Murder at the Manor Page 9

  ‘I know what I’m going to do,’ said Libby, sitting forward and picking up her guest list. ‘I’m going to ask the guests who were in the other huts if they saw a car.’

  ‘How can you do that?’

  ‘I’ve got all their phone numbers, haven’t I? And their addresses, come to that.’

  ‘Should you be doing this?’ said Ben dubiously. ‘The police might not like it.’

  ‘Bugger the police,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sure this is something they’ve overlooked.’ She pulled the office phone towards her and punched in the number of the guest who’d stayed in one of the other huts. There was no reply until an answerphone kicked in and Libby was required to leave a message, which she did merely requesting the guest to call the Manor.

  ‘That way it simply sounds as if we’ve found an item they left behind or something,’ said Libby, punching in the number of the other guest, who turned out to be Nick Forrest. But the same thing happened and Libby was left frustrated.

  ‘It’s Monday morning,’ said Ben, ‘they’ll be at work.’

  ‘Both those guests are men,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘I put them there because I thought it would be better for men to be roaming about in the dark than women. The only reason Ann Marsh – Melanie – was put there was because she was a late booking.’ She stopped and thought a bit more. ‘Do you know, when I went to tell the guests that breakfast was being served, Nick Forrest was talking to Patrick in the sitting room. He didn’t seem to know anything about what was going on, so it must have been the other guest who found the body. That was what Hetty said, wasn’t it?’

  Ben nodded. Libby checked the list. ‘Paul Fisher.’ She looked up. ‘Haven’t come across him before, have we?’

  ‘Not as in spoken to,’ said Ben, ‘except you must have done when you checked him in.’

  Libby was frowning. ‘Hang on, let’s see. Nina, Jennifer, Fran, Rosie – no discount Rosie –’

  ‘And not Fran?’

  ‘No – I’m counting guests. Start again. Nina, Jennifer, Fran, Lily Cooper, Dee Starkey, Patrick, Nick Forrest, Daniel Hill – those are the only ones I had any real contact with. Then there’s this Paul Fisher and two women who shared a room, Audrey Glenister and Bernice Weldon. And then Ann Marsh. That’s it, that’s the twelve.’

  ‘How did you manage not to talk to them?’ asked Ben.

  ‘They were often with Lily Cooper. Ladies of a certain age,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘Mine. Probably susceptible to Patrick. He had quite a fan club, didn’t he?’

  ‘The aura of glamour.’ Ben turned to his computer. ‘What’s the other bloke’s name? Paul Fisher, wasn’t it. Let’s look him up.’

  But of the many results that came up for the name, none quite seemed to fit the Paul Fisher Libby remembered only as a vague presence.

  ‘Not a published writer, then,’ said Libby, ‘although he could have a pseudonym.’

  ‘But they were all aspiring writers,’ said Ben. ‘You told me.’

  ‘Aspiring novelists,’ corrected Libby. ‘Some, like Jennifer, were published in other spheres.’ She giggled. ‘Like Spank Monthly.’

  Ben waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Shall I take out a subscription for you?’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I can manage without.’ She giggled again, stood up and dropped a kiss on her beloved’s forehead. ‘I’m going to see if Hetty needs me to do anything, then I’m going back home for lunch. Going to join me? I feel the need to get back to normal.’

  ‘Go on, you go. I’ve got more stuff to do here,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll grab a bite with Mum if that’s OK? And can we have something normal at home tonight? At the kitchen table for instance?’

  Libby gave him another kiss. ‘You bet. Back to pipe and slippers today.’

  But later that afternoon, Ben called to say Paul Fisher had called back and what was he supposed to say?

  ‘Give me his number and tell him I’ll call him straight away,’ said Libby, scrabbling for pen and paper.

  Paul Fisher’s voice was cautious when he answered the phone.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Fisher,’ said Libby, ‘and I’m sorry I didn’t manage to speak with you over the weekend, but there were rather difficult circumstances.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Fisher’s voice was unaccented, cool and very slightly hostile.

  ‘I gather you were the unfortunate person who found Melanie Joseph’s body?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘I just wondered whether you’d noticed anything the day before?’

