Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The only other customer in the bar peered over the top of his newspaper and shook his grey head. Sid came hurrying out from behind the bar.

‘Mike? They’ve arrested Mike? What for?’

‘I don’t know. They questioned me for ages and then sent me outside. That’s when I saw the dogs.’

Libby nodded. ‘Told you they would. Did that officer get in touch with Ian?’

‘I don’t know. He asked me about you.’ Cassandra sank down on a chair. ‘Could I have a drink, please?’

‘Are you driving?’ asked Sid.

‘No,’ said Libby. ‘If she can leave her car here, I’ll take her home with me. What do you want, Cass?’

‘Brandy,’ said Sid. ‘You two want anything?’

‘Another coffee?’ said Fran. ‘I’ll fetch them.’

‘So who’s that?’ asked Sid, as she followed him to the bar.

‘Libby’s cousin Cassandra,’ said Fran. ‘Friend of Mike’s.’

‘Close friend, if you ask me,’ said Sid. ‘I’ve never seen her.’

‘No, she lives in London. But I think she’s thinking of – er – moving down …’

‘Be good for Mike if she did,’ said Sid, loading mugs and a brandy goblet on to a tray. ‘Not if he’s …’

‘Going to prison,’ Fran finished for him. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

‘He couldn’t have murdered Bowling,’ said Sid. ‘Just not possible.’

Fran smiled, but said nothing, and carried the tray back to where Libby and Cassandra were now sitting in silence.

‘Libby says she can’t do anything.’ Cassandra appealed to Fran. ‘She can, can’t she?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Fran in a low voice. ‘Our only inside contact with the police is Ian, and this is an arrest by the drugs squad by the look of things. The whole case will have been referred to them because of the cannabis factory. Nobody would take any notice of us.’

‘But why? I don’t understand it. He hadn’t got any cannabis plants – they searched before.’

‘There must be something,’ said Libby, ‘they wouldn’t arrest him without a good reason.’

‘But you hear of people being arrested for the daftest of reasons these days.’ Cassandra was obviously desperate. ‘Somebody must be able to get him out.’

‘He’ll be asked if he wants a solicitor,’ said Fran.

‘Let’s just hope it isn’t Derek Chandler,’ said Libby.

‘If it’s part of the whole Bowling case, then Chandler is a possible witness, even if he isn’t a suspect, so he wouldn’t be allowed to attend,’ said Fran.

Cassandra sipped her brandy and coughed. ‘How can we find out, then?’

Fran and Libby exchanged glances.

‘We can’t,’ said Libby. ‘None of us are related to Mike. And I called Ian to tell him they were questioning you, so he knows there’s something going on.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He didn’t. I left messages on both his phones.’

Cassandra banged her brandy goblet on to the table with a hiss of frustration.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Fran. ‘I promised Guy I’d be back to shop-sit.’

‘And I’m driving myself home,’ said Cassandra, standing up. ‘One brandy isn’t going to affect me.’

Libby cast a despairing look at Sid behind the bar, who shrugged. ‘All right, I’ll follow you,’ she said. ‘Hold on while I pay Sid.’

Sid waved his hands and shook his head. ‘On the house. Keep me informed.’

Libby smiled gratefully. ‘We will, Sid, thanks.’

‘Aren’t publicans nice?’ she said, as they stood outside in the car park.

‘Mostly,’ said Fran.

Cassandra was getting into her car.

‘I’d better go,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know what I could do if she crashed, but I’d be there …’

Cassandra appeared in complete control of her car, however. She took the sharp, narrow corners in Itching carefully and drove sedately along the Canterbury road back to Steeple Martin, where, instead of parking in the high street as near to The Pink Geranium as possible, she turned into Allhallow’s Lane and parked opposite number seventeen.

‘Sorry, Libby,’ she said, as Libby got out of her own car. ‘I don’t want to just sit in that flat on my own, waiting for news.’

‘No, all right, come in.’ Libby opened the door and fell over Sidney. ‘Watch the cat.’

