Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series)

by Cookman, Lesley

  ‘Try,’ said Libby.

  ‘I told you your Estelle Butcher was the great-granddaughter of the Glovers?’

  ‘Yes. Wilcox? Was that her name?’

  ‘Her parents were Maureen and Barry Wilcox. Maureen was the daughter of Robert Glover, May and Albert’s son.’

  ‘So the first generation of the Tollybar/Beaumont alliance?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Andrew. ‘And remember I said there were other children?’

  ‘Robert’s siblings?’

  ‘Just so. And one of them was Jessica. So I started looking for her marriage certificate.’

  ‘And?’ prompted Libby, by now aware that Andrew would hang this out, and that she had deprived him of an afternoon’s socialising. He sighed again.

  ‘I couldn’t find a marriage certificate for her, so eventually I looked for her death certificate. And when I found it, the person who had given the information – you know that has to be on a death certificate?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Was one Edgar Glover, son.’

  ‘Goodness! So she had a child out of wedlock? That was scandalous back then, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly was. It also gave me a point to start looking for her and Edgar, and I discovered that she had ended up in the least salubrious part of the East End of London, and Edgar had been in prison at least twice. I don’t know if it’s of any relevance, but one of his former cell mates was a solicitor’s clerk.’

  Libby’s mind leapt ahead. ‘A solicitor’s clerk? Who might have known about Bernard’s visit to the Abbey? And why?’

  ‘Ah yes! And Edgar was a member of the family,’ agreed Andrew. ‘Sounds likely, doesn’t it?

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Libby wasn’t surprised when, as she and Ben were eating a hasty supper before leaving for the theatre, Ian called.

  ‘Andrew told me what he found out,’ he said. ‘Why he has to tell you before calling me, I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s not used to being a police informant,’ said Libby.

  ‘He isn’t an informant! He’s an expert witness.’

  ‘Was it right, though? Did Edgar’s cell mate provide him with the information about Bernard and the reliquary?’

  ‘It looks like it. The man was certainly working for the solicitor whom Bernard had appointed. In fact, it was the same solicitor who had worked for old Ronald Barnes, and you’ll be pleased to know that Andrew has also proved the link between Barnes and the Beaumonts. He, too, is a descendant of Jarvis.’

  ‘So we are getting on,’ said Libby. ‘Does it get us anywhere, though?’

  ‘Us, Libby?’

  ‘Oh, Ian, you wouldn’t be calling me otherwise!’

  ‘All right, all right. But it does look possible that Estelle knew her Uncle Edgar –’

  ‘Well, of course she did, but he’s actually her first cousin once removed.’ interrupted Libby.

  ‘Let’s call him “Uncle” for now. Anyway, she needn’t necessarily have known him, if Jessica and he were black sheep. But if she did, she might well have known if he stole the reliquary and murdered Bernard.’

  ‘He’d never have told a child though. How old is he now? He must still be alive?’

  ‘Drank himself to death on a Caribbean island, apparently, having come into money in his twenties.’

  ‘There you are!’ said Libby. ‘Proof!’

  ‘Possible, anyway,’ said Ian.

  ‘What about Estelle’s mum – Maureen, was it? Isn’t she still alive?’

  ‘Cancer, ten years ago. And her father Barry, was much older than his wife and is now in a home.’

  ‘Oh, poor Estelle,’ said Libby. ‘She must think the world’s against her.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’ Libby could hear the frown in Ian’s voice. ‘It happens all the time.’

  Unsympathetic Calvinist, thought Libby.

  ‘So where do we go from here?’ she said aloud.

  ‘We don’t go anywhere, Libby. I’m keeping you informed out of courtesy, and just in case Estelle should make contact with you.’

  ‘I don’t see why she should,’ said Libby. ‘I doubt if she’s going to offer us rent for the Hoppers’ Hut. Oh, and Susannah Baker knows David Fletcher has a connection to the murder.’

  ‘I told you not to say anything.’

