Murder on the Run Read online

  ‘There’s a mystery and you’re not ferreting about in it?’ said Anne. ‘Pull the other one!’

  Ben and Peter came back with glasses.

  ‘They aren’t looking into it,’ said Ben. ‘At least, that’s the theory. They didn’t know the victim, or anything about running, come to that, and there’s no personal connection, so they’re having to sit on their hands and let the police do their work.’

  ‘And speaking of that,’ said Peter, ‘here come the police now. Probably with handcuffs.’

  Ian Connell came over to their table.

  ‘Harry’s just on his way,’ he said. ‘I popped in there first.’

  ‘Really?’ Peter lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘More dodgy brandy in the system,’ said Ian. ‘Nothing too serious.’

  They made room for him at the table, and Ben ordered coffee. He looked round at the expectant faces and laughed.

  ‘Am I the entertainment?’

  ‘We were just wondering –’ began Anne.

  ‘If you were coming tonight,’ Libby interrupted hastily.

  Ian looked amused. ‘And you weren’t hoping I’d tell you just how far our investigation into Lisa Harwood’s death had got?’

  ‘We can’t really, can we?’ said Libby, a little gloomily. ‘We’re not connected to it at all.’

  ‘As it happens, there is something I can tell you, and I rather expected you to know already.’ Ian took a sip of coffee.

  ‘Eh? How?’

  Ian looked at Patti and Anne. ‘Not a word, now.’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘We’re having to question the Harriers’ committee. Lisa appears to have been connected in some way to the sale of Class A drugs.’

  There were gasps from everyone.

  ‘But – why the committee?’ asked Libby eventually. ‘Why has it got anything to do with the runners?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Libby, you know I can’t, I only told you as much as I did because Fran will be on the phone telling you about Sophie being questioned, so there was no point in me keeping it to myself.’

  ‘Oh, Lord. Poor Sophie. Fran’s been terribly anxious about her.’

  ‘Has she?’ Ian looked interested. ‘How anxious?’

  ‘Well – I don’t know.’ Libby wriggled in her seat. ‘You know – anxious.’

  ‘And should I be – anxious?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  Libby looked at Ben for support and received none.

  ‘I don’t know, honestly. She seems worried about the whole Lisa Harwood thing and says she thinks there’s something – well, nasty was her word –somewhere in the Harriers. I don’t know if she means the members, the committee or what. We talked to Sophie this afternoon, but she didn’t really tell us anything.’

  ‘Poking your nose in again?’ Ian’s expression hardened.

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘Fran’s concerned about her stepdaughter, and incidentally, Adam. She apparently feels uneasy. That’s all. There was no question of any sort of investigation, or poking noses in.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Ian held up a placating hand. ‘Do you think I ought to speak to Fran?’

  ‘Up to you.’ Libby was wary. ‘But why did you have to question Sophie? Surely you couldn’t possiblybelieve she had anything to do with drugs?’

  Ian sighed. ‘We questioned all the committee members. We’ll probably have to question all the members of the club, as well. And as for Sophie, she did go to university, didn’t she, not known for being a drug-free paradise.’

  ‘They don’t all take drugs, Ian,’ said Patti gently. ‘I don’t mean to butt in, but I wouldn’t have thought you were the sort to tar everyone with the same brush.’

  ‘I’m not, Patti, but thank you for reminding me. No, as it happens, I can’t see Sophie being mixed up in anything illegal, if only because she knows her parents have a copper as a friend.’

  ‘A fact she was only too aware of when Lisa went missing,’ said Libby. ‘She and Adam came to ask Fran and I if we could tell you about it before it was reported to the police.’

  ‘I wish it had been reported straight away,’ said Ian with a frown.

  ‘Do you think there might have been a chance of finding her, then?’ asked Peter.

  ‘The trail wouldn’t have been so cold.’

  ‘But surely,’ said Anne, ‘if someone doesn’t turn up for an hour or so when expected, you don’t automatically report them to the police? We had a friend, didn’t we, Patti, whose son went missing and the police said he’d probably gone of his own volition and they couldn’t do anything until – what was it? Forty-eight hours?’

