‘It’s about Joan Redding,’ she said. ‘When did you last see her?’
Paul’s eyebrows flew up. ‘And what’s it got to do with you? Who the hell are you?’
‘My – er – colleague, Libby Sarjeant,’ Said Fran.
‘With a J,’ put in Libby.
‘Look, we’re all under suspicion, now, Paul,’ said Fran, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘I thought we ought to talk about it.’
‘You know, then?’ said Paul, looking from Fran to Libby and back again.
‘That she was murdered? Yes. I was dragged out to the scene last night by the police.’
‘Why?’ Paul looked astonished.
‘I was a suspect, I suppose.’ Fran hurried on, not wanting to get bogged down in just why she was a suspect. ‘Look, can we come in and talk to you and Barbara? It might help all of us.’
‘Why does she have to come in?’ said Paul, nodding in Libby’s direction.
‘She’s been helping me, and I was staying with her,’ said Fran. ‘Come on Lib.’ She stepped firmly past Paul, with Libby on her heels and went straight into the eau-de-nil drawing room.
‘This is Libby Sarjeant, Barbara,’ she said, as Barbara rose, open-mouthed from an armchair. ‘Barbara Denver, Libby. Stone, as was.’
‘Yes, I remember you,’ said Libby.
‘Do you?’
‘When I first moved down here with my husband. Yes.’ Libby volunteered nothing else, which obviously confused Barbara.
‘They’re here about Nurse Redding, Mum,’ said Paul.
‘Oh? Why? We don’t know anything about her. Do we, Paul?’
Libby watched Paul’s face. It gave nothing away.
‘Except as one of Aunt Eleanor’s nurses, no,’ he said. ‘Do sit down.’
‘Do you live here, Paul?’ asked Libby.
He laughed. ‘You’ve certainly got a cheek,’ he said. ‘Yes, I do. Some of the time, anyway.’
‘The rest of the time he stays with his girlfriend in Nethergate,’ said Barbara.
‘And is that Nurse Warner?’ asked Fran.
‘Yes.’ Paul flicked a glance at his mother’s surprised face. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I didn’t know it was a secret,’ said Fran. ‘So when did you hear about Nurse Redding?’
‘Last night. The police phoned me here at about, oh, I don’t know, eleven, I suppose.’
‘And you were here?’
‘Obviously, I was, if I spoke to the police. Where were you?’
‘I was at home.’
‘In London?’ said Barbara.
‘No, she’s staying down here now,’ said Paul. ‘Were you on you on your own?’
‘No, I wasn’t. Were you?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ said Barbara. ‘Paul was here earlier in the evening, then he went off to take Sue to work, came back here for the rest of the evening, slept here, then went back to collect Sue from work this morning. She’s on nights. He’s just come back to make sure I’m all right.’
‘And in case you’re wondering,’ said Paul, with a malicious smile, ‘my mother wasn’t alone, either. She had her book group round here from seven thirty, and they were still here when I got back from taking Sue to work. So, you see, I’m afraid that any suspicion that our – family– might be suspects comes down to just you, cousin Frances.’
Two minutes later, Libby and Fran stood outside on the gravel. Fran swallowed down anger and disappointment and began to walk towards the car. Libby watched her.
‘No point in asking for Warner’s address?’ she said.
Fran sighed an exasperated sigh. ‘Libby!’
‘Oh, well, it was a thought.’ Libby followed her to the car and unlocked the door. ‘Breakfast? Or The Laurels?’
‘Breakfast. I can’t see any reason to go to The Laurels. Sue Warner’s in bed asleep, presumably.’
‘What about the Headlam?’
‘Oh, let’s leave it to the police, like you said. Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.’
In a little café on the Marine Parade in Nethergate, they both ordered the traditional Full English, and were brought thick white mugs of tea. The sky had clouded over, and the breeze had whipped the sea into meringue-like points.
‘Marion Headlam, then?’ said Libby gazing out at the unlit fairy lights swinging gaily over the neat promenade gardens.
‘Must be,’ Fran sighed. ‘Although we don’t know exactly when Redding died, do we?’
