Murder on the Run Page 10

  ‘Fine,’ said Libby. She ended the call, puzzled.

  Fran had been slightly off-kilter ever since the visit to the cliff path, and particularly since the discovery of Lisa Harwood’s body on Sunday. Libby thought back. First there was the car she expected to have been parked by the supposed spot where Lisa had disappeared. Then there washer definite statement that Lisa had been dead since last week, and her withdrawal after the preliminary questioning of Sophie and Adam. It was beginning to look increasingly as though Fran’s oddly wired brain had started working in the background again, and Libby wondered exactly what it had thrown up this time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Libby made red pepper soup. By the time Fran arrived, a little after twelve, it was simmering on the Rayburn and a large round loaf sat on the table.

  ‘Do you want anything to drink?’ Libby asked. ‘Soup’s ready, but it can keep hot.’

  ‘Have you got any of that fizzy elderflower stuff?’ said Fran.

  Libby took a bottle out of the fridge. ‘Shall we take it into the garden?’

  Settled under the cherry tree with tall glasses of elderflower cordial, Libby waited for Fran to start explanations.

  ‘It’s all a bit difficult,’ she began.

  ‘Start with our visit to the cliff path with Ian,’ said Libby.

  Fran nodded. ‘I’d already started feeling a bit odd about the whole thing,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t really want to go.’

  ‘No, I remember.’

  ‘And I was certain a car had been at the side of the track – where the tyre marks were. A big black car – four-wheel-drive. After that, I felt very uncomfortable when we went to see the Harriers in the evening.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that!’

  ‘No, I know. I wasn’t sure what I was uncomfortable about. Then there was the phone call …’

  ‘Which we decided was someone trying to make the police take notice,’ said Libby, as robustly as she could.

  ‘In that case, who? Someone who knew us and knew that there really was something wrong. Someone who knew she was murdered.’

  Libby shivered.

  ‘After that, it was – the body. And I just somehow know she was taken there in that big black car. I kept thinking it was imagination, but it wasn’t, I’m sure. And there’s something very nasty swirling round among the Harriers.’ Fran looked up at Libby. ‘And I’m scared for Sophie. And Adam.’

  Libby stared back at her, then took a healthy swig of elderflower cordial.

  ‘Have you told Ian any of this?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘There’s not one scrap of evidence for any of it. It’s all in my head. My bloody head!’ she finished viciously.

  ‘Let’s go and have the soup,’ said Libby, ‘and we can think about what to do.’

  ‘And we both know,’ said Fran, standing up, ‘what we will decide.’

  ‘Well,’ said Libby ten minutes later, a half-empty bowl of soup in front of her, ‘we have to try and find out, we know we do. And you said you wanted to find out right at the beginning, didn’t you?’

  Fran toyed with her spoon. ‘I think I was hooked then. Why, I have no idea, especially as my – instincts, or whatever you like to call them – have been almost non-existent for ages.’

  ‘Do you think you saw a threat to Sophie? I don’t mean did you actually see it –’

  ‘I know what you mean. Yes, it could be, which makes it all the more imperative that I try and at least find some proof of what I know.’

  ‘That we try,’ corrected Libby.

  Fran smiled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do we tell Ben and Guy?’ asked Libby. ‘More soup?’

  ‘No more thank you. And I suppose we shall have to. Guy’s Sophie’s father after all.’

  ‘I haven’t told you about Max and Owen’s disappearing danseurs, have I?’ Libby put the soup pot back on the Rayburn.

  ‘They were talking about them the other night, weren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but they enlarged a bit on them yesterday.’ She repeated all that Max and Owen had told her.

  ‘Even I know about those sort of goings-on,’ said Fran. ‘You’re not really that innocent, are you?’

  ‘Well, no, and we did hear a bit about it last year, didn’t we, but that was all in the past.’

  ‘It still goes on. There are some very exclusive “parties” catering for very specific tastes. That’s obviously what the dancers were approached for.’

