LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Fran. ‘There’s a reason they’re hiding something.’

  ‘Well, of course there is! They want to know who killed Celia in case it’s someone who knows this big secret they’re keeping.’

  Fran stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked at her friend in astonishment. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ said Libby, climbing up to the deck of Ship House. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t worked it out?’

  ‘No, actually I hadn’t, although now you’ve said it, it is obvious. How much does Harry know?’

  ‘Only what he’s told us, I imagine. Come on, let’s tell the boys and see what they say.’

  The men were all in the sitting room watching football.

  ‘You were a long time,’ said Ben.

  ‘Sorry, but we’ve been finding things out,’ said Fran. ‘Libby has, anyway.’

  Harry stood up and stretched. ‘Come and tell me about it in the kitchen, then, petal. I’m fed up with football.’

  ‘I’m not interested anyway,’ said Guy. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Ben grinned. ‘We’ll all stay here and have a cup of tea. I don’t want to watch the football, either, and I think Pete was nearly asleep.’

  Tea was made and room made for Libby and Fran on the couch, after which they recounted the day’s adventures between them.

  ‘You have had a busy day,’ said Ben.

  ‘So you think whatever it is they’re hiding has nothing to do with Harry?’ said Peter.

  ‘If you think back to their behaviour right from the start, Harry’s always been a sort of by-product,’ said Libby.

  ‘Thank you, sweetie,’ said Harry.

  ‘You know what I mean. They gave you the letter because they didn’t want to be bothered with it. All they wanted to know was who’d written it, because that person might know their big secret.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Guy was frowning. ‘That letter said Matthew wouldn’t tell the writer about the young friend. They must have thought – well, they did, didn’t they? – that meant the writer was the killer.’

  ‘Yes, which was how their devious old minds worked. Get Harry to find out who it was, then they would find out if he or she knew their secret,’ said Libby.

  ‘I think I see,’ said Ben, ‘but it’s very convoluted.’

  ‘So it’s nothing to do with me after all?’ Harry looked round at the circle of faces.

  ‘Yes, it is. We still know you were your grandmother’s grandson, whoever she was,’ said Fran, ‘and somebody is watching you. We know that.’

  ‘How are the two tied together?’ said Guy.

  Libby shrugged. ‘We don’t know that they are.’

  Fran turned to her husband. ‘How did you get on with the book?’

  ‘Not brilliantly.’ Guy stood up and fetched the book from the table behind the couch. ‘Here. Most of the pages will open, but the ink’s become virtually invisible. And some of it’s turned to papier-mâché.’

  ‘It is an address book,’ said Libby, as Fran turned the brittle pages. ‘I wonder how far back it goes?’

  ‘It’s not a new book,’ said Fran. ‘I mean, not a recent one. It could go back a long way.’

  ‘I wonder if it is what the murderer was looking for?’ said Ben.

  ‘If there was a murder,’ said Peter.

  ‘Would the killer murder Celia because he couldn’t find what he wanted, or because she knew something about him – or her?’ said Libby.

  ‘Or simply she knew who he was and he couldn’t risk her telling anybody,’ said Fran.

  ‘That’s the most likely,’ said Harry. ‘And we still don’t know if what he or she wanted is anything to do with me.’

  ‘We’ve been assuming it is because of what Matthew told you, putting it together with the letter the sisters received and the note you found here,’ said Peter. ‘But that could be something completely different.’

  ‘And I think the sisters believe that it is. None of them are being helpful about finding out who Harry’s gran was.’ Libby sighed.

  ‘And they’ve almost been avoiding the subject of the Island in the fifties,’ said Fran.

  ‘So what we need to do,’ said Harry, ‘is find out what was happening on the Island in the fifties. Stands to reason.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The laptops and tablets all came out.

  ‘Fu … blow me,’ said Harry. ‘There was a rocket-testing site at the Needles.’

  ‘Late fifties,’ said Libby. ‘Too late. Your parent needs to have been born in the early fifties. Wish we knew which sex we were looking for.’

