Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘Loads of pictures, but they’re all still in the camera. I’ll put them on the computer and then you can see them. Gorgeous place.’

  ‘And hugely me-friendly,’ said Anne, indicating her wheelchair. ‘And we actually managed to paint some pictures.’

  The conversation was still on the painting holiday when Peter looked up.

  ‘Hello, Ian. Is this a social call?’

  ‘More or less.’ Ian smiled a tired smile. ‘I’d like a coffee and a chat. Hello, everyone.’

  Ben got up and went to fetch a coffee.

  ‘You look tired,’ said Libby. ‘Has it been a long day?’

  ‘It has. It started with Martha being let out of hospital.’

  ‘Really? Is she back at the Abbey?’

  ‘Not so loud,’ said Ian. ‘You never know who’s listening.’

  ‘There’s only people from the theatre within earshot, Ian, and they know all about Martha anyway,’ said Fran.

  ‘Well, let’s keep it that way,’ said Ian. ‘No newcomers for your show?’

  ‘Susannah – but she’s Terry Baker’s sister, you remember? So as she’s Jane from the Mercury’s sister-in-law she’d know all about it, too. I expect.’

  ‘And then, of course,’ said Fran, fixing her eyes on Ian, ‘there’s our new drummer. David.’

  ‘I knew it.’ Ian shook his head. ‘And you’ve guessed who he is, haven’t you Fran?’

  ‘What?’ said a bewildered Libby. ‘Who?’

  ‘David Fletcher,’ said Fran. ‘Martha’s husband.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘How did you know that?’ demanded Libby.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fran helplessly. ‘I just knew there was something wrong about him. Then as soon as Ian mentioned Martha it was there, as a fact.’

  ‘She was suspicious,’ Libby confirmed, ‘and I couldn’t understand it. Susannah brought him along because she’s worked with him before. He seemed nice.’

  ‘He’s a professional musician and he’s suddenly accepted a free gig in a small, little-known theatre for – what is it? A week? With rehearsals?’ Ian looked sceptical.

  ‘Susannah said he was down here anyway, and he said he’d needed a break.’ Libby nodded gloomily. ‘I see. But how was I to know?’

  ‘You weren’t. But he obviously does,’ said Ian. ‘As far as we know, he still doesn’t know Martha lives permanently in the Abbey or that she’s an oblate and changed her name. The only contact Mrs Fletcher says they’ve had over the past couple of years is through her solicitors, whom she strictly forbade to give her address.’

  ‘Well, how did he know about her being involved here?’ asked Patti. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

  Ian smiled at her. ‘You aren’t, Miss Pearson.’

  ‘Please call me Patti. Pearson makes me uncomfortable.’

  ‘Patti, then. The reason he knew was the media using her real name, which, of course was in the police statements. Not at first, because we didn’t release it.’

  ‘But what does he want?’ asked Libby. ‘Is he a suspect?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Ben, ‘or he wouldn’t have turned up looking for her.’

  ‘Do you think he thinks she’s going to die and he’ll inherit something?’

  ‘Could be, Libby, but we can’t be sure. At the moment we want to keep him away, so please everyone, don’t say anything to him.’ Ian sipped at his coffee. ‘This is hot.’

  ‘We won’t,’ said Patti. ‘We’re not likely to meet him.’

  ‘And none of us will,’ promised Libby. ‘We can avoid him most of the time.’

  ‘Just watch for him trying to start up conversations with the company,’ said Ian, ‘and don’t tell any of them that Martha’s out.’

  ‘We can warn them all not to say anything to anyone,’ said Peter. ‘They’ll understand if we say the police investigation could be compromised.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Ian. ‘And now tell me what else has been going on.’

  Libby told him what Andrew had said that afternoon, and Peter repeated his random theory. Ian smiled wearily again.

  ‘I wish it was, Peter, but someone had to know about the reliquary and how to get in to the Monastery. I know it was on the TV news and in the local press, but there was no clue given as to the value of the item. Which means we have to find out who knew. We’ve ruled all of you lot out, you’ll be pleased to know.’

