Murder in the Blood (17 page)

‘That's my line. Anyway, Sally hadn't lived there for years and she was killed because of Alec Wilson's murder, nothing to do with her life here.'

‘We don't know that.'

‘Oh, I think we do. You're just being nosy.'

‘All right, I am. But we've got the key and I've got the name of the policeman Carol told about us, so it's all quite legal.'

Fran sighed. ‘I suppose I will. You'll only get into trouble if I don't come with you. When?'

‘This afternoon? I'll meet you there. I'm not going to park in the pub car park though. There must be a parking space behind the house.'

‘OK. Two o'clock? I want lunch first.'

Deciding not to tell Ben where she was going, Libby went home, made herself a sandwich and reviewed everything she knew about the murders from the discovery of Alec Wilson's body onwards. As she'd gone over everything so many times, this was not particularly fruitful, but served to put her in the right frame of mind for a probably negative search of Sally Weston's house.

She found a space with parking bays behind the row of houses containing Sally Weston's. Approaching the front door, she met Fran coming the other way.

‘I parked at the pub,' said Fran. ‘It seemed easier.'

‘Right,' said Libby. ‘Let's go in.'

Chapter Nineteen

‘What are we looking for?' asked Fran.

‘I've no idea,' said Libby. ‘I just thought we ought to see.'

‘We went through her house in Erzugan and didn't find anything, and that's where she actually lived,' said Fran.

‘But she might have stored things in the loft here,' said Libby.

‘Libby!' said an exasperated Fran. ‘That was years ago – before she went to Turkey and before she ever set eyes on Alec Wilson.'

‘I've just got a feeling,' said Libby stubbornly, and made for the stairs.

Luckily, the loft hatch was easily reachable and equally luckily, there was a pull down ladder. Libby cautiously went up and found a light switch.

‘Not much up here,' she called down to Fran. ‘Just a couple of boxes.' She sat on the floor of the loft and opened the first box.

Ten minutes later, having discarded several years of bank statements and birthday cards, she tried the second, which appeared to contain old clothes. Suddenly, there was a furious knocking at the front door.

‘Hello?' Libby heard Fran say.

‘Who are you? What are you doing in this house?' asked an angry female voice. Libby clambered over the edge of the loft and cautiously descended the ladder.

‘… for Sally's mother, Carol,' Fran was saying as she reached the ground floor. On the doorstep stood a small woman with greying red hair and a pointed nose, squaring up to Fran aggressively.

‘I always kept an eye on it for her,' said the woman. ‘What did she want to go and ask someone else for?'

‘This was Carol, not Sally,' said Libby. ‘She went back to Norfolk this morning.'

‘I know that. I saw her go.'

‘Oh, do you know Carol?' asked Fran.

‘Course I do. Known her for years, both of 'em. Even that old bastard up there.' The woman jerked her head in the direction of Ashton Court.

‘So did we,' said Libby.

That stopped the woman in her tracks. ‘You did?'

‘Yes. So why don't you come in and have a sit down. We're here perfectly legally, you know.'

Looking mollified, the woman stepped over the threshold and edged towards the sitting room. ‘Sally asked me to look in now and again. She never came back, you see, after that old business.'

‘You must have lived here a long time,' said Libby, sitting down and motioning the woman to do the same.

‘Years. Lived up the road in one of them cottages, but when these nice new ones was built, I moved. I used to clean for Carol years ago.'

‘Didn't she come and see you yesterday, or the day before?'

‘I come and see her. She wouldn't know I lived almost next door. She was upset though.'

‘She would be. Sorry, what's your name? I'm Libby Sarjeant and this is my friend, Fran Wolfe.'

‘Agnes Stewart. Now I know you.' Agnes peered at them both through watery blue eyes. ‘You're them women who got the old bastard arrested.'

Fran sighed. ‘Yes, we are.'

‘So you trying to find out who killed young Sally?'

‘No, that's up to the Turkish police,' said Libby, improvising rapidly, ‘but they want to know if there was any connection with any of the people over there before she left England.'

‘Oh. Ah.' Agnes looked at her feet. ‘Well, I wouldn't know. I knew Carol, and Sally when she was a girl. And the two friends who come over regular to lunch.'

