‘She knows St Aldeberge and Felling, and she only lives five minutes away, so I’m pretty sure she’d know the inlet.’
‘Too late to go looking today,’ said Fran. ‘It’ll be dark soon and you’ve got a rehearsal tonight, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Libby poured water into the brown teapot. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to leave it to Ian to find this Bruno person.’
‘The community shop in St Aldeberge’s open tomorrow, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘Why don’t we go and quiz this Dora person again?’
‘She might not be on duty on Fridays,’ said Libby, ‘but it’s an idea. We might pick up other gossip in the shop. And we could go and visit Dora.’
‘She might not say any more, and what excuse would you have for going to visit her? She might be cross with you for setting the police on to her.’
‘I know!’ said Libby with inspiration. ‘I’ll take her a couple of panto tickets. She said she always went.’
The following morning, Libby called Patti to give her advance warning of the day’s fishing trip.
‘The panto tickets are a good idea,’ said the vicar. ‘And you could suggest that I take her if she hasn’t got transport. I don’t know who she normally goes with.’
‘She said “we” didn’t she?’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, we thought we’d have a look round and see if we can pick anything up. Do you know if Alice said anything to Bob after I spoke to her?’
‘I think she did, and I heard her telling Sheila Johnson, too. Sheila looked relieved.’
But it wasn’t Sheila who marched forward to shake Libby’s hand as she and Fran entered the community shop later that morning. It was Sheila’s husband.
The tall blond giant smiled down at Libby as he pumped her hand vigorously.
‘Ken Johnson. Can’t tell you how relieved I was,’ he said. ‘Old Bob, too. She was a blight, that woman.’
Libby stepped back onto Fran’s toe. ‘Pleasure, I’m sure,’ she said, a trifle breathlessly.
‘Always wheedling to get something done for nothing.’ Ken Johnson’s open face set in a grim frown. ‘And for a lot more.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘Could I have a word outside, Mr Johnson?’
‘Just there were quite a few people in the shop,’ she explained after he’d followed her outside.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said, smiling again. ‘Everyone knew what she was like.’
‘Then why,’ said Libby, exasperated, ‘did nobody seem to know anything about her when the police asked?’
He shrugged. ‘No one wanted to get involved. We’re a small community, and after the police took those DNA samples everyone was afraid they’d be arrested.’
‘But you and Bob refused?’
He coloured slightly. ‘We thought …’
‘Yes, I know what you thought, but when you realised that all the others had given samples, surely you saw that you wouldn’t be alone?’ Libby watched as the colour in his face deepened.
‘Should have done.’ He looked away and cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, Bob and me went along yesterday and gave our samples.’
‘That’s good then.’ Libby looked quickly at Fran who was frowning. ‘So what did she have you doing? Mending fences? Putting up shelves?’
Ken Johnson’s colour was receding. ‘Oh, getting stuff out of her loft, fixing the lock on the bathroom door, you know the sort of thing.’ He looked back at Libby and smiled again. ‘Anyway, thanks again for putting us right about it all. And I’m glad the police have found the murderer.’
Libby started. ‘They have? Where did you hear that?’
His face fell. ‘But I thought you told Sheila …’
‘No, all I said was that the police were following another lead,’ said Libby. ‘And as far as I know, they haven’t tracked him down yet.’
‘Right.’ Ken Johnson looked at his feet. ‘Well, I hope they find him. Those women didn’t deserve to die, no matter how annoying they were.’
‘So you think it was the same person who killed them both?’ said Fran, suddenly coming into the conversation.
‘Wasn’t it?’ Ken looked from one to the other, bewildered.
Fran shrugged. ‘We don’t know. Neither do the police.’
‘It was nice to meet you, Ken,’ said Libby hastily, holding out a hand. ‘Glad we put your mind at rest.’
‘Er – yes.’ Ken’s answering smile was somewhat lukewarm this time, and he went off studying the ground in front of him as if in deep thought.
‘Have we found the person Dora was referring to, I wonder?’ Libby looked at Fran, head on one side.