  ‘I know, but she worked it out for herself. He was so pointedly asking questions last night that he was making everyone uncomfortable. So she asked me. I didn’t tell her who he was or what connection he had, though.’

  ‘Can’t you get rid of him?’

  ‘Not easy,’ said Libby, ‘although we have done for tonight.’

  Later, after rehearsal, which finished earlier than usual, Susannah asked if they were going for a drink.

  ‘Not tonight, but we could have one here, if you like,’ said Libby. ‘Why?’

  ‘I just wanted to talk to you. Or those of you who are involved in – this – er –’

  ‘Business?’ suggested Libby. ‘Yes, OK, we can open the bar. But wait until all the others have gone.’

  Peter opened the bar, while Ben, Libby, Fran and Susannah sat down at the little white tables.

  ‘I just wanted to say that I’ve always found David to be a really nice guy,’ Susannah began, ‘and I can’t believe he’d be involved in anything – well, criminal.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’ asked Peter, bringing wine and glasses to the table. ‘I’m making coffee for you and Fran, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Susannah, ‘very kind of you. Well, now, David. He’s classically trained, did I tell you that?’

  They all shook their heads.

  ‘He trained at the Guildhall and the Northern,’ Susannah went on, ‘and it was there he met up with some other musicians who were very much into big band music. He started playing with them and gradually got into that particular club of big band players. Most of the bands you might have heard of in that genre have the same musicians. He also got into pit playing –’

  ‘What playing?’ asked Peter.

  ‘The pit,’ explained Libby. ‘For musicals and stuff.’

  ‘His wife liked that better because he was in one place for a time, rather than all over the country and the continent.’

  ‘His wife?’ said Fran, while the others sat frozen.

  ‘Yes. I never knew her, he kept her rather in the background.’ Susannah frowned. ‘I wondered if she was ill or something, he was always having to rush off home.’

  ‘Jealous?’ suggested Ben.

  ‘Him or her? Oh, I can see why any spouse not in the business would be jealous,’ said Susannah.

  ‘So can I,’ said Fran. ‘Mine was.’

  ‘Yours?’ Susannah looked surprised.

  ‘Oh, not Guy. My first husband,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway getting back to David …’

  ‘That’s just it. He seemed concerned about his wife. Or that’s how it seemed. He seemed a nice guy.’

  ‘And you never saw any evidence of him playing around?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Not personally. There are always rumours.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby and Fran together, nodding sagely.

  ‘Well, that’s all I wanted to say, really,’ said Susannah. ‘I don’t know how he’s connected with this murder, but I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘I hope not,’ sighed Libby. ‘But he’s been seen recently with –’

  ‘Libby!’ said three voices.

  ‘Someone,’ she continued with dignity, ‘who has a close connection with the murder. So we have to be vigilant.’

  ‘I see.’ Susannah looked down into her coffee mug. ‘I wish I hadn’t asked him in, now.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Libby. ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’

  ‘Suppose he’s arrested before the show? Or even during it?’ said Susannah.

  ‘As long as it’s before the show, we can carry on without him,’ said Libby. ‘And I think we’d know if his arrest was imminent.�
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  ‘Oh, yes, your connections with the police,’ said Susannah with a smile. ‘That makes us all feel a bit safer, I suppose.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Peter darkly.

  Susannah took her leave shortly after this, and the others finished their wine. ‘I should have offered to drive her,’ said Fran. ‘I never thought.’

  ‘You didn’t know I’d asked David not to come,’ said Libby. ‘So what do we think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I honestly thought when she asked to talk to us she was going to pull out,’ said Libby. ‘She admitted this afternoon that knowing David was connected to the case was going to put a strain on her.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least,’ said Fran. ‘But she hasn’t.’

  ‘Because she’s a professional.’ Ben picked up the empty glasses and mugs. ‘Even though she’s not getting paid, she wouldn’t let us down.’

  ‘Did you tell Peter about Andrew’s latest find?’ asked Fran, as Ben went round checking all the theatre doors.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Peter. Libby told him about Uncle Edgar and the solicitor’s clerk.

