Murder in the Blood (26 page)

‘I did,' said Libby, only just refraining from adding ‘you idiot'. ‘I emailed you on Monday afternoon.'

There was a short silence.

‘I've only just seen it,' said Betty reluctantly.

‘Ben and I thought that was why you wanted to speak to me last night,' said Libby, only slightly bending the truth.

‘Oh.' More silence.

‘Did you report it to the police?'

‘Er, n – no.'

‘Do it now, Betty. And tell them he was sighted on Sunday midday at Victoria station in London.'

‘How did he get there so quickly?'

‘I don't know. When did he leave? You said Sunday morning.'

‘Well – actually I don't know. He wasn't there when I woke up on Sunday morning.'

‘So, during the night? Wouldn't you have noticed?'

Betty cleared her throat. ‘We didn't – er – share a room.'

‘Ah.' Libby slid out of bed, blessing the day she had invested in an upstairs phone. ‘Well, I'd do it now, Betty. Really.'

Betty sighed. ‘All right. I'll look up the number.'

‘OK.' Libby paused, considering. ‘Look Betty, you must be prepared for them to ask about the – well, the murders.'

‘Yes.' Betty's voice trembled.

‘That's why you've been putting it off, isn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘They'll find out anyway,' said Libby gently. ‘Have you anyone you can go to? Or who can come to you? Your daughter?'

‘Yes. I'll call her after I've called the police.'

‘If you don't want to do it, ask her to call me. You've got my number now.'

‘All right.' Betty paused. ‘Um – thank you, Libby. I'm sorry.'

Libby staggered down the stairs and Ben held out a mug of tea.

‘So that's that,' she said after she'd filled him in on the conversation. ‘Now we just wait for Ian to get in touch.'

They didn't have to wait long.

‘Why didn't you tell me on Sunday?' were DCI Connell's first words.

‘That I'd seen one of our fellow guests at Victoria? What would you have said to that? Until I heard from Betty I didn't know it would be relevant to anything.'

Ian sighed. ‘I suppose not. Now tell me again what Mrs Roberts said.'

Libby told him, adding in the information she'd just received. ‘And I still don't know if she's reported it to her local station. She's somewhere in Manchester – I haven't a clue where.'

‘We have,' said Ian. ‘Everyone was spoken to earlier in the investigation, if you remember.'

‘Well, good luck. It's got to be relevant now, hasn't it?'

‘Possibly.' Ian was non-committal. ‘Where exactly in the station did you see him?'

‘By the barrier to the platform we'd just left.'

‘So the Canterbury train?'

‘And Nethergate.'

‘The train divides,' said Ian. ‘He could have been going anywhere.'

‘Do you think he was the one who killed Justin? Betty said he disappeared for a day before, and she didn't know where.'

‘It's possible. Thank you for the information, Libby. I think under the circumstances you ought to be taking extra care of where you go and who with.'

‘What?' Libby looked across at Ben, alarmed. ‘Why? Why would anyone want to hurt me?'

Ben's expression changed.

‘If Walter Roberts thinks you know anything at all about the operation in Turkey and he's in any way involved, you could be. I know this isn't your fault, but just take care. Is Ben there?'

Libby handed over the phone to Ben, who wandered into the conservatory listening intently.

‘He's right, Lib.' Ben came back and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I don't think you should stay here on your own during the day, either.'

‘What –?' Libby gaped. ‘I'm not going to be turned out of my own house! And how would Walter Roberts find me, anyway?'

‘How did Geoff Croker get your telephone number? Whoever's involved, it's a criminal gang and they have almost as many resources as the police. I think you should come up to the Manor with me. We can come back here at night.'

Libby thought for a moment. ‘Couldn't I go to Fran's?'

‘Roberts could look her up, too.'

‘But Harbour Street's much busier than Allhallow's Lane, and Guy's almost next door.'

Ben looked doubtful.

‘Please, Ben. What would I do in the Manor all day?'

‘All right. Give her a ring now and see what she says. I'll ring Guy.'

Libby's conversation lasted much longer than Ben's, but when they were both concluded, Libby went up to shower and dress while Ben made breakfast, after which, they went their separate ways.

