Murder to Music - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Perhaps he found out? Whichever way you look at it, it’s suspicious.’

  ‘Doesn’t help us with finding Rosie, though.’

  ‘It does if Hugh Weston’s guilty of covering up his father’s crime, whatever it was.’

  ‘Doing trials on those poor girls, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘But what does that have to do with Rosie? She only knew White Lodge after Paul Findon bought it. She wasn’t here when those girls died.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ said Fran. ‘I feel we ought to let Ian know, but I’m not sure how he’d take it.’

  ‘You never know – he might already know.’ Libby thought for a moment. ‘After all, he did warn us off this morning. Perhaps he was doing research and that’s why we beat him to it.’

  ‘Oh – hang on, the other phone’s going. I’ll ring you back.’ Fran switched off.

  Libby took her mug into the kitchen. This was a turn-up for the books, and thank goodness for the internet. It was a wonder how detectives ever found anything out before the wonderful web came into being.

  The phone rang again.

  ‘A bit of good news,’ said Fran. ‘Rachita’s back.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ said Libby, going quite weak at the knees. ‘Do we know where she’s been?’

  ‘Yes, apparently camping out with a friend. Rachanda’s being allowed out again now, so Sophie’s going to meet her. She said there’s quite a lot to the story.’

  ‘We might not get to hear about it, then,’ said Libby. ‘It might be personal.’

  ‘They’ve had to tell the police she’s home and someone wants to interview her, but there’s a problem there. Appropriate adults, or something.’

  ‘I expect they want her to be questioned without the parents and they don’t want that,’ said Libby. ‘The parents, I mean.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Sophie will tell us what she can,’ said Fran. ‘I’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘And what do we do about Hugh Weston and Ian?’

  ‘Wait, I suppose. That’s all we can do.’

  Libby wasn’t surprised not to hear anything from anyone for the rest of the day. The rain stopped, so she made a pretence of weeding, and, after preparing dinner, turned the television to a rolling news channel hoping for some mention of either of the local stories. There was none. The only vaguely local item was the fact that the two builders found murdered in Medway had been named. And they were both Asian.

  There was absolutely no reason to connect this with the White Lodge murders, but it was inevitable that Libby would. She rang Fran.

  ‘Why should they be anything to do with our barn bodies?’ said Fran, who was trying to control a pan full of spitting oil.

  ‘They could be the murderers,’ said Libby.

  ‘Hired assassins?’ suggested Fran. ‘Oh, Libby, go back to the television and leave me to cook my stir fry.’

  Hired assassins, thought Libby. Good one. I wonder if Ian’s thought of that?

  But it wasn’t until the following day that Libby found out what Ian thought about anything.

  On Friday morning Adam called.

  ‘Can you come down to the flat, Ma? I think we need a council of war.’

  ‘We do?’ Libby’s heart jumped. ‘What about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’

  ‘OK. I’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Libby, who was still in her dressing gown.

  ‘No, Ma, not there. Sophie’s flat.’

  ‘Oh, right. OK – half an hour, then.’

  Head filled with all sorts of images, none of them good, Libby dressed hurriedly and set off for Nethergate, keeping a close eye on the petrol gauge which was hovering dangerously close to the red line.

  The nearest she could park to Guy’s shop-cum-gallery was way beyond Coastguard Cottage. This was a Friday towards the end of August, and the holiday-makers and weekenders were out in force – as were their cars, parked like a shiny metal sea wall all the way along Harbour Street.

  Guy was in the shop on his own when Libby pushed open the door. He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs and made a face. ‘They’re all up there.’

  ‘Don’t you want to go, if it’s Sophie …?’ Libby trailed off.

  ‘It’s not Sophie.’ Guy grinned. ‘It’s a case for Castle and Sarjeant.’

  ‘Right,’ said Libby in surprise, and made for the stairs.

  In the little sitting room over the shop sat Fran, Adam, Sophie and a beautiful Indian girl.

