‘No psychic investigation, then?’
‘It’s been guesswork so far, hasn’t it?’
‘There’s a few rather tenuous links that only you could have forged,’ said Libby, crossing the square to go down Harbour Street.
‘You didn’t have to drop me at the door,’ said Fran. ‘You’ll have to turn round again now.’
‘Doesn’t matter, and you shouldn’t have to walk home in the dark,’ said Libby. ‘Look what happened to Terry.’
‘I am looking at what happened to Terry,’ said Fran, as she opened her door. ‘And the more I look at it, the more it seems to me that the body on the island and the mystery of Peel House are linked.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
INSPECTOR CONNELL, WHEN APPEALED to, asked if he might come and see Fran later on Thursday morning to discuss her “theories” on his case. Fran agreed and called Libby.
‘Shall I come over?’ asked Libby.
‘No, I’ll manage on my own, thanks,’ said Fran. ‘Romeo will know his way over here on his own, soon.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind driving,’ said Libby. ‘Before you see Ian, though, I’ll email you all that stuff I found about Simon Madderling. Might help.’
‘Help with what?’
‘Convincing him to look into Terry’s case as well as his own.’
‘He’ll only tell me he’s not a cold case unit,’ said Fran.
‘But it has a bearing on his own,’ said Libby.
‘Yes, I know, and I shall try and convince him of that.’
‘Why,’ said Ian later, when he was settled with a cup of coffee in Fran’s kitchen, ‘did you suddenly take everything up again?’
‘Because I kept seeing things,’ said Fran. ‘I thought whatever it was – is – had gone, and I wouldn’t ever see anything again, but all these pictures were wafting about in my brain, so I thought I ought to look into them. Libby thought I was trying too hard and none of them would mean anything, but the most surprising things have turned out to be linked.’
‘And you’re going to tell me about them,’ said Ian, his lean dark face at its most severe.
‘I’ll try,’ said Fran. ‘I just hope it all makes sense.’
She began with her feelings about Peel House, then went on to the farm pictures.
‘You know about Lena and her brother,’ she said, ‘but not about who we think the Italian woman is.’
‘Italian woman?’ Ian frowned.
‘The one who lent Lena her passport. We think she’s someone called Rosa who made friends with Jane Maurice in London.’
‘And why would she want to make friends with Jane Maurice?’
Fran explained about Jessica and Simon Madderling and gave Ian the documents Libby had sent over. He glanced through them and frowned again.
‘We haven’t got a cold case unit here,’ he said, as Fran had predicted.
‘No, I know, but I’m sure there’s something hidden in that house that someone else wants,’ said Fran.
‘After all this time?’ Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless it’s a priceless jewel, of course.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ said Fran. ‘You’ve trusted my judgement before. You’ll see from that information that Madderling had connections with someone in the Italian embassy during the war, and spoke fluent Italian. If he had something that belonged to this person, or that incriminated him, he may have asked Jessica Maurice to keep it for him until he returned from wherever he was going. Only he never came back.’
‘And the descendants of this mythical Italian are trying to retrieve whatever-it-is by tracking down Jane Maurice and hitting her boyfriend over the head?’ Ian shook his head. ‘Honestly, Fran. If it was an incriminating document it would hardly have any relevance now, would it? Over sixty years after the end of the war?’
Fran sighed. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘do you agree that it’s odd that Jane’s house should have been broken into and searched more than once recently? Since that body was found?’
‘Andrei Gruzevich,’ put in Ian.
‘Him, yes. Well?’
‘Not really. It’s been broken into because Terry Baker’s keys were stolen.’
‘Why was the body left on Dragon Island? Why wasn’t it dumped in the water?’
‘Because whoever dumped it wanted it found.’
‘Why would they do that when they’d removed all identifying marks?’
Ian scowled. ‘Don’t think we haven’t been working on this, Fran.’
‘I’m sure you have, and with the best technology and expertise at your disposal, but just think. Without my suggestion about showing him to Lena you still wouldn’t know who he was.’
