Murder to Music Read online

  ‘Well, no one had been raised when I left there. My DCI wanted me to interview you as quickly as possible, which I’ve done, and now perhaps we ought to go and see Rosie.’

  ‘Now?’ said Fran doubtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ian firmly. ‘If you don’t want to come I’ll raise a policewoman, but I thought she might prefer you.’

  ‘OK.’ Libby finished her tea. ‘Can I call Ben in case I’m back late?’

  ‘You won’t be late,’ said Ian. ‘We won’t be long.’

  ‘What about the estate agents?’ asked Fran. ‘They must be mixed up in it somehow.’

  ‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Ian stood up. ‘Do you want to call Guy? I’ll take you both in my car and bring you back here if you like.’

  ‘I’ll take my own and go home afterwards,’ said Fran, ‘but I expect Lib would like a lift.’

  ‘A lift?’ Libby came back from the kitchen where she’d called Ben on her mobile. ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Did you tell him what was going on?’ asked Ian as he shepherded Libby to his car.

  ‘Briefly. He just sighed.’

  ‘Poor Ben.’ Ian smiled as he put the car into gear.

  ‘He is not.’ Libby was indignant. ‘He’s very understanding.’

  ‘He’d have to be,’ said Ian.

  ‘So what exactly did you find when you went to the barn?’ Libby asked after a few minutes. ‘Graves?’

  ‘Yes. Fairly shallow and very obvious.’ Ian was frowning.

  ‘Could you – I mean – were they -’

  ‘They all appear to be female, if that’s what you’re asking, but I was only there at the start of the examination of the site, so I could be wrong. They will, however, be very difficult to identify.

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby, feeling sick.

  ‘Have you warned Rosie we’re coming?’ she asked presently. ‘She might be out.’

  ‘I said I wanted to drop in late afternoon. I think she assumed it was still about the ownership of the house.’

  ‘Well, it is, in a way,’ said Libby. ‘But at least you can be sure she has nothing to do with it.’

  Ian didn’t reply.

  ‘Oh, come on, you can’t think she did! She didn’t even know she’d been there as a child.’

  ‘That’s what she says, and she’s very convincing.’ Ian paused while he took a sharp bend. ‘But to a jaundiced eye it could look as if she got you and Fran involved deliberately to give weight to the fact that she’d never been there before and knew nothing about the sanatorium, her uncle or the barn.’

  ‘Harry said that. Well, not about her uncle and the barn, but he thought she was using us and that Fran couldn’t see it because she wanted to be like her. As a writer, I mean.’ Libby fidgeted with the strap of her bag.

  ‘And what did you say to that?’

  ‘Oh, I agreed it looked like that, but then there was all the business of finding the records and Paul Findon and I sort of believed her again. And she was in a shocking state when we arrived this morning.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ian shot a quick look at her. ‘She was in a state before I got there, too. Is this something to do with Andrew? You said they’d had a row.’

  ‘I don’t know, really,’ said Libby uncomfortably. ‘We just guessed. But I’m sure she didn’t know about owning the place. And she said she wants to sell it, but the agents will have to be looked into, won’t they? There’s definitely something been going on there.’

  Ian looked amused. ‘I should say there has.’

  They had arrived at Rosie’s cottage. It was raining again, and as Libby struggled out of the passenger door of Ian’s car, the hawthorn hedge enveloped her in a wet embrace. Fran, pulling up behind, and Ian stood together under Fran’s umbrella watching her.

  ‘Don’t help, will you?’ she said grumpily.

  Rosie’s eyes widened in surprise when she opened the door and saw Libby and Fran with Ian.

  ‘Has something else happened?’ Her voice faltered slightly, and Fran moved forward to take her hand and lead her into the sitting room. Talbot the cat, spread out on a windowsill, pricked one ear and opened an eye.

  They all took seats around her and Ian leant forward.

  ‘I’m afraid something else has happened, Mrs George,’ he said. ‘We had reason to investigate the barn on your property and – well – I’m afraid we found something.’

