Murder by Magic

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘It would seem so,’ said Rosie, glancing towards the officer in the lobby. ‘They won’t let me go back home, anyway. They’re keeping an eye on my place and Andrew’s flat. The trouble is, I let him know who I really was.’

  ‘So he could track you down. And what? He thinks you know who he is?’

  ‘He certainly thinks I know as much as I do about the coven and the drugs. But then, he’ll know the police do too, now, so I don’t see why I’m in any danger. After all, the lady who’s in hospital can tell them when she wakes up, can’t she?’

  ‘No, actually, Rosie. Because he thinks she’s dead. You’re the only one who might give him away,’ said Libby.

  ‘But I don’t know who he is!’ cried Rosie. ‘How could I give him away?’

  ‘Perhaps he thinks you do know. After all, you said you were a friend of Marion’s. He’ll think she talked to you about her life and other friends, and you may have put two and two together.’

  Rosie looked aghast and Libby’s phone rang.

  ‘Are you with Rosie?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Yes, she’s just told us all about Bruno and Sunday night.’

  ‘I’m sending someone to fetch you all,’ said Ian. ‘Someone’s tried to burn down Rosie’s house.’

  And DC Millard came in with the sandwiches.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Rosie sat between Libby and Fran in the back of the unmarked police car, shivering occasionally.

  ‘If I’d been there,’ she said repeatedly.

  ‘Look, you weren’t. And what could you have done to prevent it? You probably would have given the alarm, too,’ Libby said.

  ‘Thank goodness Andrew went just at that time to feed Talbot,’ said Fran.

  ‘Just like Harry and Pete being with me when we found my fire,’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes, it’s already happened to you, hasn’t it?’ Rosie turned her head slightly to face Libby. ‘Do they think it’s the same person?’

  ‘I only know what Ian told us on the phone,’ said Libby, ‘but it’s a fair bet, isn’t it?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Fran, leaning forward to speak to the driver. ‘Where exactly are we going? Only my car’s in Canterbury.’

  ‘That’s all right, ma’am. We’re going to the police station to meet DCI Connell.’

  ‘He’s back already?’ Libby looked at Fran with raised eyebrows.

  ‘On his way, apparently. Driving straight from Gatwick.’

  ‘He’ll be in a mood them’ muttered Libby, settling back in her corner.

  Ian had obviously arrived only minutes before them at the police station. As they were all shown into his office he was still snapping instructions into the phone and to a scared-looking female officer at the desk.

  Dismissing her and their escort, he waved the three women to seats and stood leaning on the desk with his head down. They watched in silence. He raised his head.

  ‘I want to say how sorry I am, Mrs George,’ he said eventually. ‘We should have been watching your house more closely. We unfortunately couldn’t afford to have someone there permanently, so we were simply using regular patrols. It was very lucky that Professor Wylie happened to go along when he did.’

  ‘Is Talbot all right?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Professor Wylie took him back to his flat with him. Not that there’s much damage to your property, it was mainly the building materials which had been left outside.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Will I be allowed to go back there?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t, until we’ve apprehended the person who did this,’ said Ian. ‘At least, not on your own.’

  ‘Is it the same person who burnt my hedge?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It looks like it. The same accelerant was used.’

  ‘Was it red diesel?’

  Ian looked startled. ‘No! Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ said Libby.

  Ian cast her a suspicious glance before continuing. ‘However,’ he said, ‘had you not continued to make contact with this man, he wouldn’t have felt the need either to silence you or warn you off.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Rosie, rallying, ‘the fact that I did had the direct result of Fran worrying about me and therefore saving that poor woman’s life.’ She looked suddenly frightened. ‘She is still alive, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she is, and of course, you’re quite right.

  ‘Is she still in a coma? What caused it?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Massive dose of one of the so-called legal highs,’ said Ian. ‘Traces of which were also found in Marion Longfellow’s system.’

  There were exclamations from the three women.

  ‘So the Black Magic thing was at the centre of it after all?’ said Libby.

