Murder on the Tor: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 3) (15 page)

“Your friend Cal James and his wife. The ones living in Trevor’s house.”

“Yes. Well, the wife was Cal’s idea―part of the cover story. What is it?” He frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Cover stories, laundering money, Mr Big in the Exham area. Who would have thought it, in a quiet seaside town like this? It’s hard to believe.”

Max’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s true. We’re very close to catching the person at the top of the tree, but I don’t want you involved any more.”

“Why not? You can’t be afraid anyone’s going to shoot me, are you?”

This time, Max didn’t even try to smile. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. You’re too good an investigator. That’ll be fine, when we’re operating as Ramshore and Forest, Investigators at Large, but it might put you in danger with Trevor’s masters.”

“Forest and Ramshore, you mean.”

The smile reappeared. “Whatever. I want you to be safe, Libby. We’re very close to finishing this business, but don’t forget, the criminals have been watching you, as I was. Will you promise to be careful and stop poking your nose in everywhere when I’m not around?”

Libby sighed. “I suppose I’d better come clean.” She told Max about the visit to Marina’s house. “Chesterton Wendlebury was there. I think they’re having some sort of a liaison. In her own home.” She stopped, thinking about Marina’s husband, Henry. Did he really have no idea what was going on? “I’m convinced Chesterton Wendlebury’s behind it all, though I don’t have any evidence.”

“You really don’t like that man, do you?”

She shivered. “His eyes are too close together.” Max was silent. Libby narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me? I thought we were being honest with each other.”

His sigh was heavy. “It’s not so much Wendlebury, as his company.”

“Pritchards.” Libby was triumphant. “I knew it.”

“Most of their business is above board. Cut-throat, of course, but that’s how they make money.”

“They tried to buy out the bakery for pennies, when it had to shut.”

“As I said, that’s business, but they were also running local gangs of petty criminals; the vehicle ringers and cannabis growers. The police closed most down, but they let a few run, so they can gather more evidence. Joe’s been part of the team working on that. He’s known what I’ve been doing all along.”

“And that’s why you two kept up the pretence of not speaking.”

“Some of that was genuine. I was a pretty bad father. But we rub along, most of the time.”

Libby drained the last drops from her mug. “I’m still puzzled by Trevor telling Ali and Robert to do nothing with the houses for a few years. Why would he insist on that?”

“I’m afraid he tried to be too clever. Your husband thought he could double-cross the gang by putting some of the houses in other names, using the gang’s money. He held on to the properties for a year, thinking he’d covered his tracks, then made them over to your kids, telling them not to sell for a good while. He thought that would be long enough to bury his part in the purchase.”

“But the criminal bosses found out?”

“It looks like it.”

Libby drew a long breath. “So they did have Trevor killed.”

Lemon cake

In a corner of Marina’s room, dressed in her favourite shade of brown, sat Beryl, a long-term member of the Exham History Society, sipping Earl Grey tea. Her cup rattled, her hand trembling with excitement at the prospect of presenting a paper to the group. The First Post Office in Exham had been opened by her great grandfather, and she’d been waiting a long time for the opportunity to tell the tale.

She had high hopes of today’s meeting. True, it had been convened to celebrate the end of the great Glastonbury Tor murder mystery, and the part in the story played by the historic amber beads, but surely there would be a few moments at the end to fill? “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Libby whispered, as Detective Sergeant Joe Ramshore and his father, Max, arrived together, looking awkward and uncomfortable as they perched on two of Marina’s antique chairs.

“Have more cake, darling.” Marina offered Beryl a slice of Libby’s acclaimed whisky and lemon cake. “It’ll settle your nerves.” All the society regulars had come for this special meeting. Even Samantha Watson found time in her important schedule to attend. She held one of Marina’s bone china cups in her left hand, little finger raised, over-sized engagement ring on prominent display. She was due to marry Chief Inspector Arnold as soon as the divorce from Ned, her husband, came through.

George Edwards gave his wife’s apologies. She’d sprained her ankle. Libby suspected George’s wife’s ills were an excuse; after every meeting, he took home a doggy bag of cake. Chesterton Wendlebury arrived with a flourish, heaved his bulk into the largest, most comfortable armchair, and beamed round the room. “So kind of you to invite me. I’m agog to hear more of Mrs Forest’s adventures.”

“Well, if we’re all here,” began Angela Miles, one of the society’s founder members, “I’ll ask Libby to tell us about the latest events on Glastonbury Tor.”

The society listened, enthralled, as Libby told the sad story of Catriona’s murder, so far in the past. “It was hard to get at the truth, after so long. People remember the same event in different ways, even in the best of circumstances. In this case, our university students from the sixties were ashamed of things they’d done or said. Each of them tried to distance themselves from the truth. They couldn’t even agree on the character of Catriona, their friend. Was she beautiful and kind, or greedy and selfish? Why did she hand her child over to adoptive parents; for the sake of appearances, or her career, or to keep the professor’s love? We’ll never know, for sure, but her death led directly to the death of John Williams, so many years later.”

No one interrupted, even as she took a gulp of tea. “Professor Perivale was confident he’d escaped punishment for pushing Catriona out of the window. I don’t believe he loved either Jemima Bakewell or Catriona. He was driven by a desperate need to maintain his reputation.

“Imagine how such an arrogant, self-absorbed man felt when he heard about a retrospective exhibition of his old colleague’s work. Those photographs could stir up memories of Catriona’s death and put the professor’s reputation at risk. He couldn’t allow that. He’d managed to commit the perfect crime once, so he was confident he could do it again. Without a second thought, he killed John Williams.”

