‘Who else, then?’
Patti listed a few men who were regular churchgoers, including the occasional organist.
‘But there must be a lot of other people in the village she knew. I got the feeling she had a good social life, and that didn’t centre on the church.’
‘So we need to ask other people who might have been her friends,’ said Libby. ‘Apart from Joan Bidwell, who were the women she was friendly with at the church?’
‘I don’t know. She was vaguely pleasant to everyone. I don’t know much about her, except that she didn’t like me.’
‘Don’t look so miserable,’ said Libby. ‘You don’t have to know the ins and outs of every parishioner.’
‘But I ought to be able to help if they’ve got problems.’
‘You could hardly help this one, though,’ said Libby. ‘Her problem is that she’s dead.’
Chapter Nineteen
The children’s rehearsal went well, and, at the end of it, when mothers and grandmothers arrived to collect their charges, Libby buttonholed Sheila Johnson.
‘Any idea if Marion Longfellow was having a relationship with anybody? Only I’ve picked up a rumour.’
Sheila’s lips tightened. ‘If she wasn’t, it wasn’t for want of trying. She’d thrown her hat at practically everyone over fifty in the surrounding area.’
Another Rosie, thought Libby. And then – she gasped.
‘What is it?’ said Sheila.
‘I was just wondering – do you happen to know if she used internet dating sites?’
Sheila looked bewildered. ‘No idea! I don’t even know if she had a computer.’
‘Right, thanks. But you don’t know about a current relationship, anyway?’
Sheila shook her head, and Libby went on to Alice, whose small grandson Nathaniel was performing, even if his parents weren’t. She asked the same question. She got the same answer.
‘Why hasn’t anyone mentioned this before?’ said Libby, exasperated. ‘It’s surely relevant to the investigation.’
‘It’s gossip,’ said Alice, her nose lifting slightly.
‘In a murder investigation, Alice, gossip is relevant,’ said Libby. ‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble that’s caused by people deciding for themselves what’s relevant and what isn’t.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t like to pass on that sort of thing,’ said Alice, her face reddening.
‘So you don’t know if there was anyone in the picture at the moment? The rumour I heard was that it was a married man.’
‘What rumour? Where did you hear that?’ Alice looked startled.
‘Do you honestly think I’d tell you? And do you know if she had a computer?’
‘No, I know nothing about the woman except that she was on the flower rota at church.’ Alice practically dragged Nathaniel away as Patti came up behind Libby.
‘Not getting anywhere?’ she murmured.
‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ said Libby, with a sigh. ‘But I can’t understand why this side of her character wasn’t immediately pounced on. That would be normal. You would have thought everyone would have been muttering “Serves her right” and “Always said she’d come to a bad end” or the equivalent.’
‘Perhaps they were all too busy talking about me?’ suggested Patti with a smile.
‘True. Well, I shall mention it to Ian and try and find out if she had a computer, and if she had, if she was on any internet dating sites.’
‘Oh, she had a computer,’ said Patti. ‘I asked her once where she’d bought a very nice sweater and she said it was from an online site. Apparently she did most of her shopping online – and I certainly remember the supermarket delivery van going down to her cottage when I was visiting Mrs Bidwell.’
‘So you visited Mrs B? How did she take that?”
‘Not very well, but as I used to take her the occasional bit of shopping, she had to put up with it. And she would never have me take the reserved sacrament to her.’
‘No, she wouldn’t in church either, would she? How did she manage in ordinary communion services?’
‘She had to put up with it then.’ Patti grinned and took a bunch of keys from a pocket. ‘Come on, let’s lock up, then we can both get back to Steeple Martin.’
‘Aren’t there other things you’d like to do on Wednesday?’ asked Libby, as she watched Patti lock up.
‘Yes, but I’d like to do them with Anne,’ said Patti. ‘And what with her job and her situation, that’s difficult. We always arrange our holidays together, though. We’re both culture vultures, so we go off to Italy and Greece and do the sites – as much as we can with the wheelchair.’
