LS 13 - Murder in a Different Place (3 page)

Ben frowned. ‘I still don’t see what she would have gone down there
for
, though.’

‘To find something?’ suggested Peter.

‘To meet someone,’ said Libby. ‘That’s what you think, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Alicia. ‘Not just to find something.’

‘Unless,’ said Harry, ‘she was to find something and hand it over to someone.’

‘Something Matthew had hidden there?’ said Peter.

‘That could be it!’ Amelia sounded excited. ‘Something – I don’t know – damaging.’

‘But damaging to who?’ said Harry.

‘Whom,’ corrected Peter. They all glared at him.

‘To the person, of course,’ said Amelia. ‘And then they killed Celia because she knew about it.’

‘It makes sense,’ said Libby, frowning. ‘Who did Matthew see over the few weeks before Celia died?’

The sisters looked at each other. ‘Only us.’

‘You didn’t know of anyone unusual who was in touch with him?’

‘No.’ Alicia shook her head. ‘But we wouldn’t know anything about who might have phoned him, or been in touch by email. We don’t have a computer.’

‘Did the police look at his?’ asked Peter.

‘His what?’ Honoria frowned.

‘His computer. Look at his emails.’

‘No, why would they?’ Alicia looked bewildered.

‘His wasn’t a suspicious death,’ said Libby, ‘so there was no reason to look at his computer.’

‘We could, though,’ said Ben.

They all looked at him. Peter turned to the sisters. ‘Yes, we could. Would you let us?’

‘Oh – I don’t know –’ began Alicia.

‘No,’ said Honoria.

‘Oh, yes!’ said Amelia. ‘And then I think we should start using it. We could start doing the shopping on it.’

‘You did ask us to look into Celia’s death,’ said Libby gently to Alicia. ‘This could be the only clue if it really was murder.’

Alicia looked at her sisters, then nodded slowly. ‘All right. Will you come up to look at it?’

‘This evening?’ suggested Peter. ‘After you’ve eaten, perhaps?’

‘That’s fine. Meet you at Matthew’s,’ said Alicia, standing up. ‘You know where it is, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘We’ll see you there. Half past eight?’

The sisters gathered themselves together and with a flurry of goodbyes set off up the path to the top of the cliff.

‘Well!’ said Libby. ‘What do you think of that?’ 

Chapter Three

‘It explains why they asked us to the funeral,’ said Ben.

Harry was once more standing at the edge of the deck staring out to sea. Libby looked at Peter and raised her eyebrows. He shook his head.

‘Have you been here before, Harry?’ Libby went and stood beside Harry, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. He didn’t look at her.

‘Yes. Years ago. Before I met Pete.’

‘Did something happen? Something – unpleasant?’

Then he did look at her. ‘No. Not in the way you mean.’

Libby, who didn’t know quite what she meant, nodded anyway. ‘Did you meet the sisters?’

‘No. I don’t know if they know he was gay even now.’

‘But you’ve been here?’ Libby frowned. ‘How did you avoid them? Or weren’t they here then?’

‘Oh, yes, they were here.’

Peter came and stood on the other side Harry and leant on the balustrade. ‘Hal, love, you’re not exactly telling us much, are you? What’s the problem? And why didn’t you tell us any of this before?’

Harry shook his head and looked down at the beach below, where a small clinker boat was drawn up next to some crabbing pots.

‘I stayed at the Beach House with Matthew. He’d collect me from the ferry at Fishbourne, then we’d drive somewhere – can’t remember what it’s called – where he had a little boat. Then we’d come round to the cove by sea.’

Ben had joined them at the rail. ‘And why was it so important you couldn’t tell us?’

‘I’d never told Pete.’ Harry looked up then, straight at Peter, who smiled.

‘Daft bugger,’ he said. ‘What you did before we met is nothing to do with me. And Matthew introduced us, so he did right by us, didn’t he?’

Harry nodded. Libby decided to change the course of the conversation. ‘In that case, you can tell us a bit more about the beach hut.’

‘House,’ corrected Harry. A wistful look came over his face. ‘It was lovely. It was only a painted wooden place, like that –’ he pointed to the little cafe a little further along the beach, ‘but it was perfect. All polished wooden walls and floor, and the windows looked out to sea, away from the cove. He had a huge telescope in there, too.’

‘Did he let it out?’ asked Ben.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Harry pushed himself upright. ‘I’ll take you to see where it was if you like.’