  ‘So,’ said Peter, as they left the building, ‘Estelle sits on Uncle Edgar’s knee while he regales her with tales of derring do and murder, and later on she thinks she might as well do the same? Is that what we think?’

  ‘It’s a bit far-fetched,’ said Ben.

  ‘But there is the family link,’ said Fran. ‘Presumably, Edgar was one of those who wanted to use the reliquary for gain, and felt entitled to it.’

  ‘I suppose Ian now has to find out if it was Edgar who sold it to Mr Marshall,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m sure the police have looked into that, and he would have used an intermediary.’

  ‘I wonder if that solicitor’s clerk was questioned at the time of Bernard’s murder,’ mused Fran.

  ‘I expect he would have been, but all he had to do was deny knowing anything. After all, we think all he did was pass the information to Edgar.’

  ‘However, my dears,’ said Peter, as they came to the end of the drive, ‘this is all pure speculation, however inviting it may seem. God speed, farewell and bonne nuit.’

  ‘Oh, damn,’ said Fran. ‘Why did I walk down here with you? My car’s at the top of the drive.’

  ‘I’ll walk back with you,’ said Ben. ‘It’s dark up there.’

  ‘I’ll come, too,’ said Libby, ‘or I’ll have to walk home on my own.’

  Ben grinned at her. ‘And you know how I love that!’ He put an arm through hers and the other through Fran’s. ‘Come along, harem.’

  The Manor and the theatre were in darkness as they approached, until the security light went on over the Manor’s front door. Hetty’s rooms were at the back of the house to avoid this disturbing her.

  ‘What’s that?’ Libby stopped.

  ‘What?’ said Ben.

  ‘Sssh!’

  ‘Back of the theatre,’ murmured Fran.

  Ben’s eyes widened. ‘Stay here,’ he whispered, and padded off round the side of the building.

  The women remained still, and after a minute or two the light went off. Then: ‘Libby!’ Ben’s voice sounded strange.

  The light came on again as Libby and Fran ran round the side of the theatre and found Ben, sitting on the floor holding his head.

  ‘I think you’d better call the police,’ he said shakily. ‘We’ve had another attempted break-in.’

  ‘Your head!’ said Libby, on her knees beside him, while Fran had her mobile out.

  ‘Whoever it was was trying to get in through the scene dock doors. I surprised him and got hit for my pains. I don’t know what with, but it felt like a ton weight.’

  ‘Could you see who it was?’ Libby had one arm round him, while the other held a tissue to his head where blood was seeping through.

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘I think it was wearing the missing robe.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Despite his protests, Ben was taken to hospital. Libby went with him in the ambulance and wasn’t in the least surprised to arrive in A and E and find Ian waiting for them. Neither was she surprised when they were whisked straight through the waiting area with its due complement of drunks.

  When Ben was taken through to have an MRI scan, Ian fetched Libby a machine-made coffee, and one for himself.

  ‘Better than the tea, I speak from experience,’ he said. ‘Now tell me exactly what happened.’

  Libby, still feeling very wobbly, duly told her story.

  ‘If only I hadn’t heard that noise it wouldn’t have happened,’ she finished. ‘Why do I go blundering –’

  Ian laid a hand on her arm. ‘Stop that, Libby. For once, you weren’t blundering in, and Ben had a duty to investigate if someone was trying to break into the theatre.’

  ‘But you always say not to,’ said Libby. ‘We could have ignored it, or just called the police.’

  ‘And said what? You heard a noise at night? With fields backing up to the building? I can imagine what the control would have thought of that, not to mention the patrol which was sent to investigate.’

  Libby sighed, took a sip of coffee and made a face.

  ‘Under the current circumstances, having only this morning discovered a break-in on your premises –’

  ‘Not exactly on –’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Ian severely. ‘It’s natural to wonder what was going on. Didn’t you suspect, even briefly, that it was the same person who had been in the hut? Honestly?’

  ‘Yes, of course we did,’ admitted Libby. ‘If we’d have called 999 with that story, would it have been any different?’

