Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘Was it ever stated in the press that it wasn’t stolen?’

  Libby stopped dead, her mouth open. Ben grinned. ‘Come on, let’s go back and look it up.’

  Libby woke up the laptop when they got back to the cottage, while Ben poured them both large whiskies.

  ‘Look,’ she said, scrolling down, ‘hundreds of bloody reports.’

  ‘Try the BBC ones first,’ said Ben, ‘then the nationals.’

  Side by side at the little table in the window they began to read through the reports.

  ‘No mention in the first couple of days,’ said Ben. ‘Go on a bit.’

  But after the first few days, the media’s interest waned. The police were giving out no new information – ‘Well, there wasn’t any to give, was there?’ commented Libby – and even an in-depth piece in one of the Sunday broadsheets the following week, gave nothing more.

  ‘The most it says is “during a burglary” and for Martha “attempting to prevent the theft of this valuable item”,’ said Ben.

  ‘It never says it was stolen, but it doesn’t say it wasn’t,’ said Libby, sitting back in her chair. ‘If you weren’t dissecting it like us, you could well think it had been stolen.’

  ‘I wonder if Ian did that on purpose? Or his Superintendent, or press officer or whoever decides what’s to be released,’ said Ben.

  ‘He should have told us,’ said Libby indignantly.

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘Well, we might have let slip it was safe back at the auction house.’

  ‘At first, he didn’t know David and Estelle were going to crawl out of the woodwork, did he?’

  ‘True, but he must have hoped something would.’ Libby shut the laptop. ‘So now we’ve got to be even more careful of what we say.’

  Ben stood up and stretched. ‘I for one would quite like not to have to think about any of it for a good long time.’

  Libby woke very early the next morning and sat straight up in bed.

  ‘I’ve thought of something else,’ she said to a bewildered and befuddled Ben. ‘No, don’t get up. I’ll go and make myself some tea.’

  ‘Bring me a cup,’ muttered Ben and went back under the duvet.

  Downstairs, Libby put the kettle on and fed Sidney. It was the missing robe. They’d all forgotten that. And could that be what Estelle was looking for? She warmed the teapot, spooned in tea leaves and poured on the boiling water.

  If that was what it was, and it made sense, perhaps she had met Dominic, or been concealed by him in the other robe. Which she’d left behind somewhere and was now trying to find? No. She shook her head, poured out the two mugs of tea and took them upstairs.

  ‘So what is it you thought of?’ asked Ben, struggling to an upright position.

  ‘The missing robe,’ said Libby. ‘I was just thinking perhaps that was what Estelle was looking for.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be at Dominic’s house,’ said Ben. ‘He was dead. He couldn’t have taken it back there.’

  ‘No. But it is still missing. Suppose Estelle is looking – or was looking – for the evidence that connects the two of them with the attempted theft, and suppose she took the robe?’

  ‘Suppose she escaped wearing it?’ said Ben. ‘But how did she escape?’

  ‘I reckon that was easy,’ said Libby. ‘I think whoever the murderer is, he hid from the security man when he did his rounds at six, or whenever it was, and sneaked down near his office, hid again, and got out after he’d let the police and ambulance in.’

  ‘And threw away the robe?’

  ‘Or hid it. Dustbins, maybe.’

  ‘Do they have industrial dustbins at the Abbey?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I expect so, in which case they were probably emptied very soon after the Sunday.’

  ‘The police may not have let them empty the dustbins,’ said Ben. ‘They often don’t, do they?’

  ‘That’s true, and they’d have found the robe before we knew it was missing.’ Libby sighed. ‘I just woke up thinking about that robe, and realised that we haven’t even thought about it since Pete took the others back up to London.’

  ‘Ian will have,’ said Ben. ‘Forget about it. It isn’t our problem.’

  ‘Well, David is if he’s still trying to ferret information out of us.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll find something else out today,’ said Ben. ‘Now, give us a cuddle and then I’ll go and cook you a proper breakfast as a treat.’

