Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (4 page)

Chapter Six

‘If we go in from Keeper’s Cob,’ said Fran, peering ahead at the road where Dark Lane led off to the right past The Dragon, ‘we go straight along here and turn right at the crossroads.’

‘I think so,’ said Libby nervously. ‘It was dark and foggy. I didn’t really know where I was going.’

‘It’s foggy now,’ said Fran. ‘Eerie.’

‘You wait till we get into that lane,’ said Libby. ‘It’s proper scary.’

Sure enough, at the crossroads a signpost pointed right towards Keeper’s Cob. This lane, too, grew narrower and headed slightly downhill. Fran kept in low gear, and as they rounded a bend. Libby pointed.

‘There. There’s Dark Lane.’

‘But no village,’ said Fran. ‘It must be further on.’

She drove on, going further downhill until another lane branched off to the right with an old-fashioned and battered fingerpost, which read “Keeper’s Cob ½”. Cautiously, she turned in.

Here, the road surface was covered in fallen leaves the way Dark Lane had been, and the trees once more closed in around them, wavering in the mist.

‘Told you,’ said Libby. ‘Scary.’

A small house, originally painted white, appeared on a slight rise to their left. A thick-set man stumped around the corner leading a flock of noisy hens and didn’t spare them a glance. Fran ploughed on.

At another bend in the road stood a short row of terraced cottages, two with smoke issuing from the chimneys, and almost opposite them a lowering building with dilapidated thatch. Fran stopped the car, and they could hear a faint squeak from an indistinguishable sign swinging from a rusty arm.

‘Pub,’ they said together.

‘Do you think this is Keeper’s Cob?’ asked Libby. ‘There’s not much of it.’

‘Perhaps there’s more further on,’ said Fran. ‘And this can’t be the only way in.’

‘Let’s go and ask in the pub,’ said Libby. ‘We can always say we’re lost.’

‘Which is true,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t think I could find my way back.’

She pulled in to the side of the road and switched off the engine. ‘God, this is isolated.’

‘And yet if you look on a map it’s densely populated. Big commuter area.’ Libby got out of the car.

‘This doesn’t look like commuter heaven.’ Fran looked round at the terrace of cottages and back up towards the small white house.

‘Come on, let’s find out.’ Libby led the way towards the black door of the pub, pausing to look up at the sign. ‘Can you see what it says? I suppose it
is
a pub?’

‘The Feathers,’ said Fran, squinting. ‘See? You can just make out the three feathers.’

‘Hmm,’ said Libby and pushed open the door.

To their surprise, the tiny bar was full. The all-male crowd fell silent as they walked in, and Libby clutched Fran’s arm.

‘Excuse me,’ she said in a quavering voice, and cleared her throat.

‘Is this Keeper’s Cob?’ Fran asked in a much stronger voice. Libby glanced at her admiringly.

‘Aye.’ A few voices answered.

‘And is this the only pub?’ asked Fran, improvising wildly. ‘Only we were looking for The Dragon.’

‘Don’t know how you come ʼere, then,’ said one large, red-faced man with watery blue eyes. ‘Dragon be down t’other end of Dark Lane. Steeple Cross.’

‘Ah. Could you tell us how to get there, only we appear to be lost,’ said Libby, feeling better and backing Fran up. ‘Where’s Dark Lane?’

‘Back up along,’ said another. ‘Do be a bit difficult.’

‘Best go through village,’ someone else offered. ‘Towards Canterbury.’

‘Towards
Canterbury
?’ echoed Fran and Libby together.

‘Aye.’ Several faces looked surprised.

‘Through village,’ the landlord came out from behind the bar and pointed. ‘Carry on and you’ll see a signpost for Steeple Martin and Canterbury. Go towards Steeple Martin and then you’ll see a sign for Steeple Cross.’

‘Oh, I know,’ said Libby. ‘Thank you so much.’ She turned and almost pushed Fran out the door.

‘You know where we are?’ said Fran, as they made their way back to the car.

‘No, but I know what we’ve been doing. Going round in circles. I bet there’s a whole network of tiny lanes criss-crossing each other. Designed to confuse the unwary traveller, I reckon.’

They got into the car.

‘Confuse, why?’ asked Fran as she started the engine.

‘Smuggling,’ said Libby. ‘This part of the world was where the eighteenth-century smuggling gangs brought their stuff up from the coast. I bet you anything you like that pub back there was one of the meeting places.’

‘Perhaps Dark House was, too. Perhaps there’s a tunnel. Didn’t you say something about a grotto?’