  Libby wrinkled her nose. ‘The other dancers assumed that was what had happened. I don’t see why Max and Owen saw a connection between that and Lisa Harwood.’

  ‘Neither do I, except the lack of a footprint.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Web presence,’ said Fran. ‘Keep up, Lib. The only social media presence she has is on the Harriers’ group page, and there’s no mention of her anywhere else. If it wasn’t for the fact that she has a husband and sons alive and well, I would have said she was a made-up persona.’

  Libby thought this over. ‘I suppose she is her?’

  ‘You mean is someone pretending to be her? In that case, her husband would have unmasked them by now.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Libby pushed away her soup bowl. ‘So what do we do? We can’t start questioning the Harriers individually. And when you said there was something nasty about them …’

  ‘Not all of them,’ said Fran. ‘It’s just that I feel there’s something there. It could be just one person.’

  ‘Has Sophie told you everything she knows about them, do you think?’

  Fran looked surprised. ‘I think so. She certainly doesn’t have any reason not to.’

  ‘Not something she may have thought unimportant?’

  ‘You saw how concerned she was when Lisa disappeared, and how shocked she was yesterday. She’d never keep anything back.’

  ‘How was she this morning?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She doesn’t live with us, after all. She may have stayed here with Adam.’

  ‘I suppose she might.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Fran after a moment’s silence.

  ‘If we could ask Sophie ourselves if there’s anything she knows.’ Libby looked warily across at her friend.

  But Fran nodded slowly. ‘We could. It’s also the only way we’re likely to find out anything about the others in the group. After all, she did more-or-less involve us at the start.’

  ‘As long as she doesn’t blame us for the escalation from missing to murder,’ said Libby darkly.

  A phone call to Guy established that Sophie was home, and had covered him in the shop for his lunch hour.

  ‘Do you think she’d answer some questions?’ Fran asked him. She listened, then gave Libby a thumbs up. ‘OK, darling. Will you tell her we’ll be over in about half an hour?’

  She ended the call and took her soup bowl to the sink. ‘Just time to wash up.’

  ‘Dishwasher,’ said Libby promptly. ‘I’ll pop up to the loo, you get started and I’ll follow you.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I forgot you’ll have to get home. OK, see you in a bit.’

  Five minutes later Libby was climbing into her ‘little silver bullet’, as her small Fiat was known, and then turning to follow Fran to Nethergate. Once again, she had to park at the end of Harbour Street in the car park behind The Sloop, and by the time she’d walked back to Guy’s gallery and shop, Fran had already joined Sophie in the flat upstairs.

  Libby panted a little at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Steep, aren’t they?’ Fran grinned over at her. ‘Sophie says it’s what keeps her fit.’

  ‘I thought that was the running,’ said Libby, as she went to join them round the table in Sophie’s bay window that jutted out over Harbour Street.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Sophie turned to look out of the window. Libby glanced at Fran, who shrugged.

  ‘When did you start running, Soph?’ asked Libby. ‘Was it recently?’

  ‘I started at uni.’ So
phie turned back from the window. ‘Then it sort of lapsed. But a couple of years ago everybody started doing it.’ She shrugged. ‘So I joined in. And then someone told me about the Harriers, and …’

  ‘Who told you?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I can’t remember.’ Sophie frowned. ‘I was doing a run over towards Creekmarsh with an old schoolfriend and we met some of her mates, and well, you know.’

  ‘So it wasn’t a present member of the group?’ said Libby.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Oh, no. I looked them up online when I got home that day and sent an email, then I got an email back from Steve and that was it.’

  ‘You said you were on the committee. That was quick, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. But I was keen.’ Sophie smiled ruefully.

  ‘Who are the others?’ asked Fran. ‘Apart from Steve.’

  ‘Kirsty Trent and Davy Long – you met them at the pub – a guy called Nick Heap, he’s the one who does the social media and runs our website, and Jean Michaels who’s the treasurer. Kirsty’s the membership secretary and Davy and I are just ordinary committee members.’

