Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘Another security thing, I suppose,’ said Peter, telling them in the pub after the dress rehearsal. ‘It’s been a bit of a pain, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It hasn’t been too bad at all. And Martha and the other oblates have been having a high old time.’

  Bob the Butcher leant forward. ‘Exactly what is an oblate?’

  ‘Someone who works alongside the nuns. They’re lay people, but very religious, and not bound by all the regulations that apply to the nuns. Also called alongsiders,’ explained Libby. ‘Martha’s the permanent resident, but they have others who come for short periods and live in, and others who live out.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem much of a life to me,’ said Bob. ‘No wonder they’re enjoying us lot.’

  ‘They go out and about helping people,’ said Libby vaguely. ‘At least, I think they do.’

  ‘Anyway, the publicity’s been good for ticket sales,’ said Ben. ‘We’ve almost sold out for all four performances.’

  ‘It does seem a lot of work for just four performances,’ said Libby.

  ‘It was all we were allowed if you remember,’ said Peter reprovingly. ‘And don’t forget most of the cast have day jobs.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said Libby. ‘Which is why we’re so thin on the ground in here tonight.’ She looked round. ‘Not many of the usual group.’

  ‘And we haven’t got our lovely bar to drink in after the show each night, so I don’t suppose we’ll get many any night,’ said Ben.

  ‘Until the last night,’ said Peter.

  ‘Well, of course. We’re having the after-show party in the theatre and it will be a Saturday,’ said Libby.

  Peter grinned at her. ‘It’ll be worth it. I can’t believe how beautiful the production looks.’

  ‘Glad you’re pleased.’ Libby patted his arm. ‘Come on, then. Early night before the big day tomorrow.’

  Ben, Libby and Peter arrived early at the Abbey the following day and stood looking at the graceful grey stone arches and carvings which would be their set.

  ‘I hope we do it justice,’ said Peter. ‘And I hope all the lighting won’t detract from it.’

  ‘It enhances it, what do you mean?’ said Libby in surprise.

  ‘I mean the physical lights. I hope they don’t intrude.’ Peter shrugged. ‘Oh well. I’m going to get them out of the shed and begin setting up.’

  Libby trailed behind the two men and found Martha in the unlocked atrium polishing the glass case. She turned and smiled.

  ‘Big day today.’

  ‘It is.’ Libby peered into the case. ‘I’ve got quite fond of this old thing. Pity we never did find out its history.’

  Martha sighed. ‘Well, you did find out quite a lot. Just not who stole it and murdered that man.’

  ‘Do you think it brings bad luck?’ Libby looked at the calm sensible face beside her.

  Martha stared into the case. ‘N-no, not exactly,’ she said. ‘I just think it should have stayed in the monastery in the first place.’

  ‘What? Do you mean not gone back to Wales?’

  ‘Well, this was where she died.’

  ‘But the rest of her went to Canterbury, so this wouldn’t have stayed here anyway,’ said Libby.

  ‘No,’ said Martha with a sigh.

  ‘And she would have been lost in the Dissolution in any case.’

  ‘True.’ Martha turned with a sad smile. ‘My trouble is, I’m a bit of a romantic. Not the right thing, I suppose, for someone who lives as I do.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Even if you don’t want it for yourself, you can appreciate romance in others – although you’re not exactly talking about that sort of romance, are you?’

  Martha laughed. ‘No, I wasn’t, but I know what you mean. I’ve been married, you know.’ She turned and gave the glass a last polish.

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry –’ began Libby.

  ‘No, no, it’s quite all right.’ Martha tucked the cloth into the large pocket in her pinafore. ‘I believed in the sanctity of marriage – he didn’t. In fact –’ she looked away ‘– I’m still married.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby gazed fixedly out of the doors to where Ben and Peter between them were carrying two lamps and a quantity of cable.

  ‘Sorry.’ Martha gave a little laugh. ‘That conversation went a bit astray, didn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Libby with relief. ‘They do, sometimes. Anyway, I’d better get over there and help with the set-up. Will you be staying here?’

