Murder in Steeple Martin (25 page)

‘I remember …’ Harry began, and then, after a quick look at Peter, stopped. Peter patted his thigh.

‘Haven’t they got DNA from it?’ Libby asked. Harry looked frightened.

‘How do I know? Mine could be on it, come to that,’ said James. ‘Perhaps that’s why they pulled me in.’

‘In that case,’ said Libby robustly, ‘they would have pulled in half of Steeple Martin, let alone Canterbury.’

‘Oh – and she was pregnant. I had to give a DNA sample.’

There was a shocked silence.

‘Well. At least you’ll know if it was yours,’ said Libby, uncertainly.

Peter and Harry exchanged glances, while James sat back and closed his eyes. Libby surveyed them all for a moment before draining her glass.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’d better be off. You can fill me in on any of the details I miss later. But the theatre has to be opened and I’m behind the bar again.’

Harry sprang up. ‘Dear heart, you haven’t eaten,’ he said.

‘I had lunch with Fran before she went,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll save you something in the caff for afterwards. Bring the kinder with you.’ Harry flung her cape round her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

‘Thank you, Harry.’ Libby smiled up at him. ‘Look after the boys.’

Chapter Thirty

L
IBBY WAS SURPRISED TO
see Peter accompanying her children in to the theatre a little later.

‘I thought I ought to make sure they knew the way,’ he said, after rapturous greetings had been exchanged and much ceremony employed in escorting them to their seats. ‘Just because of our little domestic problem, it doesn’t mean they should suffer.’

‘As long as James is all right,’ said Libby, preparing to wash glasses.

‘Not exactly all right, but relieved. He’s staying at ours tonight, and said he might come down to the caff later to see you and the children.’

‘Well, at least we know a bit more about the circumstances, now. That should help,’ said Libby.

‘Why would it help? We don’t need to know, now, do we? My mum’s off the hook and so is James. They obviously never seriously considered Harry or Ben, so we haven’t got to worry any more.’

Libby didn’t answer. Now detective fever had gripped her, it was going to be hard to let it go, even if her nearest and dearest were no longer threatened. Especially if Millie wasn’t responsible for the accidents. That meant someone was still out there with animosity directed towards – whom? The Family (there it was again, capital letters), the theatre, or Libby herself?

‘Come on, Lib, what are you thinking?’ Peter came round the bar and began to dry glasses. ‘Don’t start being nosy just for the sake of it.’

‘I know,’ sighed Libby. ‘I just want to get to the bottom of it. Don’t you?’

‘No. I don’t want anything more to do with it,’ said Peter. ‘I just want my life to go back to normal. And so should you.’

There was no more opportunity for conversation after that, as Stephen and several members of the back-stage crew drifted in wanting to hear about James’s ordeal. Ben appeared during the interval, and after being introduced to Belinda, Dominic and Adam, took them in charge and gave them as much of a guided tour as was possible. To Libby’s surprise, just as the audience was going back into the auditorium, David turned up, looking even more harassed than usual.

‘David!’ said Libby, surprised. ‘Are you all right? Can I get you a drink?’

Ben and Peter appeared either side of him.

‘Oh, a beer, please,’ said David. ‘Whatever you’ve got. What does everybody else want?’

‘Give the man a pint, Lib,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll get it. And whatever Pete’s having.’

‘How’s Mum?’ said Peter. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Fine, fine,’ said David, taking a grateful swig of his beer. ‘James phoned her, but I don’t think she realises what’s been going on. Very relieved about James, Pete, goes without saying.’

‘Thanks,’ said Peter, gruffly.

‘Libby, sorry I was a bit – er –’

‘Grumpy?’ suggested Libby.

‘Rude,’ said David with a wry grin. ‘I can’t stand this police attitude that they can question anybody with impunity.’

‘But they can,’ said Ben. ‘They have to. I know they can seem rather insensitive …’

‘Look at the way they hauled poor old James in,’ continued David, as if Ben hadn’t spoken. ‘Just because she was supposed to be expecting his baby.’

‘Supposed to be?’ said Peter.

There was a short silence. ‘I don’t know, do I?’ said David eventually. ‘I only know what’s been said. I thought that was the general idea?’

‘Do you know the results of the post-mortem, David?’ asked Libby. ‘Wouldn’t they tell you, as a doctor and the person who discovered the body?’

‘I haven’t asked,’ said David huffily. ‘I didn’t even pronounce her dead. The police surgeon did that.’

‘Come on, Lib, it doesn’t matter any more,’ said Peter. ‘Leave it alone.’

Libby sighed and smiled and returned to her washing up. Ben and Peter took David over to one of the tables by the window.

It was just before the end of the play when he came back to Libby at the bar.