  ‘The police asked me that. No.’

  Definitely hostile.

  ‘And the car?’ persisted Libby.

  ‘The car?’ The hostility slipped a bit.

  ‘There must have been a car each for all three of you guests in the Hoppers’ Huts.’

  ‘Oh … I see.’ There was a pause. ‘No, I don’t think so. Nick and I came by taxi.’

  ‘So you did. No car Saturday either?’

  ‘Not as far as I remember,’ said Fisher, now sounding a little more friendly. ‘Why? Is it important?’

  ‘It might be,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘Did the police ask you about the car?’

  ‘No, they didn’t.’ Fisher sounded surprised now.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Fisher, you’ve been a great help, and I’m sorry to have intruded on your day.’

  ‘Not at all. Is there any way we can keep up with developments? Having been involved with a murder, I’d rather like to know what happens.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Libby. ‘Tell you what, if you send an email to the Manor’s website, I’ll collect the other guests’ e-addresses and I can send a group email to keep you all informed. Not,’ she added, ‘that I’m likely to be able to tell you much, but it’ll be more than is in the papers, I expect.’

  With further expressions of goodwill, they said their goodbyes.

  And Fran phoned.

  ‘We were right.’ She sounded weary. ‘She didn’t die of the stab wound. It was done post mortem.’

  ‘Lordy, lordy!’ said Libby.

  ‘So Murray didn’t need to ask for a full tox screening, it will be done automatically.’

  ‘Was Ian surprised? Did he go to the post mortem?’

  ‘Not his job, but he’s been to see Murray, apparently, and he wants to speak to me.’

  ‘Murray, or Ian?’

  ‘Ian. He didn’t tell Murray about my involvement.’

  ‘Hooray! So we can get the low-down.’

  ‘No, Libby, we can’t. Ian’s still not on the case.’

  ‘When are you seeing him?’

  ‘In the morning. I suppose you want to come?’

  ‘Well, duh! Will he mind?’

  ‘I don’t suppose so. He might be a bit tetchy.’

  ‘He often is,’ said Libby. ‘Thing is, I’ve got something to ask, too.’

  ‘Oh? What?’

  Libby explained about the missing car. ‘And the police didn’t ask about it,’ she concluded.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Fran slowly. ‘That is odd.’

  ‘So I can mention it to Ian?

  ‘Definitely.’ Fran sighed. ‘I do hope he won’t get annoyed with us, though.’

  ‘He will,’ said Libby. ‘What time?’

  Half an hour later Ben arrived with Nick Forrest’s number.

  ‘He left a message just now, so I thought you may as well phone back.’ Ben gave her the piece of paper. ‘I hope it’s worth it.’

  Nick Forrest was initially more forthcoming than Paul Fisher, and confirmed that he hadn’t seen a car.

  ‘But I did hear one in the middle of the night.’

  Libby felt the sensation usually described as her stomach turning over.

  ‘On Saturday?’

  ‘Early hours of Sunday, I would have said,’ said Nick Forrest.

  ‘Did you tell the police this?’

  ‘No, they didn’t ask anything about cars.’

  ‘Mr Forrest –’ began Libby.
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  ‘Nick, please.’

  ‘Nick, this may be very important. I’m not sure, but I think the police may want to talk to you about this.’

  ‘Fine.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Will you keep me informed?’

  Libby repeated her suggestion of a group email. ‘And I’ll let you know if the police need to speak to you. I’m seeing them tomorrow.’

  ‘Right.’ He sounded even more puzzled, but Libby wasn’t about to enlighten him.

  ‘Thank you so much, Nick. I’ll be in touch.’ Libby switched off the phone and went to report to Ben in the kitchen.

  ‘Looks as though you’re getting involved again,’ he said, stirring the contents of a saucepan on the Aga. ‘Is this bolognese?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby, affronted, ‘and just for that you can cook the spaghetti.’

  The following morning, Fran and Libby met outside Canterbury Police Station and were shown to Ian’s new office.

  ‘Bit different from last time I was here,’ said Libby, looking round. ‘Being interviewed by our Donnie.’

  Ian’s lips twitched.

