Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) (2 page)

Chapter Two

‘Oh, no, Adam, not you!’ said Libby Sarjeant.

‘Yes, Ma, I’m sorry. Ian said he’s very sorry, too, but he couldn’t do much else, could he?’

‘He could have let you go home and called you in tomorrow!’

‘No, Ma, he couldn’t,’ said Adam patiently, ‘you know that really. So what I was wondering was, could you come and get me? Mog needs to get home, and he doesn’t really want to go all the way out to Steeple Martin first.’

Libby looked at her watch. ‘All right. I’ll just call Pete and ask him to take the panto rehearsal –’

‘Oh, I forgot! Look don’t worry, I’ll get the bus.’

‘Don’t be daft. Ben’s already gone to the theatre, or I’d get him to come with me. Will you be in the reception area?’

‘I expect so,’ said Adam. ‘Thanks, Ma. Bit much, still having to rescue me at my age, isn’t it?’

‘You’re still my baby,’ said Libby. ‘You all are.’

‘Shall I send Ben back to you?’ asked Peter Parker when she called him. ‘Can you wait?’

‘No, I’m fine, Pete. Sorry to have to ask this, but I suppose it is a bit of an emergency.’

‘Ian should have sent him home in a police car,’ grumbled Peter.

‘The village would have had a field day,’ laughed Libby. ‘No, I’m going. I’ll speak to you later.’

Libby decided that Ben’s new 4x4 was a better bet than her crumbling Romeo the Renault, and accordingly set off for Canterbury in it.

To her surprise, Chief Detective Inspector Ian Connell, old friend and sometime adversary, was in the reception area of the police station with Adam.

‘I’m sorry about this, Libby,’ he said, coming forward to take her hand. ‘But however much I know that neither Adam nor Mog could have had anything to do with this, we have to go by the book.’

‘I know.’ Libby looked at Adam, who looked pale. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘He had to view the body, I’m afraid,’ said Ian.

‘It was OK,’ said Adam, valiantly. ‘They had to see if anyone knew who she was.’

‘And no one does?’ asked Libby.

Adam shook his head.

‘The owner of the property is coming down tomorrow, and we’ll ask her, of course.’ Ian patted Adam’s shoulder. ‘Go on. Go home and have a good strong drink.’

‘It wasn’t very nice, Ma,’ said Adam as they climbed into the car. ‘I think her throat had been cut.’

Libby’s stomach lurched. ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Didn’t they cover her up?’

‘We had to look while she was still in the garden,’ said Adam. ‘Mog hated it.’

‘Of course, both of you did,’ said Libby, turning the car round in the car park. ‘Come on, let’s get you home. Do you think Harry will let you have something to eat in the flat?’

Adam lived in a flat over The Pink Geranium restaurant, owned by Peter and his partner Harry Price, and run by Harry himself. He pulled a face.

‘I expect he would, but it’s Monday. He’s closed. Anyway, I don’t think I’m hungry.’

‘What do you want to do, then? Come home with me?’

‘No, I’m going to go to the pub. You go on to rehearsal and have a drink with me afterwards. I don’t want to sit in the flat on my own.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Adam. ‘I can have a pie in the pub if I feel like it.’

Libby dropped Adam in the high street, drove up The Manor drive and parked outside the theatre. She pushed open the glass doors and heard faint sounds of laughter from the auditorium.

She found Peter on the stage himself, giving a very good impression of a principal boy, while the rest of the cast hooted with laughter.

‘Going to take it on, are you?’ she asked when the laughter had died down.

‘I was just demonstrating to Olivia,’ Peter said, somewhat sheepishly. ‘I didn’t expect you back.’

‘Olivia, you’ve now seen just how outrageous you can be in panto,’ Libby said to the young woman hovering at the side of the stage. ‘The rest of you, take five while I have a word with Peter.’

‘How’s Adam, Libby?’ called someone from the back. Ben Wilde, Libby’s significant other, suddenly appeared from backstage.

‘Yes, how is he?’ he asked.

‘He’s fine, thanks,’ said Libby. ‘Well, a bit shocked, you know, but OK otherwise.’

‘So, how is he really?’ asked Peter as they sat down in the stalls.

‘Shocked, as I said. He’s gone to the pub. Is Harry at home? Because I think Ad could do with some company. I’ll go down at the end of rehearsal.’

