Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘To the inquest. Did he say when it was?’

  ‘Why on earth do you want to come?’

  ‘To find out, of course. Don’t tell me you don’t want to. Why did you go down to The Laurels after she was dead if you didn’t think there was something wrong?’

  Fran sat down at the kitchen table and picked up a fork. ‘I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t.’ She stabbed the fork viciously at the table.

  ‘Hey, watch my valuable antique.’ Libby poked her with a spatula. ‘We’re going, then. Now, can you feed Sidney?’

  Libby, in an excess of zeal and nosiness, managed to find out where and at what time the inquest was to be held, and she and Fran turned up in plenty of time.

  ‘Look! It’s our pet policeman.’ Libby pointed across the room.

  Fran fumbled for her glasses. ‘Which one?’

  ‘The bald one with red hair.’

  Fran looked at her. ‘The bald one with red hair. Of course.’

  ‘No, look. He’s got red hair just round the back of his head and over his ears. It’s what ‘is name – DCI Murray. Donnie Murray.’ She giggled.

  ‘Donnie?’

  ‘His wife brought him to see The Hop Pickersand let it slip.’

  ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I only saw his formal side.’ Libby looked round and nudged Fran. ‘And that’s his sidekick – DS Cole.’ A tall, thin man with a thin moustache leaned nearer to DCI Murray in whispered conversation. ‘Flash Harry from St Trinian’s.’

  ‘Libby!’ admonished Fran. ‘Look, over there. Barbara and Paul are sitting with Charles.’

  ‘Who’s the other woman?’

  ‘Marion Headlam. Looks as though she’s trying to make up to Charles.’

  ‘Hard-faced cow, isn’t she? Men are so superficial.’ Libby sniffed. ‘Oh, here we go. On with the Motley.’

  The inquest provided no surprises. Barbara had realised Eleanor was dead after sitting with her for several minutes, Paul and Charles had arrived within seconds of each other immediately after the discovery. Little Nurse Warner was called and said in a whisper that she had pushed her client to the french windows so that she could look at the gardens a few minutes before Mrs Denver arrived. Nurse Redding said she had gone into the room while Nurse Warner was there and left again without delay. Both swore that Eleanor Bridges was alive when they left her.

  ‘There’s something they aren’t saying,’ whispered Fran.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘I just know.’

  The pathologist gave her evidence of conjunctival petechial haemorrhages, fragments of white cotton around the mouth and traces under the fingernails. She reminded the coroner that the diagnosis of suffocation could be impossible to establish with certainty on the basis of the post-mortem examination alone, but that in this case, although not immediately obvious to the untrained eye, there were enough indications for her to be certain.

  Emerging into the sunlight after the coroner had adjourned for the police to continue their enquiries, Libby came face to face with DCI Murray.

  ‘Mrs – ah!’ he said. ‘Quite recovered, now, have we?’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ said Libby seriously, ‘but there’s still the trial to come, isn’t there?’

  ‘Certainly is,’ said DCI Murray, ‘so tell me, why are you here?’

  ‘This is my friend Fran Castle,’ said Libby, pulling Fran forward. ‘You remember, she was the one who phoned you.’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’ He looked uncertain, but held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Well, Eleanor Bridges was her aunt.’

  Libby heard the hiss of Fran’s indrawn breath, and felt herself blushing. Damn. She’d got it wrong again.

  ‘Really?’ DCI Murray’s eyes brightened. ‘So, tell me, Miss Castle, did you not visit her on her birthday?’

  ‘No, I went down the next day,’ said Fran, reluctantly.

  ‘The next day? Had no one told you she was dead?’

  ‘Um, well, yes. I hadn’t visited her before, so I wanted to see where she’d died.’

  DCI Murray frowned. ‘Bit morbid, wasn’t it?’

  Fran hesitated. ‘Guilt, Inspector,’ she said eventually. ‘I was quite upset.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He peered at her. ‘Wasn’t your psychic stuff again, was it?’

  Libby stood frozen. Fran wasn’t going to like this.