  ‘Hi, Libby.’ Sophie stood up and came to kiss her. ‘This is my friend Rachanda. She’s told us some things that we think you ought to hear.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘Because you know all about the case. I wanted to call you last night, but Ad said it would be better if we did it this morning when Rach could be here.’

  Libby smiled at Rachanda, who smiled sweetly back. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Rachanda, especially as we’ve heard so much about you.’

  ‘That’s why we thought you ought to know what’s been happening,’ said the girl in a barely accented voice. ‘You see, there’s more to Rachita’s adventure than we first thought, and I think we must tell the police. My parents won’t hear of it, though. They haven’t even allowed the police to interview her.’

  Libby turned to Fran. ‘You said yesterday the police wanted to interview her. Why? She was a missing girl who’d turned up at home. Why would they want to see her?’

  ‘Apparently they always do,’ said Sophie. ‘In case the family are lying and the person hasn’t really come back, or the people who made the report weren’t telling the truth in the first place or in case something awful has happened while the person’s been away. It’s quite normal.’

  ‘So, what’s Rachita’s story?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’ve heard it, so I’ll go and make more coffee,’ said Fran. ‘Or tea, anyone?’

  Libby and Rachanda opted for tea, and Rachanda started her story.

  ‘Sophie says you all wondered if there was a boyfriend involved, although she didn’t think so. But, in fact, there was.’ She paused and looked into the empty fireplace. ‘And the worst sort of boyfriend, too. Not that any boy, unless chosen by my parents, would have been good enough, but this one was beyond everything.’

  ‘Amazing in this day and age,’ said Libby.

  Rachanda smiled. ‘Not in our culture, as I expect you know. There are many women trying to change things and standing up to their families, but I wasn’t brave enough.’

  ‘Brave enough?’ repeated Libby. ‘Were you afraid?’

  ‘No, no,’ Rachanda corrected hastily. ‘I wasn’t brave enough to leave the community. A lot of women who do get away never see their families again. I didn’t want that. I love my family.’

  Fran reappeared with a tray and handed out mugs.

  ‘Go on,’ said Libby. ‘Who was Rachita’s boyfriend?’

  ‘He was an illegal immigrant.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Libby shook her head, remembering the last occasion she and Fran had investigated the illegal workers scams.

  ‘Yes. Sophie says you know something about them?’

  ‘A bit. Not a lot. Where was this boy from?’

  ‘Pakistan, we think.’

  ‘And where did she met him?’

  ‘He was doing some building work at an uncle’s shop. We have several uncles who are shopkeepers. The council said the facilities at the back weren’t correct, so Uncle Jaiman had to have an extension built.’

  ‘Health and safety,’ said Libby.

  ‘Exactly.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘And this Kiran was one of the builders. Rachita used to go there on the way home from school every day –’

  ‘Like we did,’ put in Sophie.

  ‘Yes. And they became friendly.’ Rachanda shook her head. ‘I didn’t know anything about it, none of us did, even Uncle Jaiman.’

  ‘Is that the only place they met?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No. You see, the extension was finished and Kira
n and the other men left. But Kiran arranged to meet Rachita at the place where he was staying.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My sister says it wasn’t at all nice. But then, suddenly, Kiran sent her a message saying he had to leave. He didn’t say why. And so my silly little sister ran away to go with him.’

  ‘What made her come back? Is she disillusioned?’

  Rachanda shook her head. ‘No. Kiran is dead.’

  Libby gasped.

  ‘That’s why I said you needed to be here,’ said Fran. ‘The confirmation of a theory – if not quite the right one.’

  ‘What? You mean … one of those builders found in Medway?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘Two of them. Kiran and another boy – they were only nineteen. Rachita says they were hiding, but they wouldn’t say who from. Just that if they were caught they would be killed. She thinks it was something they had worked on that wasn’t right, somehow.’

  ‘How did she get home? Did she have any money?’