‘I think he was at least having a fling with our Marion, don’t you?’ Fran watched the departing back.
‘He went to fix the bathroom lock and fell backwards into the bedroom?’
‘Something like that. But if he’s the murderer …’
‘You don’t know?’
Fran shook her head.
‘How old would you say he is?’ asked Libby.
‘Early fifties? He looked younger than his wife, as I remember.’
‘And therefore younger than Marion Longfellow.’ Libby nodded. ‘And it was interesting that he was so happy about going to give his DNA sample when he thought the murderer had been caught, yet when he realised he was wrong he got worried again.’
‘And so he should. It all depends where his DNA was found, doesn’t it? Suppose it’s on sheets?’
‘I would have thought our Mrs Longfellow was too fastidious not to change the sheets between guests,’ said Libby. ‘Are we going back in the shop?’
‘Yes, I want to see what their vegetables are like,’ said Fran, and led the way.
There were two people behind the counter today, one a woman Libby had seen at the rehearsals and the other an older man she’d not seen before. Neither seemed interested in her or in Ken Johnson’s ebullient greeting, but the woman smilingly packed up leeks and cauliflower for Fran.
‘You didn’t say anything,’ said Fran once they were back outside.
‘I couldn’t really. I hoped having seen Ken Johnson’s little act they’d follow it up, but as they didn’t … well. Shall we go and see Dora?’
Dora Walters seemed unsurprised but delighted to see them. After introducing Fran, Libby hurried in with her explanation of the visit.
‘Panto? Oh, that’d be nice, dear. And vicar says she’ll take me? Can my daughter come?’
‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘You and the vicar decide which night you want to come and then the vicar can let me know.’
‘Lovely,’ beamed Dora. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
‘So that’ll be four free tickets, then,’ said Libby. ‘I can’t make Patti and Anne pay if Dora’s going free.’
‘So have they caught the murderer, then?’ Dora came back into the room and perched on the edge of a chair. ‘Someone was saying in the shop …’
‘No, not yet. We met Ken Johnson in the shop just now, and he seemed to think the murderer had been caught, too.’ Libby waited hopefully for Dora’s answer.
‘Him.’ Dora sniffed. ‘He was one of them.’
‘One of..?’ Libby prompted.
‘Her men. The Longfellow woman. He was always round there.’
‘Is that who you meant when you spoke about a younger man last week?’
‘Eh?’ Dora looked confused. ‘Oh – kettle.’ She got up and went back to the kitchen.
‘That’s made it worse than ever,’ said Fran. ‘Now what?’
Dora reappeared with the tea tray and offered cake.
‘Course, there’s been a bit of talk in the village since you was here last,’ she said handing round cups. ‘All them men she had up there.’
‘Yes, we heard, but she used to try and get people to do odd jobs for nothing, didn’t she?’ said Libby.
‘That’s what they say,’ said Dora, with another sniff.
‘When I was last here you said there was one par
ticular man –’ Libby tried again.
‘Only gossip. Told you,’ said Dora hurriedly.
Libby and Fran looked at each other.
‘Of course, it all is,’ said Fran, smoothly, ‘all the talk about the men who went there. She often asked their wives to send them, so I don’t think there was always an ulterior motive.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Dora. ‘I just hear what they say in the shop. But I reckon there was something going on. I used to –’ she broke off and her eyes glazed over.
‘Used to what?’ Libby said softly.
Dora shook her head slightly. ‘I – er – used to see her sometimes.’
‘In the village?’
‘Course. She lives here. Well, almost.’ Dora sat up straight and picked up her cup. It was clear that whatever she’d been going to say she’d thought better of it.
‘Did the police come to see you?’ asked Libby, switching tack.
Dora beamed. ‘Oh, yes. Very nice young man with a young woman. Asked me all sorts of questions about the village.’
‘I expect you know more than most,’ said Fran.
‘Even if you did only come here after you were married,’ added Libby.
