Murder at the Laurels (29 page)

‘Here,' he said, holding out a grubby black object.

Barbara screamed.

‘It wasn't half past seven, was it Mrs Denver?' said Murray quietly. ‘Your ladies arrived at seven.'

Libby looked at Paul, who now stared at his mother, his face grey.

‘And you arrived
here
at nearly half past eight, Paul,' said Fran. ‘Where were you all that time?'

A silence that seemed to stretch the nerves was finally broken by another scream from Barbara, Nurse Warner slumping to the floor and Paul trying to run through the flat and out on to the fire escape. Fran moved over to Libby and collapsed against her friend. Libby gave her a hug and discovered that she was trembling.

Paul was brought back through the flat in handcuffs, Barbara and Nurse Warner were attended to by kind and sensible-looking police constables, and Fran and Libby were escorted downstairs by Murray and Connell.

‘Told you so,' said Murray to Connell, triumphantly. ‘I said she'd come up trumps.'

Connell looked at Fran and suddenly held out his hand. He's really quite attractive, thought Libby.

‘Thank you, Mrs Castle,' he said.

‘So what exactly did you do and how did you do it,' said Libby, driving Romeo carefully out of Nethergate and feeling rather light-headed.

‘I wondered if there was a discrepancy between the time Paul left Blagstock House and arrived at Sue Warner's. Then I wondered if Warner was lying to save her own skin. It was terribly confusing. And I kept seeing this cloak. That was the only thing I actually
saw
, in the way Murray wanted me to, and then, when I was asleep, I had that dream again, the one I had in the train, where I saw a face over Eleanor's shoulder. Remember, I told you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And it was Paul.'

‘But why?'

‘He was searching for the will, I suppose, and Eleanor had to be kept quiet.'

‘And last night?'

‘I expect he called Redding after I'd seen her on Saturday, or she called him, and he seduced her into taking him along. I don't know. Murray'll tell us. Now, just let's go home. I could sleep for a week.'

Chapter Thirty-seven

F
RAN HELD A LITTLE
drinks party on the Tuesday night. She had refused to talk to anyone, except briefly to Guy and Libby to say she would tell them all about it together, as it would save breath, and anyway, she would be out most of Tuesday. Harry left Donna in charge of the restaurant, and he and Peter gave everyone champagne and then sat on the floor. Ben sat on the arm of Libby's chair, Guy sat next to Fran on the sofa and Libby was given dispensation to smoke.

‘Later,' said Libby. ‘Go on, Fran, tell us what happened.'

‘This is pieced together from what Barbara, Paul, Warner and Headlam have said to the police. Murray seems to have got it more or less right.' She took a deep breath and a sip of champagne. ‘Apparently, what happened was that Paul learnt from Sue Warner that Eleanor had made this codicil. He and his mother decided they would have to find it, and either get Eleanor to change her mind or destroy it. As far as anyone knew, there wasn't another copy. And there wasn't, by the way, but it was quite legal.

‘Paul's habit was to push Eleanor outside the french windows “for a breath of air” and then search her room. According to Warner, Redding found him doing this, and he charmed her into submission. He wasn't above actually using Eleanor's bed if the need arose.'

Harry snorted. Everyone looked at him.

‘Sorry.'

‘So she began to pursue him, and because he still wanted her on his side, he went along with it, at the same time carrying on his affair with Warner. On Eleanor's birthday, Redding actually found the will and the codicil and took it, intending to give it to Paul, which is why she burst in on him with Warner, not knowing Warner was there. Furious, she ordered Warner out, then the bell rang and she went off to let Barbara in. Paul, still not knowing the will had been found, brought Eleanor back in and started a hasty search, but Eleanor must have kicked up a fuss. So he smothered her. Then left through the french windows, doubled back and was seen entering as if for the first time by the gardener.

‘Neither of the nurses said anything about him being there because of the circumstances.'

‘What about the two witnesses?' asked Ben.

‘Warner had their names, so he tracked them down not long after the codicil was written.'

‘How did the police connect him to their deaths?' asked Peter.