‘Libby, I think there’s something you ought to know,’ he said, leaning forward almost conspiratorially.

‘Oh? What about?’

‘This isn’t really the place to talk about it.’ He looked briefly over his shoulder to where Ben and Peter still sat at the table.

‘Is it Millie?’

‘Not exactly. Look, Libby, if I could pop by just to have a word later, perhaps?’

‘Sorry David, but later would be about midnight by the time I’ve closed the bar and the theatre, and I’ve got my children staying this weekend. They’re in there watching now.’ Libby didn’t mention the planned visit to The Pink Geranium in case David decided to gate-crash.

‘Oh, right.’ He frowned. ‘I really am sorry, but I think it might be – well – urgent. I just don’t want to say anything …’ Once again, he looked towards Ben and Peter. Which of them he was worried about Libby couldn’t tell.

‘Shall I pop in to the surgery tomorrow morning?’ she asked. ‘Or don’t you have a surgery on Saturdays?’

‘Emergencies only,’ said David, ‘but I’m often in there catching up on paper-work. If you’re sure you don’t mind? Only it’s been worrying me.’

Intrigued, Libby confirmed that she wouldn’t mind at all, and looking more or less satisfied, David said goodbye, waved at Ben and Peter and left.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Peter, bringing their empty glasses over just as a burst of clapping heralded the end of the play.

‘He was still apologising,’ said Libby. ‘He’s very concerned about Millie, you know, Pete.’

‘I know he is,’ sighed Peter. ‘He’s a good bloke, David. Just a bit dull.’

‘What an indictment!’ said Ben, coming up behind. ‘My poor brother-in-law.’

‘Well, he is. Whoops – here we go. Prepare for more compliments, Lib.’

The doors to the auditorium were hooked back and the audience began to emerge. First to appear were Belinda, Dominic and Adam, who made a concerted rush towards their mother. Peter shooed her out from behind the bar and took her place, and for ten minutes she basked in the admiration of her family, while fielding more compliments from other members of the public.

To her surprise, DCI Murray appeared with a pretty, plump woman clinging to his arm.

‘Des Cole said how good it was,’ said Murray, holding out a hand and looking embarrassed. ‘We were lucky to get tickets.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ said Libby, delighted. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Oh, it was lovely,’ said the woman, ‘much better than the telly.’

‘My wife,’ introduced DCI Murray. ‘Loves the theatre. Always going to the one in Canterbury.’

‘The Marlowe, you know. I like the musicals,’ confided Mrs Murray.

‘Well, I’m really pleased you came to see us,’ said Libby. ‘Do you like our theatre?’

‘It’s really sweet,’ said Mrs Murray. ‘Just like a real one.’

Libby heard a variety of smothered snorts from her assembled children and hurried on.

‘We’ll have to put you on the mailing list, then,’ she said, guiding the Murrays to the other end of the bar where a perspex container held the newly printed forms. ‘Just fill one of these in and we’ll let you know what’s coming up. We’re hoping to do a pantomime in January.’

‘Oh, lovely!’ exclaimed Mrs Murray. ‘I do love panto. We could bring the grandchildren, Donnie.’

Donnie, glaring at his oblivious wife, muttered what could have been an agreement.

‘And I’m so glad you didn’t have to question Mrs Parker,’ said Libby, turning to him. ‘And so are her sons.’

‘Ah, well, yes,’ mumbled Murray. ‘Can’t really talk about it, now, of course.’

‘No, of course not,’ soothed Libby. ‘But we’re all so grateful that we’re out of the picture.’

DCI Murray looked startled. ‘I wouldn’t quite say that, Mrs Sarjeant.’

‘Oh.’ Libby felt her stomach sink. So it wasn’t over, and now she really would worry about what David was going to tell her. She wished she could talk it over with someone, but it was obviously connected to a member of the family, which precluded everybody as far as she was concerned. Harry, with whom she would normally discuss things, was far too intimately involved. She fleetingly wondered whether to phone Fran, but Fran’s rather odd behaviour over the last couple of days decided her against that.

As she said goodbye to the Murrays and began to clear tables, Belinda came up behind her.

‘What’s up, Mum?’ she said, picking up a couple of glasses.

‘Nothing, darling.’ Libby gave her a bright smile. ‘And you don’t have to do that. I’ll just give Pete a hand and we’ll go. Or you can go to Harry’s on your own. I won’t be long.’

‘I’ll wait for you. I can dry up or something. The boys can go on. Harry’ll love to see them.’

Libby grinned. ‘He’ll flirt madly with them, you mean. Good job they don’t take him seriously.’

As they walked back down the drive a little later, Belinda asked again.

‘Something’s wrong, Mum. What is it? I thought everything was all right now James was home again?’