‘Yes, but that’s Victorian. Although I suppose it could conceal an older tunnel.’ Libby peered around her as the lane broadened out and took them through a few more houses. ‘I also bet there’s a short cut from that pub, or near it, to Dark House. It must be almost behind, as the crow flies. And,’ she turned to Fran, ‘I bet that Johnny was in there.’

‘Why?’

‘There was a particularly shifty-looking individual who melted back into the shadows as soon as we came in. Didn’t you notice?’

‘Ah. With a pony tail.’

‘That’s the one. But why did he? He doesn’t know who we are.’

‘We don’t know who he is, either,’ Fran pointed out.

‘No, but he seemed uncomfortable.’

‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you,’ said Fran as they emerged on to the Canterbury Road. ‘We might as well go back to yours now. I don’t fancy driving back along those lanes again.’

‘I know. I suppose they might be better in summer.’

‘When the woodland would be denser? No thanks. Spring maybe, as long as the sun was out. I’d hate to live up there.’

‘Me, too,’ said Libby with a shudder. ‘Come on, time for a nice cup of tea.’

Lights were twinkling in Steeple Martin as they approached. Late November, and the sky was already darkening. The mist drifted down the high street and swirled into Allhallow’s Lane, almost obscuring the track at the end.

‘Will you be all right driving home in this?’ asked Libby, as she let them  in to number 17.

‘It’s main road all the way,’ said Fran, ‘and I’m not that much of a wimp.’ She frowned. ‘It was just those lanes. That whole area. Weird.’

‘I’m glad it’s not just me,’ said Libby, going to move the kettle onto the hotplate. ‘Now, I’m going to see if there’s any life left in that fire.’

‘What I can’t imagine is why anyone, especially people like the Watsons, would choose to live there,’ said Fran.

‘You didn’t see the actual house,’ said Libby, giving the grate a good riddle. ‘It’s quite lovely, but just so isolated. Although, if I’m right, The Feathers and that little collection of cottages aren’t that far behind it. We must see if we can find out.’

‘When will Adam and Mog be allowed back?’

‘No idea. If they’re still suspects they won’t be allowed back until they’re cleared. I wonder how Ian’s getting on with Carl Oxenford?’

‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘you didn’t really say much about him.’

‘There wasn’t much to say. I don’t know if he identified the body as his wife.’

‘Ah, yes. What was her name?’

‘Ramani.’

‘I think it’s almost definitely her,’ said Fran. ‘That kettle’s boiling.’

‘Well,’ said Libby, five minutes later when they were sitting down with large mugs of tea, ‘what shall we do now?’

‘There isn’t anything we can do,’ said Fran. ‘No one’s asked us to interfere.’

‘I could ring Adelaide and ask if she’s all right.’

‘It’ll sound like morbid curiosity.’

‘No it won’t. She asked me to go over last night. It’ll be a perfectly legitimate enquiry.’

Fran looked doubtful. ‘All right. You know best.’

‘That’s the first time you’ve ever said that,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘Oh, bugger.’

‘What?’

‘I haven’t got the Watsons’ number. She rang me last night. I didn’t ring her.’

‘Lewis will have it.’

‘He’s on a shoot in Somerset, I can’t really disturb him.’

‘What about Adam?’

‘I suppose Mog might have it.’ Libby picked up her phone and pressed speed dial. ‘Ad? How are you? Won’t they? Oh, dear. I bet Mog’s not best pleased. Listen, Ad, have you or Mog got the Watsons’ number? She called me last night and I went over there, and I want to see if she’s OK. Yes, yes, I’ll tell you all about it. Come to supper – or are you working tonight?’ She looked at Fran and made a face. ‘Oh – thank you, darling. Now what about supper? OK, see you then.’

She put the phone down and scribbled something on the edge of the television listings magazine. ‘In case I forget,’ she said.

‘You got the number, then?’

‘Yes. Ad and Mog can’t go back to the house because the garden is completely out of bounds and they’re even digging up part of what they’d already done. Mog’s furious, apparently.’

‘Go on, then. Ring the lady up.’ Fran sat back in the armchair and cradled her mug. ‘Let’s see you do your caring stuff.’

Taking a deep breath, Libby picked up the phone again and keyed in the number.

‘Oh, hello, Roland,’ she said screwing up her face in distaste. ‘It’s Libby Sarjeant here. I was just calling to see how Adelaide was. Yes? Oh, thank you.’ She turned to Fran. ‘I thought he wasn’t going to let me speak to her. Oh, Adelaide. How are you this morning? Adam tells me they’re digging up the garden?’ She listened for a while, making various affirmatory noises until she suddenly sat upright. ‘They have? Who? And why? Oh, so it was Ramani. Oh, dear.’ She went quiet again, and Fran leant forward, trying to catch what was being said.