‘It wouldn’t have been before her book group, though, would it? What would Redding have been doing at her coven before dark?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran sighed again. ‘I don’t really know anything except that she was garrotted.’
The waitress, unfortunately arriving at that moment with their food, nearly deposited it in their laps. Libby smiled at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said. The girl departed, flustered.
A few people strolled along the promenade. Ladies in pale-coloured zip up jackets, the occasional rain hood, and determined cream sandals; gentlemen in raincoats, flat caps and trilbies and slightly darker zip up jackets.
‘I always thought I’d be like that,’ said Libby, as they left the café and went to lean over the railings to look at the beach.
Fran laughed. ‘Never!’
‘I know that now. I’m doomed for ever to be the eternal aging hippy. Do you think Ben’s ashamed of me?’
‘Considering the way he’s been monopolising you recently, I hardly think so.’
‘Yes,’ said Libby, looking smug, ‘he has, rather, hasn’t he?’
‘Come on, then, let’s go home,’ said Fran. ‘We didn’t come for a day out at the seaside.’
They walked back to where Libby had parked the car, in a road just off Marine Parade, lined with tall Victorian houses.
‘All hotels and guest houses, now,’ said Libby, ‘but once, whole families would hire them for the entire summer.’
‘Really? Sort of early self-catering?’
‘I suppose so. They brought their own servants with them.’
‘Lucky servants.’ Fran looked up at the attic windows of “Marine View”. ‘They probably could see the sea from up there.’
‘Hey, Fran, look!’ Libby grabbed her arm. ‘Sue Warner!’
Fran looked. Sure enough, at the end of the road, disappearing into the doorway of a rather down-at-heel redbrick villa, was the slight figure of Nurse Warner. Libby started to move after her, but Fran pulled her back.
‘What do we need to speak to her for, Libby? We know Paul and Barbara are in the clear for Redding’s murder. The poor kid’s probably been shopping before she goes to sleep. Let’s leave her alone.’
Uncertain, Libby watched the doorway for a moment, then shrugged, and crossed the road to where Romeo sat waiting for them. ‘Doesn’t hurt to know where she lives, though,’ she said.
Fran shook her head and climbed into the passenger seat.
Just as Libby pulled up outside The Pink Geranium, DCI Murray rang Fran’s mobile.
‘I thought you’d want to know where we’re up to, Mrs Castle,’ he said.
Fran’s eyes widened in surprise, and she silently beckoned Libby to come inside with her.
‘With the investigation, Mr Murray?’
‘Both, Mrs Castle. I know I probably shouldn’t have taken you out there last night, but I hoped it might be helpful.’
‘I know that, Chief Inspector, but, as I said, nothing came to me.’ The scene rose up vividly in Fran’s mind’s eye, the circle of trees, the shadowy cloaked figures and the fire.
‘I know. I thought you might be interested to know what happened, though. Are you free to talk for a minute?’
‘Yes,’ said Fran, waving Libby towards the kitchen and miming tea, ‘but it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?’
She heard Murray let out a long breath. ‘Yes, it is, but see, Mrs Castle, I’m treating you, unofficially like, as an expert witness.’
‘Eh?’
‘I’
ve been talking to a couple of blokes I know in the Met and Thames Valley, and they’ve both been helped by – er – well – er –’
‘Mediums?’ suggested Fran. ‘Psychics?’
‘Yes. Exactly. And I know you’ve been quite accurate, that is to say, very accurate. I just thought, perhaps, if you knew all the circumstances, you might – well –’
‘Pick something up?’ said Fran.
‘Yes.’
‘What about Inspector Connell?’ Fran pictured his dark, frowning face and could almost feel disapproval radiating towards her.
‘What about him? The investigations are linked, and I’m Senior Investigating Officer.’
‘So you can do what you like?’ Fran was amused. ‘Go on, then. I’ll see if I can help.’
Libby came in with the tea, her eyebrows raised hopefully. Fran nodded her to a chair.
