Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series

by Lesley Cookman

  Libby sighed. There was so much she didn’t understand, she just wanted to do what she’d said last night to Belinda, put her hands over her ears and run away.

  ‘Oh, God. I shall have to tell Pete.’ She looked up. ‘By the way, why didn’t you want to say this in front of him and Ben?’

  ‘Because of James, of course. He really is the main suspect, isn’t he?’

  ‘Didn’t they tell you last night?’ said Libby, surprised. ‘The police have found out – why they didn’t before, I don’t know – that he was in London that night, and didn’t know anything about the bedspread. Did you know about the bedspread? Well, you must have done, if you found the body, I suppose.’

  ‘Bedspread?’ David’s mouth was hanging open again. It really didn’t suit him.

  ‘Didn’t you see it? The police said it was with the body. We didn’t know until James told us.’

  ‘No, I didn’t see it. It wasn’t in the car, I’m sure.’ David was looking quite sick, now. ‘Where did James say it was?’

  ‘He didn’t. As far as I can gather the police just thrust it at him in an evidence bag and asked if he recognised it. I don’t know if it was used to move the body or what, but apparently she wasn’t killed in the car.’

  ‘Yes, but I found her in the car,’ said David. ‘In the driver’s seat.’

  ‘Well, if she was, she was moved somehow.’

  David put his head in his hands. ‘God.’

  Libby looked down on him. ‘I know. It’s horrific, isn’t it? Now I really must go or the children will think I’ve been kidnapped. Oh, and David, she was pregnant. They told James. He’s had to give a DNA sample.’

  She left David sitting at the table, his head still in his hands. She felt sorry for him, but there was too much else to think about. She would have to tell Peter and Ben about David’s theory and get the theatre checked before tonight’s final performance. She was beginning to wish she’d taken more notice of Fran.

  On impulse, she knocked at the door of The Pink Geranium on the way past. Harry poked his head out from the back, saw who it was, and came to unlock.

  ‘What’s up, petal?’

  ‘Is Pete around?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No, he’s at home with James. Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. I’ll call him when I get home.’

  Harry frowned. ‘Come on, what’s going on now?’

  ‘Nothing, I told you. I just need to speak to him before tonight.’ Libby smiled brightly. ‘See you later.’

  She briefly contemplated walking up to The Manor to see if Ben was in, but decided she might as well go home and phone. The children would probably be up by now, making inroads into the contents of her fridge.

  Libby stepped into Number 17 and was immediately assailed by the scent of healthy young male. She opened the curtains and the window in the sitting room, frowned at the sleeping bags discarded like snake skins on the floor and followed the smell of burnt toast into the conservatory.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Belinda, waving a slice of toast in one hand and stroking Sidney with the other.

  ‘Morning all,’ said Libby. ‘Sleep well?’

  Belinda nodded and the boys grunted. Satisfied, Libby retreated to the sitting room and picked up the phone.

  ‘Pete, it’s me. I’ve just been to see David, and he told me something rather odd. I’d quite like to talk to you and Ben about it. And James, actually.’

  She heard a deep sigh. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, what now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Pete, it’s not my fault this time, honestly. In fact, I still don’t really know why David chose to tell me.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask him?’

  ‘Well, of course I did, and he gave me some sort of explanation which didn’t make sense. He said he was concerned for you and James, I think. Oh, and he didn’t know about the bedspread.’

  ‘How can he not have known? The police said it was in the car with her.’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask me, I’m beyond it all. But I really do need to speak to you.’

  ‘All right,’ Peter sighed again. ‘Are you taking your rabble for a pint before they go home, did you say?’

  ‘Yes, in about – ooh,’ Libby looked at her watch, ‘about an hour, I should think.’

  ‘So shall I meet you in the pub?’

  ‘I’d rather meet you at the theatre.’

  ‘The theatre? Good lord, haven’t you seen enough of that place this week?’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Libby. ‘I’m going to phone Ben, and I’ll go down there as soon as he can open up.’

  ‘If he’s around this morning.’

  ‘Oh, no! Don’t tell me he’s gone somewhere.’

  ‘He was taking Hetty shopping this morning, I know. She wanted to do some food for the party tonight.’

  ‘Oh, well, just you, then. Will I be able to get the keys from The Manor or will you bring yours?’

  Peter sighed again. ‘I’ll bring mine. I’ll see you there in about twenty minutes. All right? And this had better be worth it.’

  He was right. Gregory Wilde answered the phone breathlessly but courteously. No, neither Hetty nor Ben was there, but he expected them back within the next half hour or so. Could he take a message?

  Libby left a message asking Ben to get in touch as soon as he could, and apologising, told her children she would see them in the pub in an hour. She wished they were staying another night, so she could have spent some uninterrupted time with them the next day.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I forgot,’ said Belinda, as she was stepping out of the front door. ‘Someone called Fran phoned. I told her you’d ring her when you got back.’

  ‘I’ll have to do it later,’ said Libby. ‘Did she say anything else?’

  ‘No,’ said Belinda, ‘but she sounded a bit agitated.’

