Murder by the Sea (6 page)

‘Yes. Interfere
you
. Ever since I’ve known you–’

‘No I am not,’ Libby cut in. ‘And you didn’t know me well before – before – well, before.’

‘OK, OK, since I’ve known you – intimately–’ Ben leered over the table, ‘you’ve interfered in everything.’

‘I’m surprised you’re still involved, then,’ said Libby huffily.

‘Ah, but it’s interesting,’ he said, reaching over the table for her hand. ‘And think of the opportunities for gossip.’

‘You’re not supposed to gossip about police matters,’ said Libby.

‘And you never do?’

‘Well, only within the intimate circle.’ Libby picked up her glass. ‘You and Pete and Harry.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’ Ben chuckled.

‘Fran and Guy might join us at the caff tonight,’ said Libby.

‘They haven’t been over for some time, have they? I thought maybe we’d upset them.’

‘I think it’s just that Fran wanted to settle into Nethergate and not keep running back to us. She’s got her own life to lead.’

‘You were worried about her moving down there, I seem to remember.’

‘Yes, but I needn’t have. I still see her.’

‘Because you force yourself on her,’ grinned Ben.

‘No, I don’t.’ Libby was indignant. ‘I like painting down there, that’s all. I always have, haven’t I? I’ve been doing pretty peeps for Guy’s shop for years.’

‘Guy’s gallery, you mean,’ said Ben. ‘When it’s paintings, it’s a gallery, when it’s cards it’s a shop.’

‘Whatever.’ Libby shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s really good that they’re together, even if Fran won’t let him get too close.’

‘Oh?’ Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t they..?’

‘Ben! None of our business.’ Libby smothered a smile. ‘Actually, yes, they do, but only when Fran allows it, I gather.’

‘Well, that’s the same as most couples, isn’t it? I mean, we only –’

‘Ben!’ said Libby again, looking round the bar.

‘I just meant,’ whispered Ben, leaning forward, ‘I can only make love to you if you want it, too.’

‘That makes me sound mean.’

‘Well, not exactly. You always do want it too.’

Libby swallowed. ‘This is not an appropriate conversation for a pub,’ she said in a strangled voice.

‘Then how about carrying it on back at your place?’ Ben stroked his thumb across her wrist and she shivered. ‘Purely in the interests of research, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Libby, and finished her drink.

Later, when Ben sat on the cane sofa wrapped in the towelling dressing gown he kept in Libby’s bathroom, she poured boiling water into her teapot.

‘What do you know about illegal immigrants?’ she asked, putting out two mugs.

Ben groaned. ‘I knew you were interfering.’

‘I’m not.’ Libby fetched milk from the fridge. ‘I just wondered. Seems there are all sorts of scams for getting them into the country. Like those Chinese at Dover, and the winkle pickers in Morecambe.’

‘Of course there are. It’s always in the news.’

‘But there are whole organisations getting them false papers –’

‘And jobs. I know, Libby. It’s a scandal, but it’s been going on for years. The worst of them are the prostitution gangs.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Libby, coming in with two mugs of tea, made a face. ‘I’ve seen a couple of TV programmes about that.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it. I know the police are trying to get on top of it. The trouble is, we’re in the front line being near the Channel ports.’

‘And being a fruit and veg growing area so we need lots of casual pickers.’ Libby curled up in the armchair with a sigh. ‘I think that’s what our body was.’

‘
Our
body?’ asked Ben suspiciously.

‘Well, it’s in our area, isn’t it?’

‘But nothing to do with you,’ said Ben, frowning.

‘No, I know, but Fran might have to work on it.’

Libby turned to look out of the window, avoiding

Ben’s eyes.

‘Oh, I see. For Fran, read Libby.’

‘No, I wouldn’t be in on it,’ said Libby, looking back at him with suspiciously wide eyes. ‘I think Ian wants Fran to investigate with the television people.’

‘But I thought she’d already said no.’

