Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘They won’t let anyone in there, either, will they?’ said Fran.

  ‘Do you think someone might try?’ Ian narrowed his eyes at her.

  ‘Yes.’ Fran lowered her own eyes and picked up her drink.

  ‘Someone’s worried that she’ll remember,’ said Libby. ‘That means someone who’s been around the whole time.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t forget that whoever killed Dominic could have been a complete outsider.’

  ‘A partner in crime? Otherwise, who would know? I can’t see Dominic telling anyone else, can you?’ said Peter.

  ‘Estelle, then,’ suggested Libby. ‘We don’t know that they were completely estranged, do we?’

  ‘It certainly looked like it,’ said Ian. ‘There was no evidence of any contact between them at his place, except some fairly heavy solicitors’ letters. We’ve gone over the whole place again, especially since the break-in.’

  ‘Break-in?’ said four voices.

  ‘Attempted break-in, I should say.’ Ian grinned round at them all. ‘Sorry we didn’t keep you informed.’

  ‘Oh, stop it.’ Libby slapped his arm. ‘Come on, when was it?’

  ‘Thursday night. There were padlocks on all the doors and the windows had been sealed, so whoever it was only made a very half-hearted attempt. But it was enough to make us think there was something in there that someone wanted to get at.’

  ‘And that presumably points at Estelle,’ said Libby.

  ‘Or the partner in crime suggested by Peter,’ said Ian.

  ‘Dominic was in debt, you said, didn’t you?’ said Ben. ‘So there’s nothing in his place worth stealing.’

  ‘It’s incriminating evidence they’re after,’ said Libby.

  ‘But what incriminating evidence?’ said Fran. ‘A letter from someone? Email accounts? What?’

  ‘We’ve looked at all those,’ said Ian. ‘Most of the contacts either on his computer or in his address book are connected with television. It’s as if he had no family at all.’

  ‘Isn’t Estelle’s name there?’ said Peter.

  ‘No. Which makes us think he had cut everybody from his former life out – except his show business contacts.’

  ‘But you’ve got his birth certificate? You know where he came from?’ said Libby.

  ‘Yes, Libby, don’t worry. And his marriage to Estelle. That’s her real name, by the way.’

  ‘Why does all that matter, anyway?’ asked Ben. ‘It’s poor old Bernard Evans whose background we wanted to trace.’

  ‘And we are,’ said Ian. ‘It’s all costing a fortune. Superintendent Bertram’s very pleased she handed over to our division.’

  ‘Can we do anything?’ asked Libby. That won’t interfere, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ian. ‘Never let it be said!’

  ‘I think you’ve got enough to do organising the End Of The Pier Show,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sure Ian will tell you if there’s anything you need to know.’

  ‘Like tonight,’ said Libby. ‘You think Martha’s husband might try and get to her through us?’

  ‘It’s possible, although I have no idea why. Just be on your guard. One thing – from the phone call received at the Abbey and his approach at the hospital, it looks as if he doesn’t know her name is now Martha. He might not even know she was an oblate.’

  ‘Then why did he call the Abbey?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It mentions the Abbey in the media. Not that there’s been much, but as you found out, social media is the very devil. No one can control it.’

  ‘OK, we’ll be vigilant,’ said Libby. ‘Now – who wants another drink?’

  For Libby, Friday and Saturday were taken up with organising the new show. She visited the Alexandria and admired its restored Edwardian glory, and received permission to look through the boxes and files left by the original owner, Dorinda Alexander. There were a few old costumes, too, all housed at the Nethergate Museum, and although Libby had seen them all in far less formal surroundings a few years ago, she was delighted to be able to go through them all, and was even allowed to photocopy some of the programmes and other documents.

  ‘To think,’ she said ruefully to the librarian, who was helping her with the photocopier, ‘I could have taken all this lot home with me at one time, as a gift.’

  ‘Really?’ The librarian looked interested, but Libby decided it probably wasn’t politic to go into the story and just smiled again, benignly.