‘Carol's friends?'

‘Old schoolfriends, they was. All come from here or roundabouts. But then Carol moved away. Don't know what happened to the others.'

‘Well, if we hear what happened to Sally we'll be sure to let you know,' said Fran, ‘and in the meantime, we'll come and tell you if we're coming to the house again, shall we?'

‘No need.' Agnes gave them a sweet smile. ‘I know who you are now.' She stood up and made for the door. ‘Sorry about Sally. She was a lovely kid. And that Gerald she was friends with. Always thought they'd end up together, but they didn't.'

‘Was he her boyfriend?' asked Libby.

‘Not sure. He was the son of one of Carol's friends I was telling you about. He was lovely, too.' She shrugged. ‘But there. Haven't seen any of them for ten years – more.'

‘So how is any of that relevant to Sally's murder?' Fran asked as they closed the door on Agnes. ‘It all happened years ago. Carol's old schoolfriends are nothing to do with this.'

‘No, I know,' said Libby with a sigh. ‘It was interesting though. I'll go back up and close the loft.'

Before she did so, Libby had another quick look through the first box she'd opened, flicking through the birthday cards she'd discarded earlier, and sure enough came to a card signed ‘Jean, Bob, and Gerald'. It was a child's card, so certainly not relevant to the enquiry, as Fran had already said. She sighed again and tucked it back into the box.

‘I think we ought to tell Carol we've been here. I'm pretty sure Agnes will tell her otherwise,' said Fran as Libby reappeared in the living room.

‘I suppose so,' said Libby. ‘Shall we call from here?'

‘That would be a bit cheeky,' said Fran.

‘Oh, all right. Good job I've got her number in here,' said Libby, pulling her mobile out of her pocket.

‘Hello?' Carol sounded breathless as she answered the phone.

‘Carol, it's Libby. Oh, sorry, you're not still on the road, are you?'

‘No – I've just this minute walked through the door. What's the matter?'

‘Nothing. Fran and I came over to check the house was secure and met your friend Agnes, so we thought we'd tell you we'd been because I expect she will.'

‘Yes, she would. But why did you want to check? I only left this morning.'

Libby stared at Fran in panic. ‘Well, actually,' she began.

‘Someone was seen looking round,' Fran whispered.

‘Someone was seen looking round,' said Libby with relief. ‘You know we told you about our policeman friend? Or did we? Anyway, we told him about us having the key, just in case, you know, and he relayed the information that someone was seen.'

‘Really?' Carol sounded puzzled. ‘When was this?'

‘Lunchtime,' said Libby promptly. ‘So we thought we'd pop over. Agnes hadn't seen anybody.'

‘Good. Well, it's a relief to know someone's looking out for the property. They're so vulnerable standing empty, especially in such a rural area.'

‘Agnes will be keeping an eye out, she said. She was telling us she's known you and Carol for years. She told us about your lunch parties.'

‘Lunch parties? Oh!' Carol laughed. ‘I used to have a couple of old schoolfriends over regularly when I lived up at the Court and Agnes always insisted on coming to help. In the holidays they brought their children and Agnes used to look after them.'

‘She mentioned a Gerald,' said Libby. ‘Was he one of them?'

‘Jean's son, yes.' Carol sighed. ‘Sadly, she died and we completely lost touch with Gerald.'

‘Sad when that happens,' said Libby. ‘Well, we just thought we'd keep you informed.'

‘That's very good of you,' said Carol. ‘Now I'm dying for a cup of tea.'

‘You were fishing,' accused Fran, as Libby put her phone away.

‘No I wasn't.'

‘Yes, you were. There was no reason at all to mention what Agnes told us. I keep telling you, none of Sally's past life is relevant.'

‘I can't help feeling that it is,' said Libby, ‘and no, I'm not stealing your thunder, I just have a feeling. I think it's because of Justin Newcombe's murder. That happened in this country, and unless the murderer did that flit back and forth thing, which I'm sure the police will have checked by now, the murderer is here.'

‘But is the root of the problem here?'