‘There’s not many has been here as long as I have. Some of the really old ones, like that Mrs Bidwell, but not many. I could tell you some tales.’
But you won’t, Libby thought. ‘That’s why the police came to you,’ she said aloud.
‘Yes,’ agreed Dora with a satisfied smile. ‘Although I did think you must’ve told them to come to me?’ She cocked an enquiring eyebrow at Libby.
‘You seemed to know more about the village than anyone else,’ said Libby, crossing her fingers.
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that …’
‘Did you ever go out to Mrs Bidwell’s or Mrs Longfellow’s houses?’ asked Fran.
‘Me? No never.’ Dora shook her head, her lips pursed. ‘Don’t like it down near the coast. They have landslides, you know.’
‘So I believe,’ said Fran. ‘I live on the coast myself.’
‘Do you, dear? Where’s that?’
Fran and Dora settled into a cosy chat about Nethergate, which Dora loved, apparently, having taken the children there when they were young for ice cream and sand-castles. Libby let her attention wander. It was clear that Dora knew, or thought she knew something, but was afraid to say anything. So far, the fishing trip hadn’t landed a catch.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘Well, that didn’t get us anywhere,’ said Libby, as they left Dora’s house.
‘In a way it did,’ said Fran. ‘She definitely thinks she knows something about someone who she isn’t going to name. And that looks like fear to me. She’s quite happy to talk about general gossip.’
‘And what about Ken Johnson? Do you think she really knows if he was having an affair?’
‘As much as we do, I’d say,’ said Fran. ‘What shall we do now?’
‘Let’s go and look at the inlet,’ said Libby.
Fran drove them to where the road petered out. They looked across to Joan Bidwell’s bungalow and Marion Longfellow’s cottage standing in isolation. The remnants of the police tape fluttered outside the cottage. A dark cloud was boiling up out over the English Channel, and the sea could be heard slapping hard into the inlet. Libby went cautiously to the edge of the cliff.
‘Look, you can hardly see the river,’ she said.
Fran followed even more cautiously. ‘You certainly couldn’t get a boat up there.’
‘So we’ve confirmed that nothing is being brought up to Felling and unloaded there. The police operation isn’t connected with anything here.’ Libby stepped away and began to walk to the end of the footpath, where she looked down at the inlet itself. ‘I don’t see how anything could be landed here anyway. It’s too rough, and there’s no way up the cliff.’ She squinted to left and right and could see no obvious landing sites.
‘But the Border Agency or whoever they are say that this whole coast is a prime area for smuggling,’ said Fran. ‘And they don’t have the resources to catch all of them.’
‘Well, I can’t see how they could land so much as a parcel down there,’ said Libby. ‘So perhaps we got this all wrong.’
‘But both women overlooked this area.’ Fran was frowning.
‘We could,’ said Libby slowly, ‘stake it out. What do you think?’
‘Wha-at?’ Fran turned in alarm. ‘Oh, come on, Libby! Every time we’ve decided to act like idiots we’ve got into trouble. You’re sounding as silly as Rosie.’
‘I bet that’s what she’s done.’ Libby looked across at the two houses on the other cliff top.
‘What, staked this place out? I thought you said she’d been taken by the murderer from the dating site?’
‘Yes, but perhaps she suggested going to Marion’s house? Meeting there?’
‘Oh, that really is far-fetched,’ said Fran, turning round and trudging back to the car. ‘However, on the basis that she might, for some arcane reason, have gone investigating, we might as well as drive round to the other side and have a look. Come on.’
They drove back to the little bridge and down the lane they had taken with Ian three weeks before.
‘I don’t fancy going all the way down that slope to the bungalow,’ said Libby. ‘You’d be very exposed.’
‘Let’s have a look round here, then,’ said Fran.
The cottage was surrounded by a low stone wall, giving unrestricted views of all sides. Fran pushed the gate open and set off round the left-hand side, peering into windows as she went.
‘Dead flowers in a vase,’ reported Libby, as she came round the other side of the house. ‘On the kitchen windowsill. The curtains are closed in that front room window.’