  ‘Not more graves?’ Rosie whispered, colour fading from her face to leave it almost grey.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Libby and Fran edged closer to Rosie and Fran took her hand. Libby was pretty sure this wasn’t an act. Rosie was genuinely shocked, as she had been earlier in the day. She hoped Ian was wrong about her.

  ‘So that barn was an isolation unit?’ She turned to Fran. ‘That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?’

  If that’s an act, it’s a good one, thought Libby.

  ‘I’m afraid these aren’t old graves, Mrs George.’ Ian cleared his throat and sat up straight. ‘We think they’re murder victims.’

  Rosie’s mouth opened but no words came out.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Libby, hoping Rosie wasn’t going to faint or throw up. ‘I could find my way around the kitchen.’

  Ian looked up quickly and nodded. Libby stood up and went out of the room. Talbot followed.

  ‘OK, chum, where’s the kitchen?’ Libby asked him. Talbot obligingly wound round her legs and trotted ahead of her into the kitchen, where he stood hopefully by a shiny chrome bowl.

  ‘I’ll see to you in a minute,’ said Libby, ‘after I’ve sorted the grown-ups out.’ She filled the electric kettle, found mugs on a shelf and tea in a caddy. So far, so good. The teapot was harder to locate and she was just bending down to look in a cupboard beside the cooker, when she heard a movement behind her.

  ‘So, what have you done to upset her now?’ said Andrew.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  LIBBY STOOD UP AND banged her head on the worktop.

  ‘Not half as much as you’ve just done to upset me,’ she said, rubbing her head and trying to stop her eyes watering. ‘What do you want and how did you get in here?’

  Andrew looked surprised. ‘Through the back door,’ he said. ‘I always do.’

  ‘Always? But you’ve only known her a few days.’ Libby spooned tea into the teapot.

  ‘Well, all right, since I’ve known her.’ Libby noticed his cheeks were faintly pink underneath his beard and moustache.

  ‘Yes, I gather you’ve got quite close,’ she said. ‘But if you don’t mind, the police brought Fran and me here, so I don’t think they’d necessarily be happy if you barged in.’

  ‘The police?’ Andrew looked wary. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not up to me to tell you,’ said Libby, now enjoying herself. ‘And I think it would be better if you went home. Rosie can call you if she wants to after we’ve gone.’

  Andrew’s face took on a stubborn look. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Fine, but not in here. If you want to wait it’ll have to be in the garden.’ Libby watched him as he folded his arms and took up a stance, reminding her of Adam and Dominic as small boys, refusing to tell which was the culprit. She sighed in exasperation. ‘Look Andrew. When did you last see Rosie? Last night?’

  ‘Er – yes,’ he said, going slightly pinker and losing some of his rigidity.

  ‘And has she called you today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, we’ve already seen her once today and so has DI Connell. And if she’d wanted to see you, I’m sure she would have called. So if I were you, I’d go home and wait.’

  ‘Will you let her know I called?’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Yes.’ Libby put the mugs on a tray, reflecting that this was the second time within an hour she’d done exactly the same thing.

  ‘All right.’ Andrew turned to the back door, then turned back. ‘I’m sorry she’s upset,’ he said, and left.

  How did you know she was upset?
mused Libby as she avoided Talbot looking reproachful by his bowl and left the kitchen.

  ‘Did I hear you talking to someone?’ said Rosie as soon as she entered the sitting room.

  Libby nodded. ‘Andrew. I sent him away. I said you’d call him if you wanted to see him.’

  Rosie positively sagged with relief. Ian frowned.

  ‘Has Professor Wylie been bothering you?’ he said.

  Rosie’s colour changed from white to bright red and back again. ‘No, not at all,’ she croaked. ‘He’s been most helpful.’

  Libby handed Fran a mug and made a face. ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

  Rosie sipped her tea and her colour returned to normal. ‘So who are these bodies?’ she said eventually.

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Ian, ‘but you’ll understand I have to question you as you now appear to be the owner of the White Lodge estate.’

  ‘But I didn’t know I was until this morning,’ said Rosie. ‘And I don’t want it now. The Lord knows I don’t earn a fortune from my books, but I’ve got enough to live comfortably.’

