Murder by Magic

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘You need a break,’ said Libby. ‘Can’t you come up here to Anne for the evening?’

  ‘It’s tempting, but Bob keeps ringing me asking me what to do with Alice. I’ve told him to get the doctor.’

  ‘That reminds me – you said you had to get Bob home from work. I thought he’d retired?’

  ‘Oh, he does a part-time job in Nethergate. Just a couple of mornings a week, I think, and of course today had to be one of his mornings.’

  ‘Well, he has no right to keep phoning you. It’s his job to look after his wife.’

  ‘That’s actually why I’m out of the house,’ said Patti, with another small giggle. ‘He hasn’t got my mobile number!’

  ‘What’s being said in the village about it all? Do they know any details?’

  ‘I don’t think so, unless they’ve made some up, which wouldn’t surprise me. All I know is Mrs Johnson had been found by you and Fran, was unconscious and in hospital and they needed to get hold of her husband.’

  There was a faint question in Patti’s voice.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you anything,’ said Libby.

  ‘Then don’t. I’ll no doubt hear about it eventually, and I fully expect there to be more questions from the police. Look if I hear anything else, I’ll ring you, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll see you on Wednesday? In the pub?’

  Now it was relief in Patti’s voice. ‘Look forward to it.’

  Almost as soon as she ended the call the phone rang again.

  ‘Libby, I’ve got to be quick, but I thought you’d like to know we think we’ve found Rosie.’

  ‘Ian! You’re at a wedding!’

  ‘Just going in. But I’ve kept in touch with Maiden.’

  ‘But how? Where is she? Is she all right?’

  ‘Her credit card details turned up at a hotel in London. If she’s there, Maiden will let you know. Got to go.’

  Libby was left staring at the phone. Credit card? Showed up? She shook her head. The wonders of technology.

  After calling both Ben and Fran to let them know, she returned to her sorely neglected painting and tried to concentrate on that, but her mind wasn’t on it.

  Her next phone calls were, predictably, from Campbell McLean at Kent and Coast Television and from Jane Baker in her professional capacity as Nethergate Mercury reporter.

  ‘I don’t know anything, Campbell,’ she said. ‘All I’m doing is helping the St Aldeberge vicar with her Nativity pageant.’

  ‘You must do, Libby. I know you. You wouldn’t have backed away from this.’

  ‘I’m not backing away from anything, I just don’t know anything,’ insisted Libby. ‘I’m sure the police will let you know what you need to know.’

  ‘That’s it, they won’t,’ complained Campbell. ‘We picked it up last night, but nothing since. It’s already been dubbed –’

  ‘The Flower Lady Murders, I know,’ interrupted Libby.

  ‘And a little bird tells me you had a fire the other night.’

  ‘Really? Which little bird was that?’

  ‘Could have been a fireman,’ said Campbell. ‘Not saying.’

  ‘Please don’t do anything with that, Campbell,’ said Libby. ‘It isn’t relevant.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Campbell, obviously a seething mass of professional curiosity.

  ‘If there’s anything I can tell you, you know I will,’ Libby finished. ‘And now I’m going.’

  ‘It wasn’t you,’ she said to Jane five minutes later, ‘who dubbed them The Flower Lady Murders?’

  ‘Me? No,’ said Jane with a laugh. ‘I think you’ll find that was a tabloid.’

  ‘Oh, lawks. I hope they don’t ferret out my connection.’

  ‘Is it true you had a fire the other night?’ said Jane.

  ‘Oh, the same fireman told you, did he?’

  ‘No we picked it up from the usual sources. I didn’t call you about that because we don’t work on Sundays and I thought this morning it would be insensitive. Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, and it was only a hedge. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you, Jane. When it’s all sorted I’ll tell you what I can, but at the moment I don’t know anything. How’s Imogen?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. Being very bright and appealing. We’ll have to have a reciprocal dinner for you and the Wolfes. It’s ridiculous to live so near and not see you more often.’