  ‘Are there lots of rows?’ asked Libby. ‘There always are on committees in my experience.’

  ‘No, not really. We have very informal meetings, and there’s very little to discuss really. Our biggest problem is getting volunteers to steward the external runs.’

  ‘External runs?’ echoed Fran.

  ‘Like the Nethergate 5K and the Whitstable Fun Run,’ explained Sophie. ‘Our regular meetings are at the sports centre at the Sir Philip Stewart School.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Libby nodded. ‘So you could start there and build up, so to speak, if you were a beginner?’

  Sophie grinned at her. ‘Thinking of starting, Libby?’

  Libby looked at her in horror. ‘Good Lord, no!’

  ‘Does everyone go all the time?’ asked Fran.

  ‘No – but there are always committee members there. Usually Steve and me, and mostly Kirsty and Dave. Roly’s always there, but then as you gathered he had a bit of a crush on Lisa.’

  ‘Poor Roly,’ said Libby. ‘Have you seen him since Sunday?’

  ‘No, but we shall be at the sports centre tonight as usual, so I’ll see him then.’

  ‘No new members recently?’ asked Fran.

  ‘A few. Running’s getting more and more popularand it’s Marathon season at the moment which always inspires a few people. Mind you, they drop out again fairly quickly.’ Sophie looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if we don’t lose a few now, too.’

  Libby and Fran nodded in agreement.

  ‘Anyway, why did you want to ask questions? I mean, I don’t mind, but now we know she’s … she’s dead, the police will look into it, won’t they?’

  ‘And when did that stop us?’ asked Libby. ‘No, there’s more to it than that.’

  Sophie cocked an eyebrow at her stepmother. ‘Is this because of one of your moments?’

  Fran looked uncomfortable. ‘In a way.’

  ‘You know about the phone call last week warning us off?’ said Libby. ‘Well, we want to know who that was and why they did it. And Fran was certain she died last week.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sophie looked uncertainly at Fran. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘More or less,’ said Fran. ‘But it worries me.’

  Sophie looked from one to the other solemnly. ‘And you think one of the Harriers is involved.’

  Libby looked at Fran.

  ‘Who else would know about the 5K last week? And the energy drink? Lisa’s heart problem?’ Fran sighed. ‘And the fact that Libby and I were there. It has to be someone involved.’

  ‘But we were all running. No one had the time to pop out and drive a car up to the cliff path, or impersonate a steward.’ Sophie began to look truculent.

  ‘That’s true, Fran,’ said Libby.

  ‘Were you all running? The whole membership?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Everyone who knew Lisa was.’

  ‘So some people weren’t?’

  Sophie frowned. ‘We’ve got a lot of members. I suppose someone could have known Lisa and I wouldn’t have known.’

  ‘It’s got to be someone who’s close enough to her to have a motive,’ said Libby. ‘This was a planned murder.’

  ‘So you’re going to look into it?’

  Fran reached out and took her stepdaughter’s hand. ‘Don’t you want us to?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what I want, does it? Just don’t get into trouble this time.’

  Libby opened her mouth but shut it on encountering a warning glare from Fran.

  ‘We’ll try not to involve you as far as we can,’ went on Fran, ‘but we might want you to introduce us to people.’

  ‘All right. Do you want to come up to the sports centre this evening? Or you could come to the pub again – we usually go there afterwards.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Fran asked Libby. ‘We didn’t actually learn much last week, did we?’

  ‘I think,’ said Libby, ‘that we’d be better thinking about the whole situation and working on a plan of action before we dive in. I can’t see a way forward at the moment, and it isn’t as if we have the resources the police do.’

  Fran and Sophie were both looking at her in surprise.

  ‘All right, I know, it isn’t like me, but as Sophie says, we don’t want to get into trouble, and although I don’t think I believe in Max and Owen’s sex party theory, I want to know what we’re up against.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘What did Fran actually say?’ asked Ben when he came back from the Manor later that afternoon.

