Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘Because you usually are,’ said Libby, crossly. ‘And this walk wasn’t my idea. Harry wanted to do something with his day off.’

  ‘And that involved poking around Butcher’s house?’

  ‘No! I didn’t even know where it was. Peter had the address.’

  ‘So why did Harry want to have a look?’

  ‘Nosiness, I expect,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, as we walked past it we stopped, and …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, Harry knocked. And then we heard a noise. I thought it might be a cat.’

  ‘That had let itself in? No.’

  ‘Well, you sent someone out,’ said Libby. ‘You must have thought it was worth investigating.’

  Ian sighed and looked at Sergeant Maiden. ‘We did, and you were right. However, by the time Sergeant Maiden got there, just after he saw you, whoever it was had gone.’

  ‘But how? The back door was boarded up, and didn’t you say there were padlocks? We didn’t hear anything and there were certainly no cars except your one.’ She looked at the sergeant.

  ‘We don’t know. Nor do we know how she – if it was Mrs Butcher – got there.’

  ‘Dominic’s car,’ said Libby frowning. ‘We were wondering about that. It couldn’t have been left in the Abbey car park or it would have roused suspicion.’

  ‘It wasn’t. We found it about half a mile away, with some clothes in it. It looks like a carefully prepared getaway.’

  ‘Which makes it even likelier that he was intending to steal the reliquary?’

  Ian nodded. Libby sighed again. ‘I’m going to make more tea. Would you like some?’

  As usual, the big kettle was simmering on the Rayburn, so it took next to no time for Libby to reappear in the sitting room with a tea tray.

  ‘Go on, then, what did you find in that house?’

  ‘It looks as though someone had stayed there overnight, and certainly a search had been made.’

  ‘Do you think that’s where Estelle went when she left Creekmarsh yesterday?’

  ‘If she did, what’s she done with her car?’

  ‘She could have left it somewhere and Fletcher could have given her a lift to Butcher’s house,’ suggested Maiden. Libby nodded agreement.

  ‘But if she ran away after we’d been there,’ said Libby, ‘why would she come knocking on my door?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Ian, ‘but you remember I did say someone might try and find out if you knew anything?’

  ‘You meant David.’

  ‘Yes, but the same applies to Mrs Butcher.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Now you’ve been up to the house, she must think you do. You’re sure she didn’t see you yesterday?’

  ‘No. The only time we’ve met was at Peter and Harry’s. What did she want, do you think?’

  ‘At the house?’ Ian shook his head. ‘There’s nothing in there that relates to her at all, except solicitor’s letters.’

  ‘But she’s frightened.’ Libby frowned. ‘She’s scared something will be found that will incriminate her, yet you don’t think she killed Dominic?’

  ‘The unbreakable cast-iron alibi,’ said Ian. ‘So she’s scared of something else.’

  ‘And is it the same thing that David Fletcher’s scared of?’

  ‘Is he scared?’ asked Ian. ‘I didn’t think so.’

  ‘No, actually, neither do I – he just wants to find something. And I think what he wants to find is Martha.’

  ‘So we keep mum,’ sad Libby. ‘And what about if Estelle turns up here?’

  ‘You tell her nothing and get in touch with us,’ said Ian. ‘By 999 if necessary.’

  ‘Do you think she’s dangerous?’ said Libby, nervously.

  ‘It depends on what she’s looking for or scared of,’ said Ian, standing up. ‘We’ll be off, and, Libby, no more poking around.’

  ‘No, Chief Inspector,’ said Libby, and saw Maiden give her a wink.

  She related the whole saga to Ben when he arrived from the Manor half an hour later.

  ‘Young Harry’s a menace,’ was his comment, as he held up a gin bottle. ‘Drink before dinner?’

  ‘Yes, please, I need one.’ Libby curled up in the corner of the sofa. ‘I’m worried about Estelle turning up here. How did she know where I lived?’

  ‘Would Dominic have had your address?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think he even had this phone number.’

  Ben handed her a glass and sat down beside her. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. After all, she didn’t try and break in, did she?’

  ‘No. I wonder where she’s gone now?’

