Murder and the Glovemaker's Son

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Nothing.’ Richard shook his head. ‘I came back here with Michael, then I went straight across to the hut. Had a nightcap and that was that. This morning I came over here, Hetty gave me some breakfast and I went straight to the dining room.’

  ‘Will he ask us to look at the body?’ asked Michael. ‘In case we knew him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘It all depends on whether he actually knows who it is.’

  ‘That was a knock on the front door,’ said Fran. ‘Shall I go?’

  ‘I will.’ Ben was already out of his chair.

  ‘That sounds like Tristan,’ whispered Libby, as they all listened intently. ‘Yes it is. Coming in here.’

  Ben ushered a scared-looking Tristan into the kitchen.

  ‘Well, at least it isn’t him,’ muttered Michael.

  ‘I’ll go and tell Ian,’ said Ben.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Tristan. ‘There are police…’

  ‘DCI Connell will explain,’ said Fran. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Ben came in with DC Trent.

  ‘Mr Scott?’ she asked. ‘Would you follow me, please?’

  ‘Did he send for him?’ Libby asked, as Tristan left the room. ‘Ian, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ben shrugged.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, then Andrew stood up.

  ‘Do you think the police will want to talk to us any more? Only we might as well go back to Nethergate if we can’t do anything here.’

  ‘I’d wait a bit,’ said Fran.

  ‘In that case, shall I make coffee?’ asked Libby.

  There were murmurs of assent, and Libby went to the Aga to start preparations. When the coffee was made, Ben took a cup to Hetty and everyone else waited once more in silence, until finally, Ian returned, without Tristan or DC Trent.

  ‘I think I can tell you now. Tristan Scott has gone to identify the body, but we believe it to be Gideon Law.’

  ‘The money man from National Shakespeare?’ said Libby, amid gasps from the others. Gideon Law then had to be explained to those who hadn’t heard the name before.

  ‘We think so.’ Ian looked round at the puzzled faces. ‘I can’t say much more now, so perhaps you’d like to go back home, or back to the dining room. We’re going to set up a proper incident room in the church hall again, with Mrs Cole’s permission.’

  ‘Mrs Cole?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Our vicar,’ said Ben. ‘OK, Ian. Will you keep us informed?’

  ‘As far as I can,’ said Ian, with a smile for Bel. ‘You did well, Bel. I might have to talk to you again, but you can go now.’

  Michael, Richard, Gilbert and Andrew returned to the dining room, Ben went back to his brewery and Fran, Bel and Libby remained round the kitchen table.

  ‘So, Gideon Law,’ said Libby. ‘Who the police have already spoken to.’

  ‘Remind us,’ said Fran. ‘Now he’s come firmly into the picture.’

  ‘The theory – that we worked out, anyway – was that Lucas and Law had been in touch, apparently about the letter. Before Lucas submitted it to the V&A. Whether they hatched the plan for the tour between them or what, we don’t know.’

  ‘And Michael never heard of him,’ said Bel.

  ‘No. So as far as we know, he might have been in touch with Nathan Vine in the past. But why was he killed?’

  ‘Because he knew the letter was a fake?’ suggested Fran.

  ‘That doesn’t work. Everyone knows the letter’s a fake now,’ said Libby.

  ‘So,’ said Fran frowning, ‘he must have known who set it up. And therefore, who killed Lucas.’

  ‘And that somebody,’ said Libby, ‘is down here in Steeple Martin.’

  ‘Oh, God, Mother!’ said Bel. ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘Oi!’ said Libby. ‘Nothing to do with me!’

  ‘It really isn’t, Bel,’ said Fran. ‘Really, nothing.’

  ‘But you always manage to get mixed up in it!’ wailed Bel. ‘It’s not natural.’

  ‘No, of course it’s not, darling. But I can’t help that. I’m just sorry you got mixed up in it, too.’

  ‘If only I hadn’t come down here with Michael.’ Bel swirled her coffee moodily. ‘What do I need a man in my life for, anyway?’

  Fran and Libby exchanged amused glances.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Libby. ‘That is natural.’ She stood up. ‘Shall I go home and make some soup for lunch?’