‘I’ll give Hal a call,’ said Peter. ‘And you can carry on with the rehearsal. We’d just got to where the Prince and Dandini enter the forest.’

Libby called the rehearsal to order and went back to the beginning of the scene. The theatre, an old oast house owned by Ben’s family at The Manor, had been converted by him with help from Peter, his first cousin. Ben, Peter and Libby now ran it as a charitable trust, staging their own productions such as the annual pantomime, visiting companies’ productions –- amateur and professional -– and the occasional musical or comedy one-nighter.

When the Prince and Dandini finally ran out of steam and the disguised Fairy Godmother had given her bewitched sticks to Cinderella, Libby called a halt and, after locking up, led a Hamelin-like procession down the Manor drive to the pub. It seemed the entire cast wanted to know what had happened to Adam.

They found him ensconced at the table by the fire with Harry, an empty plate before him and a pint in his hand.

‘I was hungry after all, Ma.’ He grinned up at his mother.

‘So I see. Sorry about this lot,’ said Libby, sitting down and gesturing at the crowd behind her, who all pressed forward with questions, which Adam answered briefly but patiently. Eventually, he was left alone with Libby, Ben, Peter and Harry.

‘So do they think this Watson person had something to do with the death?’ asked Ben.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if someone’s gone to London to interview her or what.’

‘Ian said she was coming down tomorrow,’ said Libby, ‘but I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have sent someone round to see her straight away.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was someone she knew,’ said Harry. ‘Daft to leave a body on your own property.’

‘Not if you thought it was going to be undisturbed for a while,’ said Peter.

‘But Mrs Watson would have known Johnny was likely to find a body. She employed us to do the landscaping round the swimming pool.’ Adam shook his head. ‘In this weather. I ask you.’

‘Had you worked for her before?’ asked Libby.

‘No, Lewis knows her. He recommended us.’

‘I think Lewis must know everyone with money in the county,’ said Libby.

‘He helped her with the interior of Dark House,’ said Adam. ‘You know, she’s one of these people who has to have celebrity designers. And we’re almost as good because we work with him.’

Lewis Osbourne-Walker, a television celebrity handyman with his own show, owned Creekmarsh Place, where Mog and Adam were restoring the gardens.

‘What else do you know about her?’ asked Peter. ‘Is there any other family?’

‘There’s a husband, but he works abroad.’ Adam shrugged. ‘Lewis would know more.’

‘Perhaps we should tell Lewis,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘After all, this Watson woman is a friend of his.’

‘Is that wise?’ asked Ben.

‘Wise?’ scoffed Harry. ‘Applied to our Lib? Don’t be daft.’

‘Actually, I think I will,’ said Adam. ‘After all, he got us this job.’ He fished his mobile out of his pocket and swiped the screen. As Lewis answered, he got up and moved away from the table.

‘Did you find anything out from Ian?’ asked Ben.

Libby shook her head. ‘But they had to view the body to see if they knew who it was. Her throat had been cut.’

A murmur went round the table.

‘There was a sort of caretaker there – he found the body. Ad said he was beside himself.’

Adam came back. ‘Lewis says he’ll call Adelaide Watson. Her husband worked for that big company that closed down near Felling, that’s why they’ve got the house here, but now he’s got a job in Brussels and she’s bored. Both their kids are grown up and moved away.’

‘So no one from the family was anywhere near the house?’ said Libby.

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve never even met Mrs Watson.’

‘Adelaide,’ murmured Harry. ‘Parents fans of
Guys and Dolls
were they?’

‘Eh?’ said Adam.

‘Adelaide was a character in the musical
Guys and Dolls
, ignoramus,’ said Harry.

‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘let’s hope she isn’t married to a gambling gangster.’

‘Eh?’ said Adam again.

Four faces turned towards him.

‘Adam!’ they said.

The next morning Libby was unsurprised to receive a phone call from Lewis.

‘’Allo, me old mate.’

‘Lewis! How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Look, Lib, about this body.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby warily.

‘I’m stuck in London and I’m filming in Somerset tomorrow, or I’d come down, but Adelaide’s got to come down to have a look at it. Wondered if you’d go and hold her hand?’

‘Me? Why me? I don’t know her from Adam!’

‘Ha, ha. He doesn’t know her either.’

‘What about her husband? Her children? She must have local friends.’

‘I don’t know that they have. When Roland worked at Felling he never had much time for socialising, and she’s not exactly the WI type.’