‘True,’ conceded Ian. ‘We also think we know now where the flat was that Rosa Francini rented.’
Fran gasped. ‘Rosa Francini? That’s the Italian woman’s name?’
‘Yes.’
‘You see! That proves it. It’s Rosa who befriended Jane and then disappeared. And I bet her disappearance coincides with Lena’s arrest.’
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Ian uncomfortably.
‘So, did Lena show you the flat?’
‘At first she couldn’t remember anything about it except that it was obviously expensive and somewhere near Victoria. However, when it was pointed out to her that she must have known the address in order to go out and get back again, she said it was in Lansdowne Square, and she knew how to get there without taking any notice of the number of the building.’
‘Did she have a key?’
‘While she was living there, yes. Not for long, because she got her council job and went off to live in a bedsit.’
‘And she didn’t know what Rosa did for a living?’
‘Nothing, she thought. Her brother and Rosa were having an affair, which was why Rosa lent the passport.’
‘Yes, McLean told us that,’ said Fran. ‘And that he – or the television company – had tracked down the bar where Andrei worked. But not the flat.’
‘Well, we have now. It turns out that it’s owned by an Italian company and managed by agents over here.’
‘So who paid the rent on it?’
‘Rosa Francini.’
‘Who wasn’t working, so she must have had plenty of money.’
Ian shrugged. ‘She had a false passport, so whatever she was doing here, there was a criminal element to it, which means there was money involved somewhere.’
‘Well, will you let Jane see the photocopy of the passport?’ Fran leant her elbows on the table and looked earnestly at Ian. ‘It’s important, Ian, it really is.’
‘All right. Tell her to come to the station and ask for me. If I’m not there, ask for Maiden.’
‘Oh, I remember him,’ said Fran. ‘He’s the red-head, isn’t he? But I thought he was in uniform, not CID.’
‘He’s recently been transferred.’ Ian smiled briefly. ‘Keen as mustard. So ask for DC Maiden.’
‘I’ll tell her. And if it is the same woman, will you look into it?’
‘Into what?’
‘The break-in at Peel House.’
Ian gave an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s not my case.’
‘But if this is the same woman, it could be connected.’
Ian stood up. ‘I’ll see,’ he said. ‘But only because it’s you.’
Fran smiled up at him and saw a flicker of awareness in his eyes. Hastily, she too stood up, and went swiftly past him towards the front door.
‘Thanks, Ian,’ she said as he stepped out into Harbour Street. ‘I’m sure you won’t regret it.’
He pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘I damn well hope I won’t,’ he said.
As soon as she’d closed the door behind him, she picked up her phone and called Jane.
‘There’s something I want you to see at the police station,’ she said without preamble. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like. When could you go?’
‘The police station?’ said Jane, sounding thoroughly bewildered. ‘Why?
What for?’
‘You’ll see when we get there. It’s a long shot, but it might explain things.’
Jane was all for leaving straight away, but Fran knew that Connell wouldn’t have had time to set things up at the station, so persuaded her to leave it until after lunch. Luckily, Jane’s job as a reporter meant she was free to leave the office at any time.
The police station was at the top of the town beyond the railway station. Jane and Fran met there at two o’clock.
‘Is Inspector Connell in?’ Fran asked the desk sergeant.
‘No, madam, afraid not.’ He beamed, as though this was the very news she wished to hear.
‘DC Maiden, then? Inspector Connell will have informed him.’
‘Oh?’ The sergeant lost his smile. ‘Who shall I say?’
‘Miss Maurice and Mrs Castle.’
Fran saw her name make an impression, as he turned away to pick up the phone and mutter into it. They barely had time to sit on the bench seat opposite the desk when DC Maiden, red hair on end and blue eyes bright with enthusiasm, appeared through swing doors.
‘Mrs Castle,’ he said holding out a hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘And you,’ said Fran politely. ‘And this is Jane Maurice.’
