Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Behind enough as it is,’ said Budgen. ‘Don’t want no more interruptions.’

  ‘Are there any other farms who might be willing to talk to us?’ asked Fran.

  Budgen shrugged. ‘’Ave to ask ’em, won’t you? Who gave you my name, anyways?’

  ‘Picked you out with a pin,’ said McLean with what he obviously hoped was a winning smile. It didn’t win Mr Budgen.

  ‘Got to get on,’ he said. ‘See yourselves off the land.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Gal,’ he said, and the sheepdog followed him reluctantly from the yard.

  The three of them watched him go, then Libby turned round with a sigh.

  ‘Anything?’ Campbell asked Fran.

  Fran shook her head.

  ‘Do you think he’s really only got Bulgarians and Romanians?’ asked Libby. ‘Because I don’t.’

  ‘Undercover operation, do you think?’ McLean stepped up to walk alongside her down the muddy track. The rain had stopped.

  ‘Yours, you mean?’ Libby turned to look at him. ‘How would you do that? And I thought Inspector Connell only wanted you to provide a cover for Fran?’

  ‘He did, but the understanding was we could do our own investigation. That was the whole idea in the first place.’

  ‘But not an investigation into Fran,’ said Libby.

  ‘No.’ McLean sounded regretful.

  ‘I don’t see how you could go back there now. He’d be on the lookout for everything.’

  ‘We could find someone else to go in.’

  ‘And say what? No, if you want to do secret filming you’ve got to have someone who isn’t suspicious of you to start with. A different farmer.’ She looked up at him. ‘How did you find him, by the way?’

  ‘I was obfuscating a bit back there,’ Campbell grinned. ‘I knew perfectly well about SAWS and the court case in 2003. He was one of the farms that came under scrutiny. He wasn’t charged with anything, but I took a punt on him anyway.’

  ‘Any other farms on that list?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I’ll see what I can come up with.’ He looked at her with renewed interest. ‘You’re the detective minded one here, aren’t you? Not Fran.’

  Libby laughed. ‘So I’m always told. My nearest and dearest get very exasperated with me.’

  ‘How did it start?’

  Libby looked up, frowning. ‘You’re not going to do a number on me, now, are you?’

  ‘Not unless you’re psychic as well,’ he said.

  Libby told him about the murder in Steeple Martin that had introduced her to Fran, and the subsequent cases in which they had been involved.

  ‘But you must know that,’ she concluded, ‘or you wouldn’t have come after her in the first place.’

  ‘I do now, but only because Jane – Maurice, was it? – on the Mercury told me.’ He looked back at Fran, who was trailing some paces behind them. ‘I don’t think her heart’s in this.’

  ‘No.’ Libby looked back, too. ‘She would far rather forget all about it and live a normal life.’

  ‘That’s what she said to me when we first met,’ said Campbell. ‘I was gobsmacked when that Inspector called and said she’d agreed to do the investigation.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Yes. And I haven’t helped, really. Still, at least you’ve got a vague lead for a story, haven’t you, even if it isn’t anything to do with the body on the island.’

  ‘The illegal workers, you mean? Yes, if I can work out how to get into it. I’ll talk to my editor.’

  ‘Who won’t be pleased that you’ve wasted this morning?’ grinned Libby.

  ‘Ah, but I can justify it, now, can’t I?’ He grinned back. ‘Reconnaissance.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘COME ON, THEN,’ SAID Fran, when she and Libby were seated in the pub in Steeple Martin. ‘What’s all this SAWS stuff? I felt such an idiot back there.’

  Libby looked a little shamefaced. ‘I only found out about most of it yesterday,’ she said. ‘You know I said I’d looked it all up on the internet last week? Well, I wasn’t really looking in the right places, and Ben knows all about the current legislation from farmers, so we went through it yesterday afternoon. It’s what we thought was going on, about the illegal workers, but the gangmasters have moved on to other countries, now, which is why we had the Transnistrian connection.’

  ‘So what happens? How do they operate?’