  After ending the call, Libby sat in puzzled silence. Both Campbell and Jane had referred to the murders, as had Patti’s caller. This meant the police hadn’t released the knowledge that Sheila Johnson was still alive. This, Libby decided, was in order to lull the murderer into a false sense of security. She sighed and went to make tea.

  Sergeant Maiden called just after five o’clock.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know we’ve found Mrs George,’ he said. ‘Or rather, the Met did.’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘Oh, very much. In a very nice, exclusive hotel in London. She was scared, but pleased it was us that found her.’

  ‘So what has she been doing? And why was she there?’

  ‘Actually, Mrs Sarjeant, she’s staying there. For various reasons. But she’s happy to see you or Mrs Wolfe if you feel like going to visit her. But if you don’t mind, you’ll have to report into the local police station and let them escort you. I can’t give you any details.’

  ‘Goodness! How dramatic,’ said Libby.

  ‘It’s very serious, Mrs Sarjeant.’ Maiden’s usual cheerfulness had evaporated. ‘I’m sure Mr Connell will explain things when he gets back.’

  ‘Can we see Mrs George tomorrow?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’m sure you can. If you ring me on this number when you’ve decided when to go, I’ll liaise with the Met.’

  ‘Are we going, then?’ she said to Fran five minutes later.

  ‘Of course. I’ll pick you up and we’ll get the train from Canterbury. There’s one that goes just after ten and gets in at about twenty to twelve.’

  Libby then relayed this information to Sergeant Maiden, and ten minutes later to Ben when he arrived from the Manor.

  ‘It’s been an interesting day,’ she said finally. ‘And I still don’t know what’s going on. Perhaps I’ll find out from Rosie tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m pleased the police are being so careful,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll feel better about you going off hot on the trail again.’

  ‘Yes, but the police are organising it, so it must be all right,’ said Libby. ‘Now, do you want a drink before dinner?’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The train the following morning was full of shopping-trip passengers, being the first of the day to benefit from Cheap Day Return prices. This meant Fran and Libby couldn’t discuss the reason for their trip and had to content themselves with listening to the conversations of others, the most intriguing of which were those one-sided ones held with a mobile phone. Libby couldn’t help laughing after a particularly explicit description of someone else’s affair.

  ‘Was she there, do you think?’ she whispered to Fran. ‘That’s how gossip spreads, isn’t it? I don’t suppose any of those details were true, but they’ll get passed on.’

  ‘Which is what happened to Patti. We still don’t know who started the witchcraft rumour.’

  ‘Ssh!’ Libby looked nervously round, but no one appeared to be taking the slightest notice of them.

  ‘Now we know that Sheila was connected with –’ Fran paused, ‘with the group, perhaps it was her?’

  ‘But that would draw attention to it, as would the – ah – accoutrements of Marion’s …’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran shook her head. ‘I just can’t imagine what Rosie’s going to have to tell us.’

  In a fit of generosity, Fran paid for a taxi to take them to the police station, where a very young DC was deputed to escort them to Rosie’s hotel. He took them straight up to the first floor and along the deeply carpeted, wood-panelled corridor. The s
ilence was so deep it felt solid.

  He knocked at the door of number 7, and was answered by a female voice that wasn’t Rosie. Libby and Fran frowned at each other.

  ‘DC Millard,’ said the young officer, and the door was opened by a young woman with a blonde ponytail and a determined expression.

  ‘Mrs Sarjeant and Mrs Wolfe?’ she said. They nodded and were handed over. DC Millard and the blonde stayed by the door while Libby and Fran went forward into what looked like the sitting room in an Edwardian country house.

  ‘Oh, Libby! Fran!’ Rosie flew across the carpet and enveloped them both in a hug.

  ‘My God!’ said Libby, pulling back. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

  For Rosie had purple hair.

  ‘Oh, this? I’ll explain everything in a minute. Do you want lunch? A drink?’

  ‘A sandwich?’ suggested Fran.

  ‘Glass of wine?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘I’ll fetch it,’ said DC Millard. ‘Tell them when you order.’

