘They’ve been here on and off all week. I think they’re still looking for clues about Cindy.’
‘So am I,’ said Fran. ‘They’ve found no trace of her, then?’
‘Nothing except the boat down at the sailing club. That turned up just round the corner of the inlet where it goes into the river, jammed into the bank.’
‘So was it a red herring?’ asked Fran.
Adam looked dubious. ‘I think she did go off in it, but how it got back here I’ve no idea. I don’t think they have, either.’
‘So what do you think happened?’ Libby asked Fran.
‘I think she’s been running rings round everybody,’ said Fran slowly. ‘I’m sure she was back in the country before Sunday, and knew Tony West was dead. Otherwise why would she turn up?’
Mog was looking bewildered. Adam grinned at him. ‘I’ll explain it all later,’ he said.
‘You mean if Tony West was still alive she wouldn’t have dared come back?’ said Libby.
Fran nodded.
‘So what are you saying? She went to his house and found him dead?’
‘Or –’ said Fran.
‘She killed him?’ gasped Libby. ‘But why?’
‘Don’t you think her story of being packed out of the way after Gerald killed his son was a bit thin?’
Libby frowned. ‘Well – yes, I suppose it was.’
‘Wouldn’t it make more sense if she went off because she killed him?’
Libby stared blankly. ‘But what about Gerald? Why was he packed off?’
‘Not being reliable enough to stick to a story?’
‘Yes, but –’ began Libby.
‘Why did Tony help her in the first place?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran shrugged. ‘I’d got that far, because it gives her a motive for killing West before coming to try and claim her inheritance.’
‘Or what she thought of as her inheritance,’ said Libby. ‘Is that why she killed Kenneth?’
‘We don’t know that she did kill Kenneth,’ said Fran. ‘As I said, I’m only theorizing.’
‘So why has she run away now?’ asked Adam suddenly.
‘Perhaps she thought she wasn’t going to get away with it.’
‘So she found her passports and skedaddled?’
Libby shook her head. ‘She couldn’t use either of the passports. The false one would have been retained by the police, and if she tried to use her real one she’d be stopped straight away.’
‘So where’s she gone?’ asked Adam.
‘Does she know where Gerald is, do you think?’ said Libby, turning to Fran.
‘You think she’d go after him?’ Fran said. ‘I suppose she might, if she did know.’
‘Then we need to find out where he is first,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, come on, Lib!’ Fran laughed. ‘I expect the police have been looking for him for the last two weeks.’
‘You don’t suppose you’re barking up the wrong tree after all?’ Mog put in diffidently. ‘Couldn’t it have been this West guy who killed the skeleton, whoever it is?’
‘In that case who killed him?’ asked Libby.
‘Someone who
wanted revenge?’
‘It’s all just speculation,’ said Fran, standing up. ‘Whatever the police thought, they must have changed their minds after Cindy’s story, so now they’ll be trying to prove or disprove it.’
‘While looking for Cindy again. She’s disappeared once in her life, so she must be good at it,’ said Libby.
‘According to her, she had help from West the last time,’ said Fran.
‘Are you saying we still don’t really know about that, too?’ said Libby.
‘We already knew Cindy and Gerald had disappeared. And a skeleton with matching DNA to Gerald has been found. The police haven’t confirmed that it’s Kenneth – perhaps they don’t know, either. I think that’s about all we do know for certain,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, I want to see if we can find the entrance to any of these passages.’
‘Passages?’ Adam looked up. Libby explained. ‘The police were poking around in the other part of the house yesterday,’ he said. ‘Do you reckon that’s what they were looking for?’
‘Could be,’ said Fran. ‘As I said before, when we found the photographs, I’m just thinking that if Tony West knew this house well he would have known where to hide stuff. Not sure whether the police would have found out about the passages.’
‘We can always tell them if we find anything,’ said Libby. ‘If we try and tell them before, they won’t take any notice of us.’