Cassandra took off her coat and sat on the chair by the empty fireplace.

‘Hold on a mo and I’ll light the fire,’ said Libby. ‘Do you want tea or anything?’

Cassandra shook her head. ‘Not yet. Maybe later.’

Libby bustled about fetching kindling and keeping up an inconsequential flow of chatter.

‘It’s all right, Lib. You don’t have to try and keep my mind off things.’ Cassandra cut into a wandering diatribe against the iniquities of the local council.

Libby sat back on her heels and watched the kindling catch. ‘OK. How about telling me how you and Mike have got to this stage of a relationship so quickly? And how much you actually know about him?’

Cassandra bristled. ‘Are you saying he might be guilty?’

‘Of what? I have no idea. Neither do you.’

Cassandra looked confused.

‘So go on. How come this rush of lust swept you both off your feet?’

‘Don’t speak of it like that.’ Cassandra scowled at her cousin. ‘And you don’t know how it felt.’

‘No, I don’t. Ben and I had a rocky time at the beginning because we were both over fifty and not sure how to manage a proper relationship. It did take a murder to bring us together, though.’

Cassandra sighed. ‘I suppose the murder has accelerated it for us, too. But I can’t tell you what I felt when I first spoke to him last Thursday. It was like the room lighting up.’

‘It looked like it,’ said Libby.

‘And I found myself watching for any little signs – you know, his eyes catching mine, or an accidental touch – just like a bloody teenager.’

‘Cass! I’ve never heard you swear!’

‘And he felt the same. All the way through that meeting on Friday morning, I could tell. And then when he came over on Friday evening …’

‘Weren’t you tempted to ask him to stay at the flat on Saturday after we’d had dinner?’

‘No. Everyone would have known.’ Cassandra’s colour was creeping up her neck. ‘I didn’t think anyone would notice last night.’

‘How did that happen, then? Did he ask you over?’

‘No.’ Now the colour had crept right up to Cassandra’s hairline. ‘I just turned up.’

‘Did he mind?’

‘No.’ Cassandra held out her hands to the fire. Libby put a log on and gave it a poke.

‘So?’

‘Not the details, Lib. Sorry.’

‘OK. So now you’ve slept together and he’s been arrested. And he said nothing to you about Vernon Bowling, or the murder or anything?’

‘No. We weren’t really thinking about anything but ourselves.’ Cassandra shook her head as if to clear it. ‘It comes as such a shock after being on your own for years and having no interest in the opposite sex to suddenly feel – well, like a teenager, as I said. And to find out that you haven’t …’ She ground to a halt.

‘Lost the ability,’ suggested Libby. ‘Or capacity.’

Cassandra nodded and Libby stood up.

‘Are you ready for that tea now?’

Libby’s phone began to burble. She fished it out of her bag.

‘Ian!’

‘What were you telling me, Libby? Your cousin’s been arrested?’

‘No, no. She was questioned. Mike’s been arrested, by the drugs squad, I think.’

‘Yes, so I’ve just been informed.’ Ian’s voice was grim. ‘There’s rather a lot of inter-departmental wrangling going on right now. What about your cousin?’

Libby explained. Cassandra was on her feet, her hands gripped together.

‘Is she with you now? Can I speak to her?’

Libby handed over the phone and went back to the kitchen. Just as she was putting mugs on the table Cassandra came in and handed back the phone.

‘He says he’ll let us know what’s happened if he can.’ Cassandra pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. ‘And he said he’ll tell the drugs squad about me. And you, actually.’

‘Well, that’s all we can hope for, isn’t it?’ Libby poured tea. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go back to London and your normal life? Keep your mind off it all?’

‘No. I might pop back and fetch more clothes, if Harry doesn’t mind me staying in the flat a bit longer. I’ve offered him rent.’

‘Oh, he won’t accept that. Fran and Adam have both had fights with him about rent.’

‘But I’m using the heating and hot water. He ought to take a contribution to those.’

‘Don’t worry about it. When will you go?’