  ‘There are a lot of videos,’ said Peter. ‘But it’s all nostalgia stuff.’

  ‘Everything keeps referring back to the derestriction of the Island in 1948,’ said Ben. ‘Could that have something to do with it?’

  ‘It’s because of the proximity to France,’ said Fran. ‘The beaches were restricted areas.’

  ‘They were in Kent, too,’ said Libby, ‘and all along the south coast.’

  ‘Most of the sites are referring to the freedom from rationing, the fashions, and the holiday-makers,’ said Guy. ‘No different from Nethergate, really.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby shut her laptop and stood up. ‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything out here.’

  ‘No.’ Fran followed suit. ‘There was obviously no big news story around that time.’

  ‘But we don’t want a big news story,’ said Peter. ‘Don’t you think it could be the opening up of the Island? More people coming in?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Harry, looking interested. ‘When did rock’n’roll start?’

  ‘Not until the late fifties,’ said Ben. ‘It wouldn’t have been that.’

  Libby was staring out at the sea. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said.

  The other five looked at each other with foreboding.

  Libby turned round. ‘Don’t you want to know what it is?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ben.

  ‘What?’ said Harry.

  ‘Why don’t we have a memorial service for Matthew?’

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘Libby,’ said Peter eventually, ‘we’ve just been to his funeral.’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby, ‘but not everybody knew about it. You said yourself there were only a few people from London there.’

  ‘I don’t see how this would help find Celia’s murder or Harry’s stalker,’ said Ben.

  ‘I think I do,’ said Fran. ‘If it could be a public notice of some sort …’

  ‘If you’re thinking of doing it in London …’ began Peter.

  ‘Not that many people from the Island would go,’ finished Guy.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Libby triumphantly.

  They all looked at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘But then we wouldn’t know,’ said Harry.

  ‘Oh, think about it,’ crowed Libby. ‘You’re all so thick!’

  ‘Come on, you old trout, don’t be a cow, and tell us what you mean,’ Peter aimed a kick at her.

  Libby sat down again. ‘If we suggest to the sisters that we hold a memorial service in – yes, London – for all the people who might not have learnt about his death and who couldn’t come to the funeral, and anyone who did come, of course, who would be bound to come?’

  ‘Er – us?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘No, Harry’s stalker! Who we think is also the murderer.’

  ‘Why would he?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Look – remember the letter? It said that Matthew wouldn’t tell the writer who Matthew’s young friend was, and then Harry found that note, suggesting that someone is actually looking for him.’

  ‘And found me,’ said Harry.

  ‘Yes, but nothing can happen to you here,’ said Libby reasonably. ‘There’s always someone with you, and usually several people. Also, this place is so difficult to get to, anybody would be spotted.’

  ‘Thanks,�
�� said Harry. ‘I feel really safe.’

  ‘We don’t know that anyone’s actually after Harry,’ said Guy.

  ‘Well, he is the illegitimate grandson of – of – of somebody,’ said Libby.

  ‘Do you realise how melodramatic all this sounds?’ asked Peter.

  Fran smiled and put her laptop on the coffee table. ‘It does.’ She turned to Libby. ‘Despite everything, all we’ve got is these three women deciding their sister was murdered, keeping some sort of secret from us, and the fact that Harry appears to be the target of some sort of attention. Nothing else.’

  Libby looked round at her friends. ‘Is that what you all think?’

  One by one they all nodded.

  ‘So no memorial service, then?’

  ‘No, petal.’ Peter came to stand next to Libby and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘An enormous challenge to organise, not to mention money spent as well, and for what?’

  Libby sighed. ‘Just an intellectual exercise, then?’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Harry. ‘I’d still quite like to know who I am.’

  Libby smiled at him gratefully. ‘Perhaps we could see if we can’t just do that?’

  ‘And ignore the three harpies?’ said Ben.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Fran. ‘They asked us to help and then kept things back. They haven’t helped at all. I vote we just have the rest of our holiday here, and see if there’s any way we can track down Harry’s relations. That’s all we can do.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you all think …’ Libby looked round the group and sighed again. ‘OK. In which case, surely it’s time for a drink before dinner, isn’t it? And what are we doing for dinner?’