  ‘I told you, Inspector. I felt guilty. Mrs Headlam quite understood.’ Fran took Libby’s arm. ‘I think I’d like to go now, Libby.’

  ‘I may want to speak to you again, Miss Castle. Could you give me a phone number?’

  ‘She’s staying with me at the moment, Mr Murray,’ said Libby firmly, ‘so you can get in touch with her there. Come on Fran. Goodbye, Inspector.’

  ‘Fran!’ Charles appeared in front of them as they turned away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

  ‘You didn’t want me to come, so why should I tell you?’

  ‘It wasn’t that.’ Charles looked uncomfortable. ‘I just don’t want you to get involved.’

  ‘Well, I am involved. The inspector wants to talk to me, so I don’t think you’ve a hope of keeping me out of it, do you?’

  Charles sighed. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Fran. This is bad enough already. I’ve just had the Denvers blaming me for the whole investigation.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Libby. ‘Sorry for butting in, but you had nothing to do with the pathologist’s report, had you? You didn’t ask the coroner to call an inquest?’

  ‘I know, but they seemed to think our poking about yesterday had something to do with it.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. We got Libby’s friend Peter to look it up on the internet yesterday. If the deceased isn’t currently being seen by a doctor and there isn’t one to sign the death certificate, the coroner’s officer has to be called, and the coroner will ask for a post mortem. Then if that turns something up, like this one did, there will be an inquest. You might find, though, that they’ll now release the body for burial.’

  ‘Will they?’ Charles brightened. ‘That would be a relief, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘There’d still be the investigation,’ said Libby.

  Charles looked at her with distaste.

  ‘She’s right, Charles.’ Fran patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry about it. It hasn’t got anything to do with you, you weren’t even there when she died.’

  ‘But I was straight afterwards. And as far as I can see, Barbara’s the only one who could have done it. God,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘this is a nightmare. I don’t like the woman, heaven knows, but to think of that. It’s disgusting.’

  Libby and Fran regarded him thoughtfully.

  ‘How about lunch, Charles,’ said Libby suddenly. ‘Cheer you up.’

  Fran gave her an incredulous look.

  ‘If you’re sure?’ Charles looked from one to another. ‘I could use some friendly company.’

  Libby smiled evilly. ‘Then come along with me,’ she said. ‘I know just the place.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK you’re doing?’ whispered Fran.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘That pub where we first met. OK, Charles, cross here.’ Libby took his arm and guided him across the crowded street. ‘Just down here.’

  The pub, in a side street where Libby and Fran had first been introduced, was still fairly quiet. The decorative barman didn’t sparkle quite as much as he had done to Harry, but provided them with drinks fairly rapidly, and indicated the blackboard where simple lunches were chalked up.

  ‘Well, surprise, surprise.’ Ben stood up from the table in the window.

  Fran looked suspiciously at Libby.

  ‘Hi, Ben,’ beamed Libby. ‘This is Charles, Fran’s cousin.’

  Ben held out his hand. Charles took it tentatively and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ben Wilde,’ said Ben. ‘Friend of Libby’s, and
I occasionally work with Fran.’

  Charles looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you worked,’ he said to Fran.

  ‘Didn’t she tell you? She’s a psychic investigator,’ said Ben.

  Convinced now that the meeting had been set up between Ben and Libby, although she didn’t know how, Fran opened her mouth to refute the statement.

  ‘Didn’t you tell him, Fran? Naughty of you,’ said Libby, settling herself more comfortably into the corner of the bench set. ‘She’s very good at it, Charles. She found a murderer a couple of months ago.’

  Charles was looking pale. ‘You said you had “moments”,’ he said faintly.

  ‘I do,’ said Fran, crossly. ‘Honestly, you two. Don’t make me out to be something I’m not.’

  ‘But you are, Fran. You investigate properties for a major estate agent and you virtually saved Libby’s life after The Hop Pickers.’ Ben sounded reasonable.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Fran. ‘All I did was make a phone call. Libby wasn’t in any danger.’

  ‘What are we having to eat?’ asked Libby. ‘Charles?’

  ‘I don’t think I want anything, actually,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll just finish my drink and get going. I’ve got to get back to London.’