  ‘No. The place they were hiding was some old building, and the boys went out to find food. When they didn’t come back, Rachita went out at night, found a phone box and called my father. He went and picked her up. Then she heard about the two people murdered. Then, yesterday, they were named on the television news, although she’d already guessed it was them. She was hysterical.’

  ‘And your parents won’t let her speak to the police?’ said Libby.

  ‘No. They say it will bring shame.’

  ‘Oh, really.’

  ‘I know.’ Rachanda sighed. ‘It is ridiculous. This is why I told Sophie yesterday and she said we must tell you and her mother.’

  Fran opened her mouth to correct this, but closed it with a smile at Sophie. ‘And you did the right thing Rachanda. So now we must tell the police. And if necessary, protect you from your parents.’

  Rachanda nodded. ‘They will not be pleased. Neither, I think, will my sister.’

  ‘That,’ said Libby, ‘is not our problem.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  IAN’S PERSONAL MOBILE WAS switched off, unsurprisingly. Neither Fran nor Libby had his dedicated police mobile number in their phone books, so Libby phoned Ben to ask if he still had Ian’s business card.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At home. Why?’

  Libby sighed and told him.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be quicker just to phone the station? At least they would leave a message for him. Or you could ask for the other bloke.’

  ‘Sergeant Maiden. The trouble is, the police switchboard is just that – it doesn’t go through to the actual station. Oh, never mind. We’ll sort it out.’ Libby switched off the phone.

  Adam stood up. ‘Sophie and I will go round there. It’s only five minutes from here. And if he’s in the station he’ll see us, or we’ll leave him a note. Or speak to someone else. After all, he’s not the only person on the enquiry, is he?’

  ‘Don’t talk to that dreadful Big Bertha,’ said Libby.

  ‘She’s County,’ said Fran. ‘She’ll have gone back to Maidstone or wherever she comes from.’

  ‘Good idea, though, Ad. You OK with that, Sophie?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ said Sophie. ‘Rachanda can stay here with you, can’t she?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fran.

  ‘You are all very kind,’ said Rachanda when Adam and Sophie had gone. ‘I wish my parents were more – more –’

  ‘Liberal?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘Yes. I love them, but they are very strict.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Libby, ‘I was reading an article the other day about integration in this country, which said that things had often changed completely in the home countries of cultures like yours, yet people in this country didn’t realise it. They were keeping to traditions that had been outdated for several generations.’

  ‘Libby!’ said Fran, but Rachanda shook her head.

  ‘No, Mrs Wolfe. Mrs Sarjeant is quite right. Many people of my generation know this, that is why people feel free to break away and go to university, or get good jobs. But my parents’ and grandparents’ generations are still living as though they were at the beginning of the last century. My grandmother still hardly speaks any English.’

  ‘It’s so sad, when you think of all that has been done to integrate our different communities,’ said Libby.

  ‘Yet there are still people here who are openly racist,’ said Rachanda.

  ‘There are, but not so much towards the better integrated,’ said Libby. ‘And there are examples of whole communities living side by side and respecting each other. Look at the terrific Sikh Temple in Gravesend. It’s there for the community.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rachanda looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps because we keep ourselves to ourselves people think we are somehow different from them.’

  ‘But you are different,’ said Libby, ‘but we should be celebrating that. Teaching each other.’

  They were still debating the issue ten minutes later when they heard steps on the stairs. Fran went to open the door. ‘Oh,’ she said.

  Ian came into the room and stopped in front of Rachanda, who stood up and bowed her head. Libby wanted to shake her.

  ‘Miss Sharma,’ he said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Connell. I believe you have some information for me?’

  ‘We’ll go,’ said Libby, turning to shepherd Adam, Sophie and Fran from the room.

  ‘No, please stay,’ said Rachanda, a note of desperation in her voice. ‘They may stay, Inspector?’

  ‘Of course, if you want them to.’ Ian looked round at the others with a smile. ‘They already know everything anyway. Please sit down.’

  And Rachanda began her story once again.

  ‘And your sister has no idea who they were hiding from? Or what?’ asked Ian when she’d finished.

