Murder Out of Tune - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Page 10

  ‘Well, Robinson said something like: “We’re very pleased to have Lewis Osbourne-Walker from the TV and his mother joining us,” and Vernon Bowling said, in one of those voices that pretend to be a whisper but everyone can hear, “We don’t need that jumped up faggot.” Everyone pretended not to hear him, but of course, they did.’

  ‘And then he took every opportunity to be rude to us.’ Edie bridled. ‘Nasty man.’

  ‘Did anyone else agree with him?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Dunno.’ Lewis shrugged. ‘His mates were Ron Stewart and that solicitor, Derek Chandler. He seemed perfectly friendly with everyone else. They used to stay on for a drink at The Poacher after meetings, but I never did.’

  ‘Mike said he was friendly but quiet,’ said Libby, ‘but it was Mike who suggested there might be homophobia in the group.’

  ‘Well, ta, Mike!’ said Lewis. ‘All that does is give me a motive.’

  ‘Don’t be a silly bugger,’ said Edie. ‘You was in sight of me the whole time last Tuesday.’

  ‘I think they might not see it like that,’ said Libby. ‘You’re his mum, after all.’

  ‘Have you told your mate Ian?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘That Mike said there was homophobia in the group? No. As I said, they’d want to know how I knew, and they’d then regard it as hearsay.’

  ‘They might follow it up, though,’ said Ben.

  ‘The I’d better go and tell him meself,’ said Lewis, with a grin. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Lewis!’ Edie was horrified.

  ‘Safer that way, Mum.’ Lewis finished his mug of coffee. ‘Got his number, Lib?’

  Reluctantly, Libby read out Ian’s numbers. Lewis elected to try the official one first. He left a message, then looked at Libby.

  ‘I won’t disturb the poor bugger on his day off, if it is a day off.’

  ‘I doubt it. He never seems to have days off when he’s on a murder case.’ Libby shook her head. ‘But maybe not. Time enough tomorrow.’

  But Ian called back as they were starting on Hetty’s pre-lunch sherry. Lewis excused himself and wandered out in to the hall. Hetty shook her head at Edie.

  ‘Every bloody mealtime when there’s bin a murder,’ she said. ‘Don’t know ʼow that Ian keeps body and soul together.’

  Cassandra looked at Libby. ‘Really?’

  ‘Seems to be. The police don’t take much notice of a Sunday lunchtime.’

  Lewis came back into the room.

  ‘He knew,’ he said simply.

  ‘He what?’ said Libby.

  ‘About Bowling’s homophobia.’ Lewis sat down next to his mother. ‘And didn’t seem bothered.’

  ‘So it hasn’t made you suspect number one, then,’ said Ben. ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘He did say he’d like to talk to me, though.’ Lewis frowned. ‘He’s coming over this evening, Mum. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, ducks, course I don’t. Him coming to us is better than you having to go to the police station, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Libby. ‘It’s more informal. You know how he always likes to come and chat with us …’

  ‘Not quite the same,’ said Lewis. ‘Still, I’m glad it’s him and not that awful woman we had before.’

  ‘Big Bertha, wasn’t it?’ said Ben. ‘All of five feet two, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘And she really didn’t like us, did she?’ said Libby with a grin.

  ‘You taunted her, that’s why,’ said Ben. ‘If she could have found a reason to lock you up, she would have.’

  After lunch, Edie and Hetty retired to Hetty’s sitting room for a chat and a doze, and Libby led the way down the Manor drive to the pub.

  ‘So what do you know about the other members of the uke group, then Lewis?’ asked Libby, when they were settled at a table by the fire. ‘I didn’t think you’d know anything. I mean, when I went with Edie that time it was because she said the rest of them weren’t very friendly, but they didn’t seem too bad the other night.’

  ‘Well, you know now why they weren’t friendly – or why she thought they weren’t friendly.’

  ‘But why keep going? There must be other ukulele groups in the area,’ said Peter.

  ‘She’s an old lady,’ said Lewis. ‘She wouldn’t cope with trying to find another group, especially as I’m not with her a lot of the time. At least Libby’s been with her once, and she knows Mike. And she enjoys it. It’s got her fingers working again, and she’s well made up with that.’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything about any of the other members either, then?’ said Ben.