Cassandra frowned. ‘I could go now, couldn’t I? I won’t be able to see Mike until he’s released – when will that be?’

‘No idea. It depends on what they’re holding him for, and what his solicitor can do to get him out. I wouldn’t bank on today.’

‘I’ll go in a bit, then. Shall I phone Harry?’

‘No, I’ll do it,’ said Libby. ‘Drink your tea, then you can go. Unless you want to pick anything up from the flat?’

‘No, I’ve got my keys with me. I’ll probably stay overnight and come back in the morning.’ Cassandra put her hand over Libby’s. ‘You will call me if anything happens, won’t you?’

‘If I hear anything, of course.’ Libby patted Cassandra’s hand in turn. ‘I’m now going to utter one of the most useless phrases in the English language. Try not to worry.’

When Cassandra had gone, Libby called Harry.

‘Course she can stay. So it’s a real love match between her and Mike, then, is it?’

‘Seems to have taken them both by surprise,’ said Libby. ‘I just hope this whole arrest thing is a mistake, that’s all. Ian didn’t sound too happy about it.’

‘Well, he was issuing a warning last night, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but this is the drugs squad. I don’t know how they got involved.’

‘Oh, come on, Lib! Ian could hardly have kept the cannabis factory quiet. I expect his superintendent got a request from the drugs people and couldn’t refuse.’

‘But what could they find that Ian’s crowd didn’t? There were no cannabis plants in the greenhouses.’

‘Equipment? Letters? Emails? Phone calls? Could be anything, not just actual plants.’

‘You’re a comfort.’

‘I know. Little ray of sunshine, me.’

Unable to settle to anything, Libby put her cape back on and set off for Maltby Close.

‘Come in, gal.’ Flo held the door open on to a fug of cigarette smoke. Lenny, dapper in white shirt and cravat, rose from his chair by the electric fire.

‘What can we do for you?’ Flo sat down in her own chair and waved Libby to a seat. ‘Got more trouble with that Monica Turner?’

‘No, Flo, actually, I wanted to ask if you knew anything about her friend, Vi Little. And Derek Chandler, the solicitor who apparently tried to swindle her.’

Flo’s eyes twinkled. ‘I should say so, gal! Bugger tried it on me, too!’

Chapter Twenty

‘He
what
?’

‘Course, ʼe didn’t get anywhere, stands to reason. And it was me told Vi Little. And that Turner then tried to blame me. Cor! Takes the biscuit, that woman.’

‘So, what exactly happened?’

Lenny moved towards the tiny kitchen. ‘Shall I make us a cuppa, then?’

‘Not for me, thanks, Lenny,’ said Libby. ‘I’m awash with coffee and tea.’

‘Nice droppa Merlot, then?’ offered Flo.

‘No thanks, Flo. Bit early for me.’

Flo eyed her guest dubiously. ‘Not like you, gal.’

‘I’m not that bad!’ laughed Libby. ‘So come on, Flo. Tell me what happened with Derek Chandler.’

‘I got this email, see.’

‘Email? I didn’t know you were online!’

‘Course I am, gal. Got to be these days, ain’tcher? Anyway, I got this email from this Chandler, looked all official, like, sayin’ that I got this inheritance comin’ from a distant relative, and wantin’ me details to confirm I was ʼoo I said I was.’

‘Did you have a distant relative?’

‘If I ʼad, it’d be pretty bloody distant! Nah – it was a scam. Just wanted me bank details. So I phoned ʼem. And this Chandler, they said ʼe wasn’t there, but they’d take a message. So I told ʼem just what I thought of ʼem. They was shocked. All flustered and “Sorry, madam, don’t know anything about it,” you know.’

‘So what about Vi? She’s not online, surely?’