  ‘She’ll be aware the police are on to her, so as far away as possible, I should think,’ said Ben. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  The sun came out again on Tuesday. Libby was once again trying to work on some small paintings for Guy’s gallery-cum-shop when Andrew rang.

  ‘I’ve got a bit more news,’ he said. ‘Fran said she can come round after lunch. Can you?’

  ‘Delighted,’ said Libby. ‘About two-ish?’

  Fran was already installed in a chair by the window when Libby arrived.

  ‘Sit down, Libby, and I’ll bring in the tea,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Do you know what this is about?’ Libby asked when he’d gone into the kitchen.

  ‘No – he just said he’d got some news. I meant to ask if he’d told Ian yet, but I haven’t had a chance.’

  ‘I’ll ask him now,’ said Libby as he came back into the room. ‘Andrew, have you told Ian or anyone at the police station this news?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Andrew, looking surprised. ‘I know your Mr Connell told me to keep going and that he would defray any costs, but I don’t know if he would want what I’ve found out. So I thought I’d – ah – run it by you first.’ He looked pleased with the colloquialism.

  ‘Now,’ he continued as he poured out tea. ‘Where had we got to?’

  ‘Albert Glover and May Tollybar got married. Oh – and Ronald -what was his name?’

  ‘Barnes. It’s Albert and May – who was May Williams if you remember – I’m concerned with. You know I wanted to find out if they had children? Well, they did.’

  ‘They did?’

  ‘They had three children, Caroline, Jessica and Robert.’

  ‘Who would also be Glovers?’ said Fran.

  ‘Who would also be Glovers. And we’re assuming, descended from Bad Jack Jarvis.’

  ‘So they’re all Tollybars crossed with Beaumonts?’ said Libby. ‘Where does that get us?’

  ‘Well,’ said Andrew, ‘so far, I’ve only traced Robert’s family. He married and had a daughter called Maureen.’ He looked at each of them in turn and twinkled. ‘And she had a daughter called – Estelle!’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ‘She didn’t!’ Libby gasped. ‘Our Estelle?’

  ‘Estelle Butcher née Wilcox, yes.’

  ‘That might account for a lot,’ said Fran. ‘I think you should tell Ian immediately, Andrew.’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ His face fell. ‘I thought it might be quite nice to do a bit more investigating on our own first.’

  Libby and Fran exchanged looks.

  ‘We can carry on investigating, Andrew, but you really must tell Ian. You see, she’s disappeared.’

  Libby explained what had happened on Sunday and subsequently on Monday afternoon.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Andrew, frowning. ‘This must mean she knows about the reliquary.’

  ‘In the light of who she is, it could well be that Dominic got information about it from her in the first place,’ said Fran.

  ‘Do you think that’s what she’s been trying to conceal?’ said Libby.

  ‘Could it be,’ said Andrew slowly, ‘that this Dominic had heard about it from his wife while they were still married, then, when finding out it was coming to the Abbey he told her, and they plotted together to steal it?’

  ‘That’s got to be it,
’ said Libby, ‘but Ian said there was no sign of any contact between them at the house.’

  ‘But Estelle thought there would be, and that’s what she’s been looking for,’ said Fran. ‘Go on, Andrew, you must call the police.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Andrew sighed and got up to fetch his phone. ‘What’s the number?’

  Fran quoted Ian’s official number, and the waited while Andrew punched it in.

  ‘Oh, Mr Connell! I didn’t expect you to answer so quickly. Yes, that’s why I’m calling. The ladies thought I should.’ Andrew’s eyes flicked to Libby and Fran. ‘Yes, they’re here with me now. Well, it’s like this …’

  Andrew repeated his story, then spelt out a few details.

  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector, I’ll carry on, certainly, if you think there is anything else to find. Of course, of course. Ronald Barnes. Yes, do.’ He switched off the phone.

  ‘He sounded very interested. Quite sharp, I thought.’

  ‘Yes, he would,’ said Libby. ‘And he wants you to look at Ronald Barnes?’

  ‘And see if there any living descendants of either apart from Estelle.’

  ‘Ah! A sort of race for the treasure?’