  ‘Well, this time it’s me, Libby. And I don’t remember inviting you.’

  ‘But you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to tell you,’ said Libby brightly. ‘Betcha.’

  Ian sighed. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Tell me the whole story, right from the beginning. I don’t know anything, remember.’

  ‘You should have taken the case in the first place,’ said Libby.

  ‘Libby!’ said Fran.

  ‘Maybe I should,’ said Ian, ‘but I really couldn’t. I had to claim personal knowledge.’

  ‘Of us?’ asked Libby.

  ‘And the Manor. And DCI Murray had investigated there before, hadn’t he? So it made sense that he took it. However –’

  ‘However?’ prompted Libby.

  ‘I’ve spoken to him this morning and told him I might have some information. It’s extremely irregular, and we’ve not worked together that well before, but he’s not interested in keeping it to himself. He’s on the downward road to retirement, and Mrs Murray’s getting impatient for her Spanish villa on the golf course.’

  ‘She’ll miss our pantomimes,’ giggled Libby.

  ‘So you haven’t read the case files yet?’ asked Fran.

  ‘No. I’m relying on you two.’ He looked from Fran to Libby. ‘Although I didn’t invite you, I knew somehow you’d be here.’

  So they told him the whole story as they’d seen it from their point of view, including Fran’s feeling that Melanie hadn’t been stabbed and she’d seen her drinking.

  ‘And you don’t know where it was? It didn’t look familiar?’ said Ian.

  ‘No. I was just certain she hadn’t died from a stab wound.’

  ‘And you were right. Now, Libby, what did you have to tell me?’

  Libby told him.

  ‘And no one asked them about a car?’ Ian was frowning. ‘Right. Stay here.’

  He left the room and Fran and Libby looked at one another.

  ‘Castle and Sarjeant to the rescue again,’ said Libby.

  ‘Wolfe,’ corrected Fran with a sigh.

  ‘But Castle and Sarjeant go together so much better, don’t you think? Could be the name of a detective series on tv.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  IAN CAME BACK INTO the room, swivelled a computer towards him and tapped something in.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘DS Wallingford appears not to have seen the significance of the missing car, and obviously no one else did. Tell me again, Libby, why there should have been a car, or why you should have seen or heard one.’

  Libby repeated the conclusions she and Ben had reached the day before.

  ‘So,’ said Ian, frowning, ‘she had to arrive by car or taxi. Any other way?’

  ‘Helicopter?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘By bus,’ said Ian, exasperated.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Libby doubtfully, ‘but there’s only one an hour from Canterbury to Nethergate – and that’s an improvement. Never used to be able to go direct.’

  ‘And would there have been one at the relevant time?’

  Libby looked at Fran. ‘There must have been one sometime during the afternoon, but I left my post at the front quite late and she hadn’t checked in then. And it was just before dinner I noticed she had checked in. So between half five and just gone six. You could check the bus timetable.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we will,’ said Ian. He sat back in his chair and looked at them. ‘If it wasn’t for the body, I’d say she was a fantasy guest.’

  ‘Who ate takeaways,’ said Fran.

  ‘Takeaways?’ repeated Ian.

  ‘In the bin in her room,’ said Libby. ‘When Ben and I showed him her room. We assumed she didn’t want her husband to see her until she confronted him – or something like that.’

  ‘Confronted him? What about?’

  Libby sighed. ‘You really don’t know much about the case, do you? Patrick Joseph has a reputation with the ladies. Apparently, he and the organiser of the weekend had a thing going. We thought his wife had come to find out for herself. I’m sure that’s covered in the case notes. This woman was seen wandering about the house in her nightclothes in the very early morning. They questioned her quite thoroughly, I know that, because I was the one who told them about it.’

  ‘You saw her? But I thought you stayed at home overnight.’

  ‘Hetty saw her and told me. So I told DC Sharif, and he told Wallingford.’

  ‘Right.’ Ian frowned down at his desk. ‘Anything else you can tell me? Don’t tell me you haven’t been doing some investigations of your own.’

  ‘We looked up everyone we’d met on the internet,’ said Fran. ‘We couldn’t find anything much. There were plenty of motives for trying to hurt Patrick, although I wouldn’t have thought any of them would resort to murder.’