  ‘I’m going to sneak over to watch the performance. I can lock this up while it’s on, can’t I?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Libby. ‘Hope you enjoy it.’

  In dribs and drabs the rest of the company trickled in. Sister Catherine appeared to wish them luck and announced that all the sisters had been given dispensation to watch the performance. This rather increased the nerves of the cast and Peter in particular, who started fidgeting round the lights and muttering.

  ‘God,’ said Libby inappropriately, as she adjusted her habit and wimple, ‘if he doesn’t shut up he’s going to have the whole cast collapsing from sheer fright.’

  Outside the shed the light was beginning to fade. The floodlights were switched on, and the security guard radioed through that the first of the audience had arrived and the gates were being opened.

  ‘No one outside now,’ Peter said, coming through the door of the shed, fair hair flopping over a deep frown. ‘Sorry it’s so bloody crowded in here.’

  A chorus of assurance lifted the frown a little, and he nodded and went out to see if the reliquary was safe.

  ‘Martha will be standing by it while members of the audience go and peer at it,’ said Libby, ‘then she’ll lock it up and come and watch us.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit dangerous?’ asked Dominic. ‘Leaving it alone with all these strangers here?’

  ‘Not a bit,’ said Ben. ‘Anyone trying to get up to the atrium would have to get past us – or through us, come to that. There’s no other way, unless they go through the Abbey itself, and that’s locked up tighter than a drum.’

  ‘Why a drum?’ mused Fran, gazing out of the door. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

  Libby smiled fondly at her.

  The buzz of the audience grew louder and at last Peter came back to give them the three-minute call. The audience went quiet and the lights came up. Libby felt sure her heartbeat was visible though the thick black of her habit, and swallowed nervously. ‘Break a leg, everyone,’ she whispered, and moved forward.

  An hour and three-quarters later they stood together bowing incessantly to a rapturous crowd. Eventually, Peter resolutely shepherded them back through the dark arches to their shed and surprised them by producing champagne.

  ‘Did you hear anything from the audience?’ Libby asked him as he topped up her glass. ‘Any comments, I mean?’

  ‘The only one I had to answer properly was why our nuns wore modern habits.’ He grinned. ‘I pointed out that medieval paintings showed monks and nuns in almost the same clothes as they wear now. At least we didn’t put you all in those dowdy grey jobs.’

  ‘The shorter ones, you mean? No, they lack a certain gravitas, don’t they?’ Libby sipped appreciatively. ‘Good idea, this.’

  By the time they were all changed and the technical apparatus locked away there was no sign of either Martha or the sisters. The atrium was dark and the floodlights off. Libby and Ben stayed with Peter as he did his final locking up, and bade the security guard on duty goodnight.

  ‘How did your interview with Campbell go?’ asked Libby, as they climbed into Ben’s four by four. ‘I forgot to ask.’

  ‘Oh, fine. Just a little bit about its history and how we came to be doing the play. It’s only a filler, I think.’

  ‘Do we know when the beneficiary of the will is coming? Or was he there tonight?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I’ve no idea. We don’t even know if it’s male or female. I wonder if it will introduce its
elf?’

  ‘It might simply want to check the security arrangements,’ said Libby. ‘We might never know.’

  The Thursday and Friday performances were equally well received, and glowing reports appeared in both Jane’s Nethergate Mercury and the large county newspaper. Ben reported a large number of requests for tickets sadly turned down, and all cast and crew members had friends and family trying to get in on their coat-tails.

  ‘A bit like the pantomimes,’ said Libby, as they drove, for the last time, towards the Abbey, ‘and the fight for tickets to them. Perhaps we ought to reprise this at the theatre.’

  ‘No.’ Peter shook his head firmly. ‘It was written to be performed at the Abbey, not in a theatre. And that reminds me, we shall have to organise a work party to go tomorrow and do the get-out. We can’t take it all tonight.’

  Martha met them when they arrived, a frown on her face.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It’s the owner. Well, the person who will be the owner,’ said Martha. ‘He wants to take it away tonight.’