  ‘It depends entirely on circumstances,’ said Ian. ‘There is no one size fits all – have a look at the Missing Persons charities and see. All I’m saying is, if we’d known the day she vanished, it might have helped.’

  ‘That will really make us all feel better,’ said Libby, ‘when we realise we could have helped. Sophie’s going to feel so guilty.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lib. I wish I hadn’t said anything, now, but I was so sure Fran would have told you.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Libby sighed. ‘I’m just glad I didn’t know Lisa personally. I’m sorry if that’s selfish, but I can’t help it.’ She looked across at Patti. ‘I don’t know how you do it, you know.’

  Anne grinned affectionately. ‘It’s because she’s a very good person. Very much better than most of us.’

  ‘I think you’re embarrassing her,’ said Ian. ‘Can we change the subject?’

  ‘Beer festival,’ said Ben promptly. ‘I was speaking to the manager here about it.’

  ‘Really?’ Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Ian’s suggestion,’ said Ben, ‘so I thought I’d see how the pub felt about it. He’s going to speak to the owner.’

  Everyone was interested in the project, and when Harry came in he offered to source a few street food vendors who would come along. They had reached the knotty problem of car and tent parking by closing time, and Libby was trying to persuade Ben to schedule it for later in the summer.

  ‘It’ll take longer than that to organise,’ he said as they walked home, ‘and as Ian reminded us, we have to get all sorts of permits and things. And if we want music, as I suppose we do, all the local bands will be booked up by now.’

  ‘I bet we could do it if we tried hard,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps we could do just a one-day festival and then expand it next year?’

  Ben looked thoughtful. ‘That’s not a bad idea, actually. Let me have a think about it.’

  ‘Good. I really want to have something to get involved with this summer.’

  Ben gave her a sideways look. ‘Just not Lisa Harwood’s death, please.’

  Libby looked up at the dark sky. ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Libby, restrained for once, waited for Fran to call her on Thursday morning. She didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘The police have questioned Sophie.’

  ‘I know,’ said Libby gently. ‘Ian told us last night becausehe thought you would have already done so.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘Because Lisa was somehow involved with drugs. He didn’t say any more.’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran sighed. ‘Ian didn’t come himself, but the officers who came were very nice and polite. They didn’t really tell us anything, though.’

  ‘What did they ask?’

  ‘Had Sophie been offered drugs by any member of the Harriers, did she know of anyone who had, was there a drug culture among the runners … Eventually, Sophie asked what they meant by drugs – did they mean performance-enhancing, in which case it was ridiculous because they were a tiny club who simply ran for pleasure, not in any way competitive in the same way that thebig clubs are.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘They seemed amused, and said they were thinking more of recreational drugs. Sophie simply looked disgusted.’

  ‘It would never have occurred to me to th
ink of performance-enhancing drugs,’ said Libby. ‘But obviously it wasn’t, anyway. I wonder what Ian meant when he said Lisa was involved.’

  ‘Distributing?’ suggested Fran. ‘If she was, I don’t think it was to the Harriers. They really don’t seem the type, do they?’

  ‘Could he have simply meant she was taking drugs? Perhaps the post-mortem turned that up. Although he said she was connected to the sale of Class A drugs. That’s heroin and cocaine, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think there are quite a lot of others, but yes, those seem to be the most common.’

  ‘He said,’ said Libby, ‘that they may have to question all the members, not just the committee.’

  ‘I suppose they’ll have to question all her contacts. But she hardly had any, did she?’

  ‘She must have had some. I just wish I knew how she was connected to the sale. What does that mean?’ Libby blew out a frustrated breath.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fran sounded troubled. ‘I told you I was worried about this.’

  ‘Ian said – or rather, he asked – if he should talk to you. Do you want him to?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I told him you were worried about Sophie and he thought you might have had, well, thoughts about it. You know.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell, is there?’

  ‘The black car. You were sure about that.’