  ‘What sort of motives?’

  ‘Mainly concerning books he wouldn’t help them with,’ Fran explained. ‘But, unless Libby’s theory that it was mistaken identity is true, I can’t see that motives to kill Patrick help at all.’

  ‘How would the mistaken identity theory work?’ Ian asked Libby, his stern face relaxing a trifle.

  ‘If someone stabbed Melanie thinking she was Patrick,’ said Libby, colour seeping up her neck. ‘Of course, now we know she wasn’t stabbed – or rather – she was, but …’ She trailed off.

  ‘Exactly.’ Ian stood up. ‘I shall have a chat with DCI Murray and review the case. If I need to, I know where I can find you.’ He sighed. ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘That’s what Ben said,’ said Libby. ‘And can you find out what it was Nina Etherington wanted to talk to the police about? Or if she did? She said she would, but Murray and Wallingford hadn’t heard from her last time we spoke.’

  ‘I’ll see. Oh, and Libby,’ said Ian as they were leaving, ‘if I come down to the Manor, will you take me over the relevant sites?’

  ‘Won’t you want one of the detectives to do that?’

  ‘No. I want you to do it.’

  ‘Well! He wants me!’ said Libby smugly as she and Fran left the station.

  ‘Don’t you go flirting with him again,’ warned Fran.

  ‘As if I would,’ said Libby, guiltily pushing down the instinctive attraction she felt for their Byronic policeman friend.

  ‘We certainly seem to have done it again,’ said Fran. ‘Are we having lunch in the pub?’

  ‘Will they let us leave the cars in the station car park?’ asked Libby.

  ‘We’ll risk it,’ said Fran. ‘Come on.’

  Their favourite Canterbury pub was tucked down a back street and their favourite barman was still behind the bar.

  ‘Ladies!’ he said, bustling towards them. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. How’s the lovely Harry?’

  They exchanged gossip for a few moments before ordering sandwiches and soft drinks.

  ‘So Ian took us seriously,’ said Libby.

>   ‘He always does in the end,’ said Fran, ‘but I expect he and Murray will have to run it all by the Superintendent. I don’t suppose Murray’s going to be too pleased about having shortcomings in his investigation shown up, retirement or no.’

  Their sandwiches arrived, overstuffed and delicious, and for a while conversation lapsed.

  ‘Do you remember, this was where we first met,’ said Libby, through a mouthful of tuna and cress.

  ‘And you hated me because I was with Ben,’ said Fran, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘There really was nothing between you, was there?’ said Libby after a moment, looking down at her plate.

  ‘Libby!’ Fran was astonished. ‘After all this time? You know there wasn’t. There never had been. He was a client.’

  Libby looked up and grinned. ‘That makes it sound even worse.’

  Fran spluttered over her orange juice.

  Half an hour later they strolled back to the police station to find a message stuck under the wiper on Libby’s windscreen.

  ‘From Ian,’ she said. ‘Listen: “When you deign to come and pick up your cars –” sarky “– let the desk sergeant know. I’d like to come out to the Manor this afternoon.” Suppose I didn’t have time? Cheek.’

  Fran laughed. ‘Then I expect he’d go on his own.’

  Libby bridled. ‘No, he needs me to show him where everything happened.’

  ‘It’s a courtesy,’ said Fran with a grin. ‘After all, Ben could do the same thing, and Ben’s on the spot, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, all right. Come on, let’s go and tell the desk sergeant.’

  ‘You go,’ said Fran. ‘I’m off. Let me know what happens.’

  But when Libby entered the foyer of the police station Ian was already there.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Libby, ‘weren’t we meant to leave our cars there?’

  ‘The car park spaces are supposed to be for people with legitimate business here,’ said Ian, ushering her back down the steps. ‘Now, you get going and I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Very sure of yourself, aren’t you,’ muttered Libby.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ian, not turning as he walked away. Libby blushed and cursed.

  Inevitably, Ian’s sleek dark car was already parked in front of the Manor by the time Libby’s Romeo the Renault arrived. Ian himself was gazing at the poster on the front of the Oast House Theatre.