  ‘We’re doing an old style End of The Pier Show at the Alexandria at the end of August,’ she said. ‘I do hope you’ll come and see it.’

  The Alexandria management had promised posters by the beginning of the following week, so Libby arranged to collect some as soon as she received the phone call. Then, leaving the car where it was, in a reserved spot in the Alexandria car park, she climbed up to Cliff Terrace and Peel House.

  Jane answered the door holding Imogen’s hand.

  ‘Hello! This is a nice surprise,’ she said. ‘Do you want something, or is this a social visit?’

  ‘Oh, dear! Do I only see you when I want something?’

  Jane laughed, leading the way into the sitting room. ‘Of course not, but I’m happy to be a source of information for Sarjeant Investigations Limited.’

  ‘Well, not this time,’ said Libby. ‘I was at the Alexandria, so I thought I’d see if you were in.’

  ‘What were you there for?’ asked Jane. ‘Oh – of course – the show Susannah’s playing for. Looking forward to that.’

  ‘Not only playing, she’s doing a number on her own, too.’

  ‘Oh, good. She’s terrific. Well, you know that, don’t you? Actually,’ Jane sat down and leant forward. ‘I think I shall do a feature about it. After all, Susannah’s quite well known – been on TV and that sort of thing – and you and Fran are, too.’

  ‘Notorious,’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, people know you around here, and the Oast’s got a wonderful reputation. It would make a lovely piece, don’t you think?’

  ‘It would and it would be terrific publicity, thanks, Jane.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s go and make some tea. Imogen – juice?’

  Imogen took Libby’s hand. ‘Doose,’ she agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After a lazy Sunday, Libby attacked her rather neglected housework on Monday morning, made a sandwich and took it to the theatre to begin sorting through the costumes Hetty had selected. Halfway through the afternoon, she sat back on her heels and puffed out a long breath. Dust swirled in the working lights above the stage like so much fairy dust and got up her nose.

  Pushing back a lock of hair, she fished in her pocket for her mobile and, after a moment’s thought, found Andrew’s number.

  ‘Libby,’ he answered in a whisper, ‘I’m in the library. I’ll call you back.’

  Libby got to her feet and picked up some of the costumes to carry them through to the rail in the dressing room. Although they had all been cleaned before being put away, some smelt musty, and she put these aside to give them a good airing. She was just going back for a second load when the phone rang.

  ‘Sorry about that Libby, I’ve had to come up to the British Library.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Libby, surprised.

  ‘I do have other projects,’ said Andrew, sounding faintly put out. ‘Not just yours.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Libby, contrite. ‘I thought …’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Andrew. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to spend all my time on the Tollybar/Beaumont project, but I’m trying to find out if they had children.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘May and Albert Glover, remember? It’s not easy tracing downwards, much easier going upwards. Unfortunately the names are all quite common. You wouldn’t believe how many May and Albert Glovers there were back in the early twenties. And of course, I can’t get at the census records for 1921 yet.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

&nbs
p; ‘They haven’t yet been opened – the hundred-year rule, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Libby, who didn’t.

  ‘However, I think I’ve found a connection between Bernard Evans and the person who left him the reliquary.’

  ‘You have? What was his name again?’

  ‘Ronald Barnes. He never married, but he had siblings. Bernard is the great-great-great nephew. Apparently, there is a letter which went to Bernard with the reliquary which Ian is trying to have unearthed from the police files. It was obviously never followed up at the time.’

  ‘So what we have to do now is prove a link between Bad Jack Jarvis and Ronald Barnes?’

  ‘But why, Libby? Why is that important?’

  ‘Because there’s a link back to the Beaumonts. All this business of them wanting the reliquary back – I’m sure it’s a motive.’

  ‘I must say I don’t see Alastair Beaumont as a murderer,’ said Andrew dubiously.

  ‘Neither do I. It’s got to be one of those domino lines.’

  ‘Domino –?’