‘You can’t blame them,’ said Adam with a grin.
‘We’re usually right,’ said Libby indignantly. ‘Come on, Fran. Let’s start looking.’ She turned to Adam. ‘Lewis won’t mind, will he?’
Adam shrugged. ‘I doubt it. He’s let you run tame so far.’
‘Yes, but when he left he’d had enough. Not just of the whole case but of us, too,’ said Libby.
‘Well, he’s not here now, so carry on.’ Adam stood up. ‘We’ll get back to work.’
Mog, who looked as though he would rather help with the search, followed Adam outside and Fran went towards the door Katie always used to leave the kitchen.
This led into a small inner hall with two more doors. Fran opened the first one, peered in, then shut it again.
‘Katie’s rooms,’ she said, and opened the other door. This led to another passage which looked in far worse repair and ended at the bottom of a staircase. This was definitely the unrestored part of the house. Cobwebs festooned the curving banisters, and rubble and possibly unmentionable detritus covered most of the floor. There were no other doors.
‘What about the strong room being up there?’ said Libby, peering up the staircase.
‘Do you think those stairs are safe?’ asked Fran.
‘They’re stone,’ said Libby, testing the first step, ‘so they should be.’
Cautiously, they set off up the stairs, keeping close to the wall, but as they rounded the curve halfway up they discovered a fall of plaster that cut off further ascent.
‘That’s that, then,’ said Fran as they made their way down. ‘Unless we can get through from Lewis’s part of the house.’
‘He wouldn’t let us before,’ said Libby.
‘That was because we were only thinking about Gerald leaving something behind, not Tony West hiding something. Shall we try?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable. ‘How about we go out that little back door and have a look round the walls and see if we can find anything?’
They retraced their steps back along the passage and through the kitchen to the hall. The little oak door was bolted. Fran looked round. ‘No other doors,’ she said.
Libby looked at the floor. ‘Heavy stone flags,’ she said, ‘nothing under there.’
Fran drew the bolts on the door and pushed it open. ‘Where do you think the passages would have run?’ she said.
‘If there really is one linking here, the church and the pub, I would have thought it came from the river,’ said Libby. ‘But that doesn’t matter, it’s the entrance that’s important.’
‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘but if the entrances have all been blocked up this end, there might still be an entrance somewhere else.’
‘After all this time? I shouldn’t think so,’ said Libby. ‘I think this is a wild goose chase, Fran.’
‘I know you do,’ said Fran, ‘but those documents have got to be somewhere, and I think that’s here. And you said yourself, Gerald needs to be found.’
‘Do you really think Cindy would go for him?’
‘If he’s the only one left alive to witness her murdering Kenneth, yes,’ said Fran, ‘but if she isn’t the killer – I don’t know. I think he needs to be found in any case.’
Libby started inspecting the old brick walls to the right of the little door, going towards the unrestored part of the house. ‘If there is anything it’s going to be this side,’ she said.
But the brickwork and the bleached timber framing were in a bad state of repair and no openings were apparent. ‘It wouldn’t be here on the outside anyway,’ said Fran, straightening up. ‘I bet it’s under the floor somewhere inside.’
‘The ice-house passage might still be there,’ said Libby. ‘And the strong room.’
‘Ice houses were usually some distance from the house,’ said Fran.
‘And I didn’t know they had internal passages to go to them,’ said Libby. ‘I thought they were miles out in the grounds and the poor servants had to trudge out in all weathers.’
‘Most of them were underground, though, or had the ground built up round them.’ Fran turned to peer down towards the river. ‘And they were often near water, so ice could be collected easily.’
‘Why would it have had a passage?’
‘Part of the ventilation and cooling system, I expect,’ said Fran. ‘And if that was the only way in there won’t be any external entrance.’
‘What about loading the ice?’
‘That’s a point,’ said Fran. ‘I wonder if the police have searched the grounds thoroughly?’
‘Adam said he didn’t see them when they were first looking for Cindy.’
