Murder at the Laurels (8 page)

Chapter Nine

‘
S
O THERE YOU ARE
,' said Fran. ‘Barbara and Paul were trying to keep the whole thing from Charles.'

Charles had dropped them at 17 Allhallow's Lane after refusing a sandwich. Libby had rifled through her recent supermarket purchases, and now carefully placed a tray with tea, bread and cheese on her unpredictable garden table.

‘That's ridiculous,' she said, flopping down on to one of the equally unpredictable chairs. ‘They'd never have got away with it for a minute. The Headlam person would know about the coroner business, and Charles would have asked about the funeral anyway. I can't understand why he got into such a state about it.'

‘He was a bit flaky about it all,' said Fran, thoughtfully. ‘When we met for dinner he said he didn't know what happened about funerals, and was he supposed to arrange it.'

Libby snorted. ‘He seems a bit up his own backside, doesn't he? Is he one of these people who expects everyone else to do all the dirty work?'

‘I think he may be.' Fran chewed absent-mindedly on a piece of bread. ‘I thought he was really attractive at first, but I'm not so sure, now.'

‘Oh, he's attractive, all right. But if they're attractive and single at his age, it usually means there's something wrong with them.'

‘Like Guy and Ben, you mean?' Fran looked sideways at her.

Libby sniffed. ‘Well, they're both divorced. Not easy to live with. Ladies' men.'

‘God, Libby, you're so suspicious.'

Libby stared at her for a moment, then dropped her gaze. ‘I'm going out with Ben Friday night.'

‘Fantastic! I'm so pleased, Lib. When did this happen?'

Libby told her about the meeting in the supermarket. ‘But what about you? I've just realised, no funeral booked, what are you going to do?'

‘Oh!' Fran looked nonplussed. ‘Oh. Well, go home, I suppose.'

‘Are you sure you want to? You're welcome to stay here.'

‘You've got the kids coming soon, haven't you? And who knows how long I'd have to stay until the funeral? And I don't want to cramp your style with Ben.'

Libby felt the colour rising up her neck. ‘He's staying with his mum on Friday.'

‘I didn't mean Friday, necessarily. I meant – well, anytime.'

Libby thought about it. ‘Suppose you stay here tonight, at least, and think about it. You might hear from Charles, and there might be something you could do while you're here.'

‘Thanks, Libby. I've got enough clothes for a few days. I might even go over and see Barbara Denver again.'

‘What on earth for?' Libby sat upright. ‘I seriously think Charles is making a fuss about nothing. I don't think there was any intention of concealing anything from him, it was just the natural thing to do. She shouldn't have removed the stuff without asking him, perhaps, but that's all.'

‘That's the point. I want to know why she did it. Was it just to look for the will? Charles was concerned about the will, as well. And come to think of it, if he had power-of-attorney, how come he didn't know who her solicitors are?'

‘You can do that without a solicitor,' said Libby. ‘Peter's done it for Mad Millie.' Her eyes widened. ‘Whoops. Mustn't call her that.'

Fran smiled. ‘Is she still bonkers?'

‘You heard what he said the other night. As well as can be expected. The companion's a bit dim, but just what Millie needs. An ex-nurse, apparently. Goodness knows how long they'll be able to afford her.'

‘Will they sell Steeple Farm, do you think?'

Libby shrugged. ‘I don't know. I can't see Peter and Harry living there, but if James gets married he might want to.'

‘James? Already?'

‘No,' Libby laughed. ‘I meant if ever he gets up the courage to have another relationship.'

‘Unlikely, I'd have thought, after Paula.'

They both fell silent, thinking of James's dead girlfriend.

‘Then there's another thing,' said Libby, slowly.

‘Mmm?'

‘How come Charles is living in Mountville Road? And how come you didn't know?'

‘He's Eleanor's nephew, and if it was her house, I expect he was offered the flat. After all, he must have needed somewhere to live after his divorce.'

‘Eye to the main chance, if you ask me,' said Libby. ‘If your old auntie's estate is divided between him and Barbara.'

‘What, you mean possession's nine points of the law?'

‘He's in situ. They can't chuck him out.'

‘But he'd have to buy them out if he wanted to stay there. And the will might state the house must be sold to divide the proceeds. Suppose that's all there is in the estate? They'd have to sell it then, to pay for the solicitor and everything.'

‘Do you suppose they want to sell it anyway?' Libby leant back in her chair and looked up at branches of the cherry tree.