‘I can’t just barge in,’ said Libby. ‘And Ad and Mog have been told to stay away. Mog’s furious.’

Lewis sighed. ‘She’s just told me she doesn’t want to stay down there on her own. I suggested she took one of her London friends with her, but she sort of gave the impression that would be a no-no.’

‘Well, even if I pop in to do a bit of hand-holding, I’m not staying there. I have got a life, you know, Lewis.’

‘I know, and you’ll be deep in panto rehearsals by now, won’t you?’

‘Yes, and I had to leave one to pick Ad up from the police station last night.’

‘Well, can I just give her your number? Then if she wants a bit of company she can ring.’

‘Landline only, Lewis,’ warned Libby. ‘I’m not having her interrupt rehearsals.’

‘I promise.’ Lewis sighed again. ‘I’m sorry, Libby. Looks like Ad and I have got you mixed up in another murder.’

‘You bloody haven’t!’ said Libby, horrified. ‘Ad just happened to be there when the body was found, that’s all.’

‘And I know the owner of the property. Who, let’s face it, might be up to ʼer bleedin’ neck in the whole thing.’

‘Bloody hell,’ sighed Libby.

Chapter Three

Adam appeared in the doorway a little later in the morning looking harassed.

‘What’s up?’ asked his mother, going to put the kettle on.

‘The police want to talk to me again.’ He followed her into the kitchen and perched on the corner of the table.

‘Why?’

‘How should I know? Ian said he knew Mog and I hadn’t anything to do with it.’

Libby frowned. ‘I suppose knowing a person doesn’t preclude them from being a suspect. I expect this is the superintendent or someone asking why you haven’t been put through it a bit more rigorously.’

Libby’s phone rang.

‘Libby, look, you mustn’t be worried about Adam –’

‘How did you know he was here?’

‘I didn’t, but I knew he’d have told you we want to see him again. I’m afraid the powers that be don’t see it quite like I do, and they’re now talking time of death alibis.’ Ian sighed heavily. ‘Although no one seems quite sure when that was.’

‘So how can anyone provide an alibi?’

‘It has to be during the previous night. And Adam, Mog and this Johnny person were really the only three people we know about who were aware of the property being empty.’

Libby’s heart jolted. ‘What about the cleaner? And you know villages – they always know everything …’

‘Dark House isn’t really in a village, though, is it?’ said Ian.

‘And Lewis says they don’t have any local friends.’

‘Lewis?’ Ian’s voice sharpened.

‘You did know he introduced Ad and Mog to the Watsons, didn’t you?’

‘So he knew about the house?’

‘Oh, come on, Ian! Lewis was in London and filming in Somerset. And yes, he did the interior design for Adelaide Watson.’

‘And they had no local friends.’ Ian fell silent.

‘Well, you can ask her, can’t you. She’s coming down.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Ian.

‘Lewis told me,’ sighed Libby. ‘Look, I seem to be getting involved again, and I really don’t want to. I just think it’s daft to imagine Ad –’

‘I don’t imagine anything,’ said Ian sharply. ‘We just need to see him again. Is he still without transport?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘but –’

‘No, you won’t bring him in,’ said Ian. ‘We’ll come to him. Shall I speak to him? Oh, and this is strictly off the record.’

Libby handed the receiver to a nervous Adam and turned to pour boiling water into the teapot.

‘He says he and someone else are going to come and see me in about an hour. What did he tell you?’ Adam handed back the phone and Libby repeated her conversation.

‘So where were you the night before last?’ she asked, fetching milk from the fridge.

Adam looked half irritated, half amused. ‘Why, do you suspect me, too?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I was home alone after I came back from lunch with you and Hetty.’

‘Sunday, of course,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘There wasn’t even anyone in the restaurant who might have seen or heard you.’

‘Mother, dear, you are making me paranoid.’ Adam took his mug. ‘I’m sure Ian will make sure I don’t get banged up for it, but it’s horrifically worrying, nevertheless.’

‘Best thing to do is find the real murderer,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, I’ll light the fire.’

By the time Ian arrived, Libby was making a pot of soup for lunch.

‘This is DC Robertson,’ Ian introduced the young man standing nervously behind him. ‘This is Mrs Sarjeant and her son Adam.’

‘I’ll go back in the kitchen,’ said Libby, waving her wooden spoon.