  ‘I only have to order the sandwiches,’ said a very dignified Rosie. ‘I have wine here, thank you.’

  She ordered sandwiches from room service and DC Millard departed on his mission, while the blonde officer took a chair in the lobby of what now they saw was a suite, and Rosie poured wine for them all.

  ‘The hair,’ said Libby.

  ‘Start at the beginning,’ said Fran.

  ‘Right,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, I suppose that would be when I left Steeple Farm. The renovations I was having done were nearly finished, and I’d realised I was on a hiding to nothing with the dating site, until Libby and I worked out that Marion had been using it and been in touch with this Bruno51.’

  ‘And we told you to keep out of his way,’ said Libby.

  ‘I know.’ Rosie gave a deep sigh. ‘And I wish I had, now.’

  ‘But you didn’t,’ said Fran. ‘And it all went wrong.’

  ‘You’d better tell us how you kept in touch. Ian was tracking you on the website and you weren’t there, either of you.’

  ‘It was after I mentioned Marion Longfellow by her screen name. He suddenly got interested. I have to say, I was quite excited –’ Rosie broke off and looked down into her wine glass. ‘I’d realised that a woman over sixty on those sites is virtually invisible.’ She looked up at Libby. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, that I actually registered on three different sites? Each ad was different, and each picture was different, and I didn’t think anyone would recognise me.’ She laughed. ‘Recognise me? I don’t think anyone even looked.’

  ‘But you said this Bruno51 had been in touch before,’ said Libby.

  ‘I might have bent the truth a little there,’ said Rosie, colouring a little. ‘I sent him a message and he acknowledged it. That was all.’

  ‘So how did you keep in touch?’

  ‘I sent a last message telling him who I was. You’d told me your Ian would track us, so I did that just before I closed the computer. You didn’t see.’

  Libby let out an impatient sigh. ‘So then what?’

  ‘I got an email via my website. I sent him a web email address and then we used my smart phone to email back and forth.’

  ‘And so you met him?’ said Fran, leaning forward.

  ‘Not until the other night,’ said Rosie. ‘You see, the emails started getting a bit – odd. He started saying Marion and he had a very – er – particular relationship, and had she ever mentioned him. Of course, by that time I’d forgotten I’d pretended to know her, but I said no, anyway. So then he went on to ask if we’d shared any of the same interests, so I said flower arranging, as that was the only interest I knew.’

  ‘Why was that odd?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It wasn’t that. It was when he started asking about the other interests.’ Rosie’s colour was getting high again. ‘That was when I moved up here.’

  ‘You were going into hiding?’ said Fran. ‘From us? Ian? Or Bruno?’

  ‘Everybody. I knew you and Ian would be angry with me, and I didn’t really want Bruno finding me, which I decided he probably would if I stayed in the area.’

  ‘So what were these other interests?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Well, it took quite a long instant messaging conversation to find out, as he was dribbling information in piecemeal, but eventually it turned out to be Black Magic.’ Rosie took a deep breath and looked Libby straight in the eye. ‘And that’s when I decided I simply had to find out.’

  ‘And what happened next?’ asked Fran after a moment.

  ‘I’m afraid I pretended to be quite excited about that. I was remembering what you’d told me about the dead cockerels and how Marion’s body had been found, so I could see it was relevant. I let some of that slip, so he would think I really was a friend of hers, and it all came out. The coven was a bit of fun, he said. They all dressed up and got a kick out of the freedom it gave them. I asked if the rituals didn’t mean something, and he immediately went on the defensive and said yes, of course. Then a bit further into our conversation he said that of course, they often had to take a little something to heighten the experience.’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Fran.

  ‘And all this time you hadn’t actually spoken to him?’ said Libby.

  ‘No.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I spent most of my time in here with the smart phone. Eventually, I did go out and buy a cheap laptop, just to do some work in between messages. In the end, he sent me an email telling me about the next meeting, which was–’

  ‘Sunday night,’ said Libby. ‘And you called me to go with you. I wish I had.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Rosie shook her head again, quite violently. ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘So why did you go?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I thought if I had concrete evidence of what was going on I could give it to the police.’ She looked up and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway. He said to meet him at the gate of the old Dunton Estate. He said would I wear something distinctive. So I said I had red hair these days.’

