Murder in the Blood Read online

  ‘Yes, we’ve come across it,’ said Libby. ‘Two of the friends we’re on holiday with have had to deal with it personally and professionally.’

  ‘They part of the community here?’

  ‘Oh, no, but they recognised immediately that this Neal was gay, and that was how – we think – he got to know the victim.’

  ‘And the other man who came to see him, Justin,’ said Fran. ‘And the second victim was close to the first victim. We don’t think she was gay, though. And by all accounts the regulars here don’t – or didn’t – like any of them.’

  ‘Not a reason for murder though.’

  ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘But the main thing we were concerned with was finding this mother he’d only just found out about. Except no one seems to know.’

  ‘And of course, the idiots haven’t searched her place or his.’ Johnny frowned. ‘So we’ll have to do it.’

  ‘Us?’ Two shocked voices rose as one.

  ‘Oh, I expect we’ll have to have a frowning bobby looking on, but they don’t know how to search properly. I was hoping they’d let us have one of their Crime Scene Investigation teams – they’ve got ’em, you know – but we’re not important enough, it seems. So it’ll be us.’

  ‘But we don’t know how to search, either,’ protested Libby.

  ‘Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t welcome the chance to get on the inside of the investigation?’ He grinned at them both and stood up. ‘Now I’ve got to go and present my credentials at the local cop shop. I’ll ring your hotel to tell you what I’ve set up, shall I? Got the number?’

  ‘No, but there aren’t many here,’ said Libby. ‘It’s Jimmy’s. The Jandarma will know.’

  ‘Right, ladies. I’ll see you later.’ He waved over his shoulder and set off down the steps.

  ‘Well, he’s not my idea of a commander of the Metropolitan Police,’ said Libby.

  ‘But he is one,’ said Fran, ‘and we’re very privileged. Came up through the ranks, do you suppose?’

  ‘Do they still do that? Don’t they all have to have degrees and things these days?’

  ‘Not when he joined the force, I should think. He must be sixty.’

  ‘Then he’d have retired, surely.’

  Fran frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Ian could tell us.’

  ‘But Ian’s not here, and I’m certainly not going to phone him.’

  DCI Ian Connell was the police officer in England who had facilitated the friends’ involvement in various murder cases, sometimes for the reason Fran had chosen not to reveal to Commander Smith – that she was a reluctant psychic.

  ‘We can go now, can’t we?’ Fran stood up. ‘Sitting here knowing those people are talking about us isn’t pleasant.’

  ‘Are they, though?’ said Libby.

  ‘Of course they are. We said we thought they knew who we were, and now we’ve had a strange man come and join us, we’re the subject of all sorts of speculation. Lucky we can get down the steps here instead of having to go through them all.’

  Libby followed her down the stairs, resisting the urge to look back at the group at the other end of the terrace.

  ‘Odd, though,’ she panted as she tried to catch up. ‘This isn’t a tourist hotspot by any means, but they do have summer visitors. Why did they assume we were who we are? If you know what I mean.’

  Fran looked back at her and grinned. ‘Well, once we’d mentioned “the locals” and Sally, it was a pretty foregone conclusion, wasn’t it?’

  Libby pulled a face. ‘You mean once I’d mentioned it.’

  ‘He was suspicious as soon as we appeared. He said himself they don’t get many casual visitors, and if they all knew about Alec’s and Sally’s deaths and the British tourists who found Alec it would be a good guess. And we – or you, all right – confirmed it for him. There’s something they know that we don’t, but I don’t think Geoff or his constructed Christine are murderers.’

  Libby giggled. ‘Constructed Christine! I like that. She was, wasn’t she? I wonder what attracted her to bumptious Geoff?’

  ‘Money,’ said Fran.

  ‘But out here? She’s more Marbella than remote Turkish village.’

  ‘Escaping something?’ suggested Fran. ‘In which case that could be the reason they’re a closed community.’

  Libby gasped. ‘You mean like the Costa del Crime?’

  ‘Don’t they say ex-pats are often trying to escape something?’