Eventually, Libby nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I can’t come today, but I’ll pop round in the morning. No, no trouble. Or would you like to come here? You would? Right, I’ll give you directions.’

‘So what’s happened?’ asked Fran when Libby had ended the call.

‘Quite a lot,’ said Libby. ‘They’ve got another suspect.’

‘Really? Who?’

‘Someone who called at the Oxenfords’ house asking for Ramani. That’s all Adelaide knows, but the body was her. Carl’s distraught.’

‘And she’s coming here tomorrow?’

‘She wanted me to go today, as you heard, but I thought it might do her good to go somewhere else. If the police need her Ian knows where she’ll be.’

‘Did she say anything about her husband?’

‘No. I shall grill her tomorrow. I suppose you want to be here?’

Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Now, why would you think that?’

Later, Adam came to supper and Libby told him all she knew.

‘Not much, really,’ she said, as she and Ben cleared the kitchen table. ‘But we’ll find out more tomorrow. Now, we’re off to rehearsal, but as it’s Wednesday, Patti and Anne will be in the pub later. Are you coming?’

‘They’re booked in at the caff,’ said Adam. ‘I’ll see you later. I’ll pootle along with them.’

The Reverend Patti Pearson drove to Steeple Martin every Wednesday afternoon from her parish of St Aldeberge to have dinner with her friend Anne Douglas in The Pink Geranium. After dinner, they usually met up with Libby, Ben and Peter in the pub. It was so that evening after a fairly disastrous pantomime rehearsal.

‘I’m really not happy about our new Dame,’ said Libby when asked by Anne what she was looking fed-up about. ‘Tom, our usual Dame, has gone and moved away, bother him, and we’ve had to find a new one.’

‘What’s wrong with the new one?’ asked Patti.

‘I shouldn’t say this, really,’ said Libby, looking uncomfortable, ‘but he’s an Ac-Tor, dahling. Happier doing gritty drama, but thinks if Sir Ian McKellen can play a Dame, he can. Not always the way.’

‘A Dame,’ pontificated Peter, ‘is always a bloke in a dress. She is not a drag queen, although there have been notable exceptions to that, but then, they were incomparable drag queens. The humour comes from this big, down to earth guy wearing the most outrageous costumes and not even attempting to appear feminine.’

‘I love a good Dame,’ sighed Harry theatrically. He had accompanied Adam, Patti and Anne to the pub after closing the restaurant. ‘I’d make a very good Dame.’

‘Too camp, ducks,’ said Peter fondly. ‘You could do it, Ben.’

‘I have in the past,’ said Ben surprisingly.

‘Really?’ All eyes turned to him.

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Libby.

‘When I did that TIE tour, remember? I told you that.’

‘TIE?’ asked Patti. ‘What’s that?’

‘Theatre in Education,’ said Libby. ‘You know, those small troupes who go into schools and teach sensitive subjects by performing plays about them.’

‘Or even proper plays,’ said Ben. ‘And pantomimes.’

‘So it was pro, then?’ said Adam. ‘Paid?’

‘A pittance, but yes, paid,’ smiled Ben.

‘Why don’t you take over, then?’ asked Anne.

‘Not done,’ said Libby with sigh. ‘Remember we agonised over that panto director the other year? We didn’t know how to sack him, but in the end we didn’t have to. He admitted defeat and left of his own accord. But we’d need a bloody good reason to get rid of Sir Larry.’

‘Is that his name?’ Anne’s eyes were round.

‘No, just what we call him,’ explained Ben with a grin.

‘Let’s not talk about panto,’ said Harry, leaning his elbows on the table. ‘I want to hear all about this latest murder.’

Chapter Seven

Fran was once more sitting by Libby’s sitting room fire when Adelaide Watson arrived the following morning.

‘This is my friend Fran, Adelaide,’ said Libby. ‘She and I have – er –’

‘Yes, I know.’ Adelaide’s smile was a little strained. ‘You’re the psychic. Lewis told me.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Libby exchanged a quick look with Fran. ‘Do sit down. I’ve got the coffee on – or would you prefer tea?’

‘Oh, coffee, please. Thank you.’ Adelaide perched on the sofa and looked round. ‘Lovely cottage.’

‘Thank you. Not as grand as your place, though.’

‘No,’ said Adelaide, sounding wistful.

‘How are you feeling, now?’ asked Fran. ‘It must have been such a shock.’