  ‘I know that, Mrs George,’ said Ian, ‘but nevertheless, we’ll have to go back over everything you’ve told us, and see if you can remember anything else at all. We’re particularly interested,’ he looked quickly at Libby, ‘in the estate agents, Riley’s.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosie slowly, ‘you would be. How odd that I should have gone there as a prospective purchaser of my own house.’ She shook her head.

  ‘When you were taken to see it,’ Ian went on, ‘you said a woman escorted you. And she seemed nervous right from the start.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Plain scared by the end. And that’s another thing that’s funny. Do you know, they never got in touch with me afterwards. You know, like estate agents normally do when you’ve viewed a property. They phone up later that day, or the next day, to find out what you thought and if you’d be likely to make an offer.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Libby, ‘and they always say things like “There’s been a lot of interest in this property, it won’t stay on the market long,” or “There’s a couple going for a second viewing this very afternoon.” They did that to me with number seventeen.’

  ‘Yes, all right, thank you, Libby,’ said Ian. ‘So did you call them, Ro – I mean Mrs George?’

  ‘Oh, please call me Rosie,’ said Rosie tiredly. ‘And no, I didn’t. I thought it was odd, but I had no intention of buying the place, and they’d already told me it was a complicated probate sale.’

  ‘That’s what they told me,’ said Libby and Ian sent her a dirty look. She sat back in her chair and glowered at him.

  ‘I assume the original Riley is no longer with us,’ said Ian. ‘Anybody know?’

  ‘No idea. The original Naughton is obviously long gone. You know, from when they leased the house. You knew about that, Rosie?’ said Fran.

  ‘I think one of you has told me,’ said Rosie. ‘The tenants left, didn’t they?’

  ‘That was because of a haunting, too,’ said Libby. ‘But it can’t be the same reason if these new bodies are – well – new.’

  ‘I didn’t say they were new, Libby,’ said Ian sounding somewhat testy. ‘Just more recent. Within a year or so.’

  ‘Oh.’ Libby contemplated her mug. ‘That’s quite new compared to the others, though. And another funny thing.’ She looked up at the other three. ‘What about those flowers?’

  ‘Flowers?’ said Rosie.

  ‘On the grave we thought was new but wasn’t,’ said Libby. ‘In the garden.’

  ‘Actually, there’s some news on that, too,’ said Ian. ‘It appears we were half right about that. It was a new grave after all – but it was a reburial.’

  ‘A re-burial?’ repeated Fran. ‘Why on earth would they do that?’

  ‘Whoever “they” are,’ said Libby.

  ‘And that’s what we need to find out,’ said Ian. ‘There can’t be two sets of people hiding something on that estate. We’re going to have to take it apart.’ He looked apologetically at Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll put things back as far as we can, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to sell it quite yet.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to sell it,’ said Rosie. ‘Not when people know its history.’

  ‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ said Ian.

  ‘I could always knock it down, I suppose.’

  ‘No you couldn’t,’ said Libby. ‘It’s listed. You could sell it to the nation, perhaps. Or English Heritage or someone.’

  ‘You know,’ she said to Ian as they left Rosie’s cottage and walked to the car, ‘there’s got to be a logical chain of events to all this. One thing that leads to another until we end up here. With bodies all over the place, old and new, and manufactured hauntings.’

  ‘Well, of course there is,’ said Ian, unlocking the car. ‘There always is, although there’s usually somewhere in the middle where things take a turn in another direction or someone new enters the picture. Often that’s the piece we miss.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Libby buckled her seat belt. ‘A bit like last winter when we ended up with one person linking two old cases and we all thought it was a coincidence.’

  ‘It was a coincidence in that the people looking into it,’ he swivelled his eyes to Libby and waggled his eyebrows, ‘came from the right place. Colin could have asked any of his other friends for help.’

  ‘There’d still have been a murder, though,’ said Libby. ‘That didn’t happen because of us.’

  ‘No,’ said Ian. ‘Although one day someone might murder you.’

  ‘Ian!’