‘Good.’ Fran made a face. ‘Nothing else to show, and nothing to hear. We might as well go.’
‘No one would hide here,’ said Libby, as they went back to Fran’s car. ‘It’s too open. The bungalow is more difficult to get to and is slightly more protected.’
‘You said it was more exposed,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, on the path down to it, but look.’ Libby pointed. ‘It’s protected at the back by the side of the cliff, and there are walls round it. Proper ones.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Fran turned a full circle looking at both sides of the cliff top and back inland. ‘It reminds me of a Rupert Bear landscape here.’
‘So it does,’ said Libby, and climbed into the passenger seat.
‘Do you want to go anywhere else?’ asked Fran, as they drove back to the village. ‘Do you want to see Pattie? Alice?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Libby, who was sitting frowningly hunched up against the door. Fran shot her a quick look. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Just what you said about Rupert Bear.’ Libby sat up straight. ‘Let’s go home.’
Back in Steeple Martin, Libby began an internet search for Rupert Bear and at the same time phoned her daughter Belinda.
‘Have you still got any of your old Rupert Bear annuals?’
Belinda laughed. ‘Blimey, Mother! No, I haven’t. You’re more likely to have kept them than me. Why?’
‘I was reminded of something in one of the stories,’ said Libby. ‘About smugglers.’
‘I don’t remember anything about smugglers, but then, I wasn’t as devoted as you were to Rupert.’
After a brief exchange of news, Libby rang off. The sheer numbers of references to Rupert Bear on the internet was defeating her, and she gave up. Perhaps, if she just thought very hard, she might remember the story she was thinking of, and why it was relevant.
What happened in Rupert stories? There was usually some sort of quest, and it was often taking place on the common, with piles of boulders in evidence. So where would smugglers come in? And why had she thought of it?
‘Did you have Rupert Bear annuals when you were little?’ she asked Ben when he came in.
‘Sometimes, why?’
> ‘I vaguely remember a story about smugglers, and when Fran and I were over at St Aldeberge today she mentioned Rupert and the story popped into my head. I can’t think what it means.’
Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘I would have thought it was obvious,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s wondered all the way through if this case had anything to do with smuggling, so you thought of a Rupert story with smugglers.’
‘Yes, but why is it particularly relevant?’
‘OK,’ said Ben, sitting down at the kitchen table. ‘Think it through. The area. Where were you exactly?’
‘Down by the inlet where the two women lived.’
‘OK, so fairly isolated and the inlet. Could that have rung a bell?’
‘A beach, a cave?’ Libby stopped chopping vegetables. ‘That’s it. It was a cove. An inaccessible cove.’
‘There you are then. So is the inlet.’
‘But there’s no beach. Nowhere to land anything.’ Libby returned to the vegetables.
‘Was there a way out of the cove? Could that be it?’
Libby thought for a moment. ‘That could be it. A tunnel, perhaps, that came out somewhere else?’
‘There, you’ve got it. And now have a glass of wine and forget it. It’s our night off.’
Twice during the evening Libby called Rosie’s number, and when she finally got through to Andrew, she found him surprisingly calm.
‘I’ve spoken to your Inspector Ian,’ he said. ‘I told him she went off on Wednesday evening not long after she’d come here. She was mysterious, but said I wasn’t to worry, and I’ve had a couple of texts since to say she’s fine.’
‘She hasn’t replied to me once,’ said Libby, not sure if she should be pleased or worried about this news.
‘She told me particularly not to say anything to you or Fran as you’d worry. I’m sure she’s all right, Libby. She always manages to be, doesn’t she?’
‘Only if she’s rescued by someone else,’ muttered Libby.
‘There is that.’ Andrew sounded amused. ‘I’m getting used to her now, and I admit she can be a bit – what do they say these days? Flaky? But –’ he paused. ‘To be honest, I enjoy the excitement. My life was very boring before I met her. Well, before I met you and Fran, in fact.’
Murder by Magic Page 20