‘She had. But Ian can be persuasive. And Fran’s got a conscience.’

Ben sighed. ‘And you haven’t.’

‘I just like helping people,’ said Libby, ‘and by the way, I’ve invited that reporter to come over and see what she thinks of the theatre.’

‘Which reporter?’

‘The one who tried to interview me this morning. She’s lonely.’

‘Does she act?’

‘She doesn’t seem to do anything,’ said Libby, and told him Jane’s story. ‘So I thought it might be a kindness to see if she’d like to get involved.’

‘We haven’t got many youngsters here, either,’ said Ben.

‘But there are always more around for panto. She might want to do chorus, or something.’

Ben looked doubtful. ‘We’ll see. When’s she coming over?’

‘I don’t know. When we have the audition, I suppose. I thought I might pop in and see her house some time in the next couple of weeks, just to keep in touch.’

‘You’re sure you haven’t got an ulterior motive?’

‘No, of course not. Why would I have?’ Libby was looking indignant again. ‘She’s just a nice kid, and rather lonely.’

Libby repeated this to Fran and Guy over quesadillas de hongos in The Pink Geranium later that evening.

‘That’s kind of you,’ said Guy. Fran turned down the corners of her mouth. Like Ben, she was suspicious.

‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ said Libby. ‘Can’t I do anything from a purely normal standpoint? Does everyone always think I’m up to no good?’

‘A newspaper reporter does have access to a lot of things you might find useful,’ said Ben.

‘If you were investigating something you weren’t supposed to,’ added Fran.

Libby made a sound suspiciously like a snort. ‘Honestly,’ she said.

‘Speaking of which, Fran,’ said Ben, ‘have you decided to do what Ian asked?’

‘Eh?’ Guy looked startled. ‘Ian? Connell? What’s he been asking?’

‘Don’t worry, Guy, it’s nothing carnal,’ grinned Libby.

‘Libby!’ Fran frowned at her. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said to Guy, and explained.

‘Why don’t you do it?’ he asked. ‘You could ask the Kent and Coast people not to actually put you on the box, but just to use your information.’

‘Would you have to say it was the police’s idea?’ asked Ben.

‘Oh, I don’t think so, or they might get the idea they had a privileged position.’ Fran poked meditatively at a piece of mushroom. ‘I’ll phone that Campbell McLean person and sound him out, then I’ll talk to Ian about how he wants me to play it.’

‘So you’re going to do it, then?’ Libby looked excited.

Fran sighed.

‘Told you she had a conscience,’ Libby said Ben, triumphantly.

Chapter Six

LIBBY HAD TO WAIT until Monday to find out where Jane lived. She called her at the
Mercury
offices, ostensibly to invite her to the audition for the pantomime. Predictably, Jane protested.

‘You don’t have to audition, Jane,’ said Libby. ‘I just thought you could come along and meet people. If you’re with me you won’t be on your own.’

‘No …’ Jane was hesitant.

‘Tell you what,’ said Libby briskly, ‘I’ll pop a copy of the script over to you and you can have a read and see what we do. Mind you, panto reads very badly, so don’t give us up just on the strength of the script.’

‘OK. Would you like me to pick it up?’ ‘No, I said, I’ll pop it over to you. Give me a chance to see your auntie’s house.’

‘Oh!’ Jane sounded surprised. ‘All right. I’m off this afternoon, actually, so would you like to come then?’

‘That fits in nicely,’ said Libby. ‘I have to see Fran – Mrs Castle – today –’ whether she likes it or not, she added silently ‘– so that’s perfect. See you about three? What’s the address?’

Libby then rang Fran to tell her that she would be visited.

‘I’ll be in the shop until two,’ said Fran.

‘That’s OK,’ said Libby airily. ‘I shan’t be long.’

Before she left for Nethergate, Libby booted up her computer and ran a search on illegal immigrants.

The first few thousand entries appeared to be American, so she began to be more specific, until she finally came across some relevant news items from the Kent area.