  ‘Oh, lord.’ Libby frowned, wondering whether she should phone Fran before going to the theatre. Thinking Fran was unlikely to point the finger at anyone specifically, she decided against it. She smiled brightly at Belinda. ‘I’ll tell you about her at the pub. See you later.’

  Summer is definitely nearly here, Libby thought, unwrapping her cloak as she trotted down Allhallow’s Lane for the second time that morning. It was really quite warm.

  Peter was already at the theatre when she got there, and so, to her surprise, was James.

  ‘I need to get out and be normal,’ he explained. ‘And go back home to the flat, as well.’

  ‘Haven’t you got to decide what to do about Millie?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Of course we have, but it needn’t concern James. I can take care of it as I live in the village,’ said Peter.

  ‘Millie’s actually one of the reasons I wanted to see you,’ said Libby, feeling nervous. Her heart had started bumping away as though she was about to step on stage not knowing the script.

  ‘I might have guessed,’ said Peter, glowering at her. ‘Go on. What now?’

  ‘David wanted to see me because … well. He says she didn’t cut that wire.’

  Peter and James stared at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or the bridge. He says she couldn’t have done. She’s got arthritis, apparently. I always said I couldn’t see her doing that, didn’t I?’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ asked James. ‘It means she isn’t under suspicion for anything.’

  ‘The police never thought she was behind the accidents. They really didn’t pay much attention to them once they realised they didn’t have anything to do with Paula.’ Libby sat down on one of the little wrought-iron chairs. ‘No, I’m afraid it means someone else caused them.’

  ‘So? I’m sorry, I don’t understand the urgency.’ Peter leaned up against the bar and folded his arms. ‘So someone else did them. What are you saying?’

  ‘That person’s still about and we don’t know who it is,’ said Libby.

  ‘And they might not be finished,’ said James, obviously catching on.

  They all looked at one another.

>   ‘And it could be the murderer,’ said Peter, slowly.

  ‘David said we’d all thought that before we knew Millie did them,’ said Libby.

  ‘Except she didn’t,’ said James.

  ‘So what are we saying, here?’ asked Peter. ‘Mum didn’t cause the accidents –’

  ‘Except the fire,’ put in Libby.

  ‘But not the others, because she’s too infirm. So not only did someone else cause them, but that person could be the murderer. Why do we think that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby helplessly. ‘I can’t remember now.’

  ‘Because the accidents were intended to kill Paula,’ said James.

  Libby and Peter looked at him. With growing apprehension, Libby wondered why on earth she’d let herself get involved with this, and remembered belatedly that David had reminded her about James still being the main suspect.

  ‘What makes you say that, Jamie?’ asked Peter, in an enviably controlled voice.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said James, sitting down opposite Libby. ‘I haven’t been involved with the play except on the periphery, and after Paula told me she was pregnant. She was actually scared. She said if someone wanted to hurt her, they knew she would be under that roof, and would have expected her, as one of the principals, to be in the photo-shoot on the bridge and in the huts.’

  ‘But why would someone want to hurt her? And it would have to be someone who knew a lot about the play,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, God, back to square one.’

  ‘Someone did want to hurt her, didn’t they?’ said Peter, his eyes fixed ruminatively on the distance. ‘And she knew it. Who?’

  ‘Someone she’d had an affair with?’ said Libby.

  ‘But why try to kill her? What could be that bad? Just because she might threaten to tell a wife or partner or something?’

  ‘Look,’ said James, standing up. ‘Nothing’s changed, has it? The police are still investigating, and we haven’t got their resources, so why don’t we just carry on as normal? Even if the murderer is still at large, it doesn’t mean to say there will be any more attacks on the theatre. Why on earth should there be? If it was Paula he was after all the time we’ve nothing to fear, have we?’

  Libby felt ashamed for having half-suspected him again, and acknowledged the sense in what he said.

  ‘He’s right, Lib,’ said Peter. ‘We won’t have any more trouble.’

  ‘Sorry, I panicked,’ said Libby, standing up and feeling foolish. ‘David was so worried about it all.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t understand,’ said James.

  ‘Well, at least we know it wasn’t your mum, even if we think we know the accidents were directed at Paula. I think he was right to tell us.’ Libby fished in her basket for her cigarettes. ‘I’m going to pop outside and have a fag before we go, if that’s all right.’

  Peter grinned at her. ‘Feeling foolish, you old trout?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I had to tell you what David said,’ said Libby, not meeting his eyes, ‘even if I seem to have done nothing but get the wrong end of the stick all through this business. About Ben, Fran, Paula – you name it.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll join you in a fag. James, you coming?’

  ‘No, I’ll go back and pack if you don’t mind. I’ll have to get stuff from Mum’s as well, so I’d better get on with it. See you, Libby. Thanks for the support.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming to the party tonight?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. Well, I still need to pack. See you later.’

  Peter followed Libby into the little courtyard.

  ‘So what’s up now?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, nothing much. Just wondering who the hell we know who would kill someone and why.’ Libby lit her cigarette and sat on a bench.

  ‘That hasn’t changed, has it? We’ve been wondering that for the last week or more.’

  ‘But we know a lot more, now,’ said Libby. ‘We know about the bedspread. And we know she was pregnant.’