‘It was,’ said Adelaide. ‘And it keeps getting worse.’

‘Worse?’ Libby came back with a tray of mugs, cafetière, and milk.

‘Well, it’s the questions. Roland’s had to go into Canterbury again today, and both the boys have been interviewed. The police seem to think someone in the family must have killed her, even though the boys had never even met her.’

‘I thought you said there was a new suspect?’

‘Yes.’ Adelaide took the mug Libby held out to her. ‘This man who came to Carl’s door to ask for Ramani. Carl had never seen him before.’

‘So who was he?’

‘Carl doesn’t know. The police were at his house at the time, and they whisked this person off straight away.’

‘Unlikely to be the murderer,’ said Fran. ‘Going to the victim’s house and asking for her. Why draw attention to yourself in that way?’

‘Double bluff?’ suggested Libby.

‘Or perhaps the police already knew something about him?’ said Fran.

‘I don’t know. And I can hardly ask, can I?’ said Adelaide.

‘So why have they asked Roland back again?’ asked Libby. ‘I know he had to go in yesterday.’

‘And he wasn’t pleased.’ Adelaide sighed. ‘He wouldn’t tell me why he had to go back today. They haven’t wanted to talk to me again.’

‘You’re not likely to have cut someone’s throat,’ said Fran. ‘They obviously think this is a man’s crime. Do we know the results of the post mortem?’

Adelaide looked bewildered.

‘They aren’t likely to tell anyone that unless it throws something up,’ said Libby. She turned to Adelaide. ‘Are you sure you’re happy about staying out there?’

‘No, I’m not.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s a lovely house, but it’s so remote. You wouldn’t think you were in the south-east commuter belt, would you? I never wanted it in the first place.’

‘But you keep spending money on it,’ said Libby.

‘I know. To try and make it more – oh, I don’t know. More homely, I suppose.’

‘That’s why you spend so much time in London,’ said Fran.

‘Yes. It was different when Roland worked locally, but even then – I think he only bought the house to impress people.’

‘That sounded bitter,’ said Libby.

Adelaide smiled. ‘I suppose it was. I’d sell the bloody place if it was up to me.’ She put her mug down and sat up straight, looking determined. ‘Now, what I wanted to say was would you look into this murder for me? I know you’ve done it before.’

Libby and Fran exchanged wary looks.

‘We can’t go round asking questions, you know,’ said Libby. ‘The police get very upset.’

‘But you know the chief inspector, don’t you? Couldn’t you find out things from him?’

‘No.’ Fran was firm. ‘He’s not allowed to tell anyone what goes on in an investigation unless that person is relevant. And he hates us interfering.’

‘But you must be able to find out something?’

‘Well, I don’t know what,’ said Libby. ‘Unless there’s something you could tell us that, perhaps, you wouldn’t want to tell the police?’

Adelaide shifted on the sofa and her eyes slid sideways. Libby gave Fran a significant nod.

‘Well,’ began Adelaide, ‘there is something …’

‘Yes?’ prompted Libby, after a moment.

‘I shouldn’t really say this.’ Colour had seeped up Adelaide’s neck and appeared mottled in her pale face. ‘But, you see … well, if I told the police, Roland would know. And he – he’s not – I mean – ’

‘Just tell us,’ said Fran. ‘We’re not likely to tell Roland, are we?’

‘I think Roland had an affair with Ramani.’ Adelaide’s words came out in a rush. Libby and Fran sat in silence staring at her. ‘You see why I don’t want to tell the police?’

Fran nodded slowly.

‘Do you think he killed her?’ asked Libby.

The colour left Adelaide’s face as quickly as it had arrived. ‘God, no! He’d never do that, and anyway, he was on the other side of the channel.’

And, thought Libby, look how quickly he got home on Tuesday.

‘But if you tell the police what you think they would question him about it, and your life would become unbearable?’ guessed Fran.

‘Yes, because he would know I’d told them.’

‘What makes you think they
did
have an affair?’ asked Libby. ‘I thought you said you hardly knew Carl or Ramani and had never even seen her.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Adelaide.

‘Your husband said neither of you had ever laid eyes on the woman. Although I didn’t actually hear all of that conversation as I was making coffee.’ Libby frowned. ‘Ian hadn’t confirmed that the body was Ramani’s, so how could Roland be saying that? He shouldn’t have known who the body was.’

‘That was me. He wanted to know why you and I were witnesses to something, so I told him. I don’t think your inspector was too pleased.’

‘Oh, right. So carry on. Why did you think they were having an affair, and when did you see her? And,’ said Libby, with a flash of inspiration, ‘why didn’t you recognise the body?’