  Libby looked affronted and the others laughed.

  ‘You were rather too obvious, you know,’ said Ian.

  ‘I suppose we were,’ said Libby. ‘Fancy being a suspect!’

  ‘I don’t, thanks,’ said Fran. ‘And now, I really must get going. Oh, Ian. What about Jane and Terry Baker? Shall we tell them?’

  ‘You’d better, I think, but tell him not to tell his sister. She’d be bound to react to Fletcher differently if she knew.’

  ‘Well, there’s a turn-up for the books,’ said Libby, as she and Ben walked home. ‘I wonder why he’s here? Martha didn’t sound as though there was any love lost between them, although of course she didn’t tell me anything about him’

  ‘Perhaps it was the life-style?’ suggested Ben. ‘You know, professional musician, always travelling, suspect fidelity, perhaps?’

  ‘Maybe, and if she was already a particularly religious sort that wouldn’t go down well. But why did she marry him in the first place?’

  ‘It’s a puzzle,’ said Ben. ‘And I expect Ian will get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, we have to keep quiet about the whole thing.’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll come with Susannah tomorrow,’ said Libby. ‘I think, in case, we’d better tell Susannah she isn’t needed until eight thirty, then we’ll have a chance to tell everyone to keep mum.’

  Libby spent Thursday envisaging ever more unlikely scenarios concerning David Fletcher and Martha, whom she still couldn’t think of as Cornelia, so that by the time the company were assembled at the theatre in the evening she had built him into a comic-book villain in her head.

  ‘This is just a piece of advice I’ve been asked to pass on by the police investigating Dominic’s murder,’ Peter began, as they all settled into seats in the auditorium. ‘No one is to mention anything about the attack on Martha, or even mention her name to anybody outside the company, and that, unfortunately, includes our new MD, Susannah, and her drummer, David. This is because the police are keeping details of her attack under wraps for the usual reasons.’

  ‘So if anyone knows about the facts, it means they probably did it?’ suggested someone at the back. ‘That’s what they do on TV.’

  ‘Something like that, I guess,’ said Peter. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that none of us are suspects –’ general laughter ‘– but we must all take this very seriously. Speak to no one about it, and particularly if someone starts asking questions.’

  ‘Sometimes it could just be morbid curiosity,’ said Libby, ‘like slowing down at the scene of an accident, but you never know.’

  ‘It’s like the war, isn’t it?’ said someone else. ‘Be like Dad – keep Mum!’

  ‘Walls have ears,’ said Ben. ‘And now, let’s get on with blocking the Bells number.’

  When Susannah and David arrived, Libby couldn’t help staring at David, and noticed that several members of the company were doing the same. She caught as many eyes as she could and scowled mightily at them.

  The Bells scene was finally set quite twenty minutes after Susannah had arrived, when Libby asked her to play it for them and see if the movements all worked to music.

  ‘I see why you asked us to come late,’ she said to Libby, as they made their way to the foyer for coffee in the break. ‘All that setting – don’t you get bored?’

  ‘Yes, but it must be the same for you,’ said Libby. ‘All that rehearsing and practising.’

  ‘But I’m not normally an accompanist, so I don’t have to fit in with anyone else unless it’s a band or an orchestra. And to be fair, the bands I play with are so well reh
earsed and have worked together so often, they hardly need to rehearse. In fact, I frequently have the music emailed to me, possibly with a recording, and learn it before I get to the gig. Then we go through it at the sound check.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Libby, awed.

  Susannah laughed. ‘You’ll find a lot of vocalists do it that way, too. Especially those that work in a specific genre.’

  ‘Well, I never knew,’ said Libby. ‘I was in provincial rep when there was such a thing, so I never came across it.’

  ‘David’s the same,’ said Susannah, putting her money into the coffee machine. ‘I know people don’t think drummers need to read music, but they do. And David’s a classical percussionist, among other things.’