  ‘Nah. Once she heard what Bowling said, that was it. More a question of her not being friendly, not the rest of ʼem.’

  ‘Ah.’ Libby nodded. ‘Now, what do you think about Mike’s nursery being searched?’

  ‘Eh?’ Lewis looked startled. ‘Mike – what?’

  Between them, Libby and Cassandra explained.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Lewis looked from to the other. ‘And you’re saying Bowling had a cannabis factory?’

  Cassandra nodded. ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t got into the media already. And the police had a tip-off about Mike having been Bowling’s garden designer, so they put two and two together.’

  Libby frowned. ‘It was more a tip-off that Mike had something to do with the cannabis, as I understood it.’

  ‘Mike?’ Lewis threw back his head and laughed. ‘He’s the last person in the world to have anything to do with drugs.’

  ‘Yes, we thought so,’ said Libby. ‘And he told us he’d only tried it once, in college, and it made him ill.’

  ‘And he’s a moral sort of bloke,’ said Lewis. ‘Wouldn’t be mixed up in anything dodgy.’

  ‘But the police don’t know that,’ said Peter. ‘They have to take everything at face value.’

  The pub door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and Harry.

  ‘What have I missed?’ He swung a chair back to front and took up his usual position astride it.

  ‘Not much,’ said Ben.

  ‘Vernon Bowling was homophobic,’ said Libby. ‘And Ian knew.’

  ‘And Edie was hostile,’ added Peter. ‘Do you want a brandy?’

  ‘Yes, please, dear.’ Harry patted Peter’s hand. ‘So are you both chief suspects?’ he asked Lewis.

  ‘I don’t think so. The dishy inspector’s coming to see Mum and me tonight, though.’

  ‘With handcuffs in his back pocket, no doubt.’ Harry grinned round the table. ‘Well, the world’s well rid of Mr Bowling, then.’

  Cassandra frowned. ‘I don’t think anyone deserves to be murdered.’

  Harry smiled at her. ‘Strangely enough, neither do I.’

  Cassandra looked confused.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cass, you get used to him,’ said Libby.

  ‘What you need to do,’ said Harry, accepting a brandy goblet from Peter, ‘is find out who else had a grudge against Vernon Bowling.’

  ‘Who needs to?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Well, Libby and Cassandra, obviously. Libby because she’s nosy and doesn’t want Lewis or Edie arrested, and Cassandra because she doesn’t want Mike Farthing arrested. And me, actually, because I don’t want Andrew’s concert to flop.’

  There was a short silence. Then Cassandra turned to Libby.

  ‘Is this what it’s always like?’

  ‘What what’s always like?’

  ‘When a murder happens. You all sit and talk about it.’

  Libby looked round at her friends. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘And drink a lot?’

  ‘Well …’ Libby made a face. ‘I suppose so. Most of our talking seems to take place over a drink of some sort – alcohol or tea.’

  ‘Or coffee,’ said Peter.

  ‘Or soup,’ added Harry.

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it.’

  ‘What don’t you understand?’ asked Libby. ‘Look, think about it. If someone comes round u
nexpectedly, unless you throw them out, you invite them in for a cup of tea or coffee, don’t you?’

  ‘No.’ Cassandra shook her head.

  There were exclamations of surprise from the others round the table. Cassandra went faintly pink.

  ‘Right, you don’t do that. So you don’t take anyone for a drink either? You wouldn’t get together in a pub?’

  ‘No, of course not! I wouldn’t go into a pub on my own!’ Cassandra looked shocked.

  ‘In that case, you don’t live the same sort of life that we do.’ Libby looked faintly dissatisfied.

  Cassandra was silent.

  ‘But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want us to find out about the murder for her Mike’s sake,’ said Harry.

  Libby regarded her cousin thoughtfully. ‘But she’s got to help.’

  ‘She can help without having to have a drink,’ said Ben. ‘If she wants to.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Of course I want to.’ Cassandra sat up straighter in her chair.