  ‘You know – what you said the other day. One person has two children, they each have two, then they have two each –’

  ‘Yes, yes, I see. You could be right, but I’m damned if I see what good it’s going to do.’

  ‘I’m not sure either,’ said Libby, frowning, ‘but Ian wanted you to carry on, didn’t he? So there has to be a reason. And only a Beaumont or a Tollybar would know about the reliquary.’

  ‘So are you suggesting that whoever killed Bernard Evans and Dominic Butcher was a Beaumont or a Tollybar?’

  ‘Not the same one,’ said Libby, ‘but yes.’

  ‘And that’s the purpose of all this delving into family history.’

  ‘Well, of course it is. We have to find out who knew enough about the reliquary to want to steal it. And we now know that Ronald Barnes did, and so did Albert Glover. Now, if we can prove that they are related –’

  ‘They would both be putative descendants of Bad Jack Jarvis. Yes, I get it.’

  ‘But that doesn’t get us anywhere with the current generation,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘Did Bernard Evans have any children?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Andrew. ‘Ian must have that in the old case files.’ He sighed. ‘When I’ve finished what I’m doing now I’ll get back on to Albert and May’s children. If any.’

  Libby switched off the phone and stood staring at the still swirling dust motes. Things were now so complicated in her head that she’d begun to lose sight of the starting point of the case.

  ‘Which was,’ she said out loud, her voice echoing in the empty auditorium, ‘finding out where the reliquary had come from. Which we now know.’

  ‘Only we don’t.’ Peter’s voice came back at her making her jump. She put up a hand to shield her eyes.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here.’ He strolled through the auditorium doors and down towards the stage. ‘You were talking to yourself, were you?’

  ‘I’d just been talking to Andrew.’ Libby gathered up another armful of clothes. ‘You can help me take these to the dressing room, if you like.’

  Peter picked up the rest. ‘As I was saying – you don’t know where the reliquary came from.’

  ‘Yes, we do, from Mr Marshall.’

  ‘The whole point, Libby, is where did he get it from?’

  ‘Oh, bugger, of course. Presumably the killer of Bernard. It’s annoying, isn’t it? It just pops up here and there, waves at us and disappears again.’

  ‘So Andrew’s trying to do what?’

  ‘That’s what he was asking. I think we’ve all rather lost the plot. Basically find out who might have known about the bloody thing from family connections.’ Libby hooked the last hanger on to the rail.’

  ‘It could be nothing to do with that, you know.’

  ‘I know. It could just be a random act. Someone finding out how valuable it is and knocking Dominic on the head. But you see, that’s the puzzle. Dominic found out about it from us and from the play. If he’d stolen it, it would have been a random act to solve his debt problems. But someone killed him and didn’t take the reliquary.’

  ‘But meant to and Martha stopped them. That could still be random.’ Peter led the way to the workshop, where he filled and switched on the kettle. ‘Come on, I want to find that seaside backcloth we had for the Music Hall.’

  ‘Someone who’d heard about it? Someone like Estelle, perhaps?’ said Libby, pulling out a selection of rolled canvasses.

  ‘Eh?’ Peter was getting out rather stained mugs. ‘Oh, you’re back on that are you? Yes, well, Estelle could have heard about it, or anybody connected with the play. And then, it was on the TV and in the paper. It could have been anybody. I think your delving into family history might be a red herring, Lib.’

  ‘There’s still the problem of how he got in, and the time difference between Dominic’s death and Martha’s attack.’

  ‘We-ell,’ said Peter, thoughtfully stirring the mugs, ‘how about the murderer hearing the guard coming on his rounds just after he’s killed Dominic and leaving it a good long time before he goes back and is then disturbed by the guard again? Are they sure Martha was attacked only just before the guard found her?’

  ‘Fairly sure, and she herself says she got up and went to check on the thing at about a quarter to six before Matins. That’s two hours at least between the attacks.’