Joe took up the story. “The professor blackmailed a failing student to give him an alibi for the time of the murder, and set off an explosion in his own house. As he hoped, that threw everyone off the scent. He used a fertiliser-based explosive, following instructions from the internet. We found them in his browsing history.”

Max grinned. “He underestimated the force of the blast and landed up in hospital. He wasn’t as clever as he thought, but he did succeed in throwing us off the scent for a while.”

Joe finished the tale. “We interviewed the professor’s student, who soon realised a failing grade was preferable to a conviction as an accessory to murder. He admitted there had been no tutorial that morning, and the professor’s alibi for the time of John Williams’ murder fell apart. He’s safely in custody, now, condescending to the police officers and convinced he’s still cleverer than the rest of us.”

As the story ended, Marina poured more tea and Beryl reached into her handbag, groping for the speech. Libby held up a hand. “Sorry, Beryl, there’s something else I have to tell you.”

Out of Libby’s line of sight, someone coughed. Marina offered cake. “Another story, darling? How simply thrilling. Do tell.”

“This one’s personal. When my husband brought me to Exham, many years ago, I had no idea he was setting up contacts with local criminals. For years, local vehicle-ringing and cannabis businesses filtered money through Trevor. Max spent months tracking financial deals. All the trails led back here, to Exham.”

She looked from one face to another, searching for signs of guilt. “One company in particular makes money buying up properties cheaply.”

Someone murmured, “Pritchards.”

“Exactly. We’ve all heard they stop at nothing to ruin small businesses. Max had a look at their affairs.”

Marina rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, Libby, this is too exciting.”

Samantha Watson set her cup in its saucer. “I’m quite sure the police are far more likely to uncover this―what shall I call it―nest of thieves, than an amateur sleuth like you, Lizzie. I suggest you leave everything to them and stop poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted.”

Joe intervened. “Detective Chief Inspector Arnold is well aware of the situation, I can assure you, Mrs Watson. I have his full authority.”

Samantha tossed her head. “Then, I suggest you get on and catch the criminal.”

“That’s exactly what I’m here to do.” Someone gasped. “But I’d like Mrs Forest to finish the story.”

Libby cleared her throat. “I wondered who Trevor knew in Exham, and two people were at the top of the list.” She turned to Chesterton Wendlebury. “You’ve behaved oddly, so many times. You admitted to being on the board of Pritchards, and I’ve bumped into you in some strange places over the past year; at the county show, riding with Marina, out on the Levels.”

Wendlebury smiled, the shark teeth prominent. “My dear lady. If your friend Max has investigated my business affairs, you know they’re completely in order.”

Max was smiling. “I’ve read every budget and report you’ve had your hands on, Wendlebury. You’ve done a great job. I couldn’t locate a single suspicious account or strange payment. No, it isn’t you at the top of the tree. You provide cover for someone far more clever.”

Libby said, “I’m afraid it’s someone who’s always been at the centre of things in Exham. Someone who knows everyone in town and lives a wealthy, innocent life. Someone who made friends with me as soon as I arrived in the town, knew all about my husband’s business affairs, and wanted to keep a very close eye on me.”

She examined each face. Only one pair of eyes looked away. “In fact, the genius at the top of the whole pyramid of crime is our generous host and town busybody, Marina Stallworthy, aided and abetted by her quiet, hen-pecked husband, Henry.”

***

The shock of Marina Stallworthy’s arrest reverberated through Exham for weeks. The community lost interest in the murder on the Tor, as the townspeople remembered how they’d never quite trusted Marina, and always suspected there was something odd about the inoffensive Henry.

“Marina made sure I knew all about her fictitious affair with Chesterton Wendlebury,” Libby admitted, lying on Max’s sofa, Bear at her feet. “She knew I’d tell you about it. Like everyone else, I hardly gave Henry a thought.”

“They made a perfect criminal couple,” Max agreed. “Marina at the centre of the community, watching and manipulating while Henry, almost unnoticed, directed operations through his old client, Wendlebury. I don’t believe Wendlebury ever understood what was going on. Underneath the country gentleman act, there’s precious little intelligence. Marina was at the centre of a complicated web. It will be a long time before they come to trial.”

“Will you be involved?”

“I’ll be giving evidence, with the greatest of pleasure.”

A shiver travelled up Libby’s spine. “We still don’t know whether Trevor’s death was an accident, or murder. He was cremated, so we’ll probably never be sure, unless Marina or Henry tells us. I’m afraid they’re not likely to do that.”

Max drew her head on to his shoulder. “Can you live with that? Not knowing?”

“I shall have to. At least, there are good things to look forward to. My son’s coming home, bringing his girlfriend, and I’m almost sure there’s a wedding on the horizon. I’ll be busy, making the biggest, grandest cake Exham’s ever seen.”

Max fetched a bottle of champagne and popped it open. Libby said, “We ought to drink a toast: to cake, chocolates and our partnership, Ramshore and Forest, Private Investigators.”

Max’s raised glass sparkled with condensation. “I’ll drink to that, with just one proviso. Let’s toast our real future. Here’s to you and me: Libby and Max.”

Thank you

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The Exham on Sea Mysteries

Love cozy crime? Feed your little grey cells on The Exham on Sea Mysteries, a series of short murder mysteries set in a small seaside town in Somerset.