Maiden’s eyes flitted quickly over Jane and Fran saw the ready colour start to creep up her neck.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Maiden. ‘You wanted to see this photocopy?’ He held the swing doors open for them and Jane frowned up at Fran.
‘Please. Inspector Connell told you about it?’
‘Some of it.’ He glanced quickly at Fran, and she remembered his open-mouthed astonishment last year when she’d surprised everybody by visualising a scene that proved in the end to have taken place.
Jane was still looking puzzled as Maiden collected a file from an office and showed them into an interview room. Now she looked simply scared. Fran patted her hand.
‘It’s all right, Jane,’ she said. ‘Just a little mystery to clear up.’
Maiden turned his bright blue eyes on Jane’s pale, scared face. ‘Have a look at this, Miss Maurice,’ he said, and pushed a piece of paper towards her.
Jane looked and her eyes widened. She gasped and looked at Fran.
‘But that’s Rosa!’ she said. ‘What’s happened to her? Is she all right?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Fran and turned back to DC Maiden. ‘Thank you, Mr Maiden. Would you inform Inspector Connell about this? He knows what it’s about.’
Maiden retrieved the paper and put it back in the file. ‘Certainly. As I said, he’s explained some of it. I believe he said he would be in touch with Miss Maurice later today if she identified the subject.’
Jane nodded and allowed herself to be led out of the interview room. Fran said goodbye to DC Maiden and almost pushed Jane out onto the pavement.
‘Would you like me to be there when Inspector Connell talks to you?’ she said.
‘Yes, please. You haven’t even told me what this is about. Where did they get her passport?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Fran. ‘Have you got to get straight back to work?’
‘No,’ said Jane. ‘It’s Thursday, so the paper’s gone to bed. I’ll have to work on a couple of things over the weekend, so I’m free now. Let’s go into Giglio’s. I need a hot chocolate.’
Giglio’s was a nineteen-fifties style ice-cream parlour, which Fran knew from personal experience hadn’t changed since her childhood. Hot chocolate was served in glass mugs with chrome holders and pictures of the island of Giglio, after which the café was named, decorated the walls.
‘Now,’ said Jane, when they were seated at one of the little round, glass-topped tables, ‘tell me what this is about.’
Fran told her the whole story. Apart from slight pique because she hadn’t been allowed to interview Fran in the first place, Jane listened intently, asking only one or two questions when the narrative became over-complicated.
‘So,’ she said, leaning back in her chair when Fran had finished. ‘Rosa wasn’t really Rosa any more than this Lena person was?’
‘No.’
‘And you think she made friends with me deliberately?’
‘It looks possible,’ said Fran carefully.
Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t see why you think that. She was on a false passport. When the other girl was arrested it made sense for her to disappear.’
‘She was living in a luxury flat in Belgravia,’ said Fran, ‘not a bedsit in Battersea.’
‘I still think you’re on the wrong track,’ said Jane. ‘There’s absolutely no evidence to say she was trying to make friends with me in particular, or for any particular reason.’
‘What about the piece of paper Terry found?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jane testily. ‘All this passport proves is that she had a kind heart, lending it to her lover’s homeless, displaced sister just to help her.’
Fran looked at her consideringly. ‘What about Aunt Jessica and Simon Madderling?’
‘What about them?’ Jane lifted her chin. ‘Aunt Jess was obviously a bit of a heroine in the war, and Simon was a hero – even if that wasn’t discovered until too late. There isn’t anything else.’
‘OK.’ Fran sighed. ‘We’ll leave it at that. At least you’ve confirmed for the police who Rosa was – or wasn’t. That’s all you need to say to Inspector Connell when he calls you.’
Jane wilted a little. ‘You said you’d be with me.’
‘He’ll call first, and if that’s all you’ve got to tell him he won’t need to see you, will he?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Jane.
‘Tell me, Jane,’ said Fran, stirring what remained of her hot chocolate. ‘Why have you changed your mind? Yesterday you were all for finding out all about the piece of paper. And keen to know about your aunt and Peel House.’
