LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘All right.’ Libby subsided.

  ‘I asked the Island police to see if Mr Franklin was still on the Island, and they went to call on Ms Clipping, who wasn’t there, but Mr Franklin was. Sensibly, they didn’t say it was him they wanted to speak to, but retreated and called me, as you know.’ He paused for a sip of coffee.

  ‘So I went over to the island and went straight to Beech Manor. I did, however, stop at the village shop to speak to your Bernie Small. Most helpful. Mr Franklin opened the door of Beech Manor for me himself and confirmed that he was staying there alone, Ms Clipping being back at work on the mainland.

  ‘Naturally, I asked why he was there, and why he had been at Matthew’s funeral. Eventually, when he was convinced of my credentials, and I of his, we arrived at the complete story.’

  ‘May I tell it?’ Franklin sounded diffident.

  Libby smiled at him for the first time. ‘That would be better, wouldn’t it?’

  He smiled back. ‘Well, it all began at a party. My mother – my adoptive mother – is very old now, but had a birthday party a few months ago, arranged by my sister. Robert is her son. My sister had managed to trace many old friends of my mother’s, including two couples, the Dougans and the Clippings, and a Lady Bligh.’

  Peter, Ben, and Libby exchanged glances.

  ‘I was doing the good son routine, going round with bottles to refresh glasses and I heard those five, with my mother, talking about the Isle of Wight. It’s never been any secret that I was adopted, and during this conversation it became obvious that the Dougans had arranged for me to go to my parents. It was probably crass of me, but I’m afraid I butted in to the conversation and asked if they knew who my parents were.’ He looked round at the assembled company. ‘They clammed up immediately. My mother said she’d never been told, and they all agreed on that. Eventually, old Lady Bligh said that the person to ask was Matthew DeLaxley and he lived on the Island. They seemed to think everyone knew who he was.’

  ‘He was quite famous, in his way,’ said Peter, almost apologetically.

  ‘I realised that at the memorial service,’ said Franklin. ‘Anyway, after the party I talked to my mother about it, and she genuinely didn’t know anything about it. Apparently, she and my father had met the Dougans on holiday on the Island and they’d introduced them to this little crowd of people who belonged to a sort of arty group,’ the corners of his mouth turned down, ‘and they’d spent several weeks with them that summer. My father was a schoolteacher.’

  ‘The Clippings, the Dougans, and Lady Bligh?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Yes, although she was plain Lily Cooper then. They kept in touch until in nineteen forty-nine, the Dougans wrote asking if they still wanted to adopt. They’d discussed this, obviously.’ He shrugged. ‘And they arrived with me. I knew none of this. I just assumed I’d been adopted the usual way, through whatever Social Services was called in those days.’

  He sipped coffee.

  ‘So I got in touch with Amanda Clipping. My mother had all their addresses, but I thought Amanda was a better bet than her parents, and I’d met her once or twice before. She gave me DeLaxley’s address and phone number and I called him. He wasn’t very forthcoming, but he did eventually confirm that yes, my mother had come from the Island, but she was now dead. I asked about my father, but he merely said that he was dead too. I really couldn’t understand his attitude until at last, he let slip that he knew about my son. I argued that my father had also abandoned me, but he brushed that aside. I began to wonder if my father had been killed in the war, but I realised that couldn’t be the case as I wasn’t born until 1949.’

  ‘When did you write that letter?’ demanded Libby.

  ‘Not until later.’ Franklin didn’t seem put out. ‘I spoke to Matthew again, and asked after my son, but he wouldn’t say anything. Anyway, I said I was going to come to the Island to see him, and would he tell me anything then. He said he’d think about it.’

  ‘And you went,’ said Peter, in a tight voice.

  ‘I went.’ Franklin was sounding tired, now. ‘And Matthew said he didn’t want his cousins who lived next door to see me, so he gave me directions to this Beach House. And then as I was on my way over, he sent me a text to say he wouldn’t be able to meet me, he was too ill, but he was sending his youngest cousin instead.’ He passed a hand over his face. ‘Well, you know what happened next. By the time I got to the Island the storm had broken and I couldn’t even get close to – what’s it called? Overcliffe?’