  ‘Yes – the weather, usually,’ said Libby.

  ‘Alec Wilson himself might have been trying to escape something.’ Fran stopped and looked at Libby.

  ‘And whatever it was caught up with him?’ Libby stopped too. ‘Actually, that makes more sense than anything else.’

  ‘I expect Commander Smith will look into his background,’ said Fran, resuming her now slower pace down the drive, ‘which the local force would never have done.’

  ‘Do you think it’s more likely to be someone or something from his past than something or someone from here?’

  ‘It’s as likely, anyway,’ said Fran. ‘I expect our Johnny will look into it.’

  Back at Jimmy’s they joined the others for lunch and brought them up to date on the morning’s happenings.

  ‘So now we’ve got a high-ranking British police officer involved,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘It wasn’t us!’ said Libby indignantly. ‘It was the consulate.’

  ‘And they felt it was necessary because?’ asked Peter.

  ‘The local force wouldn’t have looked into his background, and we knew he’s been in touch with his long lost mum, so we need to find her,’ said Libby.

  ‘Nothing to do with nosing out a murderer?’ said Harry.

  ‘The consulate want him to do that, of course,’ said Fran, refusing to be roused.

  ‘And he’s actually asked you to help search the victims’ houses?’ Peter sounded incredulous.

  ‘He says the Jandarma wouldn’t do it properly.’ Libby was defensive. ‘And they wouldn’t know if they found anything because they can’t read English.’

  ‘There is that,’ said Guy. ‘Did you tell him about your previous adventures?’

  ‘Yes. Martha had already told him a bit,’ said Fran, ‘although I don’t know why.’

  ‘Because we were investigating,’ said Libby. ‘It was very sensible of her.’

  ‘Because now you can be as nosy as you like,’ said Ben.

  ‘All right, all right.’ Libby sighed. ‘Don’t forget you’re all just as interested. Where’s Betty? We ought to tell her. She took us to Mahmud’s place.’

  ‘Greta and Tom dragged her off to the village,’ said Harry. ‘Walter refused to go and is sulking down by the pool.’

  Libby peered. ‘So he is. I don’t know how she puts up with it. He doesn’t seem to like anything.’

  ‘I went over and asked him if he’d like to join us for lunch, but he said no, he didn’t eat lunch.’ Peter shook his head. ‘Which is a lie. We’ve seen him.’

  ‘Oh, forget about him. We’ll probably see Betty and Greta and Tom later. We’ll tell them then.’ Fran pushed back her chair. ‘I’m going to lie on a sunbed, have a swim, and then a cup of tea.’

  ‘Unless we’re summoned, of course,’ said Libby at exactly the same time as Jimmy called out from his office.

  ‘Libby! Fran! There’s a Mr Smith on the phone for you.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. That OK?’

  ‘Now?’ said Libby. ‘We are on holiday, Mr Smith.’

  ‘But you were already asking questions, weren’t you. So why not come along and give me a hand.’

  Libby sighed and looked at Fran, who nodded. ‘All right. But not too long, please.’

  She handed the phone back to Jimmy. ‘Thanks. We’ll see you later.’

  They went back to where the other four were carefully positioning sunbeds.

  ‘We’re off,’ said Fran. ‘Not r
eally sure we’re doing the right thing. Ian would never let us get this involved.’

  ‘But this bloke is doing it more-or-less as an individual,’ said Harry. ‘He’s not part of the police force.’

  ‘That makes it worse,’ said Fran. ‘But at least he’s a British police officer.’

  ‘But not a Turkish one. It all seems very shambolic to me,’ said Libby, ‘but I suppose we might be able to help.’

  Johnny Smith arrived in a silver hire car a few minutes later.

  ‘Alec Wilson’s first,’ he said after they’d both climbed in to the back seat. ‘See if we can find anything about this mother.’

  ‘We were also wondering if he was running from something when he moved out here,’ said Fran.

  ‘Like that bunch at the Istanbul Palace,’ said Johnny with a nod.

  Libby gasped. ‘You thought that, too?’