‘But that must be difficult,’ said Libby. ‘I mean, you can’t go up to the Parthenon in a wheelchair, can you?’
‘No, but you’d be surprised at the amount of places that now have disabled access.’
‘Well, I’m glad about that,’ said Libby, getting out her car keys. ‘See you later in the pub, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Patti, suddenly coming forward and giving Libby a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m awfully glad I’ve met you. Thank you for being so understanding.’
‘Ian called while you were out,’ said Ben, meeting her at the door of number 17 thirty minutes later. ‘I told him where you were and said you’d have your mobile, but he said it didn’t matter.’
‘That was in response to last night’s call, I suppose. That was all he said?’
‘Yes. Come on, if we don’t eat now we’ll be late for rehearsal.’
‘You won’t, but I will,’ said Libby. ‘Gosh – pillar to post. I’m too old for this.’
Peter’s tightening up of the script, the music and the acting was already beginning to pay off, and at nine thirty he pronounced himself satisfied and dismissed the cast.
‘Going to the pub?’ he asked Libby. ‘Hal said he’d be able to get away early.’
‘Yes, I’m meeting my new vicar friend. I told you she had a friend here, didn’t I?’
‘Did you? I expect you did. Will she mind us being there, too?’
‘Course not. I expect half the cast will be, too.’
When Ben, Peter and Libby walked into the pub ten minutes later, it was to find Ian Connell sitting at a table with Patti and Anne. Libby came to an abrupt halt in surprise, and Peter cannoned into her.
Ian stood up with a grin, kissed Libby and shook hands with Peter and Ben, offering to buy drinks. Peter went with him to the bar, and Ben pulled up more chairs.
‘I gather that this is a social occasion rather than an official one,’ said Anne. ‘We were very surprised to see him.’
‘I thought he’d come to find me,’ said Patti, with a shudder. ‘But he said no, he was waiting for you.’
Ian and Peter arrived with drinks.
‘So why did you want to see us?’ asked Libby, eyeing Ian warily.
‘I’m not always on duty,’ said Ian. ‘I was driving this way, and as Ben had told me you were rehearsing tonight I thought I’d look in on the off chance.’
‘So, no talk of the case, then?’ said Peter. ‘Pity.’
‘Not unless there’s something Libby wants me to know.’ Ian looked her with a small smile. ‘Or something she wants to ask me.’
Libby looked round the table rather shamefaced. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘there is.’
‘Shall I go first, then?’ asked Ian, his smile broadening. Libby nodded and Ian turned to the rest of the table. ‘Libby told me that, according to one of the women at Patti’s church, the second murder victim had tried to speak to someone after the first had been killed, and I said I would try to find out from the original reports who she had spoken to.’
‘And did you?’ asked Peter.
‘No. She had been questioned, along with everyone else. But she said nothing that could be construed as information to the officers.’
‘So we conclude that she intended to speak to someone else, who was probably the murderer,’ said Libby.
‘Possibly, but it’s purely conjecture, unless anyone else comes forward with information.’
‘We heard a bit of gossip today, didn’t we, Patti?’ Libby looked over at the vicar, who was looking uncomfortable again. ‘It’s all right, I’ll tell it. I know you don’t want to.’
‘OK, Lib,’ sighed Ian. ‘What is it?’
‘The rumour is that Marion Longfellow was having an affair with a married man.’
Peter whistled. ‘I thought she was quite old?’
Libby bristled. ‘No older than me, as far as I know.’
‘Sorry.’ Peter grinned at Ben, who rolled his eyes.
Ian was frowning. ‘So why did no one tell me that at the time?’
‘Apparently,’ Patti took up the tale, ‘None of the people at the church knew, although none of them seemed surprised. It was a rumour in the village rather than the church.’
‘Not the same thing, then?’ said Ian with a half smile.
‘Not at all, I’m afraid.’ Patti shook her head. ‘We are an increasingly secular society, and only a small minority of the village residents come to church.’
‘So how did you find out?’ said Ian, turning to Libby.
‘Talking to one of the women who serves in the community shop.’