‘Now?’ Libby asked, startled.

‘Why not?’ said Peter. ‘It would be a good idea before we go up and start looking through Matthew’s computer.’

‘Right.’ Libby collected the used tea things and locked the big sliding doors from the deck, and they went down the small wooden steps to the beach. Turning left, they passed the little clinker boat, a boathouse, more crab pots and two more cottages, before clambering over rocks into what was effectively a separate little bay. In the middle, well away from the wooded cliff, stood what were obviously the ruins of the Beach House.

‘You can’t see it from the cove,’ murmured Peter, as they approached.

‘No.’ Harry’s eyes slid away from his partner’s.

‘How did he get here apart from by boat?’ asked Libby. ‘Did he have to come down the cliff path through the cove?’

Harry sighed. ‘Yes. That was why we used to come by boat.’

‘Can you see it from the top of the cliff?’ Libby looked up.

‘Not from the car park, but there’s a path through the woodland. You can see it from there. It’s part of the Coastal Path, but it isn’t used much because of the landslips.’

‘Landslips?’ said Ben.

‘All this coast is prone to them,’ said Libby. ‘Blackgang Chine loses a bit more every year, and sometimes even the main road has to be shut.’

‘So actually, the position of the Beach House was quite good,’ said Peter. ‘It isn’t near the cliff, so probably wouldn’t suffer if there was a fall. What was it originally?’

‘Matthew thought it was a fisherman’s hut. Or used for smuggling. As much smuggling here as there used to be at home.’

‘Could that be it?’ said Libby, memories of last winter’s discoveries about the smuggling fraternity in Kent springing to mind. ‘Modern-day smuggling? Nowhere overlooks this side of the Island.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Modern-day smuggling would mean drugs or people. You couldn’t get people out of here, and Matthew would never touch drugs.’ He turned away and walked down to where the wavelets bustled among the seaweed.

‘There’s something going on here,’ said Libby to Peter in a low voice. ‘Not just distress at Matthew’s death.’

‘Or concern about his cousin’s murder,’ mused Peter, his eyes on Harry’s back. ‘And I’ve never known him like this before.’

‘Never?’ asked Libby.

‘So introspective. He won’t share anything with me. Even when we first got together and there were things he was uncomfortable about sharing with me, he wasn’t like this. He just used to get angry and shout a bit.’ Peter shook his head. ‘It can’t have anything to do with – all this, can it?’ He turned worried eyes to Libby.

‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly. ‘It must be a coincidence …’

‘What is?’ Ben came up to them having been scouting round the other side of the ruins.

‘This so-called mystery and Harry’s …’

‘Depression?’ suggested Ben. ‘Although it isn’t that, exactly, is it? Anyway, look what I found.’

‘What is it?’ Libby frowned.

‘Looks like a diary or an address book,’ said Peter, taking the object from Ben. ‘Or was, anyway.’

‘It was buried over there,’ said Ben. ‘It’s been soaked of course, but we might be able to read some of it.’

Peter tried to open the brittle leather cover. ‘Not sure we will, you know.’

‘Let’s wait until we’re back at the house,’ said Libby, ‘and try and do it carefully. When Fran and Guy come tomorrow, perhaps Fran can get something from it.’

‘Do we show it to Harry?’ asked Ben.

‘Not sure.’ Peter frowned. ‘I suppose we must.’

‘Do we think it’s Matthew’s then?’ asked Libby.

‘Makes sense, doesn’t it?’ said Ben. ‘Come on, sleuth. This is A Clue!’

‘I can’t seem to get into it, though, Ben.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Matthew’s funeral and Harry being so upset. It doesn’t seem right.’

Ben put his arm across her shoulders, while Peter walked down the beach to join Harry.

‘Matthew’s cousins have asked you to look into it. This could even be what Celia wanted to find, what someone killed her for.’

Libby sighed. ‘I know.’ She turned to Ben and put her head on his shoulder. ‘How did this happen, Ben? How did I suddenly become a sort of unofficial detective? It’s becoming a bit of a burden.’

‘I know.’ He hugged her. ‘And you know how worried we all get when you put yourself in danger. But actually, you enjoy the puzzle.’

‘I don’t enjoy the misery,’ Libby mumbled into his neck.

‘Of course you don’t, but don’t forget you make people feel better when you’ve ferreted out the truth.’

‘Although,’ Libby looked up with a watery smile, ‘it’s the police who usually get at the truth.’