  ‘Part of it, Lib. We think smuggling is the real heart of it. The reason for the first murder.’

  ‘Because of the inlet?’

  ‘In part.’ Ian smiled at her eagerness. ‘Now Mrs, George, I know you said in your statement –’ his eyes flicked to a computer screen, ‘that you couldn’t see anyone clearly on Sunday night, but is there any chance you could recognise a voice?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘Nobody spoke in a normal voice.’

  ‘Ian, it’s got to be someone Sheila knows.’ Libby leant forward.

  ‘And her husband is, in fact, with us now.’ Ian smiled round at their shocked faces.

  ‘What did you expect? He was the obvious candidate, but in fact he was at the pub in the village on Sunday night, not prancing around under a tree. However, he has told us a good deal. And of course, he couldn’t be the person who tried to fire your house, Mrs George, because he was here.’

  ‘What’s he told you?’ asked Fran.

  ‘That the group of devotees, if you can call them that, is called the Temple of Astarte, a name which means nothing, just gives a spurious spirituality to their meetings. You’ve seen it before, Fran.’

  ‘I know, at Tyne Chapel.’ Fran shivered.

  ‘Exactly. Apparently it was Marion Longfellow who introduced Sheila and her husband Ken. I must say, having met them both earlier in the enquiry I wouldn’t have thought it of them. He is very tight-lipped on the subject of the other members, although he does admit that the most senior member appears to be the supplier of the drugs, which vary from time to time. Ken says he was getting fed up with it, especially since Marion died. I think, though he hasn’t exactly admitted it, that he and Marion were having an affair.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Libby when Ian appeared to have finished. ‘No other suspects?’

  ‘What do you expect us to do, Libby? Bring in every man and woman in the surrounding area and accuse them of witchcraft?’

  ‘People in the village. What about them?’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Miss Pearson and your friend Alice and her husband Bob, as well as the two churchwardens Mr Brice and Mr Blanchard. As you would expect, all shocked and well-alibied. We asked them for the names of any other friends of the Johnsons but none of them seemed to move in similar social circles, other than the church.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Libby with a frown.

  ‘You do nothing. Fran can collect her car and take you home, or we will, and we will take Mrs George to Professor Wylie’s flat. I’m not forbidding you to go to St Aldeberge to see Miss Pearson and your friend Alice, but you must not start poking your nose into anything more. Understand?’

  Libby stopped herself from looking at Fran and nodded.

  ‘Right. Thanks for coming in, and once again, Mrs George, I’m sorry about the fire.’

  Dismissed, the three women stood up and the female officer escorted them from Ian’s office.

  ‘Didn’t even get a chance to ask him how the wedding was,’ muttered Libby.

  Rosie, was spirited off to be driven home in a police car, and Libby and Fran were driven back to where they’d left Fran’s car earlier that day. By this time it was beginning to get dark, but Libby had something on her mind.


  ‘Will you drive me to the inlet?’ she asked Fran, when they were inside the car.

  ‘The inlet? At this time of day? You wouldn’t be able to see anything.’

  ‘If you don’t want to, drop me at home and I’ll go on my own. Actually, you’d better do that, because otherwise you’d have to drive me all the way back to Steeple Martin.’

  Fran sighed. ‘I’ll do that, but if you’re determined to go, I’ll follow you, if only to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.’

  Libby smiled. ‘Good. I’m sure there’s something to be seen there. And possibly in the dark.’

  ‘Fluorescent parcels of drugs?’

  ‘Don’t be sarky. I just thought perhaps a gleam of metal …’

  ‘Metal?’ Fran risked a quick frowning glance at her friend.

  ‘Just thinking,’ said Libby.

  It was completely dark when Fran dropped Libby by the side of her own battered Romeo the Renault.

  ‘What exactly are we going to do there?’

  ‘I just want to have a look. Have you got a torch in the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. See you there.’ Libby got into her car, started the engine and began her seven-point turn.

