Murder in the Blood (14 page)

‘Right. Won't be a moment.'

Libby wandered back into reception, where Jane joined her.

‘Here. I ran off a copy for you.'

Libby tucked the piece of paper in her basket. ‘Thanks, Jane. And don't forget – nothing about Justin. You don't know anything.'

‘I didn't even know his name until then,' said Jane. ‘I assume that's the newest victim? I'm also assuming that he was murdered. He didn't come to London and the shock of it gave him a heart attack?'

‘No, he was murdered. If there's anything else to tell you, I will.' Libby gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Love to Terry and Imogen.'

Libby drove down to Harbour Street and parked right at the end near The Sloop and The Blue Anchor café.

‘Boo!' said a voice behind her.

‘Fran! You're back already.'

‘Well spotted. Which is more than you did five minutes ago. I was actually at my front door when you went past.'

‘I was looking for a parking space,' said Libby. ‘Busy, isn't it?'

‘It's summer – what do you expect? With so many people rediscovering traditional bucket-and-spade holidays, there's nowhere as traditional as Nethergate.'

‘Shall we have lunch at the Blue Anchor?' said Libby. ‘As we're here?'

‘Why not.' Fran led the way to one of tables under Mavis's canvas gazebo next to the environmentally unfriendly heater, provided for her regular smokers, mainly George and Bert, respectively captains of the pleasure boats
Dolphin
and
Sparkler
. Both boats were out today, one chugging round the island in the middle of the bay, the other visiting the small bays along the coast, in much the same way that Captain Joe took the
Paradise
out from Erzugan.

Mavis herself came out to take their orders, and shortly afterwards the current “girl”, short of skirt and long of hair, brought their drinks and Libby launched into her story.

‘Well,' said Fran when she'd finished, ‘it brings up more questions than it answers. Like who knew Justin was coming to England, who was he coming to see and why. It has to be to do with the murders.'

‘Yes, we figured that,' said Libby. ‘Could it have been to see Sally Weston's mum?'

‘Then he would have come down here – perhaps to Canterbury – rather than London, wouldn't he?'

‘Oh, I don't know. I just can't believe Harry was the only person he called in England.'

‘No.' Fran stared out to sea. ‘The police will be talking to everyone, won't they?'

‘Only the people who were in Erzugan at the time of the murders, probably.'

‘No, surely not. He could have been murdered by anyone he knew in England.'

‘Or even – I mean, he was gay. Do you suppose he picked someone up?'

‘What – between the airport and the hotel?' Fran shook her head. ‘He'd only arrived in the morning.'

‘Do you suppose we could ask Ian?' said Libby, after a moment. ‘He did come and see us about it, after all.'

‘I think we ought to wait and see,' said Fran. ‘I doubt very much if we'll be involved any more.'

‘I hope not, for Harry's sake. He looked absolutely crushed this morning.'

‘Were they really thinking of him as a suspect?' asked Fran.

‘He thought so. They were plain clothes and he didn't know if they came from Canterbury or the Met. Neither did Pete. They questioned him, too.'

Fran sighed. ‘Maybe Ian will tell us. Will he come over on Wednesday evening, do you think?'

‘I hope so. Are you coming up?'

‘I'm in the show, so yes, I'll be there.' Fran turned to her friend with a grin. ‘Can you contain your soul in patience until then?'

‘I'll have to.' Libby sat up straight and looked determined. ‘As I said, I hope we won't be involved any more for Harry's sake.'

‘And why don't I believe you?' said Fran.

Libby drove home in pensive mood. At the turning for Steeple Mount and Cherry Ashton she very nearly changed direction, but reluctantly decided against it and continued to Steeple Martin without noticing how she got there.

Ben was still at the Manor and she had nothing to do. Except, of course, the painting still sitting on its easel in the conservatory. She gazed at it gloomily for a moment, then continued into the garden with a book. Which she didn't even open. Sidney came and sat on her lap affectionately digging his claws into her legs as he got himself settled. Barely had he done so, when the phone rang. Not her mobile, but the landline. Cursing, and being cursed by Sidney, she stood up and went back into the house just as the ringing stopped and her recorded voice cut in.