Adelaide sighed, and Libby poured her more coffee. ‘I’ve always known when Roland has an affair. There’s something about him, and I know when he worked here he was known in the company as a –’ she paused.

‘Randy old sod?’ suggested Libby.

‘Yes. He was always so – oh, you know – hail fellow, well met. One of the lads. Loved being Captain of the local golf club, and always a great one for the ladies, as they say.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I was used to it, so I knew there was someone in his life over the last few months. I assumed it was someone in Brussels, it would be easy for him to have someone over there, but then one day I was driving up to Keeper’s Cob and I saw … I saw …’ She lowered her eyes.

‘Roland and Ramani?’ Fran said gently.

‘Yes. In Roland’s car. I almost didn’t see it – you know what these lanes are like and it was parked in the trees. I’m afraid I drove past and then stopped and walked back. They didn’t see me.’

‘How did you know it was Ramani?’ asked Libby.

Adelaideʼs colour came back. ‘I had to go to the doctor for a routine matter and I saw her then. She came into the surgery briefly.’

‘But you didn’t recognise the body?’

‘No. I only saw her head, and her hair was concealed somehow. When I saw her with Roland (and I saw her again when I dropped him off at Ashford one time) she looked a real glamour girl.’ The corners of Adelaide’s mouth turned down. ‘I think sometimes he pretended he was going to Brussels when he wasn’t and she would pick him up. I suppose while Carl was in surgery so she could have the car.’

‘Do you think that’s why Carl called you? Did he know, too?’

‘I don’t know.’ Adelaide’s expression was agonised. ‘That’s what I thought straight away. And especially when he said the car had gone.’

‘I think he probably did know – or suspect, at least,’ said Fran. ‘It makes sense. And he will probably tell the police, too.’

‘I suppose he will,’ said Adelaide with a sigh. ‘Perhaps that’s why they recalled Roland this morning.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do, then,’ said Libby. ‘They’ll start making enquiries immediately. They’ll check where he was on Sunday night and we can’t do that sort of thing.’

‘I suppose so.’ Adelaide put down her mug. ‘But I do feel better for talking about it.’

‘Any time,’ said Libby. ‘And if I were you, I’d force your husband to sell that house.’

‘I don’t think I care what he does with it now. I’m going to move back permanently to London.’

‘What about the garden and the swimming pool?’ asked Libby.

‘Oh, I hope they’ll be allowed to finish that. It would add to the value. After all, if it is sold, I’ll get half.’ Adelaide stood up. ‘Thank you for listening, and if you get any sort of inspiration,’ she turned to Fran, ‘I hope you’ll let me know.’

‘Do you think she means she’s going to leave him?’ said Libby as she watched her guest turn her car and drive slowly towards the high street.

‘It sounds like it,’ said Fran. ‘And not a moment too soon, as far as I can tell.’

‘But she’s so scared of him. She wilts when he’s there. And he’s quite horrible – I don’t know how he’s managed to have affairs.’

‘You saw him at his worst, don’t forget. He wasn’t out to impress you, he was just angry.’

‘I suppose so.’ Libby collected the coffee tray and took it into the kitchen. ‘That was a bit of a facer, though, wasn’t it? I had no idea she was lying on Tuesday night. Do you want more coffee?’

‘No thanks. What do you think we ought to do?’ Fran perched on the edge of the table.

‘Do? Well, nothing. As I said, the police already know by now that Roland was having an affair with Ramani, if we assume Carl suspected it as well as Adelaide, so they’ll be looking in to his alibi. We can’t help.’

‘No.’ Fran looked thoughtful. ‘I do hate being hamstrung, though.’

‘We’ve got so used to being able to investigate, that’s the trouble. This time, we can’t.’

‘Unless I have any further – what did she call it? – inspiration,’ said Fran.

‘We didn’t tell her about the first one. But she obviously knows all about you.’

‘I’m still a bit confused about that, you know. The victim was alive, I’m sure of it.’

‘I’m not sure what that means. For some reason I assumed she’d been killed somewhere else and dumped there, but you think she was killed in the grotto?’

‘Otherwise, why was I staring up through the trees? Do you think I should tell Ian?’

‘I don’t think so. After all, they’ll be a bit nearer actual time of death now, and they’ll know if she was killed
in situ
.’

‘Maybe. But it’s frustrating.’

Fran slipped off the table and went back into the sitting room just as Libby’s landline rang.

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Libby picked up the phone.

‘Libby, it’s Ian. Listen, I know this is slightly unconventional, but I need your help.’