‘No need,’ said Ian easily. ‘As long as you don’t interrupt.’

Libby looked at Adam. ‘Would you rather I went away?’

Adam didn’t look at her. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Take a seat, then.’ Ian sat in the armchair opposite Adam on the sofa, while DC Robertson took a chair by the table in the window. Libby hovered in the kitchen doorway.

Having established once more that Adam had no idea who the dead woman was, Ian proceeded to ask about his movements over the whole of Sunday.

‘So,’ he said finally, glancing at his notebook, ‘after you left Hetty’s on Sunday you went back to the flat and that was it?’

Libby caught DC Robertson’s surprise at the informality of the question.

‘I popped to the pub for a pint –ʼ

‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Libby burst out.

Adam scowled. ‘And I called Sophie, but that won’t help, will it?’

DC Robertson was looking even more bewildered. Ian took pity on him.

‘I know the family,’ he said. ‘Adam, did you call Sophie on your mobile?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it will show up in both your phone records. Sadly, that doesn’t help, because your mobile could be used anywhere. And we know there’s a signal at Dark House, because Mog called 999 from there.’

Adam nodded morosely.

‘Don’t worry.’ Ian got up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know you didn’t do it, but we’ve got to go through the motions.’

‘Any idea who it is yet?’ asked Libby.

‘We’re going through a few people reported missing over the last few days, but no luck so far,’ said Ian. ‘Cheer up, both of you. You’ve been close to murder investigations before.’

‘But we haven’t been suspects,’ said Libby.

Ian sighed. ‘No.’

Libby saw them both out and went back to Adam. ‘He’s right, Ad. He knows you didn’t do it, but he’s got to go through the motions.’

‘Suppose one of those missing persons turns out to have some sort of link to me?’ Adam looked up, his face pinched.

‘Then you’d have recognised her, wouldn’t you? Come on, the soup’s ready. Nothing like soup for cheering up a winter’s day.’

Adam had gone back to the flat to get ready for an evening helping out in The Pink Geranium when Libby’s landline rang.

‘Mrs Sarjeant?’ asked a soft female voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Lewis suggested I call you. You know – Lewis Osbourne-Walker?’

‘I know Lewis. You must be Adelaide Watson?’

‘I – ah – yes. I’m Adelaide Watson.’

‘What can I do for you, Mrs Watson?’

‘I don’t really know.’ Libby visualised the woman twisting her hands together. ‘Lewis thought …’

‘He told me you would be on your own and might not want to be,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t know what good I’d be, but I’ll happily come over this evening for a while, if you would like me to. I might bring my son with me to navigate.’

‘Your son? Oh, yes, he’s one of my landscapers, isn’t he? The good-looking one.’

Libby laughed. ‘Well, I think he is. Yes, that’s the one, Adam. If he’s free, of course,’ she added, remembering Adam was working tonight.

‘I could do with some company, actually. You see, I don’t really know many people round here, and I didn’t want to intrude on anybody …’

‘That’s fine,’ said Libby cheerfully. ‘I’ll feed my other half, then I’ll come over. It’ll probably be about half past seven. Is that all right?’

Ben looked grumpy when Libby told him she was going to help the needy, but didn’t offer to come too, and Adam, as she’d feared, was up to his armpits at the restaurant.

She took Ben’s car and drove out of Steeple Martin towards Canterbury. After a mile or so, she took the road that would lead to Steeple Cross and the villages and woods beyond.

‘Keeper’s Cob,’ she muttered to herself. ‘That’s what I’ve got to look for.’

But beyond Steeple Cross she could see no signposts for Keeper’s Cob. On her right, however, stood a pub, smartly painted cream and shining in the darkness. She parked, got out and went inside.

There were three men standing at the small central bar, all of whom turned round and stared at her. To her right and left, the rooms were laid out as dining rooms, although no one was eating. She cleared her throat and approached the bar.

‘Excuse me, but I’m looking for Keeper’s Cob,’ she said.

‘Easiest way’s straight on, then turn right at the crossroads,’ said one man, ostentatiously “country” in a Barbour jacket and wellingtons.

‘Dark Lane’s direct, though,’ said the second, in Tattersall check shirt and pale cord trousers.

‘Not easy, Dark Lane,’ said the third, leaning on the bar and staring into his pint.

‘That’s actually where I’m going, to Dark House,’ said Libby. ‘How do I get there?’