Then a new voice.

‘Mrs Sarjeant, I hope you don't mind me phoning you, but I wondered if we could have a chat? My name's Carol Oxford. I'm Sally Weston's mother.'

Chapter Sixteen

Libby snatched up the phone.

‘Mrs Oxford? I'm so sorry, I didn't get to the phone in time.'

‘Oh …' Carol Oxford sounded confused. ‘That's you, is it?'

‘Yes, it is, I'm sorry. How can I help you?'

‘Well,' said Carol after a pause, ‘I don't quite know how to say this, but last week I heard from Martha in Erzugan.' She stopped.

‘Yes?' said Libby encouragingly.

‘She happened to mention that you'd been out there when Sally – er –' The voice faltered.

‘Yes, we were on holiday. But I'm afraid I never met Sally.'

‘No, so Martha said. But she said you were the people who found Alec Wilson's body?'

‘Yes?' said Libby again.

‘And she wondered if I knew you, because you lived in this area.'

‘Oh, I see.' Light began to dawn.

‘And I did. Well, not personally, of course, but I'd heard about you and your friend, especially when you were involved with that business over here.'

‘At Cherry Ashton, yes.'

‘Oh, you know that?'

‘It was in the local paper, Mrs Oxford.'

‘Oh, so it was. Well, I just wondered …' the words petered out.

Here it comes
, thought Libby.

‘Your friend …'

‘Fran Wolfe.'

‘Yes. She's – um –'

‘Psychic.'

‘Is she really?'

‘She is, although very reluctantly.'

‘Oh. I don't suppose …'

‘Would you like us to come and talk to you?'

‘Would you?' Relief shone out of every word.

‘I'm sure we can, but you must understand the police might not be very pleased.'

‘The police? Why? I've had the police here twice already, wanting to know of the connection between Sally and poor Alec, but they haven't been back. Sally's body has been brought home for her funeral next Thursday.' The wobble came again.

‘You hadn't heard about Justin Newcombe then?'

‘Justin …? Who? Oh, yes, he was a friend out there too, wasn't he? What about him?'

Libby took a deep breath. This was going to sound so brutal.

‘He was murdered here in London over the weekend.'

‘What?' It was almost whispered.

‘I believe the police here and in Turkey are linking the murders.' Libby paused. ‘I suppose he didn't contact you after Sally died?'

‘No, I didn't know him. I never actually went out there myself, although now I wish I had. Sally used to come home once or twice a year and we were in regular touch on all the social media sites, you know …'

‘Yes, I know.'

‘So do you think you could come and see me? Or I could come and meet you somewhere if you liked?'

‘We'll come to you,' said Libby. ‘When would be convenient for you? I'll call Fran and try and set it up.'

Carol said any time would suit her, and how about tomorrow morning? Libby agreed, rang off, and immediately called Fran.

‘Oh, dear. She'll want me to start trying to get through to her daughter,' said Fran.

‘I don't think so. I think she just wants to talk. Tomorrow morning, then?'

‘Yes, all right. About eleven? We might have lunch in that pub.'

‘The Ashton Arms? We could, but it doesn't have particularly happy memories.'

‘Don't be silly, Libby. There's no one left now who could hurt us.'

‘I know.' Libby sighed. ‘I'll ring Mrs Oxford.'

On Tuesday morning at five to eleven Libby parked in the car park of the Ashton Arms. Fran's little Smart car pulled up alongside.

‘Where does she live?' asked Fran, as they both emerged.

‘Not up there, thank goodness,' said Libby, nodding towards the tunnel-like lane that led to the abandoned barn that had featured in a previous adventure. ‘Just round the corner here.'

They walked the few yards to the little development of newish properties where Carol lived. Suddenly Fran stopped dead.

‘What?' said Libby, coming to a halt beside her.

‘I don't know why I didn't link it up before,' said Fran. ‘The two names, Weston and Cherry Ashton. Remember?'

‘Of course I remember Cherry Ashton, but –' she stopped. ‘Oh my Lord! Colonel Weston!'

‘Of course, it could be a coincidence.' Fran frowned. ‘I wonder when Sally went out to Turkey?'

