LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

‘He was the man in the wheelchair!’ Libby turned to Ben.

‘Remind me,’ said Ian. ‘Man in a wheelchair?’

Libby told him again of the meeting with Amanda in the pub garden. ‘And the man I saw in the car was with them.’

‘Oh, things are beginning to tie up.’ Ian put down his mug. ‘I suppose the man you saw couldn’t
be
Keith Franklin?’

‘Much too young,’ said Libby. ‘Keith Franklin is Harry’s dad. Looks to me as if he’s paying the younger man to get rid of Harry.’

‘But why? Keith Franklin was adopted and never knew his real mother,’ said Ian.

‘But Harry was told that Keith Franklin had found out about his mother and come back to the Island. He must have been all muffled up like he was when we saw him to prevent people recognising him,’ said Libby.

‘But no one on the Island had ever seen him,’ objected Ben. ‘How would they know who he was?’

‘I don’t know – perhaps he was the spitting image of his mother, or his father, of course. He might look exactly like Alfred Morton, who people would remember because of what he did.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Ian. ‘And it certainly is a link. I’m going over to the Island tomorrow to question him.’

‘Have they picked him up?’ asked Libby. ‘Only if he’s pre-warned he’ll skip.’

‘You’ve been watching too many TV programmes, Libby,’ said Ian, standing up with a grin. ‘We do know what we’re doing.’

‘Well,’ said Libby, when Ian had gone. ‘That’s a turn-up for the books. Do we tell Andrew when we see him?’

‘I think it’s wiser not to say anything about the business,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t suspect Andrew any more than you do, but we don’t want to muddy any waters. We can call Peter though.’

‘Won’t he have had to turn his phone off?’

‘We can try,’ said Ben and took out his phone.

Peter answered almost straight away, and was able to tell them that Harry was showing signs of life, and they’d allowed him in to sit beside him for a while. There was a police guard on him, although they didn’t expect any trouble. Ben told him what Ian had told them.

‘I won’t tell Harry anything, even if he does come round,’ said Peter. ‘But it’s good to know things are moving at last.’

Andrew was sitting in the corner of the pub by the empty fireplace when Libby and Ben joined him later. When he came back from fetching drinks he asked after Harry.

‘Progressing as far as we know,’ said Libby. ‘We spoke to Peter this afternoon, but he’s had to turn his phone off.’ She crossed her fingers under the table.

‘You know, I do see why I look suspicious to the police.’ Andrew twirled his glass between his fingers. ‘I just hope Ronald Deakin can confirm that I knew nothing about Harry before he told me.’

‘I was thinking,’ said Libby. ‘Mr Deakin must be the only person who knew everything about Matthew. He must know who Harry’s gran is, because of the money Matthew was administering for her estate.’

‘Maybe,’ said Ben, ‘but it’s quite possible that was a private agreement. She just left it to Matthew trusting him to do the right thing.’

‘It’s worth asking, though, isn’t it?’

‘I doubt if he’d tell you,’ said Andrew. ‘Look how careful he was about putting Harry in touch with his natural mother and me. The police might get more from him.’

‘I think they’ve already talked to him,’ said Libby. ‘Actually, I assume they have, I don’t
know
. I expect they’ll speak to him tomorrow.’

‘To check up on me,’ said Andrew. ‘And then perhaps they’ll let me go home.’

‘I can’t quite understand why they wanted you to stay here,’ said Ben. ‘After all, you could just go whenever you wanted. No one’s guarding you.’

‘It was a request,’ said Andrew. ‘I thought it best to comply.’

‘Well, there’s nothing to be done now,’ said Libby, ‘so we might just as well enjoy your company. And you can tell us some stories from your distinguished career!’

Andrew laughed. ‘I’ve had a very unremarkable career! But thank you for flattering me.’

For the rest of the evening Andrew did indeed tell them anecdotes from his long career, and disposed of a few popular myths. They parted on the best of terms when the landlord called time.

‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ said Libby, as they walked home. ‘He’s far too nice.’

‘I’ve heard lots of murderers are,’ said Ben.

‘But we’ve got to remember whoever is behind this left Celia for dead in that Beach House. And then somehow got out of Candle Cove before the sea came in. Andrew couldn’t have done that.’

