Murder by the Sea - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series Page 12

  ‘Sorry, Libby, I just thought you ought to know. I tried to ring Fran but she wasn’t answering.’

  ‘Ought to know what?’ Libby managed a sip of rather too hot tea and winced.

  ‘Terry. He was attacked last night.’ Jane sounded as though she was near to tears.

  ‘How awful,’ said Libby, wondering why Jane thought she ought to know. ‘Is he very bad?’

  ‘He’s in hospital. There’s –’ Libby heard a gulp ‘– a policeman by his bed.’

  ‘Oh, lord. That does sound serious.’

  ‘Yes. I stayed at the hospital as long as I could, but he’s under sedation now, so they said I should come home.’

  She wants company, thought Libby. That’s why she’s ringing.

  ‘Where is he? Kent and Canterbury?’

  ‘Yes. I’m outside there now.’

  ‘Come here, Jane. It’s on your way. You won’t go in to work, will you?’

  ‘No – I can’t. Can I really come?’

  ‘Of course, silly. Are you all right to drive?’

  ‘Yes – yes. I think so.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and get you?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. I’ll take it slowly, and I’ll be going against the traffic, won’t I?’

  ‘All right, then,’ said Libby, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘I’ll have the kettle on. See you in a bit.’

  By the time Jane arrived, Libby was dressed and tea was made in the big enamel teapot.

  ‘Or would you prefer coffee?’ Libby asked, as she shepherded Jane into the garden.

  ‘No, tea would be lovely, thanks.’ Jane subsided into one of the chairs under the cherry tree. The rain had disappeared overnight and the sun was doing its best to dry up the remaining puddles.

  Libby brought out a tray with mugs and biscuits and Sidney butted Jane’s legs. She smiled.

  ‘Tell me all about it, then,’ said Libby, handing over a mug.

  Jane drew a breath. ‘He was mugged,’ she said.

  ‘Did you find him? Is that why you were at the hospital?’

  ‘No, it was the new tenant on his way home.’ Jane sipped her tea and Libby sighed.

  ‘Yes? Where?’

  ‘Oh – on the steps.’

  ‘The steps of the house? Was the front door open?’

  Jane looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Just that if it was, he must have come out of the house. If it wasn’t, he was just going in.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Jane frowned. ‘The police didn’t say anything about that.’

  ‘They’ve questioned you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Drawing teeth wasn’t in it, thought Libby. ‘At home?’

  ‘No.’ Jane shook her head. ‘Sorry, Libby, I’m being a bit dim, aren’t I?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Libby, ‘you’ve obviously had a shock. Just tell me from the beginning – if you want to, that is.’

  ‘Right.’ Jane took another sip and put her mug on the table. ‘Last night I was in the office until late and didn’t get home until nearly eleven. There was a policeman on the doorstep and Mrs Finch and Mike were in the hall talking to two more. Apparently, Mike came home at about twenty past ten and found Terry on the steps. I don’t know about the door. He called the police and an ambulance.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘Well, the policemen asked who I was and where I’d been, then they asked me to let them into Terry’s flat, where they had a look round. There were no lights on, or anything, so I suppose he’d been on his way in when it happened. Then I asked if I could collect a couple of things and take them to Terry in hospital, although they both looked a bit gloomy and said they didn’t think he’d need them, which really worried me.’

  ‘But you took them anyway? You knew where to find things?’

  Jane coloured. ‘No, I just went into the bathroom – oh, it’s so clean and neat, Libby, you wouldn’t believe – and took his toothbrush and toothpaste.’ The colour deepened. ‘And a deodorant. I just took what he might think of as essential.’

  ‘So you went to hospital.’

  Jane nodded. ‘They sealed his room after me, and I left them my key. Then I went to the hospital.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And he was sort of conscious. He recognised me, anyway.’ The colour, which had faded, returned. ‘I held his hand, while I was allowed to, but not when the doctors were there, of course.’

  ‘So did they operate? What exactly is wrong?’

  ‘They didn’t tell me a lot because I’m not his next-of-kin, but he had head injuries and broken ribs as though he’d been kicked. They did something to him and he’s in a side room now.’