  ‘Well,’ said Libby, taking a sip of her lager, ‘they recruit people overseas who want to come and work over here, and provide them with false documents. Then they have farmers who will turn a blind eye over here. In fact, SAWS isn’t in force any longer, because of this new legislation, and as I said earlier, apparently the other migrant workers don’t want to do seasonal fruit picking.’

  ‘But it was in force when this Transnistrian woman first came over?’

  ‘Must have been. She must have come over on false papers, then as she wanted to stay here, borrowed the Italian girl’s passport and got the council job.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Fran gazed down into her tonic water. ‘But as you said, it’s got nothing to do with the body on the island.’

  ‘No.’ Libby glanced quickly at her. ‘Sorry about this morning. I genuinely thought if you had your mind set on farms it might trigger something and you would have a breakthrough.’

  ‘And I didn’t.’ Fran sighed. ‘In fact the only things I can be sure of are nothing to do with the body.’

  ‘The sea moment was.’

  ‘Yes, but I already knew about that death.’ Fran shook her head. ‘No, I’d better give it up. I’ll tell Ian.’ She grinned at Libby. ‘And you can go on and be Campbell’s right hand woman instead.’

  ‘No, neither of us could stand it.’ Libby grinned back. ‘What did Ian say about your sea moment, by the way? Or the case in general?’

  ‘I told you – not a lot. “Our investigations are continuing”, was more or less it.’

  ‘But what about the boat?’

  ‘He didn’t seem to attach any importance to it. After all, as we said, we were near the site of the body, and I don’t have to be at exactly the same spot as someone died, do I? I knew about it, that was enough.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, while the rain, which had started again, dripped down inside the huge fireplace.

  ‘So do you think that farmer is employing illegal workers?’ asked Fran eventually.

  ‘From the way he reacted, yes,’ said Libby.

  ‘And he wouldn’t know if one of them was missing?’

  Libby looked at her. ‘He wouldn’t want to know, would he? Why?’

  ‘So there’d be no way of tracking them back to their employer?’

  ‘If they’re dead with no clothes on, no.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic. You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do, and it’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? No one’s going to own up to losing an illegal worker.’

  ‘No.’ Fran sighed, and they relapsed into silence.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Libby finished her lager and twirled the glass.

  ‘Go home, I suppose. Unless you want another drink?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant in general. With your life.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Good heavens! That’s a big question.’

  ‘Well, if you’re giving up on this investigation, you must want something to do. You don’t have to work any more. Will you take up a hobby?’

  Fran laughed. ‘I’ve got one already, haven’t I? Props lady for the panto.’

  ‘That doesn’t start for months yet.’

  ‘Macramé? Crochet? The WI?’

  Libby frowned. ‘Don’t be silly. You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, Lib, I know what you mean. But for the last few months I’ve been quite happy pottering around in the cottage, haven’t I? Helping Guy occasionally in the shop.’

  ‘But it was a novelty, then. Now it’s real life. And especially when the tourists go, it’ll be bleak and cold, and G
uy won’t need you in the shop.’

  ‘I moved in at Christmas, Lib. I’ve done bleak and cold in Nethergate.’

  Libby sighed. ‘You’re determined to misunderstand me, aren’t you?’

  ‘I do understand you. And yes, I shall probably want to do something with my time. I’ve always had something to do, even if it was waiting for non-existent calls from my agent. Or investigating houses for Goodall and Smythe.’

  ‘So what will it be?’

  Fran put her head on one side and looked at Libby. ‘What do you think about writing?’

  ‘Writing?’ Libby looked bewildered. ‘I do that. Pantos.’

  ‘Fiction. A novel, perhaps.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Libby was awed. ‘Do you think you could?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’d like to try.’

  ‘How will you start?’

  ‘I thought I might try a creative writing course. There’s a couple of evening classes.’

  ‘Where? Could I come?’

  Fran hesitated.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’d prefer that I didn’t,’ Libby sat back in her chair looking huffy.