‘Murray told me they'd done all the forensics and knew what sort of car had been used, but no one connected to the case had a car like it, and nothing had been reported as stolen. Once they decided Paul was the murderer (before we did, Libby) they started to go through people he might have known who had that sort of car.'

‘He wouldn't have borrowed a car, surely?' said Harry.

‘No, but he did hire one,' said Fran.

‘How bloody stupid,' said Peter. ‘He must have known he'd be caught.'

‘Apparently, there are some dubious car-hire operations who don't ask to see driving licences, but ask for huge deposits. He used one of those in London.'

‘So how did the police find it? The hire firm, I mean?' said Libby.

‘The indispensable police computer, I gather,' grinned Fran. ‘When leant on, the owner didn't know nuffink, just tried to help people out, like.'

‘So did they get DNA off it?' asked Harry.

‘I think so. That sort of clinched it.'

‘So the will was valid, was it?' said Libby, returning to the main theme.

‘Oh, yes. The handwriting was Marion Headlam's, by the way, but signed properly by Eleanor.'

‘Why couldn't anyone find it?' asked Guy.

‘She'd hidden it down the side of a drawer, much like she'd hidden the will in London. Redding took it home with her after the murder. She put it back because she was still angry with Paul and suspected he and his mother might inherit. Her job was important to her after her disgrace at the hospital.'

‘What disgrace?' asked Harry, looking interested.

Everyone looked at him again.

‘Oh, all right,' he said, and sank back against the wall. Peter patted him on the leg.

‘When I went to see her on Saturday morning – God, it seems a lifetime away – she decided on a bit of blackmail, Murray says. So she phoned him up, and he then went round to her flat, seduced her all over again, and asked if he could go to the meeting with her that night.'

‘If he was in her flat, why didn't he kill her there?' asked Peter.

‘It was daylight, he could have been seen going in or out, and he'd leave DNA.' Fran shrugged. ‘That's what I think, anyway. So he left his mother's just after seven, when her ladies came – and why she thought they'd all agree that they didn't arrive until seven thirty, I don't know – went to pick Redding and the cloaks up, and off they went. They were naked under the cloaks, you know.'

Harry's face brightened and he opened his mouth. Everyone looked at him again.

‘So, after he'd garrotted her –' Fran's audience shifted uncomfortably, ‘– he threw her clothes into the woods, put his own clothes on, and went off to pick up Nurse Warner and take her to work. Then home to Mummy, where he hid the cloak.'

‘Did Mummy know any of this?' asked Libby.

‘Murray thinks she knew most of it, which was why she was so scared.'

‘So Warner was lying about him getting there at seven thirty?' asked Peter, with the air of one manfully trying to keep up.

‘Yes. That was what I'd picked up on, obviously, although I didn't actually know. After the police had asked Paul about his movements, they rang Nurse Warner at The Laurels.'

‘On Saturday night?' asked Guy.

‘Yes. But Paul got in first and asked her to lie for him.'

‘Why on earth did she? She must have known then what was going on,' said Libby.

‘Search me. I think she was frightened of him. And she was infatuated, of course. Oh – and she thought he was going to be rich.'

‘So,' said Peter, frowning, ‘let's get this straight. He left Mummy just after seven, picked up Nurse Redding, took her to the woods, killed her and went to Nurse Warner's by twenty past eight, then back home just before nine. So both Barbara and Nurse Warner were lying to protect him.'

‘And Barbara tried to implicate Nurse Warner,' said Libby. ‘I was there when she did that.'

‘That's right. Barbara found the cloak and wanted to incriminate somebody, so went and put it in a bin near Warner's flat, not thinking it would also incriminate her beloved Paul. I actually saw her do it. I mean, in my head.'

‘You clever girl,' said Guy, and gave her a kiss.

‘More champers,' said Peter, getting up and popping another cork.

‘And so Marion Headlam inherits most of Eleanor's estate,' said Libby, finally lighting a cigarette and propping herself once again on the windowsill.

‘Yes. Not that there's much of it,' said Fran.

‘Oh, dear. Cousin Charles?' said Ben.

‘Not exactly,' said Fran. ‘My Uncle Frank.'

‘What?'

