Murder by the Sea (27 page)

‘It does seem a bit odd,’ said Libby. ‘Almost as if he was trying to make something out of nothing.’

‘Or point attention somewhere else,’ said Fran.

‘Omigod, yes!’ said Libby. ‘Exactly! What did you say to him?’

‘That he was to show it to Jane and see what she had to say.’

‘And do you think he will?’

‘He’ll know I’ll ask her, so I expect he will.’

‘Well, I’m going to ring her in a minute to ask them about the party, so shall I ask her then?’ asked Libby.

‘Better not. I’ll do it. In fact, I might even go round there,’ said Fran.

‘Is that safe, do you think?’

‘Of course it’s safe. Terry’s hardly going to bash me up, is he?’

‘Is Jane safe?’

‘I’m sure she is. He really does seem to be fond of her.’

‘That could all be an act,’ said Libby darkly.

‘Well, let’s wait and see what she says before we go jumping to conclusions,’ said Fran, ‘like I did with the Italian businessman.’

‘Red herrings all over the place,’ laughed Libby. ‘When can I call Jane?’

‘Whenever you like, but don’t mention the piece of paper.’

Libby rang off and went back to her computer, where she had printed off all the relevant information about Simon Madderling and Jessica Maurice. Then she punched in Jane’s number and waited for the connection.

‘Oh, Libby,’ said Jane excitedly. ‘You’ll never guess what!’

‘No,’ said Libby, ‘I won’t.’

‘Terry found this piece of paper here in his flat.’

Libby stiffened, gripping the handset. Fran hadn’t bargained for this.

‘And do you know what it was?’

Your name and address, Libby wanted to say. ‘No,’ she said aloud.

‘It was my name and address written in my friend Rosa’s handwriting.’

Libby frowned. What could be more normal than that?

‘I haven’t seen Rosa since just before I moved down her,’ Jane went on. ‘She was going to come down for a long visit, and perhaps move down here, too, but she just vanished.’

‘Vanished?’ Libby was having a hard time staying calm.

‘Yes. The owner of the café where she worked said she just didn’t turn up one morning, and when I tried to call her the phone was out of service.’

‘And you never heard from her again?’

‘No. To tell you the truth, I thought perhaps she was an illegal migrant worker, and perhaps she’d been found out. But don’t you see? This looks like a letter from her.’

‘A piece of paper, you said? Did it look like an envelope?’

‘Well, no, but it could have been, couldn’t it?

‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen it,’ said Libby. ‘Where did Terry find it, and when?’

Jane repeated all the information Fran had given Libby only moments ago. So he’d told Jane the truth.

‘But why should this appear now? It means someone’s been in the house. Again,’ said Libby.

‘Jane, you should tell the police.’

‘Should I?’

‘Yes.’ It put a whole new complexion on the normal incident as reported by Fran, thought Libby.

‘This Rosa, how long ago did she disappear?’ asked Libby.

‘Just before I moved down. Over a year ago.’

‘And what nationality did she say she was?’

‘Italian,’ said Jane.

Half an hour later, Jane having accepted the invitation to Hetty’s party on behalf of herself and Terry, Fran and Libby were once more on the phone to each other.

‘It does change things, doesn’t it?’ said Libby.

‘It does, but I want to know why Terry thought it was important when on the surface it didn’t look like much at all,’ said Fran.

‘Simply because it hadn’t been there before,’ said Libby. ‘That makes sense.’

‘It could have worked its way out from behind the bath panel,’ said Fran, ‘you know, like pins you stand on work their way up and come out at your knee.’

‘Do they? Ugh,’ said Libby. ‘Yes, I do sort of see what you mean, but it would be unlikely, wouldn’t it. I just think Terry’s become a bit paranoid after his attack and what with you thinking there’s something in the house, and the fact that someone has broken in twice, he jumped to conclusions. Which are probably right.’

‘How would they have got in again?’ asked Fran.

‘Terry was sleeping a lot the first couple of days, also he was in Jane’s flat much of the time.

Whoever it is has a key – probably the one that was stolen.’

‘So whoever attacked Terry is trying to get at Jane.’

‘Not necessarily at Jane, just where she lives,’ said Libby, ‘which is what you thought in the first place.’

‘And you think it’s this Rosa.’

‘Yet another disappearing Italian.’

‘Or possibly Transnistrian.’

‘We need to talk to Jane,’ they said together.

If Jane was surprised to find a deputation on her doorstep later that evening, she hid it admirably. Ben had decided to stay in Steeple Martin rather than accompany Libby on yet another foraging trip, as he put it.

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Jane asked when they were settled in her sitting room with the lights of Nethergate twinkling below them.

Libby cast a swift look at Terry, who was trying to look inconspicuous in an armchair.

‘Your friend Rosa,’ said Fran.

‘It’s definitely her writing on the piece of paper, envelope, or whatever it is?’ said Libby.

‘Oh, yes. It’s quite distinctive. You saw it, didn’t you, Fran?’

Fran nodded.

‘Can you tell us how you met her? And when?’ said Libby.

‘But why? She hasn’t got anything to do with what’s been happening here.’

‘Then why did Terry find that piece of paper?’

Jane frowned.

‘Look, Jane,’ said Fran, leaning forward. ‘I know I told Terry there was nothing suspicious about it, but I really think there is, now. I think the police might pooh-pooh the idea, but unless you yourself put that piece of paper in Terry’s bathroom, someone else must have done. And broken in to do it.’

Jane looked at Terry, who looked down at his lap. ‘Have you looked behind the bath panel?’ she asked him. He looked up and shook his head. ‘Should we?’ she turned to Fran and Libby.

‘I doubt it. If there was something there, it’ll be gone anyway, and think about it – when was that bathroom put in?’