‘Do you think he might know where the ice-house is?’
‘I suppose Mog might, but only if Lewis did, and surely he would have mentioned it as a possible hiding place earlier.’
Fran nodded. ‘What I want to know now is how much of a search was made at the time Gerald and Cindy disappeared.’
‘Yes, because it couldn’t have been Kenneth looking for them as it said on those websites,’ said Libby. ‘Not if he was already dead.’
‘So were the police involved?’ Fran turned and went back inside the house. ‘How do we find out?’
‘Google it again?’ suggested Libby.
‘It was mainly newspaper articles, wasn’t it? They would say if there was a police investigation.’
‘Let’s go home and do that,’ said Libby, who was beginning to feel like a trespasser. ‘We’re not going to find anything here.’
‘I might call in at the pub again,’ mused Fran, as they went back through the kitchen. ‘See if Frank’s back.’
‘You be careful,’ warned Libby. ‘Don’t go asking him about his friend with Alzheimer’s.’
‘No, I shall just ask him about his cellars. I bet he knows more than his wife –’
‘Bren,’ put in Libby.
‘Than Bren does.’ Fran smiled. ‘He’s probably got smuggled beer and cigarettes down there!’
‘Not much call for cigarettes in a pub these days,’ said Libby gloomily.
‘Plenty of people still smoking at home, though,’ said Fran. ‘Look at you.’
‘Yeah, look at me,’ said Libby. ‘What a sad case.’ She put a hand to cup her mouth and shouted for Adam. An answering call came from the direction of the parterre, and he soon appeared in the doorway. ‘We’re off. See you later.’
Libby collected the Land Rover from The Fox car park and Fran disappeared inside. Libby sighed, put the big vehicle in gear, and set off back towards Nethergate. Somehow, not concentr
ating on her journey, she found herself driving along Pedlar’s Row past March Cottage. She slowed down and came to a stop outside The Red Lion. What prompted her to get out and go into the pub she couldn’t have said, but here she was, in the empty afternoon bar, and there was George sitting at the end of the bar with his newspaper.
‘Hello, hello!’ he said, beaming with pleasure and sliding off his bar stool. ‘And how are you? And your friend?’
Libby assured him she and Fran were both well and that Fran was getting married in two weeks.
‘And the cat?’ he asked, over the noise of a brand new coffee machine. He presented Libby with a foaming cup and sprinkled chocolate on top. ‘Latest thing,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Libby, eyeing it doubtfully. ‘Thank you.’ She put it on the bar. ‘The cat? Balzac? Oh, he’s fine. Living with Fran and spoilt rotten.’ Balzac had been adopted by Fran when his previous owner died.
‘And what about –’ George lowered his voice and nodded significantly towards the door. ‘Her?’
‘Bella? As well as she can be, you know.’ Libby tried the coffee and got a foam moustache. ‘You still keeping an eye on the cottage?’
‘Go in once a month or so,’ said George. ‘More if the weather’s bad. Will she …?’
‘Come back to it? No idea,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable talking about her friend who had such a bad time eighteen months ago. ‘Anyway, George, I wondered if you knew anything about a couple called Frank and Bren who run The Fox over at Creekmarsh?’
‘Cor, bless you, love! Known old Frank since we first came into the trade. Here,’ he leant forward confidentially. ‘You’re not on the trail again, are you?’
‘No,’ said Libby, feeling the telltale colour creeping up her face. ‘Just Fran and I had lunch there today, and we were wondering about the old smuggling passages in his cellar.’
‘Oh, there’s always been talk about them,’ said George. ‘I’m supposed to have them, too.’
‘Are you?’ said Libby in surprise.
‘Any pub not far from the sea along this coast was supposed to have been involved in the trade. Don’t know much about Frank’s.’
‘So he’s been there some time?’ said Libby, sipping her coffee.
‘Good few years,’ said George. ‘Good friends round there, he has.’
Murder in Bloom - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 19