  ‘She says she has not.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to speak to her whether her – your – parents want me to or not.’ Ian frowned. ‘Has anyone tried to speak to her?’

  ‘My father told them on the phone it was out of the question. I don’t think they have been to the house.’

  ‘Do you know who they spoke to?’

  ‘No, but it was the local station. They were not pleased it was reported in the first place.’

  ‘I’m sure they weren’t,’ grunted Ian. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to bring in the big guns on this, and a Community Liaison officer.’ He sighed and stood up. ‘Would you like to be taken home, Miss Sharma?’

  Rachanda looked confused, and Fran stepped forward. ‘She can stay here for the time being, Ian.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rachanda.

  Ian left and Libby stood up. ‘Shall I go and get us all a take-away for lunch? I don’t suppose anyone feels like cooking.’

  Everyone agreed, Rachanda admitting she had a weakness for pizza and was never allowed it at home. Adam volunteered to go with his mother.

  ‘Seriously, Ma, what do you think’s going on here?’ he said as they walked along Harbour Street. ‘And is it anything to do with your bodies in the barn?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t see the link at the moment.’

  ‘If Rachita had been kidnapped I would have said yes and had serious doubts about the parents. Now I don’t know. It looks as though this Kiran was on the lam, but why and who from I’ve no idea.’

  ‘On the lam?’ Adam frowned at his mother.

  ‘On the run. Running away. Anyway, someone was after him. I bet he wasn’t exactly thrilled when Rachita ran after him!’

  ‘But Rachanda says they were in love.’

  ‘From what I hear, Rachita is a headstrong young woman who, as far as she’s able, does what she wants. And what she wanted for a time was Kiran, so when he upped and offed, she went too. You notice she didn’t hang around long after he’d disappeared from the hideout.’

  ‘No, I noticed that,’ said Adam, looking pleased. ‘Thought it was a bit odd.’

  ‘And now she’ll do anything to
get out from under the parental controls, you watch.’

  The truth of this was proved an hour or so later when Guy appeared in the flat, a worried frown on his face.

  ‘Ian’s downstairs with Rachanda’s sister,’ he said. ‘May they come up?’

  ‘What?’ Everyone stood up and Rachanda made a rush for the stairs. Sophie gently pulled her away.

  ‘Yes, show them up,’ said Fran, and everyone looked at each other in silence while they waited for the unexpected guests to make an appearance.

  Rachita exploded into the room in a flurry of brightly coloured sari and flew at her sister.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ian, looking grey and harassed.

  ‘What happened?’ said Libby, while Fran once again went to put the kettle on.

  ‘The father wasn’t there, luckily, but the mother and grandmother were not prepared to let me or anyone else in. If it wasn’t for the young lady quietly letting herself out of the house at the back and being stopped by one of our policewomen we would have had to get a warrant, which was precisely what we didn’t want. And now she’s refusing to go back home or talk to us. All I could think of was to bring her to her sister.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ said Fran, putting a steaming mug into his hands. ‘But she can’t stay here, there isn’t room.’

  ‘I know that, and to be frank, I don’t think I’d fancy either sisters’ chances if they went back home. Can I just talk to her here, then we’ll see what can be done? PC Donnington is looking into accommodation for them both, and Maiden is fielding the family’s complaints at the station.’

  Eventually Rachanda calmed her sister down, not an easy job as Rachita was quite obviously thoroughly enjoying being the centre of attention, and persuaded her that she need to talk to Ian. This however, she refused to do, looking pointedly at Adam, who, with an exasperated ‘For fuck’s sake’ stomped downstairs to the shop. Rachita smiled sweetly.

  ‘Miss Sharma,’ Ian began, ‘you are not under arrest, I am simply asking you a few questions about the man with whom you – er – ran away.’

  ‘Kiran, yes.’ Rachita nodded.

  ‘And you have stated that he was hiding from someone or something.’

  ‘Yes, but I do not know what.’

  ‘Or why?’