  Andrew pulled down his mouth. ‘Quite. It sounds like a bad Boy’s Own adventure, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If it wasn’t for people being killed it would be quite exciting,’ said Libby. ‘I used to love those comics when I was a girl.’

  ‘You were supposed to love the girly ones, all boarding school and ballet classes,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, I loved them, too, especially the pony ones. So where will you go next, Andrew?’

  ‘I’ll have a look at the Glovers’ other children, and I’ll trace old Albert back and see if there’s a definite connection with Bad Jack, and see if the same applies to Ronald Barnes.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘This reliquary seems to have caused an awful lot of trouble.’

  ‘Right from its earliest days, yes,’ said Fran, ‘and it’s carrying on now.’

  ‘I wonder what its actual value is? Was it in the auction catalogue?’

  ‘No, there wasn’t even a reserve price quoted,’ said Libby. ‘Incalculable, I expect. It’s got huge gem stones set in a pure gold casket. Welsh gold, I expect.’

  ‘But it seems to be its value as a sort of talisman – a good luck charm – to the families that causes all the problems. Alastair Beaumont told you that, didn’t he, Lib?’

  Libby nodded. ‘But whenever it disappears – or gets stolen – that’s always for money. And Dominic needed money.’

  ‘And somebody needed money when they stole it from poor old Bernard Evans. I wonder if that was a member of the family?’

  ‘Which family, though?’ said Libby. ‘The Beaumonts or the Tollybars?’

  ‘Good Lord, you make it sound so complicated!’ said Andrew. ‘More tea, anyone?’

  When they left Andrew’s flat, they went to lean on the wall and look out over the roofs of Nethergate and the bay beyond.

  ‘Opens up a whole new can of worms, doesn’t it?’ said Libby.

  ‘Odd, really, that tracing the family and the story behind the reliquary should have brought us to this point,’ said Fran. ‘All goes back to family. And if you think about it, that’s been the case in some of our investigations.’

  ‘Yours included,’ agreed Libby. ‘Awful things, families.’

  ‘Andrew didn’t say if Estelle had any siblings.’

  ‘No, but he would have mentioned them if she had. He said he was going to check on Albert and May’s other children. Albert and May would be Estelle’s great-grandparents, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Mm.’ Fran nodded, squinting at the sun on the sea. ‘Didn’t you have the urge in there to say, well, come on, get on with it? There’s loads he could do online, isn’t there?’

  ‘I expect so, but we don’t want to deprive him of his trips to Kew and the British Library, do we?’ said Libby. ‘I just hope he comes up with another bombshell soon.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you’d managed to get David Fletcher’s address?’ Fran suddenly straightened up and turned back towards the road. ‘We could go there now.’

  ‘Now?’ Libby looked flustered. ‘But Ian’s told me not to go poking around any more. That’s definitely poking around.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me. Come on, we’ll go in my car,’ said Fran.

  ‘Could I park mine somewhere else?’ asked Libby, following her across the road. ‘Andrew will wonder why mine’s still here if he sees it.’

  ‘It is quite conspicuous,’ said Fran. ‘OK, we’ll see if there’s a space on Harbour Street.’

  Finding a space took far longer than Fran wanted, and she was extremely impatient by the time Libby joined her.

  ‘OK. OK, not my fault,’ said Libby, buckling her seat belt. ‘And this is your idea, remember, not mine for once.’

  Fran drove out of Nethergate along the road that would eventually lead to Creekmarsh, and turned off towards the village of Heronsbourne.

  ‘Here,’ she said, pointing at a row of whitewashed cottages. ‘I bet they’re all holiday lets.’

  ‘A bit isolated,’ said Libby. ‘Heronsbourne’s another couple of miles up the road, and it isn’t that close to Nethergate.’

  ‘I don’t suppose people mind these days, as long as they’ve got a car,’ said Fran. ‘And they do look pretty.’

  ‘All right,’ said Libby, ‘we’ve seen it. What do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fran, helplessly. ‘I’m not sure why I wanted to come.’

  Libby looked at her shrewdly. ‘That was your brain again. There must be a reason. You must have seen something.’