‘First of all,’ began Murray, for all the world as though he was on Jackanory, ‘we know that Joan Redding arrived at this cult meeting, or whatever they call it, somewhere after seven thirty and before eight o’clock. Like all the others, she was in a long black cloak, lined with green stuff. Some of the folk there think there was someone else with her, who was also wearing a cloak, and others aren’t certain, because they all milled about a bit, apparently.
‘Anyway, after a bit of chanting and what have you, they split up into – er – pairs. And sort of, slipped off, if you get my meaning. And then they all came back together again for a bit more chanting, and that’s when someone realised Redding wasn’t there.’
‘If they weren’t certain whether there was someone with her or not, how could they be sure?’ asked Fran.
‘They all had to say a name, or something.’
‘Ashtaroth, Hecate and so on?’
‘You know?’
‘Guessed. Go on.’
‘So, her name, whatever it was, didn’t come out. So they started calling her, thinking she was, well, still – um – occupied. And then one of them tripped over her.’
‘And no one saw anyone else?’
‘Well, no. They were all a bit preoccupied, you might say. Someone had the sense to have a mobile in his cloak pocket and called us.’
‘So it could have been any one of the other people there?’
‘Or this extra person. I mean, none of them are going to admit going off with someone who turns up dead, are they?’
‘No. You’ve questioned them all?’
‘Oh, yes. At the time, and afterwards. Poor souls have been up all night,’ said Murray, gleefully.
‘And no one’s guilty?’
‘Well, what you have to understand here, is that they were all in couples. And each one was questioned on their own, and they all came up with the right answers. Each couple confirmed each other’s story.’
‘They could have organised that while they were waiting for you.’
‘They could, they could. But there were a few things the lads had picked up which confirmed the stories.’
‘And what were they?’
‘Forensic stuff, Mrs Castle. You wouldn’t be interested.’
Wrinkling her nose, Fran thought she probably wouldn’t.
‘You think, then, that there was this extra person with Nurse Redding? How would they have got hold of a cloak?’
‘According to the leader of this group, lots of them have more than one. You know, one on, one off, one in the wash.’ Murray chuckled. ‘Like vests.’
Fran rolled her eyes at Libby, who was, by now, consumed with curiosity and sitting on the windowsill with her head out of the window, puffing furiously on her first cigarette since the middle of the night.
‘So, someone she knew, to whom she’d lent the cloak.’
‘Right. Now, because of her connection to your old auntie, and her hiding the will, or finding it, as she put it, we decided to talk to all the –’
‘Suspects.’ Fran helped him out.
‘Yes. We wondered a bit about your cousin.’
‘Mr Wade?’
‘No, no. He was in London. Mr Denver.’
‘He’s not my cousin,’ said Fran.
‘No? Well, whatever he is, we’d heard Redding had a bit of a crush on him. And you probably won’t know this, but she did a bit of a number on a doctor at the hospital where she worked previously. Asked to resign.’
All that work wasted, thought Fran.
‘So we wondered if he might have got a bit fed up with her chasing him. Especially now he seems to have taken up with that pretty little nurse whatsit. Warner.’
They knew all this all the time, thought Fran. Why did she bother?
‘But he was with his mother until seven thirty, when he left to pick up Nurse Warner and take her to work. She’s on nights at The Laurels. And she confirmed it. We spoke to her last night. And Mrs Denver had group of highly respectable ladies with her all evening, and Mr Denver got back to them before nine. So they’re out of it. And little Nurse Warner couldn’t have done it.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘She was getting ready for work, and as she hasn’t got a car, could never have got to Tyne Chapel from Nethergate and back in the time.’
‘But surely, Nurse Redding wouldn’t have gone off into the bushes with a woman?’ said Fran. ‘I mean, I thought she was rather frighteningly heterosexual.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Murray, obviously warming to his task and settling down for a good long chat, ‘that’s where it becomes interesting, you see. According to our information, the doctor at the hospital wasn’t the only one. Oh, no.’
‘No?’
‘Swung both ways, did our Nurse Redding. She’d been disciplined once before because of an alleged assault on a young nurse. Sexual, of course.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘So there we are. It wasn’t you, we checked with Mr Wolfe, it wasn’t Mr Wade, he was in London with his daughter, it wasn’t Nurse Warner, Mr or Mrs Denver. So, who are we left with, Mrs Castle?’