  ‘I give up, then. But I still say it could be random. Come on, concentrate on finding this scenery. We’ve got to check measurements, and send somebody over to have a look at their lighting rig, don’t forget.’

  Libby valiantly put the whole Monastery case to the back of her mind over the next two days and, as Peter had suggested, concentrated on the new show. On Tuesday evening the soloists, perforce unaccompanied, gathered at the theatre to try out their pieces in front of each other, to see if they remembered them well enough. On Wednesday morning Patti telephoned to say she and Anne were back in the county and would see them at the pub that evening if they were free.

  ‘Yes, but we’re rehearsing again,’ said Libby. ‘Mad, isn’t it?’

  ‘We’re going to The Pink Geranium for dinner as usual, so we’ll see you afterwards. I expect you’ve got lots to tell us, haven’t you?’

  ‘Some,’ said Libby cautiously. ‘Bet you’ve got more!’

  ‘Oh, we were very quiet,’ said Patti, ‘but it was glorious.’

  Libby was early at the theatre, switching the coffee machine on in the bar and arranging chairs on the stage to represent the minimal set for the first ensemble piece. Susannah arrived and was immediately surrounded by members of the cast to talk about their individual songs, but eventually, Peter, who was overseeing rehearsals as he wasn’t taking part, was able to instil some sort of order and they began the first seaside set.

  Susannah made them go through it twice, and Libby reminded them of some of the moves they had used in the Music Hall. It was at this point that she became aware of a man sitting alongside Susannah and following the music. When she decreed a coffee break, Libby went over to them.

  ‘Libby, this is David,’ she said. ‘Your new drummer.’

  David gave her a delightful smile and held out his hand.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘So pleased Susannah persuaded you to join us. I hope it won’t be too much of an imposition.’

  ‘Not at all. I expect she told you I’m down here on a bit of a break anyway, and I would have got bored with nothing to do.’

  ‘But that’s what you’re supposed to do on a break,’ said Libby. ‘Are you staying in Nethergate?’

  ‘Just outside. I was lucky to get a holiday let at short notice.’

  ‘It’s the recession,’ said Libby. ‘A lot were left empty this year. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘We’ll get our own, Libby,’ said Susannah. ‘Come on, David.’

  ‘Drummer?’
asked Fran, as Libby joined her.

  ‘Yes. He seems nice. How old would you say he is?’

  ‘Too young for you, Libby. Early forties?’

  ‘I’d say so. He’s staying just outside Nethergate.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ said Fran, her eyes resting thoughtfully on the back of David’s glossy brown head.

  ‘Why?’ Libby’s eyebrows went up. ‘He needed a break, he said.’

  ‘And he’s working for us?’

  ‘He said he was bored.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Fran.

  ‘Why are you being so suspicious?’ said Libby testily. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t come to the pub with us afterwards.’

  ‘He won’t if no one asks him,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, let’s get some coffee now the queue’s died down.’

  The rest of the rehearsal went as well as could be expected, and, to Fran’s relief, David and Susannah left together.

  ‘David’s giving me a lift,’ she said, ‘and I want to get back as early as possible.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fran, as she watched them go, ‘she’s got a baby, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Not a baby any more, Uncle Terry tells me. Five, or nearly. And that baby’s father and she are now living together, so all happy families.’

  ‘I guessed she and David weren’t a couple.’

  ‘Really? How?’ Libby led the way out of the theatre.

  ‘They just didn’t seem like it. I suppose if they’re both professionals they’ll have worked together.’

  ‘That’s how Susannah knew about him being down here and why she asked him.’

  ‘Oh, she asked him, did she? Not the other way round?’

  ‘What are you on about?’ said an exasperated Libby. ‘You’ve taken a proper dislike to him, haven’t you?’

  But Fran would only shake her head.

  Patti and Anne were waiting for them in the pub, and, after hugs of greeting, Patti went to fetch drinks at the bar, where Ben interrupted her and took over.

  ‘Tell us all about it, then,’ said Libby. ‘And have you got pictures?’