Murder in the Blood (6 page)

The friends looked at each other awkwardly.

‘Well, not as such,' Libby said eventually. ‘We've met some people …'

‘They're the people who found the body at sea,' said Betty.

‘Oh?' The young man suddenly sounded serious. ‘Alec.'

‘Yes.' Libby cleared her throat. ‘And we – Martha and us, actually – were trying to find out about his British family. And then we were going to talk to Sally Weston.'

‘British family? I didn't know he had one.'

‘He'd only just found them, apparently,' said Fran. ‘You knew him and Sally, then?'

The young man looked at her sharply. ‘I knew Alec, yes, and I know Sally. She is a favourite with the children.'

The others exchanged glances. It was Betty who spoke in the end.

‘I'm afraid Sally's dead, too.'

The young man seemed unable to speak. At last, he turned and called over his shoulder to his wife, who hurried forward with a bottle of red wine. He gestured for her to take a seat and pulled up a chair himself.

‘You don't mind?' he said. Everyone shook their heads, and he offered wine all round.

‘I am sorry,' he said, putting a hand on his wife's arm. ‘Sally was a dear friend.' he spoke briefly to his wife, who promptly burst into tears and ran back to the kitchen.

‘I'm sorry, too.' Libby felt wretched. ‘I wish we hadn't had to tell you.'

He pulled himself up straight. ‘We would have heard. Can you tell me anything else?'

Between them, they related the events of the last couple of days.

‘Betty didn't tell us your name,' Libby finished up.

‘I am Mahmud.' The young man bowed his head. ‘And my wife – I must apologise for her – is Almas. Sally was very kind to her.'

‘She had no enemies here, then,' said Guy.

‘None. We all liked her, although she could be – ' he paused, frowning. ‘I do not know the word.'

‘Sharp?' suggested Libby.

‘Prickly?' from Harry.

‘Like a schoolmistress,' Mahmud came up with eventually. ‘Alec was her special friend. I did not know him so well. But they came here a lot. We are one of the only restaurants open in the winter.'

‘You know Justin, too, then?' said Ben.

‘Yes. He comes with them sometimes, or with another friend. They are quite – ' he paused again, frowning. ‘Quite close, the English.'

‘The English who live here?' suggested Peter.

Mahmud nodded. ‘Do you know Geoff and Christine?'

They all shook their heads except Betty.

‘They own the Istanbul Palace,' she said.

‘What's that?' asked Libby.

‘A hotel. It stands on its own on the way to the river,' said Mahmud.

‘I remember seeing it,' said Guy. ‘I didn't realise it was a hotel. It doesn't have any signs outside.'

‘No.' Mahmud shook his head. ‘I don't know why. But it also stays open all year, and the English go there a lot. They will all be very shocked. I must telephone.' He stood and bowed to them all. ‘Please – this meal is – what do you say? You must not pay.'

‘On the house,' said Libby, ‘but we must pay. We brought you bad news, not good. We shall pay.'

With the dispute amicably settled, the group finished the last of Mahmud's wine and left, with promises to come back.

‘So Geoff and Christine's hotel is a sort of local for the ex-pats?' said Libby, as they walked back to Jimmy's.

‘Seems to be,' said Greta, ‘but I don't think everyone gets on with them. We've only been up there once because someone suggested the food was good, but we didn't care for it, did we, Tom?'

‘There were quite a few Brits up there, and the food seemed to be mainly English. They seemed a bit cliquey.'

‘Hmm. Could be motives up there, then,' said Libby.

‘We can ask Martha. We're going to see her again in the morning, aren't we?' said Fran.

When they arrived back at the hotel, they asked Betty to join them for a nightcap, but she refused. ‘I might as well go and make peace with Walter,' she said, ‘or else my life won't be worth living.' And she trotted off quite cheerily.

‘Fortitude, that's what she's got,' said Harry. ‘Great old girl.'

They were all surprised to find Justin and Neal sitting at the bar staring morosely into their glasses.

‘Hello!' said Ben. ‘Where have you been all day? Have you heard the news?'

‘About Sally?' said Justin. ‘Yes.'

‘Did you manage to speak to her?' asked Neal.

‘No. Martha did, though.' said Harry.