‘Mrs Headlam, Mr Murray.’
Chapter Thirty-six
‘I THOUGHT YOU’D SAY that,’ said Murray, with smug self-congratulation. ‘So what’s the gut instinct about it?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid,’ said Fran. ‘The only times I’ve felt anything about these murders has been once when Inspector Connell told me over the telephone, and in Aunt Eleanor’s room.’ Her other moments weren’t relevant here, Fran decided.
‘Was Headlam there then?’
‘No, Redding was, although Mrs Headlam came in afterwards.’ Fran sighed. ‘I didn’t like her much, but she does seem to have the best motive, doesn’t she?’
‘The business about the will, yes. Don’t understand why it was taken, though, whoever took it.’
‘It should have been Paul or Barbara Denver, they had most to lose, but they couldn’t find it, either. All very confusing.’
‘We had Mrs Headlam in for questioning about your aunt’s death, but there was no conclusive evidence.’ Murray sounded disappointed.
‘What about the two drivers?’
‘Ah, yes. Both suspicious deaths. Both driven off the road. We’ve matched all the forensics, and we know what car it was, but nobody in the case has one like it, and we’ve had no reports of one being stolen. So dead end there. We’re still working on it, though.’
‘Could a woman have done that?’ asked Fran doubtfully.
‘Course she could. As long as she had the nerve. It’s not the woman’s strength that counts there, it’s the car. And if she’s a good driver, of course.’
‘And is Marion Headlam a good driver?’
Fran could almost hear Murray’s shrug. ‘No idea. But she’s got a very nice little sporty job.’
‘And that’s it, is it?’ said Fran, after the silence had lengthened. ‘What about other suspects? From her fellow witches, or Satanists, or whatever they are. And whoare they?’
Murray laughed. ‘Oh, a very respectable lot, they are, you wouldn’t believe. They’ll be a cou
ple of dodgy marriages on the go after this. Some of their partners had no idea. The places they said they were going! Opera club, out with the lads, darts, night fishing, one even said she was going to Mrs Denver’s book group!’
‘And the cloak? You haven’t found it?’
‘No, that’s long gone, I reckon. Well, there you are, Mrs Castle. Any thoughts about this, I’d be glad to have them. Don’t you go phoning anyone else, mind.’
‘You mean, don’t tell Inspector Connell?’
‘Well, he’s young, poor lad. Doesn’t have the experience yet.’
‘He didn’t look very young to me,’ said Fran.
‘Younger than me, any road,’ said Murray. ‘Can I leave it with you? I’ll give you my mobile number.’
‘So there you are,’ said Fran, when she’d finished recounting this remarkable conversation to Libby, who, by this time, had smoked another cigarette and got very stiff sitting on the windowsill.
‘We were right then. Marion Headlam.’ Libby inched herself back on to firm ground.
‘Looks like it.’ Fran sighed. ‘Why am I not convinced?’
‘No idea. Why didn’t you say that to Murray? That’s what he was asking you for.’
‘No, he was asking me to come up with a startling revelation, some kind of vision he could put to the test.’
‘OK. So what now?’ Libby collected empty mugs and went towards the kitchen.
‘I’ll have a think, and see if I can come up with anything. I suppose I ought to go to the various sites, as it’s only on the ground, as it were, that I seem to get anything.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Libby. ‘You get it over the phone as well, and on the train.’
‘Yes, but that was a dream. I can’t dream to order.’
‘Shall we go and have a look at the chapel, then?’ suggested Libby hopefully.
‘We wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it,’ said Fran. ‘No, I’ll just sit here and think. I’ll let you know if anything happens.’
‘I’m going to lunch at the Manor,’ said Libby, ‘but I’ll have my mobile with me. I might not be able to drive afterwards, though. Hetty keeps a good cellar, and Flo and Lenny are coming as well, so there’ll be masses to drink.’
‘I shan’t go anywhere today, Lib, but thanks for telling me. Have a good time.’
Murder at the Laurels - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Page 28