‘Nah. First I ʼeard about Vi was when we was all in the ʼall fer something or other and she was complaining about being swindled. So I listened, and she’d ʼad a phone call. And she, poor mug, gave all ʼer details and the money disappears from ʼer bank. And she says it was this Derek Chandler. So I says did she bother to call back, and o’ course, she says she didn’t take the number. So I says, leave it with me, and I phones again and tells ʼem what’s what.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Oh, then I calls the police. No, I didn’t bother your Ian. I just called the nick in Canterbury and told ʼem all about it. And they sends round this nice lady officer to talk to me and Vi. And they ʼauled ol’ Chandler in. Accordin’ to ʼim, it was a scam, someone usin’ ʼis name. It’s a well-known one, accordin’ to the solicitors’ society, or ʼooever they are. Anyway, Vi got ʼer money back – don’t ask me ʼow, and that was the end of it.’

‘Wow!’ said Libby, as Lenny came back with a tray. ‘I didn’t know anything about this.’

‘No reason why yer should. Told Het, but she don’t gossip.’

‘No, she just always seems to know things when we need them,’ said Libby. ‘How did Monica Turner blame you?’

‘I couldn’t follow it. If I hadn’t turned this bloke down ʼe wouldn’t’ve gone after Vi or something. Didn’t matter that ʼe’d gone after Vi before me.’ Flo shook her head and reached for a dainty Spode teacup. ‘Silly cow.’

‘He didn’t go after her, then?’

‘If ʼe did, she wasn’t sayin’. Make ʼer look a fool, wouldn’t it?’

‘Has she got email?’

‘I dunno. Why?’

‘Just wondered. And did the police manage to trace the scam emails?’

‘No idea, duck. I wasn’t a victim, see, only Vi, and she wouldn’t say anythin’ to me after, would she?’

‘Scared of what Monica would say?’

‘Yeah. Not so much as a thank you, I didn’t get.’

‘I wonder how he got on to you in the first place?’ said Libby. ‘Sticking a pin in the directory?’

Flo was scornful. ‘Use yer brain, gal. What’s this place? Gracious livin’ fer the over fifty-fives. Over sixty-fives, more like. All owner-occupied. Not cheap. Stands to reason occupiers got a bit stashed away, and old – so they’ve lost their marbles.’

‘Except they haven’t,’ grinned Libby.

‘No – most of us are all right. Some a bit – well, like Vi. Not up to the minute.’

‘And that’s why she looks up to Monica Turner. Is she up to the minute?’

Flo shrugged. ‘No idea. Gets most of ʼer opinions from the gutter press, I reckon.’

Libby was thoughtful. ‘She knew who the victim was. She got that from the press, I suppose.’ Libby glimpsed the corner of
The Independent
tucked down by Flo’s chair.

‘Well, o’course she did, we all did.’

‘But when she said “that
man
”, it was almost as though it was personal. Do you think she had a relative at Dellington? Perhaps who’s buried in the churchyard?’

‘We’d ʼa heard about it, I reckon. Any grievance she had against the world she told everybody.’

‘Well, that’s most helpful, Flo.’ Libby stood up.

‘Now you’re not pokin’ yer nose in again, are yer? No good’ll come of it.’

‘It has in the past, though, hasn’t it?’ said Libby, bending to kiss Flo’s cheek. ‘I’m going to see your vicar, now.’

‘What for?’

‘As a member of her flock I’m entitled to,’ said Libby, with a grin. ‘Bye, Lenny.’

In fact, the idea of seeing Bethany Cole had only just occurred to Libby. Although Monica Turner and Vi Little both attended church in Canterbury and Flo was at the very least agnostic, Libby reckoned most of the other residents of Maltby Close would attend their local church, and Libby wondered if anyone else had been targeted by the spurious Derek Chandler.

The vicarage stood on the corner of her own lane, the lilac tree overhanging the wall, now bare. Libby had never opened the high painted gate in all the years she had lived here, and felt as if she was entering the Secret Garden.

The path, overgrown with weeds, led indeterminately between what had once been flower borders, to a wide front door under a weather-beaten porch. Not finding a bell, Libby rapped sharply on the door..

After a while, the sound of bolts being drawn increased Libby’s feeling that she had stepped into a fairy tale, a feeling that the face that peered out quickly dispelled.