  ‘Not intensive care?’

  ‘No.’ Jane brightened. ‘I never thought of that. That’s good isn’t it?’

  ‘I would have thought so. Did he say anything to you? You said he recognised you.’

  ‘He tried to smile and say “Jane” when I first got there, but I think he was under a bit of sedation then, too. After that, he didn’t say anything. I had to sit in the waiting area most of the time, but they let me in to his room again about five this morning. Then they told me I should go home.’

  ‘What about his next-of-kin?’

  ‘I don’t know. They asked me when I first got there, but nobody said anything after that.’

  Libby looked thoughtful. ‘I expect they had a good look around his flat and found an address book or something.’ She sipped her own tea. ‘So it was just a straightforward mugging?’

  Jane looked surprised. ‘Well, yes. What else could it have been?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just seems odd. You know, with Terry being ex-army. I would have thought he’d have given as good as he got.’

  ‘Not if they came up behind him and hit him on the head. That’s what seems to have happened.’

  ‘Did they get anything? Wallet? Money?’

  ‘Do you know, I didn’t ask.’ Jane frowned and picked up her mug. ‘I suppose they did.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’ll find out more later. Will they tell you anything over the phone – with you not being next of kin?’

  ‘I shall go back later,’ said Jane, ‘and they know who I am, now.’

  ‘It might be different staff, though.’

  ‘Oh, well.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I’ll sort it out somehow.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea. I suppose I’d better ring the office, then I’ll go back and try to get some sleep.’

  ‘You’ve only been here five minutes,’ said Libby. ‘You still look a bit shaky. Why don’t you try and have a nap in my spare room?’

  Jane hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I feel I ought to be at home in case anyone tries to get in touch.’

  ‘But you’ve got your mobile, haven’t you? If the police want you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jane sat down again. ‘Perhaps I will, if you really don’t mind. I do feel a bit wobbly.’

  ‘Lack of sleep,’ said Libby. ‘Have another cup of tea and I’ll go and check on the sheets.’

  When Libby came back into the garden ten minutes later, Jane was asleep with Sidney on her lap. Libby smiled, picked up the tray, took it inside and found her mobile.

  ‘Fran?’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I’ve got Jane Maurice here, and guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  Libby told her everything Jane had told her and waited for a response.

  ‘She tried to call me,’ said Fran eventually.

  ‘I know, she told me, but you didn’t answer.’

  ‘I was in the shower.’ Fran sounded defensive and Libby grinned.

  ‘Anyway, what do you think?’

  Fran sighed. ‘You want me to say it’s something to do with what I felt about her house, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, I did wonder.’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Lib.’ Fran sighed again. ‘I think my brain’s completely switched off, now. Do you think it’s connecte
d?’

  ‘I just thought it was a coincidence, that’s all. Especially as the new tenant’s moved in.’

  ‘Are you suspicious of him?’

  ‘Well, he was the one who found Terry.’

  ‘Not surprising if Terry was on the steps of the house where he lived, I would have thought.’

  ‘All right, all right. Don’t be sarky.’

  ‘Sorry, Libby. I’m not being obstructive, I’m brain dead. Perhaps this is the end of my moments altogether.’

  ‘OK.’ It was Libby’s turn to sigh. ‘I’ll go off and do the Florence Nightingale bit. Speak to you soon.’

  Jane was still asleep and Libby, mindful of the sun working its way out of the branches of the cherry tree, shook her gently awake.

  ‘You’ll get sunstroke if you stay here,’ she said. ‘Come on upstairs.’

  Blearily, Jane followed her through the cottage and upstairs to where there were fresh navy sheets on the spare bed.

  ‘Bathroom just there,’ said Libby. ‘I won’t disturb you.’

  She went downstairs and cleared the tea and breakfast things, before going into the conservatory and staring at the painting begun on the day the body was found on Dragon Island.