  ‘I don’t know, Lib. I doubt everything these days.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think Soph or Ad are in any danger. Based on nothing at all, granted, but I can’t see there’s any connection to them, and why on earth should they – or any other member of the Harriers – be at risk?’

  ‘We don’t know the other members,’ said Fran.

  ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘Bother.’

  ‘Hang on – Lib, I’ve got to go. My mobile’s ringing. I’ll call you later.’

  Deprived of her conversation, Libby reluctantly decided she ought to tackle long-neglected housework. Or, at least, the much hated bed changing. She remembered her mother and grandmother having strict routines about this – stripping the beds on Sunday and washing the bedlinen on Monday, but somehow she’d never managed to achieve the almost automated regime of her predecessors.

  She was almost halfway through manhandling the duvet into its clean cover when the phone rang. Thankful for the extension to the landline in the bedroom, she sank down on the half-made bed.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Fran. ‘That was Ian.’

  ‘What did he ask?’

  ‘The usual. I told him about the black car. He said he’ll look into the cars owned by the Harriers.’

  ‘It might not be a Harrier. And how would he do that, anyway?’

  ‘Through the DVLA, I think.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He asked why I was worried about Sophie and Adam. I said I didn’t know. I think he was a bit frustrated, to be honest.’

  Libby thought for a moment. ‘They must have found something in her cottage to do with drugs, mustn’t they?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Fran, ‘But I thought they’d searched her cottage before she was found. Why didn’t they find it then?’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t search that thoroughly. Perhaps they aren’t supposed to while there’s a chance the person is still alive.’

  ‘Mmm …but there’s a mystery about that cottage, too, isn’t there?’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran. ‘You told me Ian was telling you about it.’

  ‘Did I?’ Libby frowned at the phone. ‘Do you mean when he came over on Saturday?’

  ‘Didn’t you say the police couldn’t find the agents who’d rented her the house? And she made no rental payments?’

  ‘Oh – yes. I suppose that is a mystery. Still they’ll have gone into everything much more thoroughly now, won’t they. And gone to the Land Registry or whoever it is to find out who owns it.’

  ‘Don’t you think it looks as if Lisa knew the owner, who let her have it on an informal basis?’

  ‘I suppose so, but the police will have found that out by now,’ said Libby. ‘Why are you interested, anyway?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  That stopped Libby short. ‘Yes,’ she admitted at length.

  ‘Ian will tell us to leave it alone,’ said Fran.

  ‘And so we should. We’ve got no possible connection to this. It’s none of our business.’

  ‘The police have questioned Sophie.’

  ‘And they’ll probably question Adam and every other member of the Harriers,’ said Libby. ‘It would be pretty bad if relatives of all of them starting poking their noses into the case.’

  Fran laughed. ‘What’s got into you, Libby?’

  ‘Well, what’s got into you? You’re not seriously suggesting we start investigating? And investigating what?’

  ‘There’s something I don’t like about the whole thing,’ said Fran.

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  ‘I thought the cottage might be a start.’

  ‘The cottage?’

  ‘Find out who owns it – that sort of thing.’

  Libby made an exasperated sound. ‘What good will that do? And Ian – or someone – has already done that, you can bet. He’s probably swearing out an arrest warrant or whatever it is as we speak.’

  ‘It didn’t sound as though he was that close when he was speaking to me just now.’ Fran sighed. ‘All right, I get your point. I’m just beingnosy.’

  Libby was quiet for a moment. ‘I suppose,’ she said at last, ‘we could go out for lunch today. We haven’t seen Sid Best for some time now.’

  ‘Sid …? Oh!’

  ‘Well, I did take him some Fun Run leaflets last week, but apart from that …’

  ‘You’re just as nosy as I am,’ said Fran.

  ‘With even less reason,’ said Libby with a sigh. ‘Well, shall we? I’ll meet you there.’

  The Poacher was the village pub in Shott. Libby and Fran had first visited when they got mixed up ina previousmurder case. It stood at the corner of a village green, a long, low building. On the other side of the green, between two cottages, stood a Norman church, one of Patti’s, in her huge parish of St Aldeberge, Shott and Bishop’s Bottom.