  ‘Blimey.’ Libby allowed her gaze to travel to David who was deep in conversation with Peter. Safe there, she thought. ‘So what’s he down here doing a free gig for us for?’

  ‘I’m not actually sure,’ said Susannah. ‘I told you, I don’t know what his connection to the area is, but there obviously is one or he wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘He might have just fancied Nethergate for a holiday,’ said Libby. ‘Some people do.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Susannah frowned. ‘He told me he had to be in the area for some time. What he’s doing about work I’ve no idea.’

  ‘How did you know he was here?’

  ‘Oh, he rang me. Told me what I’ve just told you, and said he didn’t know the area and was there anything I could tell him about it. Which struck me as a bit odd, but then I mentioned that I was doing your show and he immediately said did I want a drummer.’

  ‘Didn’t you think that was odd, too?’

  ‘A bit. But then, musicians are odd. They tend not to live conventional lives, or even if they do, they don’t have conventional hours.’

  ‘Must be difficult with a child, then.’

  ‘It is, but now Emlyn’s moved back in with me things are a lot easier.’

  So, thought Libby, as she strolled towards David and Peter, he did invite himself in. Very suspicious.

  Peter barely acknowledged her presence and carried on speaking:

  ‘… and with the advent of the internet and social media dissipating news faster than we can get it out there, there are worries that we’re going to become completely redundant.’

  David was looking a little glazed.

  ‘Can I get you off your hobby horse, Pete, so we can start again?’ Libby smiled at David and put her arm through Peter’s, guiding him away.

  ‘Well done,’ she whispered. ‘Was he asking?’

  ‘He was trying,’ muttered Peter. ‘Tell you later.’

  No one wanted to go to the pub that evening, so Peter, Ben and Libby settled for a drink in the foyer bar. Libby told them what Susannah had told her.

  ‘Well, he was definitely trying to get something out of me,’ said Peter. ‘Although if we hadn’t been warned about it I probably wouldn’t have noticed.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Started off by saying weren’t we the company who’d performed in the old Monastery when that person got murdered. Now, that’s just the kind of thing all sorts of people have said over the last few weeks, and quite normal, but, as I said, once you’ve been warned …’

  ‘So what did you say?’ said Libby.

  ‘Just yes, it was awful, and I hoped the police would catch the killer.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘He said wasn’t someone else attacked and I said I didn’t know much about it, we weren’t actually there and our production had finished. I think that surprised him.’

  ‘You made it sound as though we’d gone for good?’ said Ben. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘If he took it that way, I can’t help it!’ said Peter, with a grin.

  ‘So did he ask anything else?’ said Libby.

  ‘No, he just said wasn’t it awful something like that should happen in a Monastery of all places, and I managed to turn the conversation into –’

  ‘A rant on the current state of the publishing industry,’ Libby finished for him. ‘It was brilliant.’

  ‘Did you think to call Jane and Terry and warn them?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Bugger, no I didn’t, said Libby. ‘I’ll pop down there tomorrow. Easier than over the phone.’

  ‘That’s just an excuse to go and have an ice cream on the Harbour wall with Fran,’ said Peter.

  Libby grinned. ‘Might even see if the Sparkler or the Dolphin are going out and have a trip round the bay.’

  ‘All right for some,’ said Peter with a theatrical sigh.

  ‘You could come too, if you wanted. You choose your own hours.’

  ‘Not at the moment. There are too many things going on in the world,’ said Peter. ‘I need to be in close touch.’

  ‘They’re not going to start sending you off to war zones again, are they?’ asked Ben, looking worried. ‘I thought you’d given all that up.’

  ‘I have. But there are other sorts of crises, as you well know. And the public can’t always rely on the social networking sites.’

  ‘I still rely on the BBC,’ said Libby, ‘although even they get things wrong sometimes.’

  Libby drove down to Nethergate the following morning and parked as near as she could to Peel House. After knocking on the front door for a few moments, she heard the door to the basement flat open.

  ‘Is that you, Mrs Sarjeant?’

  Jane’s mother was peering up at her, holding Imogen by the hand.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Maurice. Yes, it’s me. Is Jane at work?’