‘Do you think Sidney will be safe?' Libby said before she pulled away.

‘He'll just run,' said Ben. ‘If anyone tried to get in.' He bent to give her a kiss through the window. ‘Off you go.'

Libby was nervous on the drive to Nethergate. She was convinced that every car that came up behind her was following her, but eventually she was driving thankfully down the hill towards Harbour Street. She had to park in The Sloop car park, as every space on Harbour Street was taken, which somewhat spoiled the view from Coastguard Cottage. Fran had been hoping for yellow lines and restricted parking for years.

Fran was waiting on the doorstep. ‘Ian just called. Come in and I'll tell you.'

Chapter Thirty

‘Was he warning you, too?' Libby stepped inside and peered round, as if expecting hidden figures in the corner.

‘In a way.' Fran closed the door. ‘He approved of us being together, anyway.'

‘Does he really think we're in danger?' Libby's eyes were wide. ‘I mean, I know we've run in to the odd bit of trouble in the past, but not been hunted down.'

‘Sit down, Lib, do.' Fran pushed her onto the deep window seat. ‘Tea?'

‘No, I don't want anything, thank you. What did Ian say?'

‘Betty apparently did finally report to the police, just about at the time Ian got in touch with them, so he's actually talked to her. And the local force are sending people round to have a look.'

‘Oh, poor Betty! Perhaps her daughter will take her back with her?'

‘I would hope so,' said Fran, perching on the edge of her favourite armchair. ‘But the important thing is they've got confirmation of our friend Geoff Croker's involvement in the trafficking operation.'

‘Wow! So who got that? Our Johnny?'

‘His team, I gather. And now they're looking for connections between him and Walter.'

Libby stared into the empty fireplace. ‘Suppose Walter hasn't got anything to do with it? He could just be a nasty old man who just does what he wants and couldn't care less about his wife.'

‘Until the other day, that's exactly what I would have said. But it all seems to piling up, doesn't it? The suspicious circumstances?'

‘Letting Betty go off on her own while they were on holiday, refusing to anywhere else, being seen down here …'

‘It's all a bit tenuous, but obviously the police think it's worth looking into,' said Fran. ‘And especially the day he went missing. Ian said they're trying to work out exactly when that was. Betty seemed confused.'

‘I'm not surprised. I feel so sorry for her.'

‘But she's been incredibly dumb, hasn't she? If she really hasn't known what's going on?'

‘We-ell, yes …'

‘Let's face it, she left it quite a long time before she said anything, and even then it was you she wanted to talk to, not the police.'

‘And she didn't even do that until this morning. And she was furious about me seeing Walter at Victoria.'

‘I'm not saying she's involved, but it's a bit suspicious, surely?'

Libby stared at her. ‘God, yes. I didn't even think.'

Fran grinned. ‘No. But then, Betty seemed such a nice person compared to Walter, didn't she?'

‘She was nice. And she introduced us to Mahmud. And he told us about Geoff Croker.'

‘And she knew all about them, didn't she?'

‘Oh, bother.' Libby stared gloomily out of the window. ‘Have we let anything out, do you think?'

‘I haven't spoken to her, or even emailed. You're the only one who's done that,' said Fran.

‘Well, thanks for that.' Libby sighed and stood up. ‘I wonder what Ian will get out of her?'

‘Nothing, if she's smart,' said Fran. ‘Even if she knew about the operation, she wouldn't have been involved in the actual running of it, so she won't have any of the details.'

‘Except that she must have known why they kept going back, even though she said she didn't.' Libby stretched. ‘I got up too early. Can we have tea?'

Fran led the way into the kitchen. ‘I'm not sure what Ian thinks could happen to us. I don't see Walter as a killer, whatever else he is.'

‘You don't think he's Justin Newcombe's killer?'

‘I know he went missing for a day at roughly the same time, but – I don't know, it seems wrong.'

‘Perhaps he met up with the killer and told him all about the other murders?'

‘But why?' Fran asked. ‘Why would the killer want to kill Justin? And why would Walter tell him?'