‘But the young bloke you saw could have done.’

‘But we decided he had something to do with Keith Franklin.’

‘Ian will find out,’ said Ben comfortably. ‘All we have to worry about now is Harry’s recovery.’

The following morning, Peter reported that Harry was awake, and they were allowing Ian to speak to him later.

‘That means he won’t be able to get to the Island early,’ said Ben.

‘I expect he thought Harry would find it easier to talk to him than some anonymous officer,’ said Libby.

‘I expect Pete will tell us later. Do you think we’d be allowed to visit today?’

‘I’ll ring the hospital and ask,’ said Libby. ‘You go off to the office now, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.’

Libby worked on the painting still standing in the conservatory until Andrew called later in the morning.

‘I’ve been let off the hook. Although they have asked that I keep them informed of my movements.’

‘Did they say why? Who was it told you?’

‘Just an officer, and I’ve no idea why. I assume they’d been in touch with Ronald Deakin and my wife to confirm alibis and so on.’

‘Probably,’ said Libby, and relayed the information about Harry. ‘We’ll keep you posted if you like.’

Ian was the next to call.

‘Andrew told me you’d let him off the hook,’ said Libby. ‘I said we’d keep him posted about Harry.’

‘Now, Libby, that’s exactly what you must
not
do,’ said Ian. ‘We don’t want anyone knowing how Harry is, or even if he’s regained consciousness.’

‘Oh. In case they try again, you mean?’

‘Possibly. I’ve spoken to Harry, who doesn’t remember much about it except hearing something outside. And Ronald Deakin confirms that he knew nothing about Andrew until he sent a letter after Matthew’s death.’

‘Eh? You mean Matthew left a letter for him?’

‘Yes. Apparently there were several things he left, including the letter from Matthew to Harry.’

‘The one where we learnt who Hal’s mum was.’

‘Yes. I shall be talking to her, too.’

‘Meanwhile what about Keith Franklin? Are you going over to see him?’

‘Yes. You’ve seen the house, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, it’s called Beech Manor. There’s a village shop run by a really nice bloke called Bernie Small. He knows the sisters, including Celia, and grew up with Amanda Clipping.’

‘That is actually a help, Libby, believe it or not. If I can, I’ll let you know how things go. And don’t spread this around. I shouldn’t be telling you anything.’

‘I know, and I’ll only tell Pete and Ben.’

‘And Fran. One of her insights would help.’

‘I know. Ben and I were only saying how she doesn’t seem to get them any more, although she did have a brief one on the Island, but it didn’t signify anything.’

‘What was it?’ Ian was alert. ‘Do you remember?’

‘First of all, she knew I wanted to talk about Harry as soon as we met her off the ferry. And she wondered if Keith Franklin thought the money should go to him.’

‘Based on – what?’

‘She wasn’t sure herself,’ said Libby. ‘You could always call her and ask. I’m going to call the hospital and see if Ben and I can visit Harry.’

Permission given, Libby left a message for Fran and one for Peter and went up to the Manor to tell Ben. Hetty gave them lunch and a basket of biscuits and fruit for Harry.

‘That hospital food’s no good for yer,’ she said, as she saw them off.

‘That’s as good as asking us to give him her love,’ said Ben, as he drove down the drive. ‘Now, tell me everything that happened this morning.’

Libby repeated the substance of her phone calls.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Ben. ‘But at least Ian’s got things to look at, now.’

‘I’d love to know what Keith Franklin has to say for himself. And where La Clipping comes into it.’ Libby peered into Hetty’s basket. ‘Harry won’t eat all this.’

‘Neither will you,’ warned Ben.

Harry was weak, pale and still hooked to various machines, but appeared to be pleased to see them. He was in a room of his own, and the only sign that anything about this particular patient was unusual was the presence of a uniformed officer seated in the corridor outside.

‘I feel like a criminal,’ he whispered. ‘I mean, he can’t ask every white coat that comes in here if they’re real, can he?’

‘I expect it’s his presence alone which would stop someone,’ said Peter. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Hetty sent it,’ said Libby, tilting it to show Harry. ‘She said hospital food was awful.’

‘Lovely, but I can’t eat much. Grapes would be nice.’

‘Bother, there aren’t any in here.’ Libby poked among the contents of the basket.