  ‘I just wanted to do something on my own.’ Fran looked down at the table. ‘You’re such a strong character, Lib, that no one notices me, and soon it would be your writing class, not mine.’

  An appalled silence fell. When Fran finally looked up, she was horrified to see tears streaming down Libby’s cheeks, while she fumbled in her basket for a tissue.

  ‘I’m sorry, Fran.’ Libby hiccupped and blotted her eyes. ‘I’m such an insensitive cow.’

  ‘Oh, God, Lib, don’t.’ Fran reached across and took her friend’s hand. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’ Libby took a deep breath and sat up straight. ‘I try and run people’s lives, that’s my trouble. Everyone accuses me of interfering, don’t they? You, Ben, Pete, Harry – and you’re all right. What I forget is that sometimes it actually hurts people.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Don’t be humble, Lib, it doesn’t suit you. And none of us would want you any different, you know that. As long as you know when to pull back.’

  ‘I might need you to tell me,’ admitted Libby, ‘like you just did.’ She gave her face another swipe with the tissue. ‘God, look at that. Mascara all over the place. What does my face look like?’

  ‘Shiny,’ laughed Fran, ‘but not blotchy. Come on, have another drink and I’ll tell you all about my writing project.’

  Later in the afternoon, when Fran had driven back to Nethergate, Libby mooched up the Manor drive in search of Ben. The theatre was, of course, locked, but the front door of The Manor itself was open.

  ‘Hello?’ Libby pushed the door and stepped into the hall.

  ‘That you, Libby?’ A voice called from somewhere to her left.

  ‘Hetty? Yes, it’s me. Are you in the kitchen?’

  ‘Yeah – come on in. Kettle’s on.’

  The manor kitchen was warm, the Aga on permanently, summer and winter alike. Ben’s mother, Hetty, stood by the deep butler sink looking out at the drowned fields and copses that constituted her domain.

  ‘Sit down, gal.’ Hetty waved Libby to the Windsor chair by the Aga. ‘Our Ben’s somewhere outside. Got ’is mobile number?’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter,’ said Libby, sinking into the chair. ‘I just needed company.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Hetty cocked her head as she lifted up the singing kettle. ‘Don’t normally come lookin’ for company.’

  ‘No.’ Libby stared at the Aga miserably.

  ‘Well, I ain’t goin’ to be much company if you don’t want to talk. I’ll just pop into the scullery to get the milk and see how you feel when I get back.’

  Libby stood up and went to look out of the window. She had to admit to feeling a bit silly now. A childish desire to unload her woes had driven her up here, and yet she could hardly tell Hetty, who one day might be her mother-in-law, all about her character flaws. The thought made Libby go hot all over, and she hurriedly turned on the cold tap and held her wrists underneath the water.

  ‘Hot flush, gal?’ Hetty came in with a bottle of milk.

  Libby made an ambivalent noise in her throat and turned off the tap.

  ‘So what you investigatin’ now?’ asked Hetty, pouring strong tea into large mugs.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Libby. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Ben said something about that body on the island.’

  ‘Not now. Fran was asked to help, but she can’t, so that’s that.’

  Hetty sat down at the long table. ‘She got something else to do?’

  ‘No, she just can’t – um – see anything, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, ah. Can’t psychic it up?’

  Libby giggled. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Just as well. Shouldn’t go gettin’ involved in all them murders.’

  ‘It wasn’t our fault, Hetty,’ Libby protested.

  ‘Still, don’t want to go lookin’ for ’em.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Libby.

  ‘So is that what’s gettin’ you down?’

  ‘Not really.’ Libby looked down into her mug. ‘Fran told me off for being overbearing.’

  ‘Told you off?’

  ‘Put me right. Very gently.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Hetty made a face.

  ‘I know, I know. They all tell me I’m nosy and interfering, but I didn’t realise I was that bad.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you are, gal. You have a think about what she said, and I reckon you’ll find out that it wasn’t that bad after all.’

  Libby looked up. ‘You could be right, Hetty.’

  ‘Course I’m right. Had to be, haven’t I? All these years.’ She reached across and patted Libby’s hand. ‘And you’re part of the family, gal, and I know my family.’