  ‘What about the men?’ asked Fran.

  ‘They can fend for themselves. There’s a perfectly good pub, not to mention Harry’s, and they’re here on their own behalfs – behalves? So not our problem.’

  ‘Well, they are trying to find out something for Ben’s family,’ said Fran.

  ‘Not really,’ said Libby. ‘Neither Ben nor Hetty really care. Are you coming, Bel?’

  ‘No, Adam’s here today, so I’ll go down and see him. He can cheer me up.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ Libby made a face. ‘You’re feeling better now, then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bel looked down. ‘It was just – a shock. You know.’

  ‘No need to be ashamed of it,’ said Fran. ‘It’s a horrible thing, finding a body.’

  The three of them walked down the drive together after bidding farewell to Hetty and Ben, and left Bel at The Pink Geranium.

  ‘What now, then?’ said Fran, as they strolled towards Allhallow’s Lane. ‘There are an awful lot of police cars in Maltby Close.’

  ‘Incident room again,’ said Libby. ‘Poor Beth. And the residents, of course.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they love it,’ said Fran. ‘A bit of excitement.’

  ‘That’s true. Flo does, I bet.’

  Flo Carpenter was Hetty’s oldest friend, who now lived with Hetty’s brother Lenny and kept the residents of Maltby Close, all over sixty, in order.

  ‘So, you said what now,’ said Libby. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fran stared up at the sky. ‘We’ve no way in to the investigation. I know you wanted to ask questions, but that was before this latest development. We don’t know anyone to ask.’

  ‘And your psychic antennae aren’t twitching?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. It’s shut down again.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Time to make soup. Lentil and tomato or leek and potato?’

  It was halfway through the afternoon, when Fran was thinking about making her way home, when there was a knock at the door.

  To Libby’s surprise, Bel stood on the doorstep with Michael, both looking a little furtive.

  ‘Why didn’t you use your key?’

  ‘Michael didn’t want to just walk in,’ said Bel. ‘He – er – he’s got something to tell you. I think.’

  ‘Sit down, then,’ said Libby, as she and Fran resumed their seats. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s a bit difficult,’ said Michael, looking sideways at Bel. ‘It’s something I found.’

  ‘Yes? Found where?’

  ‘In the – er – archive material.’ Michael cleared his throat.

  ‘Richard’s stuff? Or the county’s?’

  ‘Well, Richard’s stuff, but I don’t think he knows it’s there.’

  ‘What is it?’ Libby looked from one to the other. ‘Come on, tell me.’

  ‘It’s a draft. Of the Shakespeare letter.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘The – what?’ gasped Libby.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes. It was in with a mass of other stuff tucked into a large manilla envelope.’ Michael shook his head. ‘It didn’t look important at first, all the other papers were letters about household accounts and the accounts themselves dating from last century, when Ben’s father was alive. They went back to the war.’

  ‘And this was with them? So it dates back that far?’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t think so. There was some stuff that came from later – when Richard’s father took the archive. I think it’s fro
m then. It hasn’t been aged, or anything, it’s simply a draft of what the letter says. It’s obviously been researched – there are an awful lot of corrections.’

  ‘You must take it to the police,’ said Libby. ‘This is evidence.’

  ‘But it means Richard’s father must have done it,’ said Bel. ‘That’s why we didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘He’s been so enjoying going through everything,’ said Michael. ‘It didn’t seem fair.’

  ‘Fair or not, it’s got to be done,’ said Fran. ‘And you must tell Richard.’

  ‘Yes, you really must,’ said Libby. ‘Go on, go now. Take the draft to the incident room, then go and tell Richard. I’m sure he’ll be upset, but he’ll be even more upset if you don’t tell him.’

  Looking miserable, Bel and Michael stood up.

  ‘All right,’ said Bel, ‘but don’t blame us if he’s furious.’

  They left on leaden feet and Fran and Libby looked at each other.

  ‘Well?’ said Libby. ‘What about Richard now?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be so idiotic as to leave evidence like that lying around,’ said Fran. ‘No, it can’t be anything to do with him.’