‘I’ll run down to the hospital shop,’ said Ben. ‘They’re bound to have some.’

‘What news, then?’ asked Peter.

Libby smiled at Harry. ‘Andrew’s gone home and sent his love and Ian’s gone to the Island to talk to Keith Franklin.’

‘They’ve found him?’ said Harry.

‘Staying in Beech Manor. You know, Amanda Clipping’s house.’

‘Does that mean anything?’ Harry frowned, and Libby explained about the meeting in the pub near Parkhurst Forest.

‘And that was the bloke who ran you over?’ Harry reached out a hand.

‘Nearly. And tried to break into the caff.’ Libby took the hand.

‘And bashed me on the head, too,’ said Harry.

‘Have you remembered?’ asked Peter.

‘No, just guessing.’ Harry smiled weakly.

Ben came back with a sanitised plastic bag of grapes which Peter washed at the little sink.

‘Have they said any more about when you can come home?’ asked Libby.

‘Not yet. I’ve got to be observed. And they might not have to operate after all.’ Harry gave a tired smile. ‘Thank God.’

‘Thank the person who did it not hitting you hard,’ said Peter, handing over grapes.

Ben and Libby stayed for another half an hour, but Harry was obviously tired, and they left with instructions to call Donna and apprise her of the situation, and to go into The Pink Geranium and cancel any bookings made for the foreseeable future.

‘They’ve all got telephone numbers,’ said Peter. ‘And use the caff phone. You don’t want to run up a bill.’

‘Awful to see him looking like that,’ said Libby, as Ben drove out of the hospital car park.

‘Good to see him awake, though. Not as bad as they thought at first,’ said Ben.

‘No.’ Libby frowned. ‘But you wonder why not?’

‘Eh?’ Ben shot her a quick startled look.

‘Eyes on the road, Wilde. No, I meant if someone has been after Harry, wouldn’t it have made sense to hit him a lot harder when they caught up with him?’

Ben thought for a moment. ‘But Harry went out into the garden because he heard a noise. I would have thought that he was hit just so the person could escape.’

‘But in that case, what did the person want? Were they looking for something, the same as they were in the caff?’

‘They wouldn’t expect someone to be in the caff in the morning, and they may have thought they could get in to the cottage while the boys were asleep. Because Peter’s so often there during the day.’ Ben was frowning at the road ahead. ‘So it looks as though they
think
there’s something to find, at least. Nothing else explains it.’

‘But Harry hasn’t got anything.’ Libby looked bewildered. ‘That can’t be it, Ben.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just hope Ian has some news from the Island.’

Chapter Thirty-three

Peter came back from hospital and joined Libby and Ben for one of Libby’s throw-it-all-together meals on Monday evening. The doctors were cautiously pleased with Harry, and said he could even be released by the end of the week.

‘That’s excellent,’ said Libby. ‘I wonder how long before he’s fit to work?’

‘Too long for Harry, I bet,’ said Ben, helping himself to rice. ‘He’ll want to get back as soon as he gets out.’

‘He’s already said if he gets out on Friday he’ll open on Tuesday,’ said Peter. ‘At least he’ll rest for the weekend. But we’ll see. He might feel too crap to bother.’

‘Ben’s got a theory about the attack,’ said Libby. ‘Tell him, Ben.’

‘I can see the logic,’ said Peter, when he’d finished, ‘but as Lib says, Harry hasn’t got anything.’

‘But someone
thinks
he has,’ said Libby, ‘just like the sisters think he has. Or thinks we’ve found something.’

‘But I thought we agreed we’d uncovered the secret. And found that newspaper clipping. There isn’t anything else to find.’ Peter pushed his plate away.

‘There’s only one thing we don’t know,’ said Ben, ‘and that’s the name of Hal’s gran. That’s what must be the last secret.’

‘Well, Andrew wouldn’t tell us, and he knows,’ said Libby, ‘but if Ian’s questioning Keith Franklin and he’d found out, then he’ll have to tell Ian.’

‘There’s no “have to” about it,’ said Peter. ‘He can refuse till the cows come home. He hasn’t committed a crime.’

‘Unless he hit Hal over the head. And we know it wasn’t him but the younger one who tried to break into the caff,’ said Libby.