Jane sat looking at the table top for a long time. ‘I suppose,’ she said eventually, ‘it’s because it’s suddenly become real and personal.’
‘It couldn’t have got more real than poor old Terry being knocked over the head,’ said Fran, amused.
‘But it wasn’t me,’ said Jane. ‘I was just worried because Terry had been hurt. And even though I knew his flat had been searched, it didn’t really feel like anything to do with me. And it brought us together,’ she added, the familiar colour rising up her neck again.
‘But you were quite excited when you thought I might find out something last Monday night.’
‘I told you, it didn’t seem real. It was like a story.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘But now – with the police –’
‘I know.’ Fran picked up her bag. ‘Come on. You don’t still want to be here when the Inspector calls.’
‘What about Pietro?’ Jane asked suddenly as they reached the square. ‘You didn’t mention him to the Inspector.’
‘There’s even less to connect him to anything that’s been happening at your house than Rosa. Or whatever her name was.’
Jane nodded. ‘Well, I’ll go home and tell Terry all about it. And we’ll see you on Saturday at Libby’s party?’
‘Of course you will,’ said Fran. Give my regards to Terry.’
And that was that, she told herself, as she walked back along Harbour Street to Coastguard Cottage. If Jane had been frightened off there was nothing more she could do, even for her own sake. Ian had his identification, Jane knew the history of her house as it related to her aunt, the only outstanding mystery was who hit Terry, and why. And unless she had a sudden inspiration about that, it looked likely to remain a mystery for some time to come.
Chapter Twenty-eight
ON SATURDAY EVENING AT seven o’clock, Ben opened the front door of The Manor and led his parents outside.
‘We’re picking Libby up at the theatre,’ he said, ‘she had to pop in for something.’
‘Shall we wait here?’ asked Hetty.
‘No, love, I’d like to see what they’ve been d
oing in the theatre,’ said Greg, who was in on the secret. ‘Let’s go in.’
The foyer was quiet. Ben went up to the double doors into the auditorium and gave them a little push as a signal, then stepped back. Suddenly, both doors were swept open, a great cheer went up and the piano struck up “Down at the Old Bull and Bush”. Hetty stood, struck dumb, flanked by her husband and son.
When the song finished, everyone in the auditorium cheered and applauded, and Hetty was led down to the stage, where Libby and Peter helped her up on to the stage and presented her with a huge bouquet. By this time, she was looking suspiciously bright eyed, and Ben, after a few words of greeting and explanation, led her and Greg to a table on the opposite side of the stage to the piano, where Peter, James and their mother, Millie, and Susan, Ben’s sister, already sat. Harry presided over a huge industrial barbeque in the tiny garden, and came in to join them as they took their seats.
Members of The Oast House Theatre company manned the bar, and after several more rousing choruses of well known, if ancient, songs, Libby sipped a glass of red wine and confided to Ben that it seemed to be going well and Hetty was enjoying it.
‘Told you she would.’ Ben cast a critical eye over the recreated pub on the stage. ‘Dad said it took him back.’
‘I can’t quite see him in a public bar during the war,’ said Libby, laughing.
‘Not here, no,’ said Ben. ‘I told you, didn’t I, there was always trouble between the pickers and the home dwellers, and the Squire’s son, as he was known then, wouldn’t have got involved. But when he was in the army he could do what he liked.’
‘Not quite,’ said Libby, amused.
‘You know what I mean.’ Ben gave her a friendly thump on the arm. ‘Is that young Jane’s Terry over there? I’d like to meet him.’
‘Come on then, I’ll introduce you,’ said Libby and led him down into the auditorium, where Terry’s eyes were fixed on his beautiful sister, who was playing and singing like a demon.
‘Good, isn’t she?’ said Jane proudly.
‘Wonderful,’ said Libby. ‘We just couldn’t have found anyone so perfect. Thank you, Terry.’
He dipped his head modestly. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
Libby introduced Ben, then went off to find Fran. She and Guy were discovered in the queue for sausages and mash in the garden.
Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 21