‘I should have thought about it before,’ said Patti. ‘It just didn’t occur to me.’
‘Did you talk to any of the rest of the villagers?’ Libby asked Ian.
‘We talked to most of the people who had been at that particular service, which I gather was an exceptional one with a lot of outsiders?’ Ian looked at Patti. ‘I wasn’t involved at that stage.’
‘Yes, there were a lot of people from outside the area – ex-miners and their families.’
‘But it would have to be someone who got near enough to inject her, wouldn’t it?’ asked Libby.
The others looked at her in surprise.
‘Oh, sorry, we haven’t actually talked about that, have we? Were we right in guessing suxamethonium chloride, Ian?’
‘Yes.’ Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘Clever of you.’
‘Rosie put us on to it, actually,’ admitted Libby. ‘But it’s difficult to get hold of and you’d need a lot to inject intramuscularly.’
‘OK – now you’ve lost me completely,’ said Anne. ‘Can we go from the beginning?’
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Ian, ‘but in this company I don’t think it’ll compromise anything.’ He looked at Patti. ‘Except for you, vicar. I’ll have to swear you to silence.’
Patti looked shocked. ‘Of course.’
‘Suxamethonium chloride is used in operations for getting the patient to relax all muscles, most particularly in the case of intubations. It inhibits all conscious and unconscious reactions within seconds if injected intravenously, slightly longer if intramuscularly. They can’t breathe or call for help. Unfortunately, it occurs naturally in the body, so is often not picked up. It’s also, Libby,’ he smiled at her, ‘used in equine medicine occasionally.’
‘Oh.’ Libby pulled a face. ‘Are we on the lookout for more vets, then?’
‘We could be. What we need to find is somebody who stood or sat close enough to Mrs Bidwell to inject her. We did find the injection mark, although it was first dismissed as an insulin injection.’
‘And somebody who has access to that drug. What was it again?’ asked Anne.
‘Known as “sux”,’ said Ian. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s available through the illegal drugs trade, so we might have to set up an investigation along those lines, too. We’ve got people looking into it, but no luck so far.’
‘And then whoever did it killed Mrs Longfellow?’ said Libby. ‘And did she see them do it? If she had, wouldn’t she have said straight away?’
‘She could have tried her hand at a spot of blackmail,’ said Ben.
‘Not that sort,’ said Patti. ‘She appeared very comfortably off.’
‘Perhaps that’s how she appeared comfortably off?’ suggested Peter.
‘Doubt it,’ said Patti. ‘Besides, you’ll have looked at her finances, won’t you, Chief Inspector?’
‘Please call me Ian off duty, and yes, that’s being investigated, too, as are Mrs Bidwell’s.’
‘So,’ said Libby frowning, ‘could it be that Mrs Bidwell was threatening to blackmail Mrs Longfellow, or her boyfriend, and was killed because of that? And Mrs Longfellow naturally suspected the boyfriend and accused him?’
‘It’s a theory,’ said Ian with a shrug, ‘but we need more evidence. Who was it who told you about the affair?’
‘It was Dora Walters who helps in the community shop,’ said Patti, ‘but she’ll be furious if she thinks we set you on to her.’
‘She did backtrack quickly when I tried to pin her down,’ said Libby. ‘Said it was just general gossip. As we said earlier, none of the church ladies could confirm it, although they all thought it was likely. In fact …’ her voice trailed away and she stared at the table.
‘In fact what?’ said Ben.
‘Nothing.’ Libby looked up, her face pink. ‘I’ll tell Ian on his own.’
‘To save my blushes?’ said Patti. ‘No need. I think I know what you were going to say. Sheila Johnson suspected her husband of being the married man. Right?’
Chapter Twenty
‘I did wonder,’ said Libby. ‘I just –’
‘Didn’t want to indulge in gossip in front of me,’ Patti finished for her. ‘I know, but I’m beginning to realise that gossip may well be integral to police investigations.’
‘It’s sad, but true,’ said Ian. ‘And it’s what holds up hundreds of cases, when people don’t tell the police this sort of thing “because it’s only gossip”.’