  For the second time that day, Libby found tears filling her eyes, and she swallowed hard. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Hetty administered a final pat and stood up. ‘You call our Ben, now,’ she said. ‘He’ll be lookin’ for an excuse to come in out of the rain.’

  Libby fished another tissue and her mobile out of her basket, and after wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, punched in Ben’s number.

  ‘He’s coming in,’ she said, finishing the call and returning the mobile to the basket.

  ‘Thought so.’ Hetty turned away from the sink and flapped a hand at a trug full of potatoes. ‘Want to give me a hand peelin’ those? Stayin’ for dinner, are you?’

  ‘I ought to go back and get out of these clothes,’ said Libby, ‘and feed Sidney.’

  ‘After you’ve seen Ben you can pop back and change, then come up her for your dinner. Go on, I don’t see enough of you these days.’ Hetty gave her a brief smile, and Libby hugged her.

  ‘Thanks, Het,’ she said. ‘I’d love to.’

  When Ben arrived in the kitchen, Hetty shooed them off to her sitting room and Libby told him everything that had happened that day.

  ‘Oh, Lib,’ he said when she’d finished.

  ‘Was she right, Ben?’

  He smiled and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Of course she was right, but you’ve taken it the wrong way.’

  ‘Hetty said something like that. Your mum’s lovely, you know.’

  ‘I know she is, and very wise indeed.’

  ‘So how should I have taken it?’

  ‘The only thing you’re guilty of is sometimes not seeing the effect you have on other people,’ said Ben carefully.

  ‘I realise that,’ said Libby.

  ‘Fran was right – you do have a strong personality. You’re warm, funny and impulsive, and nobody can ignore you. Yes, you’re nosy and you do interfere, but only from the best motives. The trouble is, as Fran said, if you went to classes with her you would become so enthusiastic that they would be your writing classes, not hers. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. She wants to do something of her own.’

  Libby nodded. ‘Of course I see tha
t, I just feel so guilty that I hadn’t noticed. How many times have I done that to other people, do you think?’

  Ben laughed. ‘Dozens, I expect. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘But, Ben, Fran has got something of her own. She’s got her talent. No one else has that.’

  ‘I know, but she doesn’t like it, does she?’ He gave her shoulders a squeeze and kissed her cheek. ‘Now go on, you go home and feed the walking stomach, then come back here all polished and perfumed and have dinner with us. You can fascinate my dad. He needs cheering up.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Libby stood up. ‘Isn’t he too good?’

  Ben shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Much the same, but it’s obvious that he’s getting weaker.’

  ‘Poor Greg,’ said Libby.

  The rain had stopped again as Libby splashed through muddy puddles all the way to Allhallow’s Lane. Sidney greeted her with the anguished howls of the starving, and after replenishing his food bowl, she went to run herself a bath.

  Well, she thought, that was an interesting day. From the meeting at Budgen’s farm, where she was sure they had stumbled on a nest of illegal workers, to Fran giving up the investigation and unwittingly bringing Libby face to face with herself.

  Ben and Hetty had both gone a long way to making her see that it wasn’t quite as bad as she’d first thought, but it still made her feel churned up inside. Thoughtfully, she slid down into the warm water.

  Her thoughts turned back to Budgen and his workers. He hadn’t confirmed whether they were Romanian and Bulgarian, and Libby was positive they weren’t. Why she should be so certain, she couldn’t say, unless it was simply his unco-operative attitude and the generally forbidding aspect of his farm, but she really hoped Campbell McLean would carry on that part of the investigation and expose him. Because, of course, that was the only investigation that was going to be done, now. And she and Fran were no longer part of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BEN BROUGHT A CUP of tea and the telephone to Libby’s bedside at half past seven the next morning.

  ‘That Jane from the Mercury,’ he said, bending over to kiss her. ‘See you later.’

  Libby struggled on to one elbow and took the phone.

  ‘Jane?’ she said. ‘You’re very early. What’s happened?’