‘Allegedly,’ said Ben.

‘Perhaps we’ll find out when Ian comes back,’ said Peter. ‘If he
can
tell us anything.’

‘Like who killed Celia,’ said Libby. ‘We keep forgetting that was the start of all this.’

‘I wonder who the sisters really thought had done it?’ said Ben.

‘My guess would be Keith Franklin. He’d come back to the Island, Matthew said.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe they wanted us to look into it without telling us the background. There was no possibility of solving it.’

‘You keep saying that,’ said Ben. ‘Not your problem any more. Just let Ian and our wonderful police force handle it.’

‘I wonder, though,’ said Libby, ‘if all this will make the police look at Celia’s death again?’

‘It might, but I don’t see how they can investigate it again now. They don’t have a body to look at now.’ Ben stood up to take plates to the sink. ‘Now, let’s drop it and go and watch some mindless TV.’

It was almost nine o’clock when Ian rang.

‘I just wanted to ask you where exactly these sisters of yours live.’

‘Where are you? Did you see Franklin?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get back tomorrow. Now – I’m on that long road – Military Road, is it? – heading towards Ventnor. Give me directions.’

Ben took the phone and gave concise directions, then rang off.

‘What did you do that for? I wanted to ask –’

‘I know you did,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘You already had asked. He was obviously in the car, and presumably wants to go and see the old girls tonight. I’m sure he’ll have all the answers when he comes back.’

‘I wonder if he’ll get anything out of them?’

‘Oh, stop it! You’d worry anything to death, wouldn’t you?’ Ben went into the kitchen and waved two bottles through the doorway. ‘Whisky or wine?’

The following morning Libby called Fran.

‘I’m dying to know what he found out, and what he made of the sisters. I’m so cross that in the end we were right out of it and have to learn everything second-hand.’

‘Safer, though,’ said Fran. ‘Who knows when Honoria might have lost her temper and shoved you down the steps!’

‘I suppose she didn’t …’ began Libby.

‘Kill her sister? Don’t be daft! Why?’

‘She was the one Hal and I saw trying to search the Beach House that morning.’

‘But you worked out why that was. They all wanted to know if there was anything relating to their brother there.’

‘That’s what we
think
,’ said Libby. ‘We don’t
know
that.’

‘So what are you going to do this morning?’ asked Fran.

‘I don’t know. I could get out the vacuum, I suppose.’

‘You really are desperate!’ laughed Fran. ‘How about a shopping trip with me?’

‘Oh.’ Libby brightened. ‘Where? Canterbury?’

‘Yes. I need a decent selection of cosmetics. We could have lunch.’

‘And go and see Anne in the library.’

‘You’ll see her tomorrow in the pub,’ said Fran, ‘and she won’t thank us for holding her up at work.’

‘That’s true. And I really ought to be thinking more about the show. We start next week.’

‘Not until the Friday,’ said Fran.

‘OK, then Canterbury it is. Shall I meet you there?’

‘I’ll pick you up,’ said Fran. ‘Half an hour.’

Libby ran upstairs, changed into something slightly more appropriate for shopping in Canterbury and applied some make-up. She was ready when Fran tooted the horn of her little Smart car.

‘Be just like Ian to call while we’re out,’ she said, buckling her seat belt.

‘You’ve got your mobile with you, haven’t you?’

‘Yes. I remember these days,’ said Libby.

But no one called while they sampled the delights of the make-up departments in the Canterbury stores, nor while they ate lunch in a noodle bar.

‘Are you coming in for a cuppa?’ asked Libby, as Fran drove back towards Steeple Martin.

‘Of course. I haven’t seen Sidney for days.’

‘He’s much nicer to you than he is to me,’ said Libby.

There was no light flashing on the answerphone, and no missed messages on Libby’s mobile when she checked.

‘I don’t understand it,’ she said as she went to fill the kettle, ‘He must be back by now.’

‘He can’t always keep you up to date,’ said Fran, accepting Sidney’s gracious advances. ‘You aren’t in the force.’

‘No, but he got all the information from me,’ complained Libby. ‘I need to know.’

‘I expect you will, eventually,’ Fran put Sidney back on the floor and he stalked off, affronted. ‘He may turn up at the pub tomorrow.’