  It was totally black when they left their cars at the end of the lane and began to walk along the path to the edge of the cliff, and both of them were pleased they had torches.

  ‘I’m pretty sure Ian wouldn’t like this,’ said Fran.

  ‘I know he wouldn’t, but I’ve got a theory.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, this unknown bloke who was seen with Marion Longfellow in The Red Lion by George, sounds like the same one who Mrs Dora was referring to and Bruno51. Why haven’t we seen any trace of him?’

  ‘Because we haven’t met him?’

  ‘But we must have done. He must be part of this circle of people.’

  ‘But don’t forget, I probably wouldn’t know if I had met the murderer. I haven’t in the past, have I? It would make Ian’s life very simple if he could just parade suspects in front of me and I could say “That’s him!”.’

  ‘So it could be Ken?’

  ‘But he was at the pub Sunday night. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Sheila’s attack.’

  ‘He’s admitted he was part of the coven.’

  ‘If he was there he’d never have got back home in time for the police to find him there. She was identified on the spot, and the police already had his details, so they would have been on to him really quickly.’

  ‘So what’s your theory?’

  ‘I’ve got a couple,’ said Libby. ‘But one is, why are we assuming the murderer is a man?’

  Fran stopped and turned to Libby.

  ‘But Rosie –’

  ‘Forget that,’ said Libby. ‘Yes, Rosie saw at least one man last night. But the leader of the coven or whatever they are doesn’t have to be a man, and there’s nothing easier than to pretend to be a man online to lure women in. Remember, Rosie didn’t even talk to him on the phone.’

  ‘But what about Mrs Dora’s man? The one George saw with Marion Longfellow?’

  ‘He might have nothing to do with it. Or be a member of this Astarte mob from outside the village. All the way through we’ve thought the murders have to have something to do with the village – or more specifically, the church – community. It might not have.’

  ‘But the first murder was Mrs Bidwell, and she was actually killed in the church.’

  ‘But we know now the church was full of people from outside the village. It could have been anyone. And it could have been a woman.’

  ‘Not Patti.’ Fran made it a statement.

  ‘I would hope not,’ said Libby, frowning down at where waves splashed against the side of the cliff. Glinting in the light from her torch she saw what she’d hoped to see. ‘Look.’

  Fran gingerly leant closer to the edge and peered over. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Metal.’ Libby got down on the ground and lay on her stomach to try and look closer. ‘I remembered seeing something down there when we first came. You can only see it from this side of the inlet, not the other where the two houses are. I’m surprised the police haven’t found it.’

  ‘Is it a shopping trolley?’ Fran joined Libby on the ground and trained her torch on the same spot.

  ‘No. It’s a wheelchair.’

  They looked at each other, and then stood up.

  ‘When was it put there? Not straight after the service?’ Fran brushed down her coat.

  ‘No, I reckon it was in someone’s boot.’ Libby turned the torch back to the path and began to make her way back to the cars. ‘I shall have to tell Ian.’

  ‘Yes, you will, but why was it suddenly so important to look for it today?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Because things are hotting up. We’ve had two fires and the attempted murder of Sheila Johnson. The police need to find the murderer, and when I remembered I’d seen something in the inlet that first day, which I took no notice of, I wondered if it was the wheelchair and if it was, if it had any fingerprints or DNA evidence left.’

  They reached the cars and Libby took out her phone.

  ‘You said you had a couple of theories,’ said Fran. ‘One was that the killer might be a woman. What was the other?’

  ‘I’ve already said, that the mystery man may have nothing to do with the case.’

  ‘But Dora knew him, she said.’

  ‘So she did.’ Libby shrugged. ‘Oh, well, I’ll just report this to Ian and go home. I feel we’re probably doing the “heroine going into the haunted cellar” routine out here in the dark.’

  ‘We are.’ Fran looked round the deserted cliff top and shivered.

  ‘Go on, you go home,’ said Libby. ‘I’m just going to call Ian.’

  ‘Send him a text,’ said Fran. ‘Then he won’t bawl you out.’