  They walked into Ventnor for dinner, and strolled down The Esplanade to watch the sunset.

  ‘It’s not unlike Nethergate, is it?’ said Guy. ‘It’s still an old-fashioned seaside town.’

  ‘It’s my favourite on the Island,’ said Libby. ‘But there are lovely places everywhere.’ She turned to Harry. ‘And some really exciting new restaurants and chefs, Harry. Shall we try them?’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Ben, amused. ‘You haven’t been here for years.’

  ‘The internet, of course. I went on a bit of an Isle of Wight binge after we heard about Matthew.’

  ‘I’d like to see the other side of the Island,’ said Harry suddenly. ‘You know, where it looks like it’s all trees and no buildings.’

  ‘We were over there this morning,’ said Fran. ‘Perhaps we could have a proper look at that side of the Island tomorrow?’

  ‘Starting with Seaview,’ said Libby, ‘and work our way along.’

  ‘We should have brought a bloody minibus,’ said Peter.

  ‘We can get all six of us into mine,’ said Ben. ‘No one minds squashing up, do they?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Libby happily. ‘A proper family outing.’

  The next morning, when they all piled into the car, Libby said, ‘Shall we point out Amanda’s house on the way?’

  ‘Won’t it take us out of our way?’ said Fran, squashed between Harry and the off-side rear door.

  ‘We can double back,’ said Libby. ‘I worked out the route on the laptop this morning.’

  ‘Directions, then, please,’ said Ben from the driving seat. ‘Left or right?’

  As they drove towards Beech Manor, Libby remembered Fran’s odd feeling about Amanda Clipping and her friends.

  ‘We didn’t tell you that, did we?’ she concluded after recounting the preceding day’s encounter.

  ‘This is it,’ said Fran, and Ben pulled in as close to side of the lane as possible.

  ‘And that one belongs to Lady Bligh,’ said Libby.

  ‘I suppose she couldn’t be my grandmother?’ said Harry, following Fran out of the car and strolling across the road to peer up the drive.

  ‘No, you said Matthew told you your grandmother died,’ said Peter, joining him at the gates. ‘But I bet she knew her.’

  ‘They all did,’ said Fran. ‘Lady Bligh, Amanda Clipping’s parents, the three – four – sisters, and that other couple we don’t know about. What was their name?’

  ‘The Dougans,’ said Libby. ‘And they were all at the funeral.’

  ‘The senior Clippings weren’t,’ said Guy.

  ‘No, but Amanda was, as their representative,’ said Libby.

  ‘And she and her mates were looking for me,’ said Harry thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we pop over and see if they’re in?’

  ‘Look, it was only a feeling, Harry,’ said Fran. ‘You can’t just ring the bell and say “Here I am”, can you?’

  ‘Be very interesting, though, wouldn’t it?’ said Harry, as he crossed the road towards Beech Manor.

  ‘Was it one of them that wrote the letter?’ asked Guy.

  ‘Or wrote the note?’ said Libby.

  ‘How do I know?’ said Fran. ‘I only get flashes, not life histories.’

  ‘I wish we could find out who the bloke in the wheelchair is,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sure he’s got something to do with it.’

  ‘We’re not investigating any more, Lib, remember?’ warned Fran.

  ‘We are – just into Harry’s threats.’ Libby beamed up at him. ‘Aren’t we, Hal?’

  He grinned down at her. ‘Yes, old trout. Perhaps the invalid is my dad – what do you reckon?’

  ‘And the other one is his legitimate son who wants to get Harry out of the way?’ Ben laughed.

  ‘You never know,’ said Libby. ‘The trouble is, we’ve absolutely no way of knowing or finding out. We normally have some sort of way in but this time we’ve nothing.’ She paused. ‘Unless … have you got your birth certificate, Hal?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I had to apply for a copy when I got my passport.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the home would have had your original, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘That was only a short form, anyway,’ said Harry. ‘You have to have the long form to apply for a passport.’