‘When? This afternoon?' asked Justin. ‘That will help them narrow down the time of death, won't it?'

‘If they look into it that closely,' said Peter. ‘No one seems to have any faith in the Jandarma.'

‘But Martha said the Antalyan consulate was going to look into it, didn't she?' said Fran. ‘Now with two Brits dead – murdered – they'll have to act.'

‘This is awful,' Neal suddenly burst out. ‘It almost seems as though it's my fault. I only came out here for a bit of peace and quiet, and now …' He looked ready to cry.

‘Don't be silly,' said Libby, patting his shoulder. ‘You know it's not your fault. Just because it happened while you were here – it could have happened any time.'

‘But I'd met him.' Neal turned tragic eyes on Justin. ‘And I seem to have set the police on to Justin and all their other friends.'

Justin looked uncomfortable. ‘Nonsense,' he muttered.

‘I suppose they'll go and question Geoff and Christine, too, won't they?' said Libby.

Justin now looked surprised. ‘Do you know them?'

‘No, but Greta and Tom have been there, and Mahmud at The Red Bar was telling us about them. It seems like a sort of local for you ex-pats.'

Justin pulled a face. ‘Not for everyone. We don't get on.'

‘Oh?' Libby glanced at Fran, eyebrows raised. ‘Did Alec get on with them?'

‘No. We weren't particularly welcome there.'

‘Ah.' Peter exchanged glances with Harry. ‘I don't think we'll be going there, then.'

‘Just Fran and me, then,' said Libby, ‘after we've seen Martha. Now, who wants a drink?'

Chapter Seven

Before the sun rose too high in the sky, Libby and Fran walked along the bay towards the river and Martha's restaurant.

‘That must be the Istanbul Palace,' said Fran, pointing to an attractive red-roofed cream building set on its own amid acres of uncultivated vegetation. ‘No signage at all.'

‘Odd, isn't it?' said Libby. ‘I wonder how you get to it? There's no entry from here.'

Martha answered the question for them as they sat sipping iced tea on the terrace above the restaurant.

‘There's a turning off this road. You'll pass it on your right as you go back to the beach road. Very discreet little sign. It's almost as if they don't want any trade.'

‘You don't like Geoff and Christine?' asked Libby, noticing Martha's expression.

‘Oh, I don't mind them. They're just a bit – well, snobby, I suppose.'

‘Snobby?' Fran's eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘I thought out here it would be exactly the opposite in an ex-pat community. A classless society.'

‘Anything but,' said Martha with a laugh. ‘Geoff is supposed to be ex-military and from a posh background and Christine is an ex-model. They think they're better than most of the rest of us.'

‘They would have known Sally and Alec, though?'

‘
Knew
them, yes,' said Martha with a sniff. ‘I don't think they were on visiting terms.'

‘Ah. We got that impression,' said Libby. ‘Homophobic, are they?'

‘They would say no, of course. But yes. They are. And many of their so-called friends are, too.'

‘So there's a divided society out here? I mean, we've met Justin and you, and heard about Sally and Alec, and Mahmud at The Red Bar said they used to go there. There must be a whole other set of ex-pats we don't know about.'

Martha nodded. ‘Except that they're all like Geoff and Christine, so unlikely to know anything about Alec's death – or Sally's.' She sighed. ‘I can't believe it, you know. Sally was such a good person.'

‘Mahmud said she was a family favourite,' said Fran. ‘His wife was upset.'

‘She would be. Sally babysat for them, taught the little ones English and played games with them. And they liked Alec, too. He was good with the children.'

‘So it could be someone from the other group who had it in from them,' said Libby. ‘Doesn't that seem likely?'

‘I can't see how,' said Martha. ‘If they don't have anything to do with them why would they kill them?'

‘I think you can cut out extreme homophobia, Lib,' said Fran. ‘And anyway, Sally wasn't gay, was she?'

‘No, definitely not.' Martha smiled sadly. ‘She frightened some men, but they all quite fancied her. Even my Ismet.'

‘So what's happened with the consulate?' asked Libby after a moment. ‘Have they traced Alec's mother?'