  ‘But if that’s the case, how did it get there?’ said Libby.

  It was almost five o’clock by the time Libby had completed her round of phone calls apprising all interested parties that there wasn’t going to be a summer show this year, and no word had been heard from Bel or Michael. Ben arrived back from the Manor with the news that Tristan had confirmed that the body was that of Gideon Law and that Ian had said he would meet them as usual in the pub later that evening.

  ‘But he said nothing about the draft letter?’ said Libby.

  ‘Not a thing. I don’t think he’d been back to the incident room, though. I expect he knows by now.’

  ‘He’ll want to talk to Richard again. Who won’t be happy.’

  ‘I don’t expect he will,’ said Ben.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Libby, ‘I suppose I ought to start thinking about dinner.’

  Dinner, however, was interrupted.

  ‘Have you heard about this letter?’ Richard, accompanied by Bel and Michael, stood on the doorstep.

  Suppressing a sigh, Libby stood back. ‘Come in. We were just having dinner.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ma,’ said Bel. ‘We’ll come back later.’

  ‘No,’ said Ben, coming up behind Libby. ‘Come in. We’ll have to talk about it. I’ll put our plates in the oven.’

  Once established in the sitting room, Richard spoke again.

  ‘Did Michael tell you about the draft?’ Libby nodded. ‘What did you think?’

  Ben looked at Libby. ‘We didn’t know what to think. Has Ian spoken to you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Richard sounded bitter. ‘He seems to think I must have known about it. How could I? I’ve never been through this stuff before.’

  ‘I know,’ said Michael. ‘That was why I was so nervous about telling you.’

  ‘It does look as though your father must have known, though,’ said Ben. ‘He was the one who was so interested in the archive.’

  ‘You’re accusing him now, are you?’ said Richard.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Libby, ‘but surely he must have seen it. We’re not saying he had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a complete mess.’ Richard put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Will Ian let you go home?’ asked Ben. ‘No, I suppose he won’t.’

  ‘He wants to take everything we’ve got to a police expert,’ said Michael. ‘He thinks he should establish a link between Richard’s father and Nathan Vine. Although I don’t see how he can do that. They’re both dead.’

  ‘And Duncan Lucas is dead, too, so nothing can be tracked back from him,’ said Libby.

  ‘Well, they’ve got all sorts of resources,’ said Bel. ‘They’ll go through Law’s papers and stuff and be bound to find something. Don’t suppose it’ll link up with your father, though, Richard.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Richard turned bleak eyes on her. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Come on.’ Bel stood up. ‘We all need to eat. Let’s go and get something at the pub.’

  Richard and Michael nodded.

  ‘And we might see you later,’ said Ben. ‘Try not to worry, Richard.’

  ‘I expect I’ll go back to my hut after dinner,’ said Richard. ‘I don’t feel like socialising.’

  ‘Just as well, really,’ said Libby, closing the door after them, ‘if Ian’s coming to the pub.’

  After finishing their rather dried up dinner, Libby rang Fran to tell her about Richard’s visit and the results of her Summer Show phone calls.

  ‘The only one who was sticky was The Alexandria. She said – you know, that woman they’ve put in charge now – that we were already in the publicity and we should have let them know earlier.’

  ‘Well, we – you – should, really.’

  ‘But we haven’t got a contract or anything,’ said Libby. ‘And now I feel that we’ve let them down.’

  ‘Point that out and let them sort it out themselves,’ said Fran.

  ‘I have. And now we’ve said we’ll meet Ian in the pub and Richard might be there. This could get very awkward.’

  ‘I did have a thought on the way home.’ Fran spoke slowly. ‘That draft could have a different interpretation.’

  ‘It could?’

  ‘Couldn’t it have been someone – Nathan, perhaps – writing it down to work out what it said? Remember, it’s apparently in a crabbed hand and rather archaic language. Might you not write it out? And the corrections could be almost better explained that way.’

  ‘Or Russell himself could have done it!’ said Libby, excited. ‘Oh, wow! Yes – suppose he found it in the archive material and tried to make sense of it.’