  ‘The road was blocked,’ said Ian. ‘We checked.’

  ‘So you didn’t go to the Beach House?’ said Libby. ‘Not ever?’

  Franklin shook his head. ‘And I didn’t know what had happened to the cousin until later. I couldn’t even get off the Island until the following morning, and there was no mobile signal, so I couldn’t call Matthew. I know now that would have been useless.’

  ‘So who was at the Beach House?’ asked Peter. ‘And who killed Celia?’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘Don’t you think it now looks unlikely that anyone did?’ said Ben. ‘The police said it was an accident.’

  ‘I want to know about the letter you sent,’ said Libby accusingly.

  Keith Franklin took a healthy swig of coffee and sighed. ‘I made several mistakes, didn’t I? I addressed the letter to the DeLaxleys, which was wrong, of course, and I said I knew all about the scandal. I was thinking of the scandal of my birth, of course, even though I didn’t know that much about it. I was sure Matthew, or his youngest cousin, was going to tell me more about it. And I wanted to know about Harry.’

  ‘You could have asked Jeanette,’ said Libby. From his bewildered expression it seemed certain Franklin was going to ask who Jeanette was, but he surprised her.

  ‘How? I didn’t know where she was. Anyway, Matthew had told me Harry was taken into care, so how would she have known?’ He shook his head. ‘If only Matthew had come to me then …’

  ‘Would he have known where to find you?’ put in Peter.

  ‘Apparently he always knew where to find me,’ said Franklin bitterly. ‘My adoption had been an open secret between him, the Dougans, Lily Cooper, and the Clippings. They kept tabs on my parents and me.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell you, then?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I’d abandoned Jeanette. I’d acted badly.’ Again, he passed a hand over his face. ‘If only he’d told me.’

  ‘So what do you know now?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I know who Harry is. My nephew found out where he lived. I’m not sure how.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby shot a triumphant look at Ian, who smiled. ‘So is it your nephew who attacked Harry and tried to break into the ca – restaurant?’

  Franklin looked shocked. ‘Of course not! He’d never do anything like that.’

  ‘He was here last week,’ said Libby. ‘I saw him.’

  ‘I asked him to come down. I wanted him to – well, to mediate between us, I suppose.’

  Libby looked at Ian. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘So he says.’ Ian sat forward and put down his mug. ‘Robert Jones is living in London and was perfectly happy to talk to us. He says he came down last week and there was no one in the restaurant. He didn’t have the home address.’

  ‘Well, that’s true. Harry was in the pub with Andrew,’ said Peter. ‘So Robert Jones wasn’t the one who attacked Harry because he didn’t know our address.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out,’ said Libby. ‘He could have asked anyone.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ said Ian. ‘Certainly not in any of the shops.’

  ‘Not the first day he was here, no,’ said Libby, ‘but Saturday night?’

  ‘He would have had to go into the pub or the restaurant itself,’ said Ian, ‘which, if he simply wanted to talk to Harry, he would have done. Someone with an attack in mind wouldn’t advertise their presence, would they?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby reluctantly.

  ‘Do you thi
nk Harry will see me?’ Franklin asked Peter.

  ‘I’ll talk to him this afternoon if he’s well enough, but I don’t think you ought to meet him until he’s out of hospital.’

  ‘Have you met the sisters?’ Libby asked.

  ‘No,’ said Franklin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll tell you about that another time. Now I’m going to take Mr Franklin back to his hotel.’

  They all stood and bade Keith Franklin goodbye. He went miserably out of the door, and Ian turned back.

  ‘Pub tonight?’

  Libby nodded. ‘See you then.’

  ‘Well,’ said Peter, sitting down again as the door closed. ‘There’s a bolt from the blue.’

  ‘Somehow, I never imagined that happening,’ said Libby. ‘Why do you suppose he was still staying at Beech Manor?’

  ‘Hoping Harry would come back to the Island?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘Maybe. Where does he live?

  ‘We don’t know anything about him. He has a mother, a sister and a nephew who seems to be helping him in whatever his quest is,’ said Peter.