  Libby noticed she hadn’t corrected Harry’s statement referring to “her” Mike. ‘OK, just don’t question our methods, Watson.’

  ‘You mean stop being a headmistress,’ Cassandra said with a wry smile. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Didn’t work on me anyway,’ said Harry, raising his brandy glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘So,’ said Lewis, ‘the suspects. So far: me and Mum because of the homophobia, Mike Farthing because of the cannabis, who else?’

  ‘Our Monica,’ said Harry, with a grin.

  Libby and Peter laughed.

  ‘Who?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘An old battleaxe who lives in Maltby Close, over there,’ Libby gestured. ‘She’s anti everything, including the ukulele group and the female vicar, and rabidly homophobic. She accused me of bringing the whole world crashing down round her because I was involved with the theatre.’

  ‘However,’ said Ben, ‘she does rely on a mobility scooter to get around.’

  ‘Oh, deadly, then,’ said Lewis. ‘Not a serious contender.’

  ‘Sadly, no,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t think she’d get her scooter into the graveyard.’

  ‘Right, who else?’ said Lewis. ‘I suppose any member of the uke group.’

  ‘If they had a motive,’ said Libby. ‘But we don’t know who could have had a motive.’

  ‘There’s the obvious one,’ said Ben, ‘that you actually discussed with Ian.’

  ‘You mean the Dellington business?’ said Harry. He turned to Lewis. ‘You remember that?’

  Lewis didn’t, so Harry explained.

  ‘So you think someone might want revenge on him for something that happened then?’

  ‘It’s possible. Ian was looking into it,’ said Libby. ‘Then there’s the old boy who wanted to talk to Fran. He’s a member. Bob something,’

  ‘Bob Alton? But what motive could he have?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘No idea, but he asked Fran if we were investigating the murder, because he was a member of the group, then came back to talk to her but we were out. I don’t know if she’s seen him since. But it looks as though he knows something.’

  ‘So that’s it?’ Lewis looked round the table. ‘Nobody else?’

  ‘Screwball Stewart,’ said Peter. ‘I’d be taking a close look at him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He and Bowling had identical houses,’ said Libby.

  ‘So?’ Lewis frowned. ‘Yours is identical to the other houses in your street.’

  ‘No, these were both commissioned,’ Cassandra suddenly came to life. ‘By the same builder. With huge attic spaces.’

  ‘Bowling’s was his cannabis farm, Stewart’s is supposed to be his studio,’ explained Libby.

  ‘And that makes him a suspect?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘Well,’ said Libby. ‘Ian didn’t know.’

  ‘He does now,’ said Peter. ‘And really you should be letting him do his job.’

  ‘Without interference,’ said Ben mildly.

  Harry snorted with laughter.

  ‘All right,’ said Libby meekly. ‘But if Mike or Lewis need help …’

  Lewis patted her arm. ‘I know, Sherlock.’

  Ben and Libby wandered home after Lewis announced he had to go and pick up Edie.

  ‘Cass doesn’t really fit in, does she?’ said Libby.

  ‘Too straight-laced?’ asked Ben with amusement.

  ‘A bit. The only reason she’s interested in the murder is because Mike Farthing’s involved. And that’s because she’s fallen for him like a ton of bricks and doesn’t know how to deal with it.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Libby, ‘because I like him, but then I’ve liked murderers in the past. They aren’t always evil through and through, are they?’

  ‘No, a lot are just panicking because they can’t deal with a situation,’ said Ben. ‘And that looks a bit like this one. An unprovoked attack in the graveyard.’

  ‘I suppose he could have arranged to meet someone after the rehearsal? Someone unconnected to the group?’

  ‘Unlikely, surely? If it was someone from outside the group it would have been better to meet them on neutral territory. No, it’s got to be someone from the group,’ said Ben.

  Libby sighed. ‘And we aren’t going to get any more from Ian, are we? I suppose we’ll just have to hope something falls into our laps.’

  Ben laughed. ‘Honestly, Lib! You’re incorrigible. But don’t forget Ian did ask you to let him know if you heard anything.’

  The next morning Libby was dying to call Lewis to find out what Ian had said the previous evening when she was pre-empted by a phone call from Fran.