‘Apparently, according to this Mr Meade who telephoned me yesterday afternoon, my father and Uncle Frank owned the house in Mountville Road between them, and it was to be left to their heirs.'

A silence fell.

‘So –' said Libby.

‘I'm the only heir. Frank's will said Eleanor was allowed to live there for her lifetime, but it would revert to me when she died. I believe that's when she killed him, when she found out. Probably in a temper.'

‘So it was all for nothing,' said Harry, in an awed voice.

Fran nodded.

‘And you're a rich woman,' said Guy, scowling at her.

‘And did it say anything about – well, you know, about Frank and –'

‘My mum?' said Fran. ‘No. It referred to me throughout as Herbert's daughter.'

‘But it all comes to you?' said Peter.

‘And you can buy somewhere to live!' said an overjoyed Libby. ‘Oh, Fran, congratulations!'

‘And where will that be?' asked Ben.

‘Oh, down here, of course,' said Fran, to a delighted cheer.

‘Brilliant,' said Peter.

‘Fabe,' said Harry.

‘Where?' said Ben.

‘I'm really pleased,' said Guy.

Fran twinkled at him.

‘So was Inspector Connell,' she said.

First Chapter of
Murder in Midwinter

‘
B
LOODY AWFUL, AREN'T THEY?
' muttered Peter Parker, as Libby Sarjeant returned to her seat in the auditorium to pick up her script and basket, having dismissed the cast of
Jack and the Beanstalk
after a fairly dismal rehearsal.

‘No worse than they were for
The Hop Pickers
. They'll be all right.' Libby crossed her fingers.

‘Sure we haven't bitten off more than we can chew?' Peter wound a scarf round his neck as they went into the foyer.

‘Oh, I expect so. After all, we don't do things by halves, do we?' Libby went to switch off the lights. ‘Our first play, written by you in a theatre owned by your family and converted by your cousin Ben was somewhat marred by a murder, so in a spirit of reckless abandon, we decide to do a pantomime, also written by you, with musicians we've never worked with and an inexperienced cast.'

Peter held the glass doors open for her. ‘Piece of cake,' he grinned.

‘Not, of course, to mention the fact that in amongst all this we have Christmas and your wedding.'

‘Civil Partnership, dearie,' he corrected.

‘Same thing. How's it going, anyway?'

‘Nothing to it.' Peter shrugged. ‘Harry's doing it all.'

Libby raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

The pub, in the middle of the village High Street, had appeared on many postcards and calendars. With its hanging baskets now filled with seasonal holly, the windows shining like golden nuggets in the darkness, Libby decided it would make a great Christmas card. Inside, the fire was roaring, and several members of the cast were herded together in the smaller of the two bars. Harry, Peter's intended and owner of The Pink Geranium, still in chef's trousers but with a fleece jacket instead of his whites, waved a pint in their direction.

‘Hello, dear hearts,' he said. ‘What are you having?'

‘Lager, please,' said Libby. ‘You're early, aren't you?'

‘He shouldn't be working at all,' said Peter. ‘Monday's usually his day off.'

‘Oh, yes. Why is he, then?'

‘Christmas party. Special booking. Loads of them between now and the big day.'

Harry handed them both glasses. ‘Need all the dosh we can get for
our
big day, dear,' he said.

Libby changed the subject. ‘Anyone seen Fran?'

‘She's in London seeing to the house sale,' said Harry. ‘She popped in this morning on her way out.'

‘Good, because she forgot to tell me she was going and I was without a Baroness at the rehearsal tonight.'

‘Where's young Ben, then?' asked Harry, making a dive for a table that had just become free.

‘He said he'd meet us here,' said Libby. ‘He popped in to see his mum.'

‘Uncle Greg's not too well again,' said Peter. ‘I just hope he doesn't get worse before Christmas.'

‘So do I.' Libby looked gloomy.

‘Because you might lose your wicked Baron?' said Harry mischievously.

‘No!' Libby was indignant. ‘Because it's awful to lose someone at any time of year, but Christmas is worse, somehow.'

‘Ey-up,' said Harry suddenly. ‘Don't look now, but guess who's just come in?'

‘Who?' said Libby, turning round immediately. ‘Blimey!'

‘Who is it?' Peter craned round her to see.