‘We're speculating that Walter was the English contact for the trafficking organisation, aren't we?' said Libby. ‘And Justin was the money man?'

‘I doubt very much if he was,' said Fran. ‘I suspect that he was merely peripherally involved. Croker's accountant, maybe. He just wasn't the type. Also, being gay, Croker wouldn't have trusted him.'

‘Hmm.' Libby scowled at the mug Fran set in front of her. ‘Why was he here, then?'

‘Justin? No idea. He could have been a messenger of some sort. Perhaps to speak to Walter. Perhaps that's why Walter went missing, to pick up a message from Justin.'

‘He could have killed him to silence him, if Justin knew all about the operation.'

‘Only if Justin was threatening to blow the whole thing.'

‘Oh, it's useless, isn't it?' Libby sighed, and went out to the back yard, where Balzac slept curled up in the big plant pot. ‘And I still don't see why anyone would want to harm either of us.'

‘Because we've been asking questions.'

‘But how would they know?'

‘You've been keeping all our fellow guests – and Martha – up to date with the progress of the police investigation as far as we know it. They all know. And Carol Oxford knows, don't forget.'

‘Who's she going to tell? That's nothing whatsoever to do with the killings.'

‘But the police have talked to her. Word could have got out.'

‘Even so, she has nothing to do with anything.'

‘She's the mother of one of the victims,' said Fran.

‘Oh, so she is.' Libby pulled out one the dining chairs and sat down. ‘But nothing to do with the trafficking – her or Sally.'

‘And I wonder what her job was when she was in this country?'

Libby frowned. ‘Come to that, what was Alec Wilson's job before he had his name changed?'

They both contemplated the dining table seriously.

‘And actually, what difference does it make?' said Libby eventually.

‘None, I suppose. I think Ian's being over-cautious about us. I expect he'll have told Smith about Walter, won't he?'

‘Bound to have,' said Libby. ‘It would have helped if he'd been a bit more up front at the beginning, wouldn't it?'

‘Only if he knew about the whole operation,' said Fran. ‘I can't see how it would have saved Justin Newcombe.'

‘But if they'd found the murderer quicker, he wouldn't have killed Justin.'

‘The murderer was in Turkey –' began Libby.

‘And came back to England. That's what the thinking is now, isn't it?'

‘If it turns out to be Walter, yes.'

‘It has to be, surely? If he was over there checking up on the operation and wasn't happy?'

‘Maybe, but a, we haven't got confirmation that it's a trafficking operation and b, why was Sally killed? She's not involved.'

‘Aha!' said Libby. ‘How do we know that? You just said we don't know why she really went to Turkey. I said she wasn't involved and you queried it.'

‘Yes,' said Fran with a sigh. ‘Round and round in circles as usual.'

Although neither of them would admit it, Libby and Fran got very bored that day. Fran pottered around doing household chores for the rest of the morning while Libby prowled the bookshelves, then they both went to relieve Guy in the gallery/shop at lunchtime. Business wasn't as brisk as it would be in a couple of weeks' time when the schools broke up, so there was very little to occupy them. After lunch, they went to The Alexandria to see how bookings were going for the summer show, then climbed up to Cliff Terrace to see if Jane was in. She wasn't.

They wandered along to The Tops, which had once been open fields on the cliff tops, but was now a car park with a view. They sat on a bench and looked out at the bay, Dragon Island in the middle and the lighthouse on the point.

‘What would you normally be doing on an ordinary day?' asked Libby. ‘When we're not investigating.'

‘Housework, reading, helping Guy.' Fran squinted at the sequins sparkling on the sea. ‘I don't know, really. What about you?'

‘Not much housework, painting, fiddling about on the computer. How do we fill our days, for goodness' sake? I think I ought to go back to work.'

‘Your painting's your work. And you do a lot for the theatre.'

‘S'pose so. But aren't you bored?'

‘Sometimes, a bit. You remember just after I got married? When we came back from honeymoon? I was bored then.'

‘That was a culture shock, though. You'd spent years scraping a living in a horrible flat in London, and all of a sudden you had a lovely cottage, a lovely husband and no money worries.'