‘Poor things,’ she murmured to herself, as she read. It seemed the immigrants themselves were the victims, yet were continually abused and reviled by the press and the public. Conversely, there were the stories of criminal activity by the immigrants themselves, but Libby wondered how much of that had been forced on them by circumstances. She shook her head. It was a nightmare.

The biggest question, she thought, as she pushed Sidney into the conservatory to keep him away from the prepared vegetables in the kitchen, was why the body had been dumped on the island. Not killed there, presumably, as there wasn’t anywhere to land properly, and it was only the size of a supermarket. But why there? He must have been taken in a boat, and at night, or he would have been seen, he and his killer. And night trips round Dragon Island were a very dodgy business, as frequently reported in the local news. Many an unsuspecting tourist had come to grief on its hidden rocks and the inshore lifeboat had been called out many times to rescue indignant holidaymakers who were convinced that Someone Should Have Told Them.

The only reason could be to delay discovery of the body and its identity. In which case, thought Libby, as she unlocked Romeo the Renault’s door, the killer, or whoever dumped the body, wasn’t local, or they would have known about George’s and Bert’s round-the-island trips. Nothing else ever came into the bay except the few yachts that tacked over from nearby marinas. A few privately owned small boats bobbed around in the tiny harbour, but Nethergate wasn’t known for its watersports or sailing. The beach was mainly sandy and curved prettily towards its twin headlands, one of which sported an old fashioned and unused red and white lighthouse on a rocky outcrop. The beach shelved slowly, so swimming was easy and safe, unless you were unwise enough to venture too far out.

Perhaps that was it, Libby thought, perhaps he was a swimmer? But how would he have got so far above the waterline? And in a shirt and trousers? Perhaps someone was landing illegals under cover of darkness and he fell overboard? No, that wouldn’t wash – she made a face at herself – he couldn’t have got above the waterline.
That
was what made it so peculiar. If discovery were to be delayed, it would have been simpler to dump him in the water and wait for him to be washed up. She must find out where that would have been likely to be. Ask Jane to ask George and Bert.

Libby parked opposite Coastguard Cottage on a yellow line, assuming she wouldn’t be very long. She knew she could watch for traffic wardens from her favourite window.

Fran opened the door and Libby began to pour out her thoughts of the last hour.

‘So what do you think?’ she concluded, running out of breath and sitting down.

‘The same as you, basically,’ said Fran looking amused, ‘and the same as the police.’

‘Oh.’ Libby craned her neck to see out of the window. ‘They think the same. Have they got any

answers?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How do they know he’s an illegal? And why do they think he was working here?’

‘There were various physical clues, as far as I know,’ said Fran, ‘like dental work. And his clothes were from one of the supermarkets.’

‘Hmm. So have you called Ian? And Campbell thing?’

‘I spoke to Ian this morning – he wasn’t on duty yesterday – and he’s going to call Campbell McLean. I think he thought the official approach would be best to save my embarrassment.’

‘So you don’t know what you’re going to have to do?’

Fran shrugged. ‘No idea. But TV investigations over the years have been really useful, haven’t they? They’ve uncovered scandals and scams and all manner of things. Ian says it’s because even if the police are undercover, it’s often hard to get the money or the manpower to mount an operation, and sometimes it would amount to entrapment, which would then weaken the prosecution’s case, or not even get past the CPS.’

‘Golly!’ said Libby, round-eyed. ‘Don’t you know a lot?’

Fran’s cheeks showed two spots of colour. ‘Only what Ian’s told me.’

Libby’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not –’ she began.

‘No, I’m not.’ Fran shifted in her chair. ‘I’m cured of Ian.’

‘Does he know that?’

‘I think so. Guy does, anyway.’

Libby laughed. ‘Cor! Fancy having two men fighting over you in your fifties.’

‘They weren’t fighting.’ Fran was on the defensive. ‘They just – well – fancied me. Never been known before.’