  ‘How does that help?’

  ‘It’s another motive.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’ Peter sat on the bench beside her.

  Libby sat thinking for a bit.

  ‘David didn’t know about James’s alibi,’ she said eventually.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, I got the impression that he was mostly concerned about James being thought guilty.’

  ‘James is family. He would be.’

  ‘Thought guilty. Not actually guilty.’

  ‘Same thing.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No, there’s something … I just can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘Come on. Your children will be waiting for you in the pub,’ said Peter, standing up.

  Libby sighed, nodded and put out her cigarette.

  All the way to the pub, and throughout the cheerful catching up conversation with her offspring, something niggled at the back of her mind. Ben didn’t appear, so either he hadn’t returned or Gregory hadn’t given him her message. It wasn’t until she’d waved the children off in their ramshackle cars that she was able to sit down and think about everything that had happened since last night and rewind the conversation with David from this morning. She was positive something he’d said had given her a clue, but try as she might she couldn’t think what it was. Had he talked about the incidents? Well, of course he had, he’d said Millie couldn’t have done them. She couldn’t have climbed up that ladder to cut the steel wire, and she couldn’t have clambered underneath the bridge, nor sawn through the planks, and only someone who knew everything about the production and the photographer’s visit could have done either.

  So who? No one outside the cast and crew and their intimates. Did she include James in that circle? Yes, he was Peter’s brother, but Paula’s intimate? Would she have told him everything about the production and the publicity? No, because it wasn’t until after the fiasco with the roof that she had told James she was pregnant. So it was someone with a connection to Paula, and it had to be someone they already knew about. Someone who knew about the incidents, when the details hadn’t been broadcast by anyone. Especially the details of the sabotaged bridge.

  Libby began to come to an appalling conclusion.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  SHE HAD NO IDEA what to do next. Her legs seemed to have turned to water, and she was aware of part of her brain being furious at the disruption of her precious last night. Although, of course, that could go ahead without any of the players in their own particular little tragedy.

  Shakily, she stood up. She didn’t know whether she should phone the police, which seemed rather presumptuous, and who would listen to her, anyway? Who could she tell? If this really was a detective story, she would go and confront the villain, but in real life all she would get was a denial – and there was always the possibility that she was wrong – or she would be putting her head metaphorically into the lion’s mouth. She always got cross when the stupid females did that.

  David. Why hadn’t she seen it before? He knew all about Paula’s murder, about the incidents, and he’d tried to deny knowing anything about the bedspread. He’d even admitted she’d made a pass at him. Was it his baby? And telling her about Millie’s inability to cause the incidents at the theatre was so obviously to send her off on the trail of someone else. The only thing Libby couldn’t understand was why he’d picked on her to talk to.

  So, what was the answer? Ignore it? How on earth was she to do that? She shook her head, which felt as though it was full of cotton-wool. No, not cotton-wool, moths. Fluttering and beating their little wings against her scalp.

  The phone rang. Libby looked at it in horror for so long that the answerphone picked it up.

  ‘Libby, it’s Fran.’

  Libby snatched up the receiver. ‘Fran,’ she said shakily. ‘Thank God it’s you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Fran sharply. ‘Are you all right? Have they … have they found out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby
, relieved, ‘but I think I have.’

  ‘Of course it was obvious once I put it all together,’ she said, after telling Fran how she’d come to her conclusion, ‘but I still don’t know why.’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure you’re right. Something doesn’t feel – anyway, it’s something to do with both James and Paula. I don’t know what. I tried to warn you.’

  ‘Yes, you did, I see that now. Why didn’t you tell me then?’

  ‘How could I? It was only one of my feelings, and everyone had been so dismissive of those – even you, in a way.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Libby, ‘I’m sorry. Anyway, what do I do now? It’s the last night party tonight.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. If you’ve worked it out, be sure the police have, and they’ve got all their sophisticated forensic stuff. There are bound to be traces.’

  ‘So I just carry on regardless? How will I do that? Everyone’s going to be there tonight. I can’t face them.’

  ‘Yes, you can. After all, the police have had plenty of time to do their tests. I expect they’ve got results now.’

  ‘Not from James’s DNA test. That was only done the day before yesterday. Don’t they take weeks?’

  ‘Not weeks. Anyway, that doesn’t matter now, does it?’

  ‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’ Libby sighed again. ‘So you think I ought to let well alone?’

  ‘I do. Will you be all right? Do you want – no, I don’t suppose you do.’

  ‘Do I want you to come down? Yes, I do, but the family are going to close ranks on this, so perhaps not. I might come up to London next week, though. Stay with Belinda. I could see you then?’

  ‘Just ring me. Anytime. And now you’d better go and get ready for your big night out.’

  How Libby got through the afternoon she had no idea. She let the answerphone pick up messages from Peter, Harry and Ben, none of which sounded as though there was anything wrong, so she guessed no arrest had been made, but when she arrived at the theatre none of them had arrived.

  ‘Libby?’ Stephen came up behind her.

  ‘Hi.’ Libby tried to smile. ‘All ready for the big night?’

  ‘Just about. How about you? You don’t look too happy.’