‘Hello? Goodness, we haven’t had anyone come to this door since we’ve lived here! Did you want me? I’m Bethany Cole.’

Libby sighed with relief. Bethany’s round, pretty face was surmounted by abundant light brown hair drawn back into a thick and untidy plait. She looked far too young to be a vicar.

‘Hello, yes,’ began Libby. ‘I’m –’

Bethany laughed. ‘Oh, I know who you are! You’re Libby Sarjeant and you live just down the road here. If I didn’t already know about you, Patti would have filled me in. Come in, come in.’

Libby followed her into a dark hall, along a passage and into what was almost a different house. Light, airy, and welcoming, the big kitchen looked out on to a wide terrace and a drive.

‘Oh, I see! People come in this way,’ said Libby, realising that the drive came out in the high street. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Bethany cheerfully. ‘You found me anyway. Sit down, do. Tea?’

‘Do you mind if I don’t? I keep being fed coffee and tea!’

‘Oh, so do I!’ said Bethany sitting down on the opposite side of the huge table. ‘I’m afraid “More tea, vicar” has come to mean more than a cliché to me. Now, what did you want to talk to me about? The murder? Or that man who tried to prey on my parishioners?’

‘Goodness!’ said Libby. ‘Are you a mind-reader? Or has Patti been talking to you? She didn’t mention she knew you.’

‘We all know each other, at least vaguely. We’re in the same diocese, and women priests tend to stick together. I gather you’re quite close friends?’

‘Yes, I suppose we are. We see one another once a week, anyway.’

‘Oh, yes, when she comes over to see Anne on a Wednesday. She sometimes pops in here if she’s early.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise. She’s sometimes been to see me before Anne gets home. She never told me.’

‘Well, I haven’t been here that long, and I take it you aren’t likely to be a member of my congregation!’

‘No, sorry.’ Libby made a face. ‘But you’re the one the ukulele group approached about using the church hall, aren’t you?’

‘Actually, it was my churchwarden, Tom. I don’t know whether you know him?’

‘Tom? No, I don’t think so.’

‘He’s a friend of Lenny and Flo’s,’ said Bethany.

‘No, I don’t know him,’ said Libby, ‘but it was Flo who told me about you.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby uncomfortably. ‘When she was talking to me about Monica Turner.’

‘Ah! Yes, I heard you had a bit of an altercation with her the other day.’

‘Do you hear everything?’ asked Libby.

‘Most things filter through.’ Bethany grinned. ‘Gossip becomes sanctified when told to a vicar. And it’s often so very righteous.’

‘Oh, I bet it is.’ Libby laughed, deciding she liked Bethany Cole. ‘Did the leader of the group get in touch with you?’

‘I’ve got no idea. I’ve had very little to do with it. Tom’s is the name on the board outside – he’s the caretaker as well as my churchwarden.’

‘Oh, well, perhaps I’ll ask Flo to introduce me. Although she’ll think I’m making use of her again.’ Libby sighed. ‘I do seem to get in touch with people just because I think they can tell me something.’

‘But at least you get in touch. That’s important, especially to older people.’

‘Most of the older people I know get out and about more than I do,’ said Libby.

‘I doubt that,’ said Bethany, with a smile. ‘Now, how can I help you?’

Libby was startled. ‘I don’t know …’

‘If I tell you that several of the ladies in Maltby Close were targeted by Derek Chandler, will that help?’

Libby gasped. ‘They were? How do you know?’

‘For a start, Monica Turner wasn’t keeping quiet about Vi Little’s brush with him.’

‘No, that’s when Flo got on to the police.’

‘Ah, you know about that. Well, it turned out that it had happened to several of them, and they were too ashamed to tell anyone about it. It appeared, after the police had investigated, that someone was using Mr Chandler’s name and company to run a scam. The money was recovered.’

‘But how? How would they have discovered a hidden bank account? None of the victims knew the bank details, did they?’