‘You think she went out to escape the fallout?'

‘Was he her father, do you think?'

‘Then Carol was his wife? We never heard about a wife. And if she is, why stay here?' Libby looked across to Carol Oxford's house.

The last time they had been to Cherry Ashton they had made the acquaintance of Colonel Hugh Weston, who was now safely behind bars.

‘It can't be,' said Fran. ‘It's just too much of a coincidence.'

‘I am very suspicious of coincidences,' said Libby darkly.

‘Come along, we might as well get it over with. And don't go asking questions about Colonel Weston.'

The front door was dark blue. ‘Oxford blue,' commented Libby. It positively gleamed with cleanliness, but the woman who opened it looked grey and defeated.

‘Mrs Oxford?' Libby held out her hand. ‘I'm Libby Sarjeant and this is Fran Wolfe.'

Carol Oxford shook hands and waved them into the house.

‘Please call me Carol,' she said, and led them into a neat and rather colourless sitting room. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?'

‘Not for me, thank you,' said Fran. ‘What did you want to talk to us about?'

Straight to the point, thought Libby. That's to stop me putting my foot in it.

‘Well,' Carol began nervously, looking from one to the other. ‘Sally, of course.'

‘We never met her,' said Fran gently, ‘although we did go to her house.'

‘You did?' Carol looked surprised.

‘I'm sure this sounds unethical, but when the first English policeman arrived, he had no back up, and he wanted find details of her family in England and asked us to help. We didn't find anything, and he took charge of her computer.'

‘And her phone was missing,' put in Libby.

‘You didn't find
anything
?'

‘We found a box of old photographs, but we assumed any recent ones would be on her phone or computer,' said Fran.

Carol nodded. ‘Yes, they would be. But,' she turned to Fran. ‘Didn't you pick up anything about her? About her … death?'

‘No, Carol, I didn't. But why did you think I might?'

‘Er – I knew about – well, I knew …' She stopped.

Libby took a deep breath. ‘Carol, I've got to ask. Did you hear about us in connection with the White Lodge case?'

‘Yes – I told you.' Carol looked away.

‘And Sally's surname is Weston,' said Fran.

Carol's face crumpled. ‘I knew you'd realise,' she said, and began to cry.

Libby looked at Fran helplessly. Fran jerked her head and mouthed ‘tea', then went over to crouch beside the weeping woman.

Libby found the kitchen – not hard in such a small house, filled the kettle and began looking through cupboards. She found mugs and teabags in a tin, and had located milk in the fridge just as the kettle boiled. The kitchen was as neat as the sitting room and equally as colourless.

‘I didn't find any sugar,' she said as carried the mugs into the sitting room. Fran had found some coasters for the coffee table.

‘I don't take it.' Carol sniffed into a tissue. ‘I'm sorry.'

Doesn't have many visitors, thought Libby.

‘Tell us your story, Carol.' Fran handed her a mug. ‘And why you think we can help.'

Carol sighed. ‘Sally was Hugh's daughter.'

Fran and Libby exchanged looks, but said nothing.

‘And I wondered if she was killed because of … of … that other business.'

‘As far as we can tell she wasn't,' said Fran. ‘The police think it was linked to the murder of the other person out there, Alec Wilson. You didn't know him?'

‘She'd mentioned him – and that other one, Justin. And Martha. She seemed to be specially close to Martha.'

‘Martha – and Justin – said she was particularly close to Alec,' said Libby. ‘You didn't get that impression?'

‘No.' Carol shook her head.

‘Forgive me,' said Fran, ‘but if Sally was Weston's daughter, and you're her mother –'

‘Yes, I was married to him.' Carol's face was stony.

‘But you're living here. Isn't that difficult?'

Carol sighed again. ‘This isn't my house, it's Sally's.' She put her mug back on the table. ‘Hugh and I had been divorced for years and I moved away and eventually remarried. At that point, Hugh gave Sally this house.' She waved a vague hand. ‘He had money in this development.'

‘Sold by Riley's, I bet,' said Libby.

Carol gave a wan smile. ‘Of course. He had money there, too. But you know that. You were the ones who solved that case.'