‘I said that,’ said Libby smugly.
‘It’s also,’ continued Ian, ‘why, against every better judgement, I find myself involving Libby and Fran. They’re good at uncovering gossip and Fran’s occasional moments can be illuminating.’
‘But she hasn’t had any this time, except to be convinced Mrs Longfellow’s death was a direct result of Mrs Bidwell’s,’ said Libby.
‘Well, we’re a little further on now, thanks to you,’ said Ian. ‘But don’t show off about it.’
Everyone laughed.
‘And what about Tim Bolton?’ Libby asked Ian, after the conversation had turned general and Patti and Anne were asking questions about the theatre.
‘I had to make a snap decision,’ said Ian. ‘I think it’s probably a red herring, but we have to make sure, so I turned it into a crime scene straight away. I have a feeling it isn’t, but there’s no doubt some odd goings-on have been happening there.’
‘Really? Have you got evidence?’
‘Some, and it’s distasteful, so don’t ask,’ said Ian.
‘No blood or evidence of sacrifice, then?’
Ian sighed. ‘No, Libby. And don’t you or Fran go delving into witchcraft or Black Magic again.’
‘We never mean to,’ said Libby. ‘You’ve got to agree there.’
‘You never mean to do anything,’ said Ian. ‘But yes, today’s information could be useful. We know next to nothing about the village, and the only crime that’s been committed there in the last few years has been of the drunk on a Friday night variety. Oh, and a Red Cross collection box pinched from the pub counter.’
‘I expect our Dora will have a theory about that, too. She strikes one that way. The trick will be to get her talking and not pin her down too much. As I said before she backed off when I did that.’
‘She’ll not be pleased with you for letting the cat out of the bag,’ Patti dropped in to the conversation.
‘On the other hand, it might make her feel important,’ said Libby. ‘But I don’t know what you’re going to do about Sheila Johnson’s husband. You probably can’t go smack up to her and say “Was your husband having it off with Marion Longfellow?” can you?’
‘Delicately put, as always,’ said Ian. ‘No, we can’t. Wha
t we might have to do is ask for DNA samples from every man in the village.’
‘From – ? Don’t tell me she was –’
‘Raped, no. But there will be some trace evidence at the scene, you know that. I do hate having to do it, and the boss will hate having to sanction the expense. I suppose I shall just have to send in a team tomorrow and start turning things upside down.’
‘Won’t you go yourself?’ asked Patti.
‘Not for a house to house, but to question certain people, like your Dora – what was her name?’
‘Walters,’ said Patti. ‘You’d better come to me first and I’ll give you names and addresses of all the people I know who knew them both. Although most of those will have been questioned after the miners’ service.’
‘When we didn’t know what we were looking at,’ said Ian, ‘so it’s time we went in again anyway.’
‘Oh, I know what I was going to ask,’ said Libby suddenly, nodding thanks to Ben who put a fresh drink in front of her. ‘You’ve taken Mrs Longfellow’s computer, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’ Ian looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Well apart from any emails from illicit boyfriends, might she have been a member of an online dating agency?’
‘I’ve no idea. What makes you ask?’
‘I realised she was an older woman who was obviously still looking for lurve, just like our Rosie.’
‘Ah, yes. Your Rosie.’ Ian smiled sourly.
‘Well, you hear all sorts of stories about dodgy people on those sites, don’t you?’
‘Good heavens.’ Ian shook his head admiringly. ‘What an imagination.’
‘I think it’s great,’ said Patti. ‘She’s made me look at all sorts of things differently.’
‘Have I?’ said Libby in surprise.
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Ian. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said to Patti. ‘I’m off now.’ He gave Libby a kiss on the cheek and shook hands with the others, and with Harry, whom he passed in the doorway.
‘Oh, there, I missed the lovely Ian,’ said Harry, flinging himself down in Ian’s chair. ‘You were in the caff earlier, weren’t you?’ He smiled over at Patti and Anne. ‘You didn’t tell me you knew this old tart.’
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