  She knew she ought to do more work on it; she also knew she should think about doing more paintings. Guy could always sell her work, which was reasonably priced, and he’d even used some in reproduction on birthday and Christmas cards. While it didn’t exactly make her rich, it was an income she would hate to be without, even though Ben had assured her he was well able to “take care of her”, as he put it. But their Living Apart Together relationship, a LAT as it was now officially known, didn’t seem to Libby to fit into the traditional – or even out-dated – mould where man the hunter looked after woman the gatherer, and she preferred to remain independent.

  But somehow, painting wasn’t holding her attention right now. It never did, she realised, when there was something else going on in her life. It was partly because it had now become a job rather than a hobby, which it had been before her marriage broke up and she moved to Steeple Martin. But now, despite the (almost) mutual decision to give up on the investigation, Libby found she couldn’t let it go. And it was disturbing her concentration.

  But which investigation? Libby gave up on the painting and went back into the garden, where Sidney joined her as she lit a cigarette. The body on Dragon Island or Jane Maurice’s house? Or were they, as Fran had postulated, connected somehow? Libby shook her head at Sidney, who flattened his ears. And what, she wondered, had Fran said to Ian Connell about giving up the investigation? And come to that, what had Kent and Coast Television, in the shape of Campbell McLean, had to say about it? They wouldn’t be best pleased to have wasted their time.

  But then again, Libby reflected, as she had thought yesterday, at least McLean now had a handle on the boorish Budgen and could possibly follow up the lead of illegal farm workers. There had been raids on restaurants employing illegal migrant workers recently, she knew, but had there been any on farms? If there had, they hadn’t featured on any news programmes as far as she knew, so perhaps McLean was in for a scoop after all. Especially if it turned out that the body was one of his workers, although, Libby conceded to herself, that would be a coincidence too far, as, indeed, the relationship between the body and the Transnistrian woman suggested by Fran was.

  And then there was Jane Maurice’s house. Why did Fran feel there was something there? She hadn’t even said what, exactly. Something that had happened there? Something was hidden there? Or just someone who lived there? If so, and it had been the hapless Terry, Libby was certain Fran would have picked up on it, and the same applied to the new tenant, Mike Charteris, so that was that. Unless Fran was right, and her brain had shut down as far as picking up any extra sensory messages was concerned. ‘And that,’ Libby told Sidney firmly, ‘would be a tragedy.’

  With that, she stood up and went inside to phone Harry.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HARRY, WHEN APPEALED TO, chose to come to Allhallow’s Lane rather than wait for Libby to join him at lunchtime. He appeared, in shorts and sandals, bearing a bunch of old roses that Libby correctly assumed were from the cottage garden behind the house he shared with Peter.

  ‘So, what’s it all about?’ he asked, settling into the chair recently vacated by Jane, and adjusting a battered straw hat on his head.

  ‘Where on earth did you get that?’ asked Libby, distracted.

  ‘I found it in an old trunk of Pete’s. He thinks it was his dad’s.’

  ‘Doesn’t he mind you wearing it?’

  ‘Course not. And James thinks it’s hilarious.’

  ‘Dear Jamie. How is he?’ Peter’s young brother was a favourite of Libby’s.

  ‘Fine. Good to his mother.’ Harry cackled.

  ‘Oh, yes, how is Millie?’

  ‘Still mad as a box of frogs. But seems to accept Pete and me, now.’

  ‘Well, yes. She came to your wedding, didn’t she?’

  ‘Try and remember it was a Civil Partnership, dearie. I didn’t actually go down the aisle in ivory tulle and a tiara.’

  ‘No, all right, but if I want to think of it as a wedding, I can, can’t I?’

  ‘Stupid old trout. Yes, you can. I give you permission.’ Harry took off the hat and waved it in front of his face before returning it to his head. ‘Now, come on. Tell all.’

  Libby glanced up at the open spare room window. ‘Quietly,’ she said. ‘I don’t want her to hear.’

  ‘I’ll whisper, then,’ said Harry.

  Libby told him everything that had happened yesterday, including Fran’s decision to “retire” and finishing up with Jane’s story.

  Harry frowned. ‘And you want me to say what?’ he asked in a stage whisper.

  ‘It all seems too much of a coincidence to me,’ said Libby. ‘All of it. You agreed with me the other day. About Jane being involved.’