  ‘I suppose it might,’ said Ian, ‘but what I’m getting at is – it’s not your fault. Nor is it Ben’s.’

  Libby nodded, but her expression was doubtful. ‘Did they find anything?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. There were marks on the door as if someone had been trying to get the padlock off.’

  ‘There weren’t any marks on the door of the hut.’

  ‘No, but there are no padlocks on those doors. It could be that whoever it was expected it to be as easy to get into the theatre.’

  ‘But why? If it is Estelle, why is she haunting us?’

  ‘I don’t think you, particularly, I think it’s just hiding places.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I still don’t see why. Or how she got into Dominic’s house when you’d had it locked down tight.’

  Ian smiled. ‘I think I’ve already told you once in this case, Lib, I don’t always tell you everything.’

  Libby looked up at him in surprise. ‘You mean you let her get in?’

  ‘And you and Harry rather spoiled it.’

  Libby felt the warmth spreading up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘We weren’t to know!’

  ‘You weren’t supposed to be there, either.’

  ‘All right, all right. Now you know why I said I was blundering –’

  ‘Stop it.’

  Libby sighed again. ‘So the thinking is what? Estelle broke into Dominic’s house, was flushed out of there, found the hut and was discovered again and decided to see if she could take shelter in the theatre?’

  ‘Makes sense, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does, but I don’t see why. What was she looking for, if anything?’

  ‘I’m not sure she was looking for anything,’ said Ian. ‘She let herself in with a key. I’m pretty sure that despite what everyone thought, they were still in touch.’

  ‘The robe!’ said Libby, sitting up straight. ‘The person who attacked Ben was wearing it.’

  ‘Which means that whoever it was is involved in this case, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And Dominic could have given her the robe.’ Libby frowned. ‘So she must have been involved in the theft of the reliquary.’

  ‘But it wasn’t stolen.’

  ‘Oh, bugger, so it wasn’t.’ Libby got to her feet and went to peer thr
ough the door through which Ben had been wheeled away. ‘Why is he being such a long time?’

  Ian laughed. ‘You haven’t spent much time in hospitals recently, then. And don’t worry about him. I think this MRI is only a precaution.’

  ‘But you hear such awful things about bangs on the head …’ said Libby.

  ‘Not when everything’s been so thoroughly investigated,’ said Ian. ‘And look, here he is now.’

  Ben appeared in a wheelchair looking distinctly grumpy, with a young, tired-looking doctor beside him.

  ‘They want to keep me in overnight,’ he said. ‘Ian, can’t you talk to them?’

  ‘I think it’s advisable,’ said the doctor, giving Ben a dirty look. ‘It was quite a heavy blow. We can’t see anything suspicious on the scan, but Mr Wilde ought to be monitored.’

  ‘I think you ought to stay, Ben,’ said Ian. ‘I’ll take Libby home and she can come and get you tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, can’t I stay?’ asked Libby.

  The young doctor looked uncomfortable, but Ben forestalled him.

  ‘No, you go home, Lib. You need to tell everyone what’s happened, and you’ll have to call Mum when you get home.’

  Hetty had come out of the Manor when the ambulance had arrived, and, although appearing outwardly her usual calm and phlegmatic self, Ben and Libby both knew how worried she would be.

  ‘All right,’ said Libby with a sigh. She turned to the doctor. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  The doctor gave a tired smile. ‘I think he’s fine. We just need to keep an eye on him.’

  Libby bent to kiss Ben and found, to her surprise, that there was a painful lump in her throat and her lips were quivering.

  ‘Go on with you,’ he whispered. ‘See you in the morning. Love you.’

  Ian led a silent Libby outside to his car.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, as he helped her into the car. ‘It’s out of your way.’

  ‘I must take care of my star witness,’ said Ian. ‘I have the utmost faith in your ability to get to the bottom of the whole business in next to no time.’

  ‘Liar,’ said Libby, obscurely comforted, and relapsed into silence.

  Half an hour later, Ian drew up outside number 17.

  ‘Are you OK? Do you want me to come in with you?’ he asked.