  He laughed. ‘You must admit some people have had an urge to hit you with a blunt instrument.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ Libby sunk down in her seat. ‘Only don’t bring that up if you see Ben. He’ll only get all protective again.’

  ‘As I said before,’ said Ian. ‘Poor Ben.’

  Ian did, in fact, come in briefly to apologise to Ben for hi-jacking Libby. Ben seemed amused, especially as Libby was uncharacteristically quiet.

  ‘So what’s the matter?’ he asked, closing the door behind Ian.

  ‘What do you mean? Nothing’s the matter.’ Libby sat on the sofa and closed her eyes.

  ‘There, you see? You don’t collapse on the sofa with your eyes closed normally.’

  Libby’s eyes snapped open. ‘I’m a bit tired. And it’s quite wearing being a family liaison officer.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Libby sat up straight. ‘Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Ben listened carefully while Libby recounted the afternoon’s events.

  ‘And on top of Hetty’s pasties, it’s had the effect of making me very, very tired,’ she finished, swallowing the remains of her glass of wine.

  ‘I can see that it would,’ said Ben. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Nothing, as far as Fran and I are concerned. I suppose we keep in touch with Rosie – that’s us being liaison again – but whether Ian will keep us informed of the progress of the investigation, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ soothed Ben. ‘After all, it was you two who brought him in. He wouldn’t know anything about it otherwise.’

  ‘He said that,’ said Libby. ‘Fran was feeling guilty that she hadn’t found the bodies.’

  ‘Sensed them, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. But she did feel as though she couldn’t breathe when we went to see the barn. I just thought it was TB.’

  ‘I’m glad I know you well enough to interpret,’ said Ben, getting up to fetch the wine bottle. ‘I assume you mean TB victims from the sanatorium?’

  ‘Yes. But obviously not.’ She sat forward. ‘I’m still worried about that re-burial. And the flowers.’

  ‘Yes, that is odd.’ Ben frowned. ‘I mean, the reburial had been long enough ago for grass to grow over it, hadn’t it?’

  ‘I think Ian said within a year, or something. But the flowers were only laid between our visit on Friday
and Ian’s first visit.’

  ‘So someone who did the re-burial or knows who it is laid the flowers. And that was a female, too, wasn’t it?’

  Libby nodded. ‘It’s all so odd. I do believe Rosie now, you know. And I’m pretty sure something happened with Andrew and she can’t come to terms with it. Or she regrets it.’

  ‘Ah, the older woman syndrome!’ said Ben. ‘I’ve seen that before.’

  ‘If you’re referring to me,’ said Libby with dignity, ‘I am not as old as Rosie, and I did not regret anything.’

  ‘You had a bit of trouble with the idea of a relationship though, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I think it’s more than that with Rosie.’ Libby sighed. ‘Still, I don’t really want to know the details. I told you Andrew came walking into the kitchen uninvited, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, you didn’t. When? This afternoon?’

  Libby nodded. ‘And asked what I was doing to upset her. That made me think, actually. Why did he think she was upset? Presumably because she’d told him she was at some point during the day. And, I would think, because of her reaction when I told her I’d seen him off, she’s already told him she didn’t want to see him.’

  ‘And she said she’d made a fool of herself.’

  ‘Yes. So perhaps he seduced her and then she regretted it. Very easy to do.’

  ‘But not when you’re in your mid-sixties.’

  ‘No. Fran was a bit horrified at first, until I reminded her that she was practically a newly-wed herself in her mid-fifties.’

  Ben didn’t reply, but gave her a slightly twisted smile and Libby cursed herself. The thorny marriage question had been decently buried for some time now, and she had to go and bring it up. She put down her glass and stood up.

  ‘Come on, old-timer,’ she said. ‘Let’s see how easy it is to seduce people in their mid-fifties.’

  ‘Which one of us,’ said Ben, standing up and taking her hand, ‘is doing the seducing?’

  Libby smiled and led the way to the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  THE PHONE WOKE LIBBY far too early.

  ‘Libby? It’s Rosie. I didn’t wake you, did I?’