  ‘Yes, she had to go in this morning. She’ll be back just after one.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll pop back. Will you tell her?’

  Mrs Maurice said she would, and Libby crossed the road to look down on Victoria Place and its beautifully planted, regimented flower beds. She decided it would be rather nice to sit there on one of the benches and gaze at the sea.

  She wandered down, found an empty bench and sat down, breathing in an invigorating dose of ozone.

  ‘Hello,’ said a voice. ‘Fancy finding you here.’

  And David Fletcher sat down beside her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ‘You startled me!’ Libby fought down an irrational panic.

  She was sitting in a public place, for goodness’ sake. And David Fletcher was hardly dangerous.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Libby tried a smile. ‘I just didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘Oh, I come in to Nethergate every day to shop or eat. The cottage I’m renting is a little way out of town so there’s nothing nearer.’

  ‘Was there nothing available in town?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Oh, yes, but not as peaceful.’

  ‘So you sacrificed amenities for peace?’

  ‘You could put it like that. So what are you doing here?’

  ‘Visiting friends,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, smiling determinedly. ‘And I must go now, or I’ll be late.’

  ‘Oh, I was hoping I might persuade you to have lunch with me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Libby, desperately hoping he would not decide to walk with her. However, the hope was doomed. He stood up with her and walked beside her to the end of Victoria Place.

  ‘I was talking to Peter about your murder last night,’ he said.

  Libby’s heart sank. ‘My murder?’

  ‘The chap who was murdered in your last production.’

  ‘Oh, he wasn’t,’ said Libby, remembering what Peter had said the night before. ‘If you mean the person who was killed in the Monastery, that was after our play. We’d gone by then, thank goodness.’

  ‘Oh.’ David looked disappointed.

  ‘Why are you interested?’ Libby turned to look directly at him. ‘We know very little about it, and even less about the man who was murdered.’

  ‘I thought he was a member of your company.’r />
  ‘Only for that production. None of us knew him. Why do you want to know?’ Libby took a deep breath. ‘Did you know him?’

  David now looked horrified. ‘No – no, of course not! I was just interested.’

  ‘Well, I must say we aren’t,’ Libby lied. ‘It’s quite different when you find yourself questioned in a murder case, even when you had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘No, of course, I understand. I’m sorry. I was being the worst sort of ghoul, wasn’t I?’ He smiled.

  ‘I understand, too,’ said Libby. ‘People do find this sort of thing interesting, but it’s quite different when you’re mixed up in it, as I said.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve been involved with several murder cases, haven’t you?’

  Oh, bugger, thought Libby. Aloud, she said ‘Yes, a few, quite by accident. And now you must excuse me – I’m late already.’

  And, sure enough, she could see Jane approaching Cliff Terrace out of the corner of her eye, although she didn’t want David to see exactly who she was meeting.

  ‘Right. I’ll see you next week, then.’ David held out a hand. Libby took it.

  ‘See you then,’ she said and turned away to follow Jane, hoping David wouldn’t watch her. However, by the time she reached the top of the steps to Jane’s mother’s flat and could legitimately turn round, he’d gone, so letting out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she went down the steps and knocked on the door.

  Ten minutes later she was sitting in Jane’s kitchen while Jane made large ham sandwiches.

  ‘Imogen’s had her lunch with Mum,’ she said, handing over a plate, ‘but she likes to sit with me while I eat mine.’ She sat down at the table. ‘What’s this all about, then?’

  Libby explained the situation, including her meeting with David that morning.

  ‘Ian doesn’t think he’s a suspect, as far as I know, but he’s obviously after something. He’s tried questioning me and Peter now, and virtually invited himself into our production.’

  ‘So what do you want us to do? Question Susannah about him?’

  ‘No, no! You mustn’t do that! Just don’t talk about the murder, and especially Martha, to anyone.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’ said Jane doubtfully. ‘It’s been in the papers – even the nationals – and on local TV. Campbell made sure of that.’