‘I don't know. But look – something connects Justin, Sally, and Alec. They were all British and now they're all dead.'

‘And they were all residents of the same Turkish village. It makes much more sense that the motive is out there.'

‘Oh, all right. Come on then. You didn't find anything down here?'

‘No. Where did you put your gloves?'

‘Oh, hell! I left them in the loft. I took them off when I first heard Agnes.'

‘Off you go then. Don't want to leave evidence of our poking about.'

Libby drove home once again without really noticing where she was going. She couldn't explain why she had been so sure there was some connection with Sally to the motive for the murders, and just hoped Fran's psychic moments hadn't rubbed off on her. She decided there was no point in telling Ian about their visit until she could mention it casually tomorrow night.

In the event, she didn't have to wait until Wednesday evening. Ian called an hour after she got home to ask if he could see her.

‘Business or pleasure?' she asked warily.

‘Business, I'm afraid,' said Ian. ‘I'll see you in half an hour.'

Half an hour. Libby rushed her preparations for dinner and shoved everything in the oven. Ben appeared through the back door just as she did so.

‘What's up?' he asked. ‘You look harassed.'

Libby explained and made for the stairs to tidy herself up, but too late. The doorbell rang.

Ian smiled at her.

‘This is Inspector Michael James from the Met,' he said indicating the tall, gloomy-looking man behind him. ‘He's just got a few questions for you.'

‘What about?' said Ben appearing at Libby's shoulder.

‘The death of Justin Newcombe, Mr …?' said the tall man.

‘This is Ben Wilde, Inspector,' said Ian. ‘He was also in Erzugan at the time of the murders.'

‘Do come in,' said Libby, and led the way into the sitting room. Sidney left it.

‘How can we help you?' she asked when they were all settled. ‘We've already told DCI Connell and Commander Smith everything we know.'

Inspector James sighed a gloomy sigh. ‘I know, Mrs Sarjeant. But something's come up, you see.'

‘Er – can I ask if you're investigating the murders in Turkey? Or the one over here?' Ben asked. ‘Only there seem to be several overlapping investigations going on, and we'd like to know who we're talking to.'

Inspector James looked at Ian and gave him a slight nod.

‘It's been decided that the investigations should be conducted together,' said Ian, ‘and I and my force have been co-opted to help this end.'

‘This end?' said Libby. ‘Why here? Because Sally Weston had a house here? But she didn't live in it.'

‘No,' said Ian. ‘Because Justin Newcombe had a return train ticket in his pocket to Canterbury.'

Chapter Twenty

Libby gaped.

‘Canterbury?' said Ben. ‘Why?'

‘That's what we want to find out, sir,' said Inspector James. ‘Now you and Mrs Sarjeant have both said you only met Mr Newcombe while you were on holiday in …'

‘Erzugan,' supplied Libby. ‘Yes.'

‘And you'd never met him before? In this country?'

Libby sighed in exasperation. ‘No! We'd never met any of them. It was the first time any of us had even been there.'

‘Except Guy,' said Ben.

‘Mr Wolfe,' explained Ian. ‘He went there a couple of times some years ago with his daughter.'

‘So he could have known all the victims?' said Inspector James.

Libby felt a cold ball form in her stomach.

‘He could have, but he didn't,' said Ian firmly. Inspector James stared at him for a few minutes, then turned to Libby and Ben. ‘We have to find out why he was coming to this area, and it turns out that you all live around here. And that Newcombe actually called –' he paused to look down at his notebook, ‘Mr Harry Price on the Friday before he died.'

‘But we've been through all this,' said Libby, turning to Ian. ‘Can't you just pass over all the interviews or whatever?'

‘We have,' said Ian.

‘Has Commander Smith?' asked Ben.

Ian and Inspector James looked each other.

‘Not entirely,' said Ian.

‘You wouldn't have expected him to, would you,' said Libby. ‘Sneaky b –'

‘Libby!' Ben broke in sharply.

Inspector James' gloomy face shifted into what could almost be a smile.

‘It's difficult when you don't know key parts of the investigation,' he said, ‘which is why we are having to go back to the beginning.'

‘Are you part of Commander Smith's team?' asked Libby.