‘I don’t think it’ll ever be all right, Bel,’ said Libby. ‘Murder this close to home is cataclysmic. You question everything and everybody you’ve held dear, and it leaves this awful sick feeling in your stomach and your head. You feel you want to clap your hands over your ears and run away, like a child.’

Belinda was silent.

‘Sorry, that was a bit of an outburst, wasn’t it?’ Libby tried a laugh, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to her.

‘It’s fine, Mum. You needed to say it to someone, and I guess you can’t say it to any of your friends here because they’re involved.’

‘That’s it exactly, Bel. I’m so glad you understand. And now David wants to talk to me about something and won’t say what.’

‘David? Oh, Doctor David. Wants to talk to you?’

‘Yes. He came in this evening and had a drink with Ben and Peter. Then he asked if he could talk to me, but said he couldn’t do it then, in front of them. I’m scared, now. I mean, he was the one who found the body. He said earlier he didn’t know anything, but he obviously does.’

‘Do you think it’s something the police don’t know?’ asked Belinda.

‘No idea. The inspector who was here this evening said we weren’t all in the clear, so probably not.’

‘So, are you going to talk to him?’

‘I’m going down to the surgery tomorrow morning. Don’t worry, I won’t wake you before I go.’

Belinda laughed. ‘I’m not so bad now, Mum. I do actually get up before lunchtime. You’ll be back before then, won’t you? The boys’ll want a pint in the pub before we all shoot off.’

‘You don’t have to go tomorrow, you know,’ said Libby. ‘You could always come to the after-show party.’

‘What, with all the luvvies and in-jokes?’ Belinda gave her mother a friendly nudge. ‘And who knows who you might get off with?’

‘Highly unlikely,’ said Libby as they arrived at the door of The Pink Geranium, which was flung open at their approach. ‘Oh, hello, Ben.’

By common consent, and partly because Belinda, Dominic and Adam were present, the subject of murder was avoided for the rest of the evening. Occasionally, Libby caught Ben looking at her speculatively, but he made no move to single her out, and she was forced to the conclusion that his attentions on Tuesday night had been, as she suspected, simply to comfort. Not, she reflected moodily as she and the children walked home, that anything much had happened then. Just a couple of cuddles, that’s all. In fact, David’s revelations could concern Ben, which frightened her even more and made his previous advances slightly sinister.

For once, on going downstairs in the morning, Sidney wasn’t lying in wait on the bottom step, but lay squashed blissfully between the two sleeping bags that were all Libby could see of her sons. She picked her way across them and into the kitchen, where Sidney immediately joined her, loudly demanding breakfast.

‘Shut up, idiot,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll wake them up. And leave the bread bin alone.’

She took her tea and Sidney’s breakfast through to the conservatory and lit the heater. Sidney abandoned her for the great outdoors as soon as he’d cleaned his saucer, and she sat alone, staring into the garden and worrying about what David was going to tell her.

A night’s sleep hadn’t made her feel any better about things. In fact, if anything, she felt worse. There had been a moment, on waking up, when she felt almost normal, then events crowded in on her, her stomach sank and the black cloud descended, like a fall of coal dust, impossible to clear up.

She managed to have breakfast, shower, dress and leave the house without waking her family, and once again walked down Allhallow’s Lane resenting the cheerfulness of spring. The surgery was conveniently placed just round the corner from Maltby Close and the senior citizens who might need it most. Libby found the door unlocked, although the sign said closed, and David behind the reception desk with a pile of buff folders and a gloomy expression.

‘Oh, hi,’ he said. ‘Have you come to save me from all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Have I?’

David sighed. ‘I hate it. I’m trying to put all my notes on to the computer. Let’s have a cup of coffee.’

‘I thought you’d have a secretary to do that?’ said Libby, following him into a little room at the back with a kettle, a sink and a couple of chairs either side of a battered table.

‘I have, and mostly I input as I go along,’ said David, filling the kettle, ‘but on home visits I have to resort to old-fashioned pen and paper. So it all has to be typed up afterwards, and if I leave it for Sally she gets snowed under.’

‘That’s very considerate of you. Perhaps you could have a little laptop? Wouldn’t that make it easier?’ asked Libby, sitting down at the table. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about that you couldn’t say in front of Ben and Peter?’

David didn’t answer until he’d put two mugs of coffee on the table between them.

‘Two things, really,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘The first one – well, I did know Paula.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘We know you did. Everybody did.’

‘Yes, but I knew her better than I let you think.’ David wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Libby gasped. ‘David! You didn’t?’

‘What?’ He looked up, startled. ‘Oh, no, of course not. No, but er – when she went away – you know, she – er, well, she sort of – made a pass at me.’

‘Really? It doesn’t surprise me. How did it come about?’