  ‘Not much, when I think about it.’ Libby poured tea into two mugs. ‘She was positive there had been a big black car at the cliff path, that Lisa had been taken away in it, and dumped from it here on Sun-day. And that there’s something odd going on in the Harriers.’

  ‘What, with the club itself?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’s quite vague about it. But she’s worried about Sophie.’

  Ben frowned. ‘She thinks Sophie’s in danger?’

  ‘I don’t think she knows exactly.’ Libby sat down on the sofa. ‘As she said, her “moments” have been very few and far between over the last couple of years, and she may be either misinterpreting something or pushing too hard. I mean, it would be hard not to be worried about the murder of a young woman on your doorstep, as it were, under any circumstances.’

  ‘And you’ve discounted the sex party theory?’

  ‘I can’t see how on earth Max and Owen ever thought there could be a link. I think perhaps they were hoping there would be more to the story. People do seem to enjoy getting involved.’

  ‘Don’t they just?’ Ben grinned at her.

  ‘So what do you think? I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. We can hardly go and interview every member of the Harriers, and there’s no way we can find out anything about Lisa’s private life.’

  ‘No way you can trace a “big, black car”, either,’ said Ben. ‘Although I suppose you could hide in the car park at the sports centre and see if one came in.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Libby cradled her mug in both hands and looked thoughtful. ‘I think I must be becoming sensible in my old age.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ said Ben. ‘What are you going to tell Fran?’

  ‘I’ll wait until she gets in touch. It was her idea to get involved, after all.’

  ‘I’ll just be waiting for the other shoe to drop,’ said Ben, and took his mug into the kitchen.

  Things returned to normal in Steeple Martin. Ben spent a lot of time on Wednesdayquartering the field between the theatre and high street, which looked rather the worse for wear after its short role as a car park, and in discussion with the manager of the pub.

  ‘He thinks we should be able to launch a small beer festival next year. He’ll get on to the owner and find out,’ Ben told Libby over supper. ‘As it’s a
freehold pub we don’t have a brewery to worry about.’

  ‘Or to put money into it,’ said Libby.

  ‘Oh, I expect we’ll be able to drum up sponsorship from some of the indie breweries,’ said Ben. ‘Anyway, if we’re going to meet Patti and Anne tonight you can ask him what he thinks then.’

  The Reverend Patti had her day off on Wednesday and came over to spend the evening with her friend Anne Douglas. Their regular routine was dinner at The Pink Geranium and then a drink in the pub with Libby, Ben and whoever else happened to be around. Quite often, DCI Connell would drop in on his way home.

  ‘Actually, you know,’ said Libby later, ‘we don’t know that Ian is on his way home from work when he comes for a drink, do we? Does he always finish that late?’

  ‘He does when he’s working on a big case,’ said Ben. ‘You know he does.’

  ‘We still don’t know where he lives. He could just pop out to meet us, couldn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, Libby!If he wanted us to know where he lives, he’d have told us by now. He’s so often involved with you for work, I expect he wants to keep his private life to himself.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby made a face. ‘Well, come on. Let’s go and see if he’s going to grace us with his presence tonight.’

  When they arrived at the pub, Patti and Peter sat at their usual table with Anne’s wheelchair between them. Ben and Peter went to the bar to fetch drinks and Libby sat down beside Patti.

  ‘So tell us all,’ said Anne.

  ‘What about?’ said Libby warily.

  ‘The murder!’ said Anne. ‘I honestly don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ said Libby.

  ‘The woman went missing in Nethergate and was found in Steeple Martin,’ said Patti. ‘It looked a bit suspicious to us.’

  ‘It was just that Guy’s daughter Sophie and Adam were running in both races – runs, or whatever they’re called. That’s all.’

  ‘And happened to fall over a body,’ said Anne.

  Libby sighed. ‘Actually, it was Sophie who found her. Poor girl’s still in shock.’

  ‘So what are you doing about it?’ asked Patti.

  Libby widened her eyes. ‘Nothing! Why should we be?’