  ‘So you know your mother’s name?’ said Peter. ‘I never thought of that. Have you looked her up?’

  ‘By the time I was applying for a passport I was with you.’ Harry smiled fondly at his partner. ‘It just never occurred to me.’

  Peter slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘Course.’

  ‘Well, if we’re not going to knock on any doors,’ said Ben, ‘can we get going? Time’s getting on.’

  They all piled back into the car, and Harry, now up against the rear passenger door, waved a valedictory hand out of the window at Beech Manor. ‘Just in case they were looking,’ he said.

  ‘Well, if they were,’ said Fran, ‘and they actually were looking for you, it won’t hurt for them to know we might be on to them.’

  ‘All very cloak and dagger,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s just go and enjoy our day.’

  It wasn’t until much later in the day, having left the car in a car park, they were walking through woodland on the north side of the Island at the top of the cliffs overlooking the drowned prehistoric Bouldnor Battery, when Libby said, ‘I can’t just leave it alone, you know.’

  Beside her, Ben groaned. Ahead, Peter looked over his shoulder. ‘What?’

  ‘I said, I can’t just leave it alone,’ repeated Libby.

  Peter and Harry dropped back and Fran and Guy hurried up behind.

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ said Peter, his head on one side.

  ‘We did agree we should try and see if we can’t find out about Harry’s parentage,’ said Libby defensively, ‘and it all does seem to link up.’

  ‘You mean Celia’s murder?’ said Harry.

  ‘Alleged murder,’ corrected Ben.

  ‘Well, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not sure if we and the sisters haven’t linked it ourselves,’ said Fran.

  ‘It was the letter that did that,’ said Guy. ‘The one they received that they sent on to Harry.’

  ‘And before that there was nothing to link them.’ Ben
shook his head.

  ‘I don’t suppose the sisters had thought of me much,’ said Harry. ‘Matthew and I weren’t always in contact. That email you saw on his computer was about the last time we were in touch.’

  ‘Yes, I wanted to ask you about that letter, Hal,’ said Libby. ‘You remember when the sisters came down to tea the day after the funeral?’

  ‘Yes.’ Harry gazed longingly over the view of the Solent towards the mainland. Libby dug him in the ribs.

  ‘That was a set-up, wasn’t it?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Peter, Ben, Fran, and Guy were studies in shock.

  Peter found his voice first. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Harry knows.’ Libby was watching Harry triumphantly. ‘And if you all think about it, so will you.’

  ‘Can we go back to the car?’ said Harry. ‘I think I’ve had enough sight-seeing.’

  Without a word, they all turned back towards the car park. It wasn’t until they reached the car that Harry spoke again.

  ‘Libby’s right. It was a set-up.’

  They all looked at Libby.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Fran. ‘Explain.’

  ‘Harry actually asked them if there weren’t four of them. Remember? He said he thought Matthew had spoken about four cousins.’

  ‘And that was when Alicia told you about Celia, of course,’ said Fran turning her gaze on Harry.

  ‘And …?’ said Peter.

  ‘Why did Harry ask? He already knew.’ Libby looked up at him. ‘Didn’t you, Hal?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m not following this at all,’ said Guy. ‘Someone start at the beginning.’

  ‘Hal explained to us that the sisters had forwarded the letter to him, and that they had been in communication after that. He even said he tried to stop them involving us. That right, Hal?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘So please tell us, darling boy, why all the secrecy? Why didn’t you tell us about the letter when you first received it? And the sisters’ suspicions about Celia’s death?’ Peter was looking like a thundercloud.

  Harry sighed. ‘Because I didn’t want to get involved. I didn’t want you to get involved. By the time they sent me the letter we all knew about Matthew’s death and I wanted to go to the funeral. When the sisters said they were inviting you as well I just went along with it, hoping to wriggle out of it somehow. When you said Fran and Guy were coming to join us for a few days, I guessed we’d be in trouble.’