‘It's that inspector, you know, Connell.'

‘He's still after Fran,' said Harry with glee.

‘He's not after Fran,' said Libby, although she was by no means sure. Inspector Connell had been involved in a recent murder investigation during which he had met both Libby and Fran, and afterwards had showed a marked predilection for Fran's company.

Peter snorted.

‘Good evening, Mrs Sarjeant.'

Libby looked up at the tall, dark man looming over the table. ‘Good evening, Inspector Connell,' she said. ‘I'm afraid Fran isn't here. She's in London.'

‘I know. I spoke to her this morning.'

‘Oh.' Libby was taken aback.

‘Just wanted to say hello.' He nodded affably round the table. ‘I'll see you before the trial, I expect.'

‘Oh, God, another trial,' moaned Libby, as he moved away to join a group of people on the other side of the fireplace. ‘Never had anything to do with the police in my life and now I've got two trials to go to. In less than a year!'

‘Well, you could have stayed out of the last one,' said Peter, reasonably. ‘You didn't have to get involved.'

‘But it was Fran. She needed me.'

‘Well, it obviously wasn't Fran he was here for tonight,' said Harry, still staring at the imposing back of Inspector Connell. ‘I wonder why she called him this morning?'

‘We're supposed to keep the police informed if we go anywhere,' explained Libby. ‘In case they need us for more questions or anything.'

‘Is that normal?' asked Peter. ‘Or just because Connell's interested in Fran?'

‘Oh, I don't know,' said Libby. ‘Stop badgering.'

‘Is Fran still after that cottage in Nethergate?' said Harry, still watching Connell.

Peter followed his gaze. ‘Hoy. Eyes right, love.'

‘I was just wondering if it was him or Guy she wanted to be in Nethergate for,' said Harry, patting Peter's hand.

‘Why should it be either?' Libby finished her lager. ‘She just wants to buy the cottage back that should have been hers. I don't blame her, either. It's a gorgeous location.'

‘But unhappy memories, I would have thought,' said Peter.

‘Not any more. She seems to have exorcised those. She just remembers the holidays. Happy memories.'

‘She certainly seems to have honed her – what do you call them – psychic powers? Doesn't she?' said Harry.

‘Because she needed to use them,' said Libby. ‘She's not so frightened of them now, although she still doesn't trust them properly.'

‘And what about your idea of a detective agency?' grinned Harry.

‘Your idea, you mean. You were the one who started it.' Libby grinned back. ‘I still think it's a great idea.'

‘Libby, don't be daft,' said Peter. ‘You said yourself, the police always get there before you do.'

‘Ah, but not always the same way. And anyway, there are bound to be little matters which wouldn't interest the police, like finding out about houses –'

‘Fran does that already, for Goodall and Smythe,' put in Harry.

‘No, things about houses people already own. Or things they've lost. Oh, I don't know. There must be loads.'

‘Well, let Fran get settled before you go involving her in hare-brained schemes,' said Peter. ‘As you so rightly said earlier on, there's a lot going on at the moment. She's trying to sell the London house, buy the Nethergate cottage and be the Baroness in our panto.'

Libby felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘And just where
was
my Baroness tonight?'

She looked up and smiled, thrilled to find her solar plexus quivering at the sight of her beloved, even though they'd now been together for several months and she should be used to it.

‘What-ho, Ben,' said Harry. ‘Are you buying?'

‘All right, but I still want to know where Fran was,' said Ben, giving his cousin Peter a friendly clap on the shoulder. Libby explained about Fran while she went with him to the bar.

‘She forgot,' she said, ‘she's got a lot on her mind.'

‘And I don't think Guy's helping,' said Ben, handing her two glasses.

‘Guy? Why? He's really keen, although I'm not sure about her,' said Libby, weaving through bodies towards their table. Guy Wolfe had also been peripherally involved in the recent investigation and had almost managed to appoint himself Fran's significant other. But not quite.

‘Too keen, and a bit jealous.'

‘Oh, yes.' Libby nodded towards the group by the fireplace. ‘Inspector Connell.'

Ben looked surprised. ‘What's he doing here?'