‘Not always,’ said Ben. ‘Now, come on, let’s go back to the house and see if we can make anything of this book.’

Peter and Harry had already started walking slowly back to Ship House. So far, they had spent most of their time on the broad deck which ran the length of the house. The weather was behaving like the perfect English summer, proving Libby’s prediction wrong, and, as yet, the cove was not packed with holiday-makers. Both the beach cafés were open, serving a variety of freshly made sandwiches and snacks, and in the evenings both had menus based on the day’s catch by the local fishermen, including the crab the cove was famous for. Yesterday none of them had felt like going out to dinner, having consumed a fair amount of funereal delicacies at the sisters’ house. Harry alone had not been seen to eat much.

Tonight, they were booked in at the nearest café.

‘Had we better ask if we can change our booking?’ asked Libby, as they climbed the steps to the deck. ‘If we’re going up to see the sisters at half past eight?’

‘Yes, we’d better,’ said Peter. ‘Seven instead of half past?’

‘That’ll give us enough time,’ said Ben. ‘All right, Hal?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Fine with me.’

Libby sighed with exasperation, but didn’t say anything.

Once they were settled back in their respective positions on the deck, Peter and Libby on sun loungers, Ben at the table and Harry, as was now usual, over at the balustrade, Libby started again.

‘What are we going to be looking for on the computer?’

‘If there’s an online diary,’ said Peter.

‘Emails,’ said Ben.

Harry said nothing.

‘We might not be able to get in without passwords,’ warned Ben.

‘Yes, we will,’ said Harry.

A kind of profound silence settled over the deck. Peter was the first to break it.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he told me.’

‘He
told
you?’ Peter sounded puzzled.

Harry sighed and came to sit at the table with Ben.

‘You know we kept in touch,’ he said. ‘The same way old friends usually do.’ He looked at Peter. ‘You should know there was no more than friendship.’

Peter leant over and placed a hand on his partner’s arm. ‘Course I do.’

‘Well, we were talking on the phone one day – oh, must have been a year ago or more – and we got on to the subject of passwords. You know how you do, sometimes, and everyone complains about having to remember so many.’

‘I do,’ said Libby. ‘I’m not very good about them.’

‘Neither was Matthew. He said it was because he was getting old. And he said he had to use things that had meant something to him in the past, it was the only way he could remember them. So my name was one of them.’

‘Just Harry?’ asked Ben.

‘Not exactly.’

‘But that’s only one. We’ll need one to get into the computer itself and at least one more for the email programme, probably,’ said Peter.

‘What meant a lot to him, Hal?’ asked Libby, ‘apart from you?’

‘There must have been other – er –’ began Ben.

‘Lovers?’ said Harry, with the first grin they’d seen for several days. ‘Yes, of course there were, most of them before he met me. But there was the man who I think was the love of his life.’

‘Really? Was he there yesterday?’ asked Libby.

Harry shook his head. ‘No, I think he might have died about two years ago. Matthew just stopped talking about him.’

‘Did the sisters know? Did he bring him here?’ asked Peter.

‘No. They never actually lived together, and this man had – well, a reputation.’

‘A reputation?’ repeated Libby. ‘What, as a bit of a lad?’

‘No, a reputation to keep up. A public figure.’

‘Oh, God, not that old reason again,’ sighed Peter. ‘Scared of losing wife and family, was he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Harry uncomfortably. ‘Matthew never told me who he actually was. All I knew was the name he used – called him by. So that would be a good password.’

‘It could also be a very good reason for blackmail,’ said Ben.

They all looked at him.

‘But the man’s dead,’ said Libby. ‘And why would someone blackmail Matthew about it?’

‘We don’t know he’s dead, and what about the man’s family?’ said Ben. ‘They could be blackmailed.’

‘Using evidence found in the little blue book?’ said Peter. ‘But Matthew would never give it up for that reason.’

‘Which was perhaps why Celia was killed – because she’d been told to say it wasn’t for sale?’ said Libby.

‘And the killer didn’t find it anyway,’ said Peter.

‘It makes a sort of sense,’ said Libby, ‘and gives us a starting point with the computer.’

‘It feels like …’ said Harry, and trailed off.

‘An intrusion?’ said Libby. ‘Of course it does. But think how good it will be if we find out who killed Celia, and by extension, Matthew. Because that’s what we all think, isn’t it?’