‘No. They've been really helpful, and apparently they've managed to get the police – or whoever it is – to investigate more thoroughly, especially now Sally's dead. They saw the connection immediately. They have traced his flight back to England, but there's no joy there. He flew into Gatwick back in March, and flew back here ten days later. But where he was in between is anyone's guess.'

‘They think Sally was killed because she knew something?' said Libby.

‘I suppose. They were friends and were killed within two days of each other. Must be.'

‘The mother. That's the reason,' said Fran. ‘Alec told Sally about his mother.'

‘But why would anyone want to keep that secret?' said Martha, looking bewildered. ‘I know he didn't tell any of us, but I expect it was because he was a private sort of person. I don't think he could have been going to make a thing of it.'

‘Well, I still think it's worth us going to meet Geoff and Christine,' said Libby. ‘Can you just go in for a drink?'

‘You can, although they'd be surprised,' said Martha with a smile. ‘It's usually only their regulars in the bar. They'll be open now.'

‘Regulars is what we like,' said Libby with satisfaction. ‘We'll keep you posted, Martha.'

‘And I'll tell you if I hear anything from the consulate or the Jandarma. Or whoever's in charge now.' Martha stood up and waved away the offer of payment for their tea.

Libby and Fran crossed the bridge and wandered down the track towards the branch road. Sure enough, soon, on their right appeared two very new-looking pale stone walls, curving into a smooth drive. On one of the walls a small plaque announced ‘Istanbul Palace. Hotel, restaurant and bar.'

‘This is it, then,' said Libby. ‘Come on, let's have a look at them.'

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?' asked Fran, following her friend onto the drive, either side of which were planted night scented Melissa shrubs.

‘We're just going for a drink. Holidaymakers do visit lots of different bars.'

‘But why are we going?'

‘To check them out, of course. I want to see what it is that divides opinion so much. And if there's any suggestion of a motive.'

‘You're not just being nosy?'

Libby turned and grinned at her friend. ‘Of course I am. It's what I do best.'

There were shallow steps running the length of the building when they reached it, leading to a covered terrace where several people sat at tables. Libby started up the steps. Immediately, a short, round man with a bald head and a cheerful expression appeared.

‘Hello! Welcome to the Palace,' he called.

‘Well, thank you,' said Libby. ‘We've only come for a drink.'

He held out his hand as Libby reached the terrace.

‘Geoff Croker, pleased to meet you.'

‘Libby.' Libby took the proffered hand. ‘And this is Fran.'

Geoff shook hands with Fran. ‘Come along in then. Bar's in here.'

He led the way inside to a cool marble floored room where comfortable chairs were place around small tables. Fran and Libby exchanged glances behind his back.

‘Now, ladies, what'll you have?' Geoff sidled behind the imposing polished bar.

‘Two beers, please,' said Libby. ‘Nice place you've got here.'

‘Yes.' Geoff looked round the bar complacently. ‘We like it.' He placed two frosted glasses on the bar and began to pour the beer. ‘So what brings you here?'

‘We were exploring,' said Fran, before Libby could speak and put her foot in it. ‘We saw the building from the beach road –' she waved a vague hand ‘– and when we walked up here we saw the sign. We guessed it was the same place.'

‘Ah.' Geoff pushed the glasses towards them. ‘I only asked because we don't get many people coming in for drinks, only our guests who are staying here.'

‘And the locals,' said Libby.

Geoff looked at her sharply. ‘Locals?'

‘Someone said this is the place to meet the locals.' Libby smiled, charmingly, she hoped.

‘Really? Now who would that be?' Geoff's ‘mine host' smile had stayed in place, but his eyes had narrowed.

‘Mahmud at The Red Bar,' said Fran. ‘We had dinner there last night.'

‘Ah, Mahmud.' Geoff appeared to relax, and Libby wondered whom he'd expected them to name. ‘Good food. Nice little family.'

‘Yes. He was telling me Sally Weston was a good friend of theirs,' she said.

Geoff's face froze again. ‘Sally?'

‘You did know, didn't you?' Libby covered her mouth with her hand and hoped she looked shocked. ‘Oh, I'm so sorry …'

‘Oh – yes. Of course. Terrible thing. Poor old Sally.' Geoff's smile had gone now. ‘Didn't know her well, of course.'