  ‘The reliquary?’ said Peter, as they all stopped dead. ‘He’s here, then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose he must be on his way. Sister Catherine had a phone call.’

  ‘But that might not be genuine,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! It will take hours to dismantle the lasers and the case – and you can’t just let someone walk off with it on the say-so of a phone call.’

  ‘No, that’s what we all thought. Sister Catherine said the security company are contracted to deliver it back to the antiquarian auction place, and they won’t allow it out of their sight.’ She sighed. ‘So it will be here until tomorrow morning. What I can’t understand, if that phone call was genuine, is why? This person volunteered to loan the relic, and even paid for the security company – why go against that?’

  ‘That’s what makes it seem phoney,’ said Ben. ‘I think you’re wise to keep it here.’

  ‘Yes,’ Martha turned a wistful face towards the atrium. ‘I shall miss it.’

  The usual end-of-term feeling pervaded the cast as they changed and got ready for the last performance of Murder in the Monastery.

  ‘The last ever, probably,’ said Bob, adjusting his tonsure-wig. ‘Shame.’

  ‘Couldn’t Peter ask the beneficiary of the estate to lend it for another performance next year?’ asked Dominic.

  ‘It will have a new owner by then,’ said Fran.

  ‘Well, why not ask them. It might be those people you went to see, Libby.’

  ‘And it might not. No, I think this is the last we’ll see of it, Dominic,’ said Libby. ‘And it’ll be gone by the morning.’

  At the end of a triumphant last performance, Peter produced more champagne and an invitation back to the theatre bar. ‘And we need a work party for tomorrow, don’t forget,’ he warned.

  Libby went to find Martha, who was locking the atrium for the last time.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but I expect this will be gone by then.’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Martha. ‘I’m handing over my keys very early.’

  ‘You look sad,’ said Libby.

  Martha smiled. ‘I know. I am. I’ve so enjoyed this week – and the weeks leading up to it. When this goes it will seem like the end of something lovely.’

  Impulsively, Libby leant forward and kissed her cheek. ‘You’ve been great,’ she said. ‘If they ever let you out you must come to Steeple Martin and see us all.’

  This time Martha laughed. ‘Oh, they let me out, all right. And perhaps I will.’ She made shooing motions. ‘Go on, they’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘I’m going,’ said Libby. ‘Bye Martha.’ She waved at the dark atrium. ‘Bye St Eldreda.’

  But in the morning, when the security guard arrived, St Eldreda was still there, which was what he expected. What he didn’t expect was to find Martha spread-eagled on the floor in front of it, and outside, lying in the shadow of the great stone arches, a body in a monk’s habit, its skull smashed like a crushed snail shell.

  Chapter Ten

  Peter called Libby early on Sunday morning.

  ‘Pete? It’s only half past six!’ Libby unglued her eyes to peer at the clock.

  ‘Lib, listen, this is serious.’ Libby could hear the shake in Peter’s voice. ‘Dominic’s dead.’

  ‘Dom?’ Libby’s voice rose to a shriek.

  ‘Not your Dom.’

  Libby’s heart rate slowed. ‘You mean Dominic Butcher?’

  ‘Yes. At the Abbey.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Libby closed her eyes. ‘Where? What happened?’

  ‘All I can tell you is what Sister Catherine told me. The security guard found Martha next to the reliquary case and Dominic dead in the ruins.’

  ‘Martha? She’s not –?’

  ‘No, but she’s in hospital. Critical, Sister Catherine thinks. It looks as though she foiled a burglary attempt.’

  ‘By Dominic?’ Libby was frowning. Ben was sitting up and trying to listen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Peter helplessly. ‘He was wearing his costume.’

  ‘The habit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the reliquary? You said Martha foiled …’

  ‘It’s still there. But Martha was next to the case and Dominic was some distance away, so it looks as though there may have been a third person.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Wait for the police to get in touch. We can’t go and do the get-out.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby digested this. ‘The police will want to talk to us, then?’