  When Ben had left for the Manor, Libby was restless. She wandered into the conservatory and peered disconsolately at the painting on the easel, then out at the damp garden. Summer really hadn’t taken off this year, she thought, although as a lot of the garden had been destroyed in a fire just before last Christmas, it was hardly surprising that it wasn’t looking its best. That reminded her of the gap in the hedge, and she went outside to have a look at it.

  ‘I wonder if it was Estelle?’ she murmured to Sidney, who had decided to accompany her. ‘And if it was, what did she want? And where did she go from here?’

  She stood looking up at the trees which pressed closely to the back gardens of Allhallow’s Lane and led on to the Manor estate land.

  ‘Ian and Sergeant Maiden saw a figure escaping into the woods which they thought was Estelle,’ said Libby to Sidney. ‘I wonder why they thought that. And why they were sure it was her on the run from Dominic’s house? There’s something they weren’t telling me, isn’t there, Sidney?’

  She began to walk along the edge of the woods, Sidney trotting happily beside her, his tail in the air, pleased to have this entirely unexpected outing with his human.

  ‘Mustn’t be too long, though,’ she said to him. ‘I’ve left the back door unlocked.’

  They came to where Allhallow’s Lane petered out and a track led across the estate land. Occasionally, Ben would drive the four by four this way. You could get to the bridge where Peter had once fallen into the ditch, and to the “new” Hoppers’ Huts, which had been built to replace the original ones, and were now being let experimentally as self-catering units. At least, they were hoping to, thought Libby, with a sigh.

  Sidney wandered back to the woods, leaving Libby to walk along the track by herself. The ground, not as muddy as it would be in the autumn and winter, was still not pleasant, due to the unseasonal weather the country had been suffering, and Libby wasn’t wearing the right shoes, but she carried on, just to see if she could work out where Estelle might have been going.

  ‘She could have cut through here and gone down the Manor drive,’ said Libby out loud, ‘but where from there?’

  Perhaps she had left her car in the village before going to Dominic’s house and came this way back to retrieve it. And then there was the puzzle of how she had got in to Dominic’s house – and out again. Libby frowned at her feet and, looking up, realised she was almost at the Hoppers’ Huts.

  And one of them was occupied.

  Chapter Thirty

  Libby’s heart was thumping. The little window next to the front door in the end hut was open, although there was no sound from within. She dithered. She didn’t have her phone with her, so couldn’t call Ben, and her sensible side realised that going and challenging whoever was in there would be stupid.

  Had the person inside seen her? Did he or she know there was someone outside? She stood, rooted to the spot, not knowing whether to retrace her steps as quickly as possible and call Ben from home, or go on to the Manor and hope he was in the office.

  Finally deciding it would be faster to go home, she began to walk quickly back down the track. Perhaps, after all, Ben had sent cleaners in, or maybe they’d had a last-minute booking she knew nothing about? Not convinced by either, she almost fell through the hedge, where there had once been a gate, ran across the garden into the house and grabbed her phone.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Ben. ‘Have you been running?’

  ‘Yes. Ben, there’s someone in one of the Hoppers’ Huts.’

  ‘Wh
at? There can’t be!’

  ‘The window’s open on the end one. I was too scared to knock.’

  ‘I’ll go over now.’

  ‘Not on your own! Ben, you can’t!’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ll rustle up someone to come with me.’

  ‘Pete – get Pete.’

  ‘I’ll see. Now – I’m going. Stay with the phone, I might need you to phone the police.’

  Libby stood for a moment, thinking, then went and found the old trainers again, put her phone in her pocket and left the house again, this time locking up and leaving through the front door.

  As she once more approached the huts, she saw the four by four bouncing along over the ruts coming from the other direction. She also saw, to her dismay, that the window was now closed.

  ‘He must have seen me,’ she said disconsolately as Peter and Ben came up to her.

  ‘I’ll go and have a look,’ said Ben. Peter followed him up to the front door. Ben put the key in the lock and looked over his shoulder. ‘Unlocked,’ he said and pushed the door wide.

  After waiting a moment to see if anything rushed out at them, Libby approached cautiously and peered inside.