  He turned and looked at her, swerving on the dusty road. ‘Of course. I reckon we’d find something in the backgrounds of all those ex-pats.’

  They were driving towards the village, past villas in varying states of completion or disintegration.

  ‘Just up here.’ Johnny slowed the car and peered to the left. ‘There. See, between those two houses.’

  Libby and Fran saw, in a gap between two matching villas, a smaller one almost set into the hillside.

  ‘How do we get to it?’ asked Fran.

  ‘There’s a drive, they said,’ he muttered. ‘Here.’

  The drive was simply a gap between the two matching villas and the one next to them. It led to the side of Alec Wilson’s villa, which was small and unpretentious. Johnny led them to a covered porch and unlocked the front door.

  ‘No police tape,’ said Libby.

  Johnny smiled over his shoulder. ‘No.’

  Fran was following unwillingly. ‘What’s up?’ whispered Libby.

  ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

  Libby stopped and looked at her. Fran nodded.

  ‘Is it the house?’

  Fran shook her head.

  ‘Is it him?’

  Fran nodded. Libby let out a breath. ‘Ah.’

  Johnny was now at the top of the stairs that led to the main living area.

  ‘Johnny, shouldn’t we wait for one of the Jandarma to come?’ Libby called. ‘You said we’d have one of them overseeing us.’

  Johnny’s face appeared over the half-wall at the top of the stairs. ‘They didn’t much care.’

  Libby walked up slowly. ‘I can’t help thinking we shouldn’t be doing this. Not without some proper authorisation.’

  ‘The Jandarma are fine with it.’ He shook the keys in her face. ‘They wouldn’t have given me these, would they?’

  Libby looked over her shoulder. Fran was still at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Fran’s not happy about this,’ she said to Johnny.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I don’t believe in all that sort of thing, you know.’

  Libby was shocked into silence.

  Fran came up the stairs to stand beside her.

  ‘And how did you know?’ she asked.

  ‘You think I didn’t make enquiries?’ He chuckled. ‘I must say, your DCI Connell is very protective of you.’

  ‘You spoke to Ian?’ Libby’s voice came out as a squeak.

  ‘Of course. I don’t take people on trust, even if you do.’ He folded his arms and surveyed them both. ‘Although you’re good to be cautious even if it is a bit late. So why are you,’ he pointed at Fran, ‘worried? Think I’ve got an agenda?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s blunt. What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I just wondered why you’re taking such an interest when you’re not officially involved.’

  ‘A favour, I told you. You wanted it investigated, didn’t you?’

  ‘We wanted to find his mother,’ said Libby. ‘And you haven’t got any resources.’

  ‘We’ve got our eyes.’ Johnny turned back into the room and pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and held out two more pairs for Libby to take.

  ‘Well?’ she whispered to Fran, who shrugged.

  ‘We’ll go along with it, but keep an eye on him.’ Fran pulled on the gloves. ‘Don’t let him take anything away.’

  Alec Wilson’s home was sparsely furnished and very tidy. Johnny had found a drawer full of bills and official documents, including his resident’s permit, in the single bedroom, but apart from that there was nothing to give any sort of clue to either his personality or his relationships.

  ‘It’s as though he didn’t want to exist,’ said Fran, riffling through the few books on a shelf beside the television.

  ‘Does anyone know what he did for a living?’ Libby was taking china out of a cupboard in the kitchen area. ‘Was there a computer?’

  ‘No.’ Johnny wandered back into the living room frowning. ‘But there’s what looks like a charger lead for a laptop. So either the Jandarma have taken it – which is what we would do at home – or it’s been stolen.’

  ‘You know,’ said Libby, ‘his passport was in a little bag tied round his waist when he was found. What about a mobile?’

  Johnny looked blank. ‘No one’s told me about a mobile.’

  ‘Don’t you think you ought to check with them?’ asked Fran. ‘They might have the computer and the mobile phone.’

  ‘And if they have, why didn’t they tell you when you went to get the keys?’ said Libby.

  Johnny stayed silent.

  ‘So what exactly did you tell them?’ asked Fran. ‘Not the truth, apparently.’