  Libby parked the silver bullet behind Fran’s Smart car and went into the pub.

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t that Libby Sarjeant!’ Sid Best, his bright blue eyes as sharp as ever, held out his hand. ‘Fran here says you want some lunch.’

  ‘Well – er – if you’re doing lunch?’ Libby shook the proffered hand.

  ‘Sausage and mash or shepherd’s pie,’ said Sid. ‘That do you?’

  ‘Shepherd’s pie would be lovely,’ said Libby. ‘Have you ordered, Fran?’

  ‘She has,’ said Sid. ‘I’ll go and tell the missus.’

  ‘Have you said anything yet?’ Libby whispered to Fran, who shook her head. Sid came back behind the bar.

  ‘Now what do you want to drink?’

  ‘Tonic water, please,’ said Libby.

  ‘How did your run go last weekend?’ asked Sid, passing over her change. ‘Wasn’t that where they found that body? Can’t stay away from them, can you, you two?’

  ‘She lived here,’ said Fran. ‘Haven’t you seen any police cars around?’

  ‘Yeah, down-along here.’ Sid pointed along the lane on which the pub stood. ‘Didn’t know what it was for. No one did.’

  ‘In a village pub? And no one knew?’ Libby’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

  ‘Funny, innit? No, nobody. Empty for years, it was. Then someone moves in, but no one knows who. As I said, funny.’

  ‘Why was it funny?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Well, see, as far as the village knew, it was part of the old Notbourne Estate. Had been, anyways, until the estate was broke up.’

  ‘When was that?’ asked Libby, antennae twitching.

  ‘Oh, back before the First World War,’ said Sid, and Libby’s antennae drooped.


  ‘Who bought it?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Dunno. Changed hands a few times – though I don’t know if they bought it or was renting. So who was this body, then?’

  ‘A woman called Lisa Harwood,’ said Libby. ‘It’s been on the local news.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t take much notice. They talked about it in the pub, but I don’t reckon anyone connected her to Chestnut Cottage.’

  Fran obviously decided that it was time to change the subject. ‘Have you seen anything of Mike and Cassandra?’

  Mike Farthing, the owner of Farthing’s Plants just up Rogues’ Lane from The Poacher, was the part-time partner of Libby’s cousin Cassandra.

  ‘In here for the quiz every week, now that the ukulele group’s broken up. Can’t say I’m upset about that.’ Sid gave a cackle and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  ‘Chestnut Cottage,’ said Libby. ‘Are we going to take a look at it?’

  ‘Might as well,’ said Fran. ‘Have you ever heard of this – what was it? Nutwood Estate?’

  ‘Notbourne, yes, vaguely. There’s part of the main house left standing, but I didn’t realise it was broken up so long ago. I wonder if there’s anything left?’

  Fran took out her phone. ‘I’ll look it up.’

  Libby was impressed. ‘I can’t get to grips with smartphones.’

  ‘You’ve only just caught up with computers,’ said Fran, amused.

  ‘That’s not fair. I can even use your tablet and Ben’s. I just don’t want to be uber-connected all the time.’

  ‘Here,’ said Fran, holding the phone so that Libby could see the screen. ‘It’s a wiki article, so probably not entirely accurate.’

  ‘It’s too small,’ said Libby, squinting. ‘What does that say? Lord Cheveley of Notbourne?’

  ‘Yes. The estate was broken up in 1908. Not really relevant, is it?’

  ‘No, but quite interesting. I might have a look when I get home.’

  Sid arrived bearing two steaming plates.

  ‘Sorry it took a bit of time, missus was making the mash.’ He beamed and set the plates before them.

  ‘Thank her very much,’ said Fran.

  ‘We’re the only people in here again,’ said Libby, looking round the bar for the first time.

  ‘Must be an evening crowd,’ said Fran, making a tentative hole in her shepherd’s pie to let the steam out.