  ‘Someone’s been here,’ said Ben. ‘Camping out, by the look of it.’

  ‘Any take-away cartons?’ asked Libby, remembering a previous occasion when someone had occupied one of the huts without their knowledge.

  ‘No, but the bin hasn’t been emptied,’ said Peter. ‘Call the police.’

  ‘Proper police?’ asked Libby. ‘I mean – 999, like Ian said?’

  Ben sighed. ‘I suppose so. I’ll do it.’

  Peter and Libby surveyed the tiny space while he made the call. ‘I suppose we mustn’t touch anything,’ said Libby. ‘Evidence.’

  ‘She must have gone as soon as you were out of sight, the same as last Monday at Dominic’s place. The incredible vanishing Estelle.’

  ‘We don’t know it is Estelle,’ said Libby.

  ‘Who else could it be? Not David – we know he’s safely ensconced in his cottage.’

  ‘He could have driven back here after dropping Susannah off.’

  ‘What for?’ said Peter. ‘To keep an eye on you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, then.’ Libby went up behind Ben, who had been studying the front door. ‘How did she get in?’

  ‘No idea. Doesn’t look as though the lock’s been damaged.’ He looked up. ‘Police.’

  A patrol car was making heavy weather of the track. It came to a standstill just behind Ben’s four by four and two disgruntled-looking officers got out. Ben explained the situation.

  ‘Had a murder here a year or so back, didn’t you?’ said one, pulling on gloves to go and inspect the hut.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby.

  The policeman eyed her suspiciously. ‘And you are?’

  Ben made introductions and explained that Libby had been the one who made the discovery of the hut’s occupation.

  The other officer was assiduously jotting things down in his notebook, then went across to his colleague and held a low-voiced discussion.

  ‘Reporting this further up the line, sir,’ said the original officer, coming back to Ben. ‘Understand there’s another murder investigation going on.’ He looked suspiciously from Ben to Libby, who had to quench a desire to laugh.

  ‘We’ll just have a look round while we wait for a member of DCI Connell’s team to take over,’ said the other officer. ‘If you’d like to – er – go home?’

  ‘I’m going back to work,’ said Ben. ‘DCI Connell has my number.’

  ‘And mine,’ said Peter and Libby together.

  ‘Can I come back with you?’ Libby asked Ben.

  ‘Come on, we’ll all go back to the Manor and Hetty can make us coffee,’ said Ben.

  Hetty looked surprised to see them, but immediately set about making coffee.

  ‘Bright officer, that,’ said Ben.

  ‘Eh?’ said Libby.

  ‘Picking up that this could be relevant to Ian’s investigation,’ said Peter.

  ‘The other one only remembered the last murder we had here,’ grumbled Libby. ‘I think he thought it had something to do with me.’

  ‘Guilty conscience,’ said Ben. ‘I wonder who they’ll send over?’

  ‘Will they want to see us?’ said Libby.

  ‘Of course they will. I suppose, unless anyone’s got anything else on, we might as well wait for them here,’ said Ben. ‘Is that all right, Mum?’

  ‘Course. Want some lunch, do yer?’

  Peter’s face brightened at the thought of a non-vegetarian lunch.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you, Hetty,’ said Libby. ‘Can I do anything?’

  ‘Soup’s made.’ said Hetty. ‘No need.’

  Eventually, they were all surprised to see Inspector Davies being ushered in, looking as sheepish as ever.

  ‘Forensics are there, now,’ he told them, after asking them to repeat what they’d told the officer earlier. ‘Whoever it was left in a hurry, presumably after seeing you, Mrs Sarjeant, and there’s plenty of evidence in the bin, although the bed had been protected by something.’

  ‘Sleeping bag?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Davies. ‘As I say, we can’t tell. I’m sure DCI Connell will be in touch in due course, and I don’t need to tell you not to enter the premises. Oh, and could I have any sets of keys you have.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ben went to fetch them from the office.

  ‘Is that it, then?’ asked Libby, as Davies wrote out a receipt. ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Not at the moment, madam,’ he said, smiling – sheepishly – and, on silent feet, left the room.