‘I suppose so. Then again, we might not hear for days. And I think Harry needs to know.’

‘Well, perhaps he’ll call Peter first.’

‘Pete would phone me.’

‘There’s no pleasing you, is there?’

Libby poured boiling water into a teapot. ‘I’m going to dig a bit further into the sisters’ pasts. We know more about them since Andrew’s visit. Coming?’

‘I was hoping to sit in the garden,’ said Fran. ‘Don’t forget I haven’t got one.’

‘I can’t see the computer screen in the garden,’ grumbled Libby.

‘Cardboard box,’ suggested Fran. ‘There’s the one in the conservatory you keep old rags in.’

‘Eh?’

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Five minutes later they were sitting under the cherry tree, Fran with a mug of tea and Sidney on her lap, Libby with the laptop inside the cardboard box.

‘Now, what did Andrew say Alicia’s husband’s real name was? Helmut Hoffman, wasn’t it …’ She tapped away for a few minutes, but nothing came up.

‘Try Hope-Fenwick,’ said Fran.

‘Nothing.’ Libby scowled at the screen. ‘Not even a Facebook page.’

‘Try the others then. What about Amelia?’

‘We don’t know her married name. I’ll have another go at Honoria. At least she came up as Honoria Morton.’

‘I wonder if there’s more about her under her married name?’

‘We don’t know that, either. Hang on, I’ll look into that Geometry of Fear thingy …’

‘I’d never heard of that,’ said Fran, ‘although I had heard of some of the artists.’

Libby shook her head. ‘No. There isn’t even a proper entry for it in Wiki – just the sculptors, and not all of them. I can’t find the article I first read.’

‘Just type Honoria Morton,’ said Fran. ‘That’ll find it.’

And of course it did.

‘No, it still doesn’t say much. No married name or anything.’ Libby sat back, frustrated.

‘I’ll tell you who you haven’t looked up,’ said Fran. ‘Matthew himself.’

‘Oh.’ Libby looked up in surprise. ‘Haven’t we? Didn’t we do that when we looked up Reginald Morton?’

‘Have another look.’

‘No, I remember now, it was one of those “citation needed” sites. I’ll have another look, though.’ She typed Matthew’s name into the search engine. ‘Oh – look! Obituaries. Why didn’t they come up last time?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you just put his name into Wiki and not Google.’

‘Oh, look.’ Libby turned the box towards Fran. ‘This is a report on the memorial service.’

The both read the article on screen, hunched over the cardboard box, tea forgotten. They gasped at the same moment.

‘A sister?’

‘Who pre-deceased him?’

They sat back and looked at each other.

‘Now why didn’t we know that?’ asked Libby.

‘I’ve no idea, but it does put a new complexion on matters, doesn’t it?’ Fran picked up her mug. ‘Ugh. This is cold.’

‘I’ll make some more,’ said Libby, handing over the laptop-in-a-box. ‘You carry on looking.’

By the time Libby got back with two fresh mugs of tea, Fran had found a few more details.

‘I don’t know why we didn’t look further the first time,’ she said. ‘There are obits from all the broadsheets, and he even gets in to a couple of the redtops, too.’

‘So what do they say?’

‘Matthew had a brother who died in infancy and an older sister who died two years ago.’

‘What was her name?’

‘I haven’t found it yet. None of them seem to mention it.’ Fran looked up. ‘That’s odd.’

‘What is? That they don’t mention it?’

‘Yes. Usually they do, don’t they?’

‘Is there anything about him being the nephew of Reginald Morton?’

‘No, and no mention of the sculpting Honoria, either.’

‘They really were trying to keep the whole relationship quiet, weren’t they?’ Libby mused. ‘The obits would have been prepared in advance, so it looks as though there’s been a systematic cover-up of the facts since Alfred died. Everything swept under the carpet, all records destroyed, sort of thing.

‘I can’t see what concealing the relationship between Matthew and the Mortons has to do with anything,’ said Fran, ‘unless the obvious inference has to be drawn.’

‘That’s horrible,’ said Libby.

‘But makes even more sense of the sisters’ desperation to keep everything quiet. Not only was their brother a convicted traitor and a suicide, but he raped –’

‘His cousin,’ said Libby.