  ‘Yes. Sister Catherine has given them my number and yours.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Libby looked at Ben. ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘I’m going to the theatre to make a start on clearing up the bar,’ said Peter. ‘It’ll keep me busy.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Libby, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘Give me a chance to have a cup of tea and I’ll follow you up.’

  Three quarters of an hour later, Ben and Libby joined Peter at the theatre. All the glasses from the previous evening’s last-night party were already stacked on the bar, chairs were piled on tables and Peter was manipulating the vacuum cleaner out of its cupboard.

  ‘Sister Catherine called again,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Apparently Martha’s still unconscious, and there’s a police officer by her bed.’

  ‘How ill is she? Did Catherine say?’

  ‘I don’t think she knows. And I don’t suppose the police will tell us. I wonder who’s in charge?’

  ‘It won’t be Ian,’ said Ben. ‘The Abbey isn’t in his jurisdiction.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘We won’t get any inside information, then.’ She went behind the bar and turned on the tap. ‘Might as well wash up, then.’

  Peter switched on the vacuum cleaner and Ben began to root about for forgotten glasses parked on windowsills and behind pillars.

  The vacuum cleaner was suddenly silent and Libby looked up, startled, as she heard Peter’s voice.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  In the doorway stood two people. A large and uncomfortable-looking man with close-cropped greying hair, and a petite woman with a mane of suspiciously bright blonde hair.

  ‘Oh, lord,’ muttered Libby. ‘Big Bertha.’

  ‘You Peter Parker?’

  ‘Yes? And you are?’

  ‘Superintendent Bertram. This is DI Davies.’

  Peter’s chin lifted. ‘Identification?’

  Big Bertha looked astonished, but scrabbled in her shoulder bag before bringing out her ID. DI Davies beat her to it.

  ‘You knew Dominic Butcher and were instrumental in bringing that antique to St Eldreda’s Abbey. Why?’

  Libby strolled out from behind the bar, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Don’t worry, Pete. She always puts people’s backs up.’

  Superintendent Bertram turned a furious gaze on Libby. ‘Oh, for
f …’ she began.

  ‘Yes, nice to meet you again, Superintendent. Remember me? Libby Sarjeant with a J?’

  ‘I remember you,’ snarled the smaller woman.

  Peter raised his eyes as Ben, coming through from the auditorium, joined the group.

  ‘The murder at Lewis’s place,’ explained Libby. ‘We met then.’

  ‘Are you involved in this?’ snapped Bertram.

  ‘In the play that was put on at the Abbey? Yes.’

  ‘We all were,’ said Ben. ‘This is our theatre. We put the play on.’

  ‘What do you mean “our theatre”?’

  Libby, Ben and Peter looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘What I said. Our theatre.’ His amusement showed. ‘We own it.’

  Looking a trifle discomfited, Bertram cleared her throat.

  ‘What connection do you have to the Abbey?’ asked DI Davies.

  ‘Only that we put on a play there based on the story of the original St Eldreda,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sure Sister Catherine has already told you that.’

  ‘Why did you ask for that – that thing?’ Big Bertha’s voice was even more like a cheese grater than ever, thought Libby.

  ‘The relic? Because that was how we knew about the story,’ said Libby. ‘Sister Catherine asked me to look into the reliquary –’

  ‘She did what?’

  Libby smiled tranquilly. ‘Yes. It’s all right, DCI Connell from Canterbury knows all about it. In fact, it was him who asked for the reliquary to be loaned for the play.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘Did Sister Catherine not tell you? He’s spoken to her several times.’ Libby crossed her fingers, hoping it was true.

  DI Davies put away his notebook, and Big Bertha sighed.

  ‘I’ll call him. Meanwhile, if you can all give me statements about your movements last night and what you know of Butcher and the other woman –’

  ‘Martha,’ said Libby helpfully. ‘Let’s sit down.’

  Davies, Ben and Peter lifted chairs off tables and they all sat down. Libby’s eyes went to the coffee machine, but she decided it would only prolong things if she offered.

  The interviews were straightforward, each of them giving as thorough an account of their movements the previous night as they could, unnecessarily so, in Libby’s case, and their candid opinions of Dominic Butcher.