  ‘And then – what? Passed it on to Nathan Vine?’

  ‘Why not? Sold it, maybe, because, as we’ve said, he was hard up. And then Nathan took it to the V&A. That makes far more sense than any other interpretation.’

  ‘But how did it get into the archive material in the first place if that’s the case? Ben’s father wouldn’t have put it there.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s your theory, after all. Can I tell Ian?’

  ‘If you think he’d be interested.’

  ‘Oh, he would,’ said Libby. ‘He’s still hoping you’ll have a breakthrough with your moment. I suppose this wasn’t that sort of thing?’

  ‘No, it was just logical thought process,’ said Fran. ‘I do have them occasionally.’

  On the way to the pub, Libby told Ben Fran’s idea.

  ‘She’s right, you know,’ he said. ‘It makes more sense than the other interpretation. And could be that Russell, and possibly Nathan, both thought it was genuine.’

  ‘That would relieve Richard,’ said Libby. ‘Can’t believe Ian or his minions haven’t thought of that, though.’

  ‘No. I expect someone has. And now we have to decide how much we tell Patti and Anne.’

  Every Wednesday, the Reverend Patti Pearson came to Steeple Martin from her parish down the coast to spend time with her friend Anne Douglas and catch up with Bethany Cole and Libby and Ben. Ian often called in on Wednesdays, and on occasion Fran and Guy would be there too.

  ‘They’ll know a fair amount already,’ said Libby. ‘Beth will have told them.’

  ‘But the family connection,’ said Ben. ‘That’s rather a private matter.’

  ‘We’ll see how Ian wants to play it,’ said Libby. ‘And if you want to keep the family connection quiet, we will.’

  ‘It’s not so much me as Richard,’ said Ben, opening the door of the pub. ‘Here we go.’

  Patti and Anne had already arrived, fresh from dinner at The Pink Geranium, sitting with Bel and Michael, who looked slightly ill-at-ease. Libby and Ben were greeted with relief.

  ‘So how much have you told them?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Noth
ing,’ said Bel, looking surprised.

  ‘We didn’t ask,’ said Anne, swivelling her wheelchair to make more room for Libby.

  ‘We often discuss things with Anne and Patti,’ Libby explained to Michael. ‘After all, we met when Patti had a particularly nasty murder in her church.’

  ‘Another murder?’ Michael looked bewildered.

  ‘Par for the course,’ said Ben, arriving with drinks. ‘Even Ian doesn’t mind them learning about – well, whatever’s going on.

  ‘I gather it’s about this fake letter?’ said Patti. ‘And there’s been a murder, too?’

  ‘Has there been a lot about it in the press?’ asked Libby. ‘I haven’t been following it.’

  ‘Not that much,’ said Anne. ‘We’ve both looked, obviously, but it seems to be being kept low-key.’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t think we ought to say anything until Ian’s here. So how have you two been?’

  A few pleasantries were exchanged and Michael’s presence explained, then Bel stood up.

  ‘I think Michael and I might go back to the Manor now, if you don’t mind.’

  Michael nodded. ‘Richard was looking… I think I ought to check on him.’

  They left and Anne turned bright eyes on to Libby.

  ‘Richard? What’s going on?’

  ‘Shhh, Anne,’ said Patti.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Ben with a sigh. ‘Richard’s my cousin. He’s here for a visit.’

  ‘And to see the play,’ added Libby.

  ‘That’s not all, though, is it?’ asked Anne. ‘It’s another mystery.’

  ‘Let’s wait for Ian,’ said Libby firmly.

  They didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘It’s all right, Ben,’ he said as he came in. ‘I’ll have beer. I’m staying over again.’ He sat down and smiled at Patti and Anne. ‘And you two are dying of curiosity, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, Anne is,’ said Patti.

  ‘So are you,’ said Anne. ‘And they wouldn’t tell us anything, Ian.’

  Ian gave them a quick resume of his case so far, playing down any involvement of Ben’s family.

  ‘So this letter is a fake but based in reality?’ said Anne when he’d finished. ‘Shakespeare really came to your house, Ben?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Ben.