  ‘No, I’m sure I didn’t. I just felt it was urgent to come out here.’

  ‘In that case,’ sighed Libby, ‘we’d better go and see if everything’s all right, hadn’t we?’

  ‘What number is it?’ asked Fran as they approached the row of cottages.

  ‘Four. On the end farthest from the road,’ said Libby.

  ‘Where do they park?’ asked Fran looking round. ‘This is only a footpath.’

  ‘There must be somewhere round the back.’ Libby walked to the end of the row, where the cottages came up against a stand of trees. ‘Yes, look.’

  Behind the cottages a space had been cleared, and in it stood three cars.

  ‘Are any of those David’s?’ whispered Fran.

  ‘I’ve no idea, I’ve never seen his car.’

  ‘Estelle’s?’

  ‘Same. Never seen it.’

  Fran stood in front of the end cottage, irresolute. ‘Dare we knock?’

  ‘I’ve already been told off once for interfering at a property,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t want to risk it again.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have some message about rehearsal?’

  ‘I’d have phoned him, hardly come all the way out here. It’s not even on the way to anywhere.’

  ‘We could be going to visit George at The Red Lion.’

  ‘That’s not an adequate excuse for being here,’ said Libby. ‘No, I think we shall have to leave it and hope you weren’t foretelling another murder.’

  Fran looked agonised. ‘Don’t say that!’

  Libby stared at her for a moment. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring him.’

  ‘Have you got his number?’

  ‘Yes, I put it in the phone that first night he came to rehearsal. He won’t know I’ll be calling from outside his house. Come on, we’ll do it from the car.’

  Back in Fran’s car, Libby found her mobile and selected David’s number. It was answered almost immediately.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Oh, David,’ said Libby, realising she hadn’t thought of a reason for calling.

  ‘Libby?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Um – are you picking Susannah up tomorrow for rehearsal?’

  ‘Yes, I am, why?’

  ‘I wonder if you could possibly come a little early?’ said Libby, with sudden inspiration. ‘A
couple of the soloists would like to rehearse with you. You know, for odd effects.’

  ‘Swanee Whistle?’ asked David with amusement.

  ‘That sort of thing, yes,’ said Libby. ‘Have you got one?’

  ‘It’s in every drummer’s essential kit,’ laughed David. ‘What time do you want us?’

  ‘Seven thirty if that’s all right,’ said Libby, wracking her brains for some way to find out where he was. ‘I’ve got to check with Susannah first because of baby-sitting and so on, so I’ll ask her to confirm with you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said David, ‘I’m just about to go over there, so I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Oh – thank you,’ said Libby. ‘Er – yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ said David, sounding puzzled, as well he might. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, tomorrow,’ said Libby. ‘Have a nice time at Susannah’s.’

  ‘Oh, she just wants to go through some of the music on our own,’ said David. ‘And I shall stay to supper afterwards. Do you know Emlyn?

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Nice chap. I expect you’ll meet him at the show.’

  ‘I expect I will,’ said Libby faintly. ‘Bye for now, then.’ She switched off the phone.

  ‘Now for goodness’ sake don’t forget to summon a couple of soloists early tomorrow,’ said Fran. ‘What was that all about?’

  Libby explained, keeping a watchful eye on the cottages.

  ‘There’s a car coming out on to the lane,’ said Fran, looking in her mirror. ‘Do you think that’s him?’

  ‘Heads down,’ said Libby. ‘The trouble with your car is that it’s noticeable.’

  They both hunched down in their seats, Libby only risking a look as the silver-grey car swished past them.

  ‘Yes, that was him,’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Shall we go and have a look?’ said Fran.

  ‘Really?’ said Libby, pulling a face. ‘What if he comes back?’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He might have forgotten his music or something.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Fran, opening her door. ‘I’ll go. You stay here.’

  Libby watched as her friend crossed the road, walked to the end of the row of cottages and peered in through the window of number four. After a moment, she left the window and walked round the side of the cottage and out of sight. Libby fidgeted and worried, and had just decided she’d better go and find out what had happened when Fran reappeared.