‘Meeting friends, by the look of things,' said Harry, accepting his drink. ‘Nothing to do with Fran, apparently.'

Ben looked at Libby.

‘True. He knew she'd gone to London.'

‘Ah.'

‘You wait till tomorrow,' muttered Libby. ‘She's got some explaining to do.'

‘It's her own business, Lib,' said Ben, gently.

‘Not if it affects my pantomime,' said Libby, ‘then it's mine.'

Later, as Ben and Libby walked back to her cottage in Allhallow's Lane, he returned to the subject.

‘Aren't you and Fran getting on so well any more?'

Libby looked at him, surprised. ‘Of course we are. Why?'

‘You seemed a bit put out with her.'

‘Only because she's been holding out on me. I don't call that friendly.'

‘You said she forgot the rehearsal.'

‘That's what Harry said. I think she talks to him more than she does to me.' Libby sounded grumpy.

‘See, you're not getting on so well.' Ben dug her in the ribs.

‘Well,
I
thought we were. She obviously doesn't.'

They turned into Allhallow's Lane. The lilac and cherry trees overhanging the old brick wall on the left poked bare branches at their hair and scraped eerily on the wall.

‘Do you remember when I first asked if you wanted me to see you home?' said Ben, squeezing Libby's arm.

‘And I said no. And then regretted it.'

‘Did you?' Ben turned to look at her. ‘Oh, good.'

She smiled at him. ‘Yes,' she said.

* * *

Libby was drinking tea at the kitchen table the following morning when the phone rang.

‘It's me,' said Fran. ‘I'm so sorry about last night. I meant to get back in time, but I got held up and my mobile ran out of charge.'

‘OK.' Libby took the phone back into the kitchen with her and turfed Sidney, her overfed silver tabby, off her chair. ‘I thought you were staying up there overnight.'

‘How did you know I'd gone?'

‘Harry told me.'

‘Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry. I didn't get home until after midnight.'

‘How did you get back from the station?'

‘Taxi.' There was no mistaking the triumph in Fran's voice. ‘You just cannot imagine the joy of being able to afford a taxi.'

‘Oh, I can,' said Libby, who couldn't.

‘Anyway, the house is sold – more or less –'

‘To those developers?'

‘Yes. Well, once I found out about what had happened there I didn't want to keep it. So now all I've got to do is sort out the Nethergate cottage and I'll be done.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Libby, remembering, ‘that Inspector Connell turned up at the pub last night.'

There was a short silence. ‘Did he?' said Fran eventually.

‘It's all right, he wasn't there to see you,' said Libby, slightly maliciously. ‘He was meeting friends.'

‘Oh.'

‘But he said you'd called him that morning.'

‘No. He called me. To say he was meeting friends in the pub and if I was around could he buy me a drink.'

‘I thought you'd rung him.'

‘Why would I do that?'

‘I don't know,' said Libby, exasperated. ‘I thought you were keeping something from me.'

‘A secret affair with Inspector Connell?' Fran laughed.

‘He's quite attractive.'

‘I know. So's Guy.'

‘Who's acting like a terrier with a bone, I gather?'

‘Who says?'

‘Ben. I don't know how he knew, though.'

‘Libby, you live in a small rural community. Even I know how gossip spreads in a place like this.'

‘Really? Well, can you tell me? Because I can never work it out.'

Fran laughed. ‘Come off it. You're one of the nosiest people I know.'

Libby sniffed. ‘I find out things. So do you.' She paused. ‘Harry was asking about the detective agency last night.'

Fran sighed. ‘Oh, Libby, be serious. Do you really want to go through all the complications of setting up a business? Trying to get clients? Just because we've been involved in a couple of murders by accident?'

‘Don't trivialise them!'

‘I'm not, but it's very different being involved because you actually
are
involved to barging into an investigation.'

‘I wasn't thinking of doing that,' said Libby indignantly. ‘It was more lost items, or – or well, what you do already, but not for estate agents.'

‘Well, it's not on, whatever it is,' said Fran. ‘Now, would you like to come to lunch and I'll tell you about the house progress and everything?'

‘Great,' said Libby, cheering up. ‘I'll bring a bottle. What time?'