  ‘I’m deeply suspicious of that nephew,’ said Libby. ‘If all he’d been doing was looking for Harry that day, why did he shoot off so quickly? And why didn’t he ask around? And why is Ian taking it at face value?’

  ‘Look, Lib,’ said Ben, ‘Ian brought Franklin here as an act of good faith, partly to tell us the story and partly as an ice-breaker for Harry. I believed Franklin, by the way. I don’t think he has anything to with anything, and I don’t think he knows who either of his birth parents are.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Libby, collecting the tray. ‘There’s no one left who could have killed Celia, or had it in for Harry, unless it’s someone we haven’t heard of. And that goes against the principles of every mystery story there’s ever been.’

  ‘I’m sure Ian will have more news for us tonight,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not needed for rehearsal, am I? I’ll go straight to the pub from the hospital.’

  Libby fretted over Keith Franklin’s story for the rest of the day. When she called Fran, who told her to calm down, it scarcely mattered now, she uncharacteristically snapped at her friend.

  ‘Look, Ben was quite right,’ said Fran, without taking offence. ‘It looks quite likely that Celia wasn’t murdered after all, which means you – and I – got involved for nothing. The rest of the story, about Harry, is almost tied up now. We, and soon, he, know both his mother and father – and grandfather, too. Ian’s looking into the attacks and may well come up with something. Anyway, he’ll tell us tonight.’

  With The Pink Geranium still closed, Patti Pearson and Anne Douglas had eaten in the pub and were waiting for the theatre group when they arrived just after ten o’clock.

  ‘So tell us what’s been going on,’ said Patti. ‘What have you all been up to, and what’s happened to Harry?’

  Peter arrived in the middle of their explanation of the more public side of the adventure, and one look at his face told Libby he wouldn’t relish going through Harry’s story with outsiders.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said as Peter put his drink on the table, ‘that’s it, really. We don’t know who hit Harry, but it’s a good bet that it was a burglar he surprised. How is he, Pete?’

  ‘Becoming a difficult patient,’ said Peter with a rueful smile. ‘I think they’ll let him come home tomorrow.

  Libby turned to Patti and Anne. ‘I know this sounds rude, but Ian’s coming to talk to us about it all – you know how he does – but I think this will be more on the record than off, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘So we’ll push off,’ said Anne. ‘Don’t worry, we know the score by now.’

  ‘We don’t want to drive you away,’ said Fran. ‘We’ll just move.’

  Patti laughed. ‘It’s fine. We have more wine at Anne’s house and we’re recording something to watch when we get in, so we’re more than happy. In fact,’ she put down her empty glass and stood up, ‘we might as well go now.’

  Anne grinned and let the brake off her wheelchair. ‘Fine by me. And do tell us the rest of the story some time.’

  With immaculate timing they passed Ian as they left. He stopped and spoke to them, then with a wave saw them off the premises.

  ‘That was tactful of them,’ he said as he joined them and Peter went to fetch his customary coffee.

  ‘Well brung up, both of them,’ said Libby. ‘Pete hasn’t been able to tell us yet how Harry took the news.’

  Peter returned, put the coffee in front of Ian and sat down.

  ‘Inclined to explode at first, and then, when a nurse came rushing in thinking he’d had some kind of fit, calmed down. We talked about it most of the afternoon, and I think he’s decided to see Franklin, but – and this will surprise you – he wants to see him on the Island and wants him to meet the sisters.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Libby and Fran in surprise.

  Ian frowned. ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘He’s got some sort of idea that if they both show up together, the sisters will crumble. Especially if we tell them we know that Keith’s dad is their brother.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d better tell you what I found out when I saw the ladies,’ said Ian.

  ‘Don’t tell me they opened up to you?’ said Libby.

  ‘Not completely, no,’ Ian settled back into his chair. ‘At first they definitely didn’t want to talk to me. Wouldn’t even let me in to the house.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Ben. ‘Did they flutter?’