All three turned to face her, identical frowns on their faces.

‘Journalist?’ they said together.

Libby was taken aback. ‘No! I’m a friend of Mrs Watson’s, but I’ve not been here at night before,’ she crossed fingers, ‘and I’m a bit lost.’

‘Ah,’ said the first man, still suspicious.

‘She’s had to come down here – well, she had to, and she wanted company.’

They all nodded. ‘Murder.’

Libby sighed. ‘Yes. So will you tell me where I am?’

‘On the corner of Dark Lane,’ said Tattersall check. He pointed. ‘Up the side of the pub.’

‘Dodgy though,’ said the third man. ‘Gets a bit rough further along. Take it slow, like.’

Libby thanked them and went back to the car. Obviously the murder was known about and the locals protective of their own. Well, she couldn’t blame them for that, but Adelaide Watson wasn’t supposed to have any friends in the area. She supposed it was just solidarity at work.

Woods pressed in on her left as she turned into the narrow lane. On the right the few houses soon petered out, giving way to small fields, beyond which more trees could be seen wavering above the mist. Ahead, the lane twisted into the fog and became almost a cart track, covered in a carpet of what appeared to be undisturbed leaves from the trees which now pressed in on both sides, becoming a dark and ghostly tunnel.

‘This can’t be right,’ Libby said out loud to herself, trying to hold panic at bay. ‘No one lives here.’

But the darkness lightened, the trees thinned and there was a gateway. Aware that she was actually shaking, Libby turned in and drew to halt, resting a thumping head on the steering wheel.

‘Mrs Sarjeant?’

She looked up to see a worried face at the car window and gave a weak smile.

‘I know it sounds pathetic,’ she said as she climbed out, ‘but your lane is really scary!’

‘You came from the Steeple Cross end, didn’t you? By The Dragon pub? I always come in from the Keeper’s Cob end, it’s slightly easier.’ The woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Adelaide Watson.’

Libby took the proffered hand and looked properly at her hostess. Adelaide Watson was small and unremarkable-looking, except for her obviously expensive clothes and haircut.

‘I’m sorry you’ve had all this trouble,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you here.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t think I’d like to be out here on my own, either. Is your husband going to come home?’

Adelaide frowned as she turned to go into the house. ‘He hasn’t said so, but I think the police want him to.’

‘To see if he knows the woman?’ said Libby. ‘Unlikely, if you don’t.’

‘Oh, no. You see, there were over two thousand employees where he worked at Felling. It could be someone from there.’

She led Libby into a low-ceilinged, wood-panelled room which had a log fire burning in one of the largest inglenook fireplaces Libby had ever seen.

‘Please sit down. I’ve made coffee as I didn’t think you’d want a drink.’

Libby sank into a huge squashy sofa and accepted coffee.

‘So what have the police told you so far?’ she asked.

‘Only that Johnny found the – the body yesterday afternoon, and the – er – your son and … and –’

‘Adam and Mog, the landscapers,’ Libby said.

‘Yes, that they were here too. None of them know who she is. Was.’

‘No, and you didn’t either?’

‘No.’ Adelaide shuddered. ‘They showed me pictures.’

‘And did they ask who knew you wouldn’t be in residence?’

‘Well, yes, they did, but I don’t really know many people locally. We used to see people when Roland worked in this country, and we know a few people from across the county, but not here. Most of my friends are in London.’

My
friends, noted Libby. Not
our
friends.

‘So the only people who knew you weren’t here were my son and his boss, Johnny and your cleaner?’

‘Marilyn, yes. She’s not exactly my cleaner, though. She just keeps an eye on the place and opens up now and then. She could have told any number of people, of course. She lives in Keeper’s Cob and comes here in her son’s Land Rover. He farms over there.’

‘Do you use any of the local shops? Order anything from farm shops?’

Adelaide shook her head. ‘I go to Waitrose in Canterbury.’

You would, thought Libby.

The newest model smartphone that lay beside Adelaide began to warble. She picked it up.

‘Carl? What?’ She shot a scared look at Libby, and switched to speakerphone.

‘Ramani? No, I haven’t … I’ve only just got here. And I’ve got someone with me.’

‘Of course, you haven’t met her, have you?’ A man’s voice floated out. ‘It’s just that I’ve got home and she’s not here.’ The voice sounded scared. ‘And I don’t know where she is.’