  ‘Ah, but you didn’t agree with me at the time,’ said Harry, fanning himself with his hat again.

  ‘No, I know, because other stuff hadn’t happened. Anyway, what do you think?’

  Harry looked up into the cherry tree. ‘Not sure why you’re asking,’ he said.

  ‘Because I want to know if I’m barking up the wrong tree,’ said Libby.

  ‘Was that a pun?’ laughed Harry, tapping the trunk behind him.

  ‘No.’ Libby scowled at him. ‘Be serious.’

  ‘I am. And again, I’m asking why you want to know? Fran has decided not to be involved any more, therefore you aren’t either. Not that you ever had any official standing, anyway. So – why do you want to know what I think?’

  Libby stared at him.

  ‘Don’t look so taken aback, Lib.’ Harry leant forward and patted her arm. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, glumly.

  ‘You just can’t break the habit, that’s the problem,’ continued Harry. ‘The Miss Marple persona’s gotcha!’

  ‘I told you, I’m not a Miss Marple.’

  ‘You said that to Ben when we had those accidents at the theatre,’ said Harry, ‘but look what’s happened since.’

  ‘Not my fault,’ said Libby, looking like a sulky child.

  ‘You needn’t have got involved with Fran’s auntie last summer, or all the stuff last December.’

  ‘But Fran was asked,’ insisted Libby. ‘And I’m better at ferreting things out than she is. I had to be in on it all.’

  ‘All right, I’ll give you that,’ said Harry, ‘but now Fran’s given up, no one’s going to ask you, so you can stop ferreting.’

  Libby glowered at him. He laughed.

  ‘So now what do you want to know?’ he said.

  ‘Am I seeing connections where there aren’t any? Jane’s Terry’s been attacked, Fran thinks there’s something about her house and was she actually supposed to see the body? That’s all,’ Libby finished plaintively.

  ‘I think you are seeing c
onnections where there aren’t any, old love,’ said Harry. ‘I know I wondered about Jane when you first told me about it all, but I can’t really see it. Just let it alone. You’re providing a shoulder for missus upstairs, if anything else happens she’s bound to tell you, but until then just get on with being our nice old trout. Why don’t you and Ben go away for a few days?’

  Libby sighed. ‘I can’t leave Sidney.’

  ‘Do that walking stomach good to starve for a few days,’ said Harry.

  ‘And Ben doesn’t feel he can leave the estate. Hetty couldn’t manage and Greg’s too poorly.’

  ‘I didn’t think there was that much of the estate left.’

  ‘There isn’t, but what there is has to be managed. We might be able to get away in the autumn, perhaps, before panto rehearsals start.’

  ‘Nah, that’s daft. You want to go away now, while the weather’s good.’ Harry looked at his watch. ‘Well, if you’re not going to offer me any refreshment, I’d better get back to the caff. Have to prep up for lunch. Can’t do anything in advance in this heat.’

  ‘I thought yesterday’s rain would have cooled things down.’ Libby stood up. ‘Do you want tea? Is it too early for a beer?’

  ‘Regretfully, I must decline, fair lady. But if you’re at a loose end when your guest goes you can pop down for a livener with me.’ Harry stood up and jammed his hat back on his head. ‘Put those roses in water or they won’t last.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ said Libby, as she opened the front door for him.

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘See you later.’

  Well, that’s that, thought Libby, after putting the roses into a pretty china jug. An unbiased opinion. Leave it. With a sigh, she went back into the conservatory and prepared to paint.

  Jane woke an hour later full of apologies and thanks.

  ‘I’ll go home and change now,’ she said. ‘You were right – I couldn’t have made it earlier. Then I’ll go back to the hospital.’

  ‘Don’t forget to let me know what’s happening,’ said Libby, standing in the doorway once more.

  ‘I won’t.’ Jane got into her car and waving, began reversing slowly down Allhallow’s Lane.

  Libby went back to her painting for another hour, then reproving herself for alcoholic tendencies, washed her brushes and set off to The Pink Geranium for a drink with Harry.