  ‘I thought you wanted company?’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, I’ve got it, haven’t I?’ Charles smiled weakly. ‘But I really have got to get back to London. I’ve got to organise the transport of Aunt’s furniture back to the house.’

  ‘I thought you told Paul to do that?’ said Fran.

  ‘I can’t trust him to do it. I’ll do it and he won’t have a choice.’

  ‘Didn’t Fran say it was at his office and he’s never there? How can you trust him to be there when the removals people arrive?’ said Libby.

  ‘He wouldn’t dare,’ said Charles, sounding more confident, ‘it would be tantamount to theft, which it already is, technically.’

  ‘About the will, Charles,’ said Fran suddenly, leaning across the table. ‘I forgot to say yesterday when you phoned, but you said you heard from the solicitor when you were made executor. And the letter you found was from the solicitor who did the Power of Attorney. So there must be another letter.’

  Charles looked at her like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually, ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Well, I’d go home and have another jolly good look, if I were you,’ said Libby, ‘because if you don’t find a will, probate will take ages and …’ she stopped. ‘Well, it’ll be a right pain, anyway,’ she finished.

  Charles looked at his drink for a minute, picked it up and downed most of it.

  ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said, suppressing a belch and standing up. ‘Thanks for coming, Fran.’ He lifted a hand vaguely at Ben and Libby and went, bumping into several tables on the way.

  ‘That was a put-up job, wasn’t it?’ said Fran.

  Libby nodded. ‘I wanted to see what he’d say about the will, and find out why he’s so fidgety. I thought Ben might help, so I called him while you were upstairs this morning.’

  ‘Libby, I hate to say this, but it isn’t any business of yours.’ Fran sat back in her chair and picked up her drink.

  Ben leant forward. ‘Libby only wants to help, Fran. I know she goes about it like a bull in a china shop, but she means well.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ muttered Libby.

  ‘And,’ continued Ben, ‘I know I don’t know anything about it, but there does seem to be a lot of bother about this will, and the furniture, doesn’t there?’

  ‘The bureau,’ said Fran absently, ‘yes. I wonder why?’

  ‘If it isn’t found,’ said Libby, forgetting to be offended, ‘Charles, as next of kin, will cop the lot.’

  ‘Bloody hell, yes.’ Fran was startled. ‘So why is he so concerned to find it?’

  ‘To destroy it?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘But what about the original solicitor? Surely eventually he’ll get to hear about it?’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes, don’t they post lists of intestates somewhere?’ said Libby. ‘In a solicitors’ newsletter, or something?’

  Ben screwed up his face. ‘Not sure, but I’ll ask around. If you don’t mind, Fran,’ he added hastily.

  ‘No,’ sighed Fran, ‘I suppose not. I don’t know why I’m bothered, anyway. It’s nothing to do with me, any more than it is with Libby.’

  ‘She was your aunt. She might have left you something,’ said Ben.

  ‘Hardly likely, unless Uncle Frank left me anything, and I’d have heard by now.’

  ‘Drink up, then. Do you want a sandwich or something?’ asked Libby briskly.

  ‘Not really. I think I’d rather go home. Or, rather,’ said Fran going slightly pink, ‘to your home. If you don’t mind.’

  Libby looked quickly at Ben. ‘No, not at all. Come on, then.’ She stood up.

  ‘Sorry, am I breaking up a pleasant lunchtime?’

  ‘No!’ said Libby and Ben together, then both looked embarrassed.

  ‘I am, aren’t I? Oh, bother.’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to the office, Fran,’ said Ben gently, ‘and Lib and I are having dinner at the pub tomorrow, so don’t worry about it.’

  Fran looked doubtful, but Libby patted her arm and began to move towards the door. Ben gave them both a kiss on the cheek, and disappeared in the direction of his office.

  ‘He’s gone back to work, then?’ said Fran, watching his trim figure walk away.

  ‘Oh, yes, but I don’t think he does much, now. But you’d know, surely?’