  ‘So that’s it!’ said Libby. ‘You went out and dyed it?’

  ‘I bought a bottle from one of those lovely Goth shops,’ said Rosie with a smile. ‘I did it here, and it went purple. I expect it’s because my hair is so –’ she slid a look at Libby with a shamefaced little laugh, ‘so faded. It took too well.’

  ‘So you met him,’ Fran prompted.

  ‘Well, not exactly.’

  Libby and Fran exchanged glances.

  ‘I parked my car, and this person suddenly opened the passenger door and got in. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but it was a woman, and she seemed so normal and – well, motherly, almost.’

  ‘Sheila Johnson,’ said Libby and Fran together.

  ‘I don’t know, but she told me where to drive, saying I was the lady they were expecting, but not mentioning Bruno. We drove down a track to where there was this huge old tree, and there were lots of other people there, all wearing cloaks. And a man opened my door and said welcome, and that was when they blindfolded me.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Libby. ‘How terrifying.’

  ‘I was scared stiff,’ nodded Rosie. ‘Then they led me forward and I was told to take off my clothes. That was when I got really scared. I refused, and this one man, whom I took to be Bruno, said very gently that I couldn’t join in the fun properly unless I did, and he’d thought this was what I wanted. I had enough wit left to say that I’d never done anything like this before and couldn’t I just watch for a bit.’ She shook her head. ‘Then they all laughed and led me a bit further and told me to stand there. After a minute my blindfold was taken off and there they all were, a dozen of them, all wearing cloaks with huge hoods so I couldn’t see their faces. Then they turned away from me and began chanting. One of them was in the centre and he began passing something round. I don’t know whether it was just an ordinary joint or if it had cocaine in it, but suddenly they all began to sway and the chanting got louder. I realised they were high and then one of the women thr
ew back her cloak and I saw she was naked, and the one in the middle pulled her towards him. And he had the most enormous –’ Rosie stopped, brick-red again.

  ‘Erection,’ said Libby and Fran together, and Libby saw the policewoman look up.

  ‘Yes. And then – well, it just developed into a free-for-all, so I turned and began to creep away, but someone caught me. It was a man and he started whispering vile things in my ear, and telling me I was turned on, wasn’t I, and I wanted to be sick. Then there was a shout and they all went quiet. I was let go and when I turned, they were all bending over something on the floor, then one of them said something and they all began to melt away. I mean, it was so weird. They just all left, quite silently. Into the wood across the field, down the lane. And there was this one person, the man in the centre, I think, and he was looking at me. I just ran for my car and drove hell for leather out of there and straight back here.’ Rosie leant back in her chair and took a sip of wine. ‘It was ghastly.’

  ‘I wonder what had happened to Sheila?’ said Libby. ‘Overdose of whatever they were using, perhaps?’

  ‘Could be heart failure,’ said Fran, ‘but she was lucky.’ She turned to Rosie. ‘We thought it was you.’

  ‘Did you?’ How?’ Rosie looked bewildered, and Fran explained.

  ‘So you saved her life,’ said Rosie. ‘That’s something, I suppose. Has she told the police anything?’

  ‘Last I heard yesterday she was still alive in intensive care, so I don’t suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘And you were right about the drugs at the Willoughby Oak, Fran.’

  ‘Just a shame that Ian didn’t keep it as a crime scene,’ agreed Fran. ‘Still at least they know now that Marion was part of the coven, or whatever they like to call themselves, and that Bruno would seem to be the leader. But who is he? He’s good at covering his tracks.’

  ‘But why were they chatting on the dating site?’ asked Rosie. ‘If they knew each other in real life. Very well, it seems.’

  ‘To protect themselves?’ suggested Libby. ‘As you were, with your web-based email.’

  ‘I suppose so. Weird, though,’ said Fran. ‘And the police obviously think he’s likely to come after you, now?’