  ‘Bob Alton came to see me yesterday.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘Because I knew you had been to Hetty’s and had Cassandra with you. You couldn’t have come over.’

  ‘But I would have wanted to know what he said.’

  Fran sighed impatiently. ‘And that’s what I’m going to tell you now. Bob Alton’s son was killed at Dellington.’

  ‘No!’ Libby gasped. ‘So he has a motive, too?’

  ‘I suppose he does,’ said Fran reluctantly, ‘but I’d hate to believe it. He’s such a nice old boy, and so lonely.’

  ‘We were only saying yesterday how we’d met and liked a few murderers,’ said Libby. ‘It could be him.’

  ‘It could, but his son’s death is a matter of record, so I’m sure the police know about it. After all, we know Ian was going to look into the Dellington angle.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Libby pulled her laptop towards her.

  ‘Roland Alton. Are you looking it up?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘And ugh!’ She read a little more of the entry. ‘What a way to die. And how angry their relatives must have been.’

  ‘Bob says they were. But the MOD just closed ranks and the whole thing sank without trace until that Operation Antler brought it out into the open again.’

  ‘So what did Bob Alton have to say about the murder?’

  ‘Not much. He said he found out who Bowling was some time after he’d joined the group. He was introduced to people by their first names, and it wasn’t until there was a list sent round of the people who were going to be in the Christmas concert he saw the surnames. He didn’t even know Eric Robinson was a Doctor. Or that Stewart was a rock musician.’

  ‘Come to think of it, we still don’t know what Robinson is a doctor of,’ said Libby. ‘So was he there on Tuesday night?’

  ‘Robinson?’

  ‘No, silly, Bob Alton.’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t go to the meeting on Thursday, though. He felt as if he was being a hypocrite.’

  ‘Poor bloke,’ said Libby. ‘So what next?’

  ‘What do you mean, what next?’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ Surprise sounded in Fran’s voice. ‘Nothing. We aren’t investigating this.�
��

  ‘No, that’s what the others said yesterday. So I said unless Lewis or Edie, or, of course, Cass’s Mike are involved …’

  ‘Lewis or Edie?’

  Libby explained. ‘And I was just going to ring Lewis to see how they got on last night when you rang.’

  ‘And it’s already “Cass’s Mike”, is it?’

  ‘Seems to be. But I was saying to Ben, she doesn’t really fit in, does she? With us.’

  ‘You were all for her moving down here last week.’

  ‘I know – and I think it would do her good. But perhaps not too close to us.’

  ‘She could move in with Mike.’

  ‘Bit early for that,’ laughed Libby. ‘I think she’d be horrified.’

  When Fran rang off, Libby rang Lewis’s mobile.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the back of a car being driven somewhere for a shoot,’ said Lewis. ‘If you want an update, why don’t you ring Edie. No handcuffs, you’ll be pleased to know.’

  Libby rang the Creekmarsh landline.

  ‘No ducks, he were lovely. Well, he is a nice man, isn’t he? Why don’t you pop over? I’ve got a lovely lemon drizzle cake I made for yesterday, but after we’d been to Hetty’s we couldn’t manage it. The Inspector had a slice. And what about your friend Fran?’

  Libby called Fran back.

  ‘All right, but I mustn’t be long,’ she said. ‘You do realise we’re now into December and trade is picking up? I don’t want to leave Guy here all on his own too long.’

  The road to Creekmarsh led out of Nethergate along the coast, twisting and turning, alternately hiding and revealing glimpses of the sea. Banks that in spring were clothed thickly in cow parsley and campion now had bare, bent, and windblown hawthorn and elder crowding in on either side, until the road widened and turned sharply to the right. A pub stood on the right-hand side, and a heavily wooded lane led off to the left, with an old signpost pointing to “The Church” and a small wooden finger post announced “Creekmarsh Place”.

  The bare trees overhung the lane, before opening out to show the little church on the left. Finally the lane began to slope down and she could see the sea. Now there was a lawn to her right, an old wall and the gateposts.

  Libby drove up to the house, where Edie stood waving.

  ‘Fran’s coming on her own,’ she said getting out of the car. ‘You all right?’