  Fran got into her car and drove off. Libby got into hers and sent a text to Ian. Then called Ben to tell him she was on her way. It was just as she put the phone in her pocket and switched on the engine that she became aware of a pinprick of light on the other side of the inlet. She squinted through the darkness and realised that it was a light in Marion Longfellow’s cottage. As she watched, she saw a brighter light go on.

  ‘Oh, God, not another fire,’ she whispered to herself. Risking turning on her headlights, she began driving towards the road, where she could cross to the other side of the inlet. Once across, she turned off the lights and engine and freewheeled nearer to the cottage.

  ‘OK, not a fire,’ she muttered. ‘Just someone inside.’ She took out her phone and this time rang Ian’s number.

  ‘What?’ His exasperated voice snapped at her.

  ‘Ian, there’s someone in Mrs Longfellow’s cottage.’

  ‘Where are you? I told you to go home and do NOTHING!’

  ‘Did you get my text?’

  ‘No. That’s not an answer.’

  ‘I’m at the inlet. Obviously.’

  ‘Get out of there. Now. I mean it, Libby.’

  ‘But – there’s someone –’

  ‘I heard you the first time. It’s already being dealt with.’

  ‘You mean you knew –?’

  ‘No, of course not. We’re sending someone out. Now GO.’

  The phone went dead and Libby put it on the seat beside her. And realised she was going to have to reverse along a pitch-black track.

  She opened the car door cautiously, to see if she had any room to turn the car round. She hadn’t. Shutting it as quietly as she could, she started the engine and put the car into reverse. The reversing lights gave a faint glow behind her, but not enough to illuminate the track. With a sinking feeling, she realised she could easily reverse right over the cliff edge. Very carefully, twisted at an unnatural angle, she slowly released the clutch and the car crept backwards. After what could only have been a few feet, she braked and turned to the front to give her aching neck muscles a chance.

  And someon
e was staring in at her.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Her foot jerked off the clutch pedal and the car jumped forward and stalled. As it did so, the car door was pulled open.

  ‘Get out of the car.’ Her arm was being pulled with such force she thought it might break. Then the figure threw itself across her and fumbled for the seat belt. Libby tried to scream, but found herself muffled by a strong hand, then dragged out of the car on to the ground.

  ‘Made it bloody easy for me, haven’t you, you interfering bitch?’ Libby peered up into the darkness, sure she recognised the voice, but the hood and scarf covering the face defeated her.

  Comforting herself with the thought that Ian was sending reinforcements, she tried to scramble to her feet, aware of every limb trembling violently, and a strange feeling of blood draining towards her feet. Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain it could be heard yards away. Perhaps I’ll have a heart attack, she thought vaguely.

  ‘Now, what will it be?’ whispered the voice. ‘Fire in the cottage? Or shall we send the car into the sea?’

  ‘To join the wheelchair?’ Libby croaked out.

  ‘Oh, yes, I saw that you’d seen that. Really gave the game away, didn’t it?’

  And Libby realised who it was.

  Gavin Brice pulled her to her feet and holding her arms, peered into her face.

  ‘Might as well send you over the cliff in the car,’ he said meditatively. ‘Got to get rid of the car, anyway.’

  ‘But it will be seen, as soon as the police arrive,’ said Libby in a voice quite unlike her own.

  ‘And I’ll be long gone.’ He shook her. ‘See out there?’ He jerked his head towards the open sea, and, to her surprise, she managed to make out the shape of a small boat riding about two hundred metres offshore without lights. ‘Couldn’t go on for ever. I should have gone before you started poking your fucking nose in.’ He peered at her again. ‘Back to the house.’ He swung her round so that she stumbled and began to push her towards the cottage.

  Libby wondered why they were going there, if he meant to push her and the car off the cliff top, then realised he couldn’t risk getting her into the car while she was conscious, as she’d fight and probably send them both over. So, what? He could have hit her over the head out in the open. But perhaps, said her confused brain, he didn’t have anything suitable out there?