‘Just before I moved in. I had to update all the flats, or I wouldn’t have been able to let them. I think I told you.’

‘Well, that’s all right then,’ said Libby. ‘Anything hidden would have been found by now. When Aunt Jessica converted the building into flats, she might have taken care to hide anything previously hidden in a new place, but you wouldn’t have done, and your builders, or contractors, or whoever they were, would have told you if they’d found anything, wouldn’t they?’

‘So who could be looking for something now? And why are you interested in Rosa?’

‘Because,’ said Fran patiently, ‘whoever it was got this address from her.’

Jane thought about this. ‘I think I see,’ she said.

‘So, where did you meet her, and when?’ repeated Libby.

‘She worked in a café just round the corner from the office where I worked.’

‘Newspaper office?’ asked Fran.

‘Yes. It was a London suburban weekly, part of the same group I work for now. The café was the nearest place to get food, either to eat there or take away. We all used it.’

‘So you just met her there, as a casual acquaintance?’ said Libby.

‘Yes, about six months before I came down here. She’d been taken on by the owner as a waitress, but she actually did some of the cooking, too. The owner, Pietro, was an Italian who’d been over here since he was a child, and served a lot of pasta and pizza dishes, so Rosa was ideal to help.’

‘She was a genuine Italian, then?’ said Fran. ‘You said to Libby you wondered if she was an illegal migrant.’

‘Only after she disappeared.
Because
she disappeared.’

‘So you met her eighteen months ago or thereabouts,’ said Libby. ‘And then you became friends?’

‘Yes.’ Jane looked down at her hands. ‘You know me, I don’t make friends that easily, but she seemed so nice and very quiet, and she didn’t have any friends, either. So she used to come home with me and watch television sometimes, or we might go for a meal – somewhere other than Pietro’s – or to a film.’

‘Were you living at home with your mother?’ asked Fran.

‘Oh, good lord, no!’ Jane laughed. ‘Can you imagine me taking an Italian girl home to meet my mother? No, I had a little studio flat, rented, of course, not far from the office.’

‘Where was Rosa living?’

‘She had a room in a shared house. She’d never let me visit her there, because she said there was no communal living space except the kitchen, which was always untidy, and her room was too small to get anyone in there except her.’

‘Did she tell you how she came to be in England?’ asked Libby.

‘I think she came over with a friend to work for the summer to improve her English. She liked it, so she stayed behind when the friend went home.’

‘She had no relatives over here?’

Jane shook her head. ‘No. She never spoke of any relatives except her brother, and I think part of the reason she came over here was to get away from him. He sounded the most interfering and overbearing person. Full of family ideals.’

‘Sounds like the Mafiosi,’ said Libby.

Jane looked worried. ‘Oh, I hope not,’ she said. ‘You don’t think that’s why she disappeared so suddenly, do you?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Fran.

‘Because she’d been so excited about coming here to stay with me. We thought she might find a job down here, in one of the restaurants or hotels. Then, suddenly, she’d gone.’ Jane frowned. ‘I couldn’t understand it.’

Fran looked at Libby, a look which said, you know what I’m thinking, don’t you? Libby gave a slight nod.

‘What did Pietro know about her?’ asked Libby.

‘Nothing much. I asked him, of course.’

‘He must have had to see her work permit,’ said Fran.

‘I don’t think he bothered with any of the legal paperwork,’ said Jane. ‘He paid her in cash by the day, and didn’t even have an address for her, just her mobile number. That was another reason I thought she might be an illegal worker.’

‘But not if she was Italian,’ said Libby, ‘they’ve been in the EU longer than we have.’

‘Really?’ said Terry. The other three almost jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Jane, Fran and Libby laughed, breaking the tension.

‘Shall I make some coffee?’ asked Jane. ‘Or would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Coffee for me, please,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve got to drive. Oh, and by the way, I never got round to asking you, Terry, did your sister get her babysitter if you’re not doing it?’

Terry grinned. ‘She didn’t trust me,’ he said, ‘so a friend’s doing it for her. So Jane and I can come to the party. It’s great of you to ask us.’

‘Least we could do as you’ve provided the entertainment,’ Libby smiled back.

Conversation became general until Jane reappeared with mugs of coffee. ‘Only instant, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’m not very into coffee.’ She sat down. ‘Funny, that. Rosa was. Pietro had an Espresso machine, and she made all sorts of concoctions on it. People used to say she should work for Starbucks.’

‘Jane,’ said Fran, putting her mug back on the tray. ‘What was Rosa’s surname?’

‘I never knew,’ said Jane. ‘I know that sounds silly, but I never needed to know.’

‘You never even heard it?’

‘No. I suppose Pietro would have known.’

‘Do you think he’d remember?’ asked Libby.

‘He might have done, but he’s not there any more,’ said Jane. ‘The café’s closed down.’

‘Oh.’ Libby and Fran looked at one another. ‘And do you know where he went?’

‘Back to Italy, someone at the office said.’ Jane shrugged. ‘Pity. It was a good café.’

‘Did you ever get the idea that Pietro might have known Rosa before? Or that they were close in any way?’ asked Fran.

‘Oh, no. She always called him “signore”, and anyway, Pietro’s wife was always there. Big woman with a headscarf.’ Jane smiled reminiscently. ‘I think she was of the “good riddance to bad rubbish” opinion when Rosa went.’

‘So the Pietros went back to Italy. And they’d been here for years?’ said Libby.

‘His father was an Italian prisoner of war,’ said Jane, ‘and married an English girl. A lot of them did.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘I was talking about that the other evening.’

‘What about Mrs Pietro?’ asked Fran.

‘They met when Pietro went back to Italy to see his family. There were lots of them, I believe.’

‘Back to Mafiosi again,’ said Libby, and Jane looked worried.