  Ian grinned. ‘They did. It was far too late, ladies on their own – you know the sort of thing. Anyway, eventually, when all three of them were crowded round the doorway, I told them Harry had been attacked hard on the heels of finding out who his grandfather had been.’

  ‘Gawd!’ said Libby. ‘Bombshell!’

  ‘It certainly was. The first one – Alicia? – looked as if she would faint, the little snappy one went as red as a beetroot, and the third one went as white as a sheet.’

  ‘Really?’ Fran was interested. ‘Honoria’s usually quite threatening.’

  ‘She spent the rest of the meeting glowering at me, certainly,’ said Ian.

  ‘So what happened next?’ asked Peter.

  ‘The first sister – Mrs Hope-Fenwick, isn’t it? – said I’d better come in and we all sat round the kitchen table. She asked after Harry, I reported and they all looked nervously at each other, almost as if they knew who’d attacked him. I don’t think they did, though.’

  ‘What did you think?’ said Libby.

  ‘I think they felt it was their fault for having dragged you all into this business and caused so many problems.’

  ‘So did you tell them we knew who granddad was?’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wish I’d been there,’ said Libby.

  ‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ said Ian. ‘I should have done it by the book and gone officially with a female officer. Mrs Hope-Fenwick cried, the snappy sister –’

  ‘Amelia,’ put in Libby helpfully.

  ‘Amelia, then, erupted. Swore she’d have my badge, my stripes, and sue me for every penny. The biggest one –’ he looked at Libby.

  ‘Honoria,’ she supplied.

  ‘She just sat there looking as though she would quite cheerfully murder me.’

  ‘All of that sounds in character,’ said Fran. ‘That’s how they were with us. Did you ask them why they asked us to find out who Celia’s killer was without telling us why they thought she might have been killed?’

  ‘They were very muddled about it, but it appeared that they all thought Celia had been killed because of the scandal, as they put it, and they were anxious to know who else knew the secret.’

  ‘I still can’t see why Celia was killed though, if she was,’ said Libby. ‘She knew the secret and presumably Matthew had sent her to meet Keith to tell him – or tell him about Harry, perhaps. I still don’t get it.’

  ‘I think there’s something else, though,’ said Ian
. ‘I think there’s still something we don’t know, which may well give us all the answers.’

  ‘About Harry’s attacker as well?’

  ‘Oh, I think we know who that is, don’t you?’ Ian grinned round the table.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  ‘The obvious suspect?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes, I had to shut you up this morning,’ said Ian. ‘I’m afraid Mr Robert Jones does not have an alibi for the early hours of Sunday morning, and a very strong motive for getting Harry out of the way.’

  ‘Oh, damn, that’s a damp squib,’ said Libby.

  ‘What did you want – a grand revelation? Or to be held up with a gun again?’ said Ben.

  ‘No, it’s just that it was obvious. So go on, is he Uncle Keith’s heir?’

  ‘He is. And Uncle Keith turns out to be quite wealthy, all from his own industry. His adoptive father left everything to his mother, and on her death it’s divided equally between Keith and his sister. But Keith made good, and after the episode with Jeanette Price, devoted himself to work and never married. Robert would have –’

  ‘Copped the lot,’ said Libby.

  ‘Exactly.’ Ian nodded. ‘And Robert, don’t forget, was in on the search from the first, helping Uncle Keith, coming over to the Island with him –’

  ‘Did he kill Celia?’ asked Peter. ‘Was he with him that time?’

  ‘No, apparently not. But he knew that a, Franklin was searching for his own parents who, conceivably had money, especially as he knew by now that the grandson – Harry – had inherited money, and b, Franklin wanted to find Harry, and presumably, make things up to him.’

  ‘By leaving Harry all his money?’ said Ben.

  ‘I asked Mr Franklin about that. He said he would naturally make sure Harry was secure. That was how he put it.’

  ‘Unnecessary,’ said Peter, with a sniff.

  ‘We know that,’ said Libby, patting his arm, ‘but Keith Franklin didn’t, at the time.’

  ‘Anyway, we’re pretty sure that it was Robert Jones who was out to get Harry,’ said Ian, ‘and as for Celia, the jury’s still out.’