  ‘Soup?’ said Hetty.

  Libby fetched soup plates, while Ben brought out newly baked bread and Peter collected spoons.

  ‘So?’ said Libby, when they were seated. ‘What do we think?’

  ‘Estelle, it’s got to be,’ said Peter.

  ‘But why?’ said Ben.

  ‘Because she’s up to no good,’ said Libby.

  ‘But what sort of no good?’ said Peter. ‘She’s not the murderer.’

  ‘How do we know? She could have been inside the missing robe to avoid blood spatters,’ said Libby. ‘It makes sense, you know. If she and Dominic planned to steal the reliquary, he could have got her in to the audience, then hidden them both until we’d all gone, when they would wait for Martha to come down and open up the atrium doors to let them in.’

  ‘That means Martha would have to have been in it, too,’ said Peter.

  ‘Well, no, they could have threatened her, wearing the robes so she wouldn’t recognise them. They probably didn’t mean to kill her,’ said Libby.

  ‘But Dominic was killed earlier,’ said Ben, ‘so where does that leave Estelle?’

  With a collective sigh, they turned to their soup.

  ‘We’re rehearsing again tonight, aren’t we?’ said Peter later, as he and Libby walked down the Manor drive.

  ‘Soloists only,’ said Libby, ‘as we all know the chorus numbers back to front. I’m going to call Susannah and say we don’t need David.’

  ‘But then she won’t have a lift.’

  ‘She came on her own before,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll mind.’

  ‘Is this something to do with David?’ Susannah asked shrewdly, when Libby called her.

  ‘No – we just don’t really need him for the soloists.’

  ‘But you did before, to rehearse his sound effects and infills,’ said Susannah.

  ‘Well, he’s done that,’ said Libby, feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘Come on, Libby. I don’t know you very well, but even I can tell there’s something about David that bothers you. And not just you, the others, too.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Look, Susannah, please don’t say anything about this anywhere, especially not to David, but it turns out he’s got a connection to the murder in the Monastery. The police have asked us not to say an
ything, but the fact that he leapt at the chance of coming into the show, means he’s trying to find something out. Do you see?’

  ‘I do,’ said Susannah slowly. ‘I told you, didn’t I, that I was surprised at his eagerness. And I didn’t know why he was down here in the first place. I wish you’d told me when I first said I’d bring him.’

  ‘But no one knew who he was, then. It was only after the first time he came that we found out from the police.’

  ‘Is he dangerous?’

  ‘We don’t think so. He certainly wasn’t around when the murder happened.’

  ‘So what’s his connection to the case, then?’

  ‘I’d rather not tell you that, Susannah, if you don’t mind. He’s just connected to someone else who’s …’

  ‘Connected to the case,’ Susannah finished for her. ‘OK, Libby, I get it, and I’ll call him and tell him he’s not needed tonight. But what if he’s says he’d like to come anyway?’

  ‘In that case we can hardly stop him,’ said Libby. ‘It’s just that it’s proving a bit of a strain for us having him around, even though he’s a very good drummer.’

  Susannah gave a short laugh. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a strain for me, now, too. Still, I asked. My own fault. You do manage to get yourselves mixed up in stuff, don’t you?’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Libby. ‘And honestly, I don’t know how it happens. Certainly this time the only thing I did wrong was to tell Peter about the story of the reliquary.’

  ‘Oh, well, don’t they say each person is the author of his own downfall, or something like that? Your actor who was murdered must have had a reason to be murdered.’

  ‘That’s true,’ murmured Libby. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

  ‘See you later, then,’ said Susannah. ‘Minus David.’

  Libby had barely time to go into the kitchen to put the kettle on when the phone rang again.

  ‘Libby, it’s Andrew. I’ve found out a bit more about the Glover family.’

  ‘Oh, good – what is it?’

  ‘Can you and Fran come over?

  Libby glanced at the clock. ‘Not now, Andrew. Can’t you tell me over the phone?’

  Andrew sighed. ‘All right, but it’s easier when I can show you properly.’