  ‘I showed them my Met ID and the letter from my friend in Antalya. They just handed them over.’ He sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of a couch.

  ‘And why did you really want to come?’ Fran sat down opposite him. ‘In the interests of a murdered British citizen?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked surprised. ‘Of course.’

  ‘But that’s not all?’

  ‘I’d rather keep that quiet, if you don’t mind.’ He stood up again. ‘Find anything?’

  ‘No, nothing. Fishing equipment downstairs in the lobby along with scuba stuff,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’ll check out the computer and mobile.’ Johnny started for the stairs. ‘Coming to see Sally Weston’s house?’

  Sally Weston’s lovely villa with its own pool was more productive, although nothing they found in the way of letters was useful. Her computer was password protected, and there was no mobile phone in evidence. She’d been found by the pool, Johnny told them, and there had obviously been no time for the killer to search the upstairs living room before the alarm was raised.

  ‘But she wasn’t found until the evening,’ said Libby. ‘Was she killed during the day?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Johnny, ‘but it seems odd that the killer would leave possible evidence behind unless he or she was scared off.’

  ‘Or just didn’t have time,’ said Fran.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Libby.

  ‘If the killer had to be somewhere else – had to meet someone, perhaps.’

  ‘To provide an alibi,’ suggested Johnny. ‘Yeah, that’s good. Come on, you ladies have another look through her bedroom and then we’ll get you back to your hotel.’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Libby, riffling desultorily through a drawer in the bedside table a few minutes later. ‘She was on the pill.’

  ‘I thought she was older than that,’ said Fran.

  ‘Obviously not.’ Libby picked up a framed photograph. ‘See – this is her.’

  A blonde woman smiled out at them, her arm round the shoulders of a slight, prematurely grey-haired man.

  ‘I wonder if that’s her with Alec Wilson,’ said Fran. ‘There were no photos in his house, were there?’

  ‘No, but it looks as if that was a much more planned killing, doesn’t it? Taking the body out to sea and going back to clean up?’ Li
bby sat on the bed and tapped her chin with the photograph. ‘Whereas this was a panicky murder. Which means that Sally definitely had some kind of knowledge the killer didn’t want made public.’

  ‘Like who he or she was,’ said Johnny, coming into the room. ‘Find anything?’

  Libby held out the photograph. ‘Is that Alec Wilson?’

  ‘No idea. There were no photographs at his house, were there?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen the body?’ asked Fran.

  Johnny looked startled. ‘No. But you have.’

  ‘Not really to look at. It was face down, anyway.’ Libby shuddered. ‘Vile. So you don’t know what he looks like?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘From his passport photograph?’ said Fran. ‘The Jandarma showed it to us.’

  ‘Then can’t you say if that’s him?’ Johnny was frowning.

  ‘No,’ said Libby and Fran together.

  ‘Are there other photographs?’

  ‘Not in here. Probably somewhere, though.’ Libby stood up. ‘Let’s have another look.’

  Finally, Fran came across a shoebox tucked into a cupboard in the kitchen, but it was obvious that the photographs were at least ten years old.

  ‘No one takes ordinary photos any more,’ said Libby. ‘They’re all on phones.’

  ‘But often transferred to computer,’ said Johnny. ‘I’ll take hers with me.’

  He dropped them back at the hotel in time to find the rest of the guests preparing to return to their rooms for tea and showers.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Fran’s suspicious of him,’ said Libby.

  ‘And he does have some kind of agenda,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘He virtually admitted it.’

  ‘And he’s taken Sally Weston’s computer,’ added Libby.

  ‘Are you sure his Met ID was genuine?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It certainly looked it,’ said Fran, ‘and if it wasn’t, how did he know about Martha’s enquiry to the consulate and how did he get the keys from the Jandarma?’

  Harry was staring at the sky. ‘You said he was a commander?’

  ‘Yes.’ Libby turned to look at him.

  ‘In the Met they have commanders in charge of different sections of the force,’ said Harry. ‘I wonder which section he’s in charge of?’