  ‘I haven’t worked with him for ages,’ said Fran. ‘In fact, I haven’t had much work at all for ages.’ She sighed. ‘I’m beginning to think I’d better try and get a shelf stacking job.’

  ‘You don’t own your flat, do you?’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing. When my mother died, after the mortgage had been paid there was hardly anything left, so I ended up renting my little hovel. Which is exorbitant, being London.’

  ‘Couldn’t you move – down here, for instance? Wouldn’t it be cheaper?’

  Fran looked at her in surprise. ‘I’d never even thought about it. But where would I find a flat in Steeple Martin? Or do you mean Canterbury? Or Nethergate?’

  ‘Nethergate’s all holiday lets. There are a few places in Steeple Martin, and quite a lot in Canterbury, because of it being a University town. Why don’t you think about it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran slowly, ‘it’s worth a thought. I wonder what the children would say?’

  ‘How often do you see them?’

  ‘Hardly at all. Chrissie lives in Sussex and Jeremy’s in America. Lucy still lives in London, but I don’t see her much. I suspect, if I lived in the country I’d see a lot more of her and the grandchildren.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t realise you had grandchildren.’

  ‘Rachel and Tom,’ said Fran. ‘Nice kids, but I’m not much of a granny.’

  ‘Don’t think I will be, either,’ said Libby, ‘although I don’t think there’s much chance of it with my three.’

  They’d reached the car and climbed in before Libby said diffidently, ‘Of course, there’s the empty flat over The Pink Geranium. You could always borrow that while you were looking – or making your mind up.’

  ‘And what would Peter and Harry say about you offering it to me?’ Fran grinned across at her.

  ‘Just a suggestion. I thought I might ask them later on. Now,’ said Libby, without a break, ‘what are we going to do about Charles and this will?’

  When they got back to 17 Allhallow’s Lane, there was a message on the answerphone for Fran from DCI Murray asking her to call him back.

  ‘Don’t let him haul you back into Canterbury,’ said Libby, pushing Sidney off the draining board while she filled the kettle. ‘If he wants to talk to you, make him come here.’

  ‘Didn’t you say that they talked to you here, andmade you go into Cante
rbury when Paula died?’

  ‘That was different. You’re hardly involved in this, are you?’

  ‘Murray thinks I am, obviously.’ Fran sighed and took out her mobile.

  ‘No, don’t use that, Fran. He’ll be able to get your number and you won’t have any peace. Use the land line.’

  ‘What about your peace?’

  ‘I can say you’re not here any more, can’t I?’ Libby took two mugs from the draining board and blew Sidney’s fur off them. ‘Bloody cat.’

  Fran was finally put through to DCI Murray.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s rather difficult for me to get in to Canterbury,’ she said. ‘If you want to talk to me, would you mind coming here? Mrs Sarjeant says she doesn’t mind. But it will have to be soon, as I’m planning on going home in a day or so.’

  There was a short silence. ‘That will be quite in order, Miss Castle,’ said Murray at last.

  ‘And actually, it’s MrsCastle,’ said Fran.

  Another silence. ‘I’m very sorry, MrsCastle. Perhaps we could pop round and see you tomorrow morning? About ten?’

  ‘Ten tomorrow?’ repeated Fran, looking over at Libby. ‘Yes, that will be fine.’

  ‘And it’s 17 Allhallow’s Lane, I believe.’

  ‘Certainly is. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

  Libby brought over a mug of tea. ‘I wonder what it’s all about?’

  ‘Background, I should think. After all, they know exactly when Aunt Eleanor died, and there’s no way it could have been me.’

  ‘It could, you know,’ said Libby sitting on the cane sofa gingerly to avoid the creak.

  ‘Eh? What do you mean?’ Fran looked offended.

  ‘As soon as they find out that you knew the others were going down that day, and they will when they talk to Charles, they’ll think you could have sneaked down without telling anyone and got there before all the others did.’

  ‘Those two nurses saw her just before she died, just before Barbara arrived. How could I have got in?’

  ‘French windows? They mentioned french windows at the inquest.’

  ‘How would I have known which room was hers? And how would I have got round the back, anyway? I’d have been seen.’