‘No, they were merely asked to give
their
bank details. I believe the trail wasn’t very well hidden. They looked into who had taken the money from each of the victims, and although there were different names, eventually they were all tracked to one account, although the owner of the account has never been found. The banks, on the authority of the police, removed the money and gave it back to the victims. But if Flo hadn’t raised the alarm, whoever it was would have got away with it.’

‘I suppose it couldn’t have really been Derek Chandler?’

‘I expect the police would have looked at him very carefully, don’t you?’ Bethany stood up and went to fill a kettle. ‘I’ve decided I do want tea, now. Want a cup?’

‘Yes, please.’ Libby shrugged off her cape. ‘This is a lovely kitchen.’

‘It is, isn’t it? It was pretty awful when we moved in, but they let us modernise. At our own expense, of course.’

‘Do you have another house elsewhere?’ Libby knew Patti didn’t but assumed when she retired she would move in with Anne, so the question didn’t arise.

‘We kept our old flat. Well, I say ours, it was John’s really. We rent it out, and when I retire we’ll sell it and buy a hovel in the country.’

‘Do you still get moved around a lot?’

‘There aren’t enough vicars to do that!’ laughed Bethany. ‘I’m lucky, I’ve only got this one and Steeple Mount, but Patti’s got – how many? – four? Poor woman gets so stressed. She’d be lost without her churchwardens.’

‘Yes, she was saying she didn’t even know that the widow of the murder victim was a parishioner in Shott until her churchwarden told her.’

‘Was she?’ Bethany sat down again, pushing a mug towards Libby. ‘I didn’t know that. In fact, I don’t know much about the murder at all, except that it was in my churchyard and the bishop wants to do some sort of blessing and cleansing on the place. I told him he couldn’t until the police have finished.’

‘They talked to you, then? The police?’

‘They had to, didn’t they? I think the nice police inspector who came to see me was a bit shocked that I was a woman.’

‘If it was DCI Connell, he’ll more than likely have been thinking “Not another one”. He knows Patti quite well.’

‘Tall, very dark hair, and an intense face?’

‘That’s Ian. He’s a friend, actually, and he investigated Patti’s murder.’

‘Oh – the one in her church? That was horrible, wasn’t it? And you investigated, too, didn’t you?’

‘Well – sort of.’

‘And now you’re investigating this one? Oh, that’s good. Patti says you always get your man.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby with a groan. ‘I’m not really an investigator, you know. It’s more that I get involved despite myself – and then there’s Fran, of course, but you wouldn’t be interested in that side of things.’

Bethany put her head on one side. ‘Oh, don’t be so sure. Patti’s told me all about Fran. And she’s actually saved lives, hasn’t she? Well, as the man said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio”.’

‘I didn’t believe in anything like that,’ said Libby, ‘but I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes, and Ian has, too. Which is why he asks her to look at things, sometimes. Which is how I come to get involved.’

‘Patti said that you get involved without Fran, too.’

‘Because I’m incurably nosy,’ said Libby, burying her nose in her mug. ‘Which is a sin, I’m sure.’

Bethany laughed. ‘A new commandment – “thou shalt not be nosy.” It’d never take off.’

‘Anyway,’ said Libby, ‘You aren’t nosy. I barged in on you for no good reason and all I’ve done is pick your brains.’

‘Such as they are to pick, and anyway, I’m just as nosy. Just that the dog collar –’ Libby had noticed she wasn’t wearing one ‘rather inhibits one.’

‘It didn’t inhibit Father Brown,’ said Libby.

‘Different times,’ said Bethany.

‘Well, thank you, anyway. I’ve got something to work on.’

‘You didn’t say why you’re investigating this one. Apart from it being in your own village, of course.’

‘Nosiness at first, but now someone we know has been arrested and it’s got a bit personal.’

Now it was Bethany’s turn to gasp. ‘How dreadful! Is he local? Do I know him? I’m assuming it’s a man.’

‘He lives in Shott, the same as the victim. His name is Mike Farthing.’