‘It'll be worth a fortune, even if it does want doing up. No wonder they're concerned about the will. She could have left it to just one of them, couldn't she?'

‘Well, whether I like him or not, if she has, I hope it's Charles. I'd hate that cow Barbara to get it.'

Fran frowned. ‘She didn't seem that bad to me,' she said. ‘A bit nervous and ineffectual, if anything.'

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘You must be joking! She's a bloody good actress, then. She's the one who holds the whip hand in that family. Most manipulative bitch I've ever known.'

Sidney appeared under the table, ecstatic at Fran's return. She bent down and lifted him on to her lap. ‘I still don't know,' she said, stroking his head, ‘what all this is about. Why I got all those unpleasant feelings. Nothing since.'

‘It'll come to you,' said Libby, comfortably. ‘Now, I've got loads of food for us tonight, and a choice of DVDs from the village shop, so stop worrying about it all, and lets talk about something else.'

But when Charles phoned in the morning, Fran started worrying about it all over again.

‘The coroner's ordered a post mortem. Apparently it had already been ordered when we went galloping all over the area yesterday.'

‘Why weren't we told?' Fran's suddenly shaky legs let her down on to Sidney's step.

‘I'll give you three guesses.'

‘Not Barbara. If she'd been told, she would have said, surely? And the undertakers didn't know. Perhaps it all happened after we'd gone?'

Charles sighed. ‘Look, Fran, I'm really sorry I got you involved with this. It's nothing to do with you anyway.'

‘I
was
her niece.'

‘You hadn't seen her for years.'

‘That wasn't my fault.'

‘Oh, well, I'm sorry.'

‘And did you find the solicitor's letter?'

‘Oh, yes.' Charles sounded gloomy. ‘It's not the right solicitor. We had to seek Power of Attorney when Auntie became unable to look after herself and we wanted to get her into a home. She'd consulted a solicitor about some neighbour trouble a couple of years before, and I went to him because I found the letter. I assumed he did the will, too, but he says no. As it happens, all he had to do for me was witness my signature, but anyone could have done that.'

‘Yes, Libby's friend Peter did that for his mum. She told me yesterday. So where do we go from here?'

‘Look, Fran, I've already said, you don't have to go anywhere with it. It's not your problem.'

‘Well, I'm staying down with Libby for a few days, so if I can do anything while I'm here, let me know. And let me know when the coroner's ready to release the – er – Aunt Eleanor.'

‘Will do. And Fran,' added Charles, sounding slightly worried, ‘don't go having any of your moments, will you?'

‘Wimp,' said Libby, when Fran told her. ‘I'd want you to have as many moments as possible – find out what's going on.'

‘They don't come to order, you know,' said Fran, with a smile. ‘Remember when I went down to the theatre to see if I could find anything out? Not a dickey bird.'

‘I know, but you did know who the murderer was.'

‘Who it wasn't, more like,' sighed Fran. ‘And you know what? I've just remembered, Charles said he had a letter from the solicitor when he was made executor. Not the power-of-attorney solicitor. So he must have a letter from the proper solicitor somewhere.' She stood up. ‘I'm going to ring him back.'

But Charles's land line went straight to answerphone, and his mobile to voice mail.

Chapter Ten

F
RAN'S PHONE RANG WHILE
she was chopping vegetables for one of Libby's eclectic stir fries that evening. Wiping her hands on a tea cloth, she fumbled for the buttons.

‘Fran, it's Charles.'

‘Oh, Charles, I'm glad you rang,' she began, but he interrupted.

‘Bad news, I'm afraid.'

‘What? Did you find the other solicitor's letter? Because that's what I –'

‘She was murdered, Fran.'

Fran's whole head tingled with the shock of it, and she found herself gasping for breath. Libby looked at her sharply.

‘You can't mean it,' she said, although the memory of the black suffocation told her it was true. She had known all along.

‘I don't know all the details,' said Charles, with the suspicion of a sigh, ‘but apparently the evidence is conclusive. We're all being interviewed by the police.'

‘All?' Fran's voice came out in a squeak.

‘Barbara, Paul and I. And the staff at The Laurels, presumably.'

‘What about me?'

‘Why on earth should they interview you? You weren't there.'

‘Marion Headlam will tell them about my visit. She wondered why I was there.' Fran knew as surely as if she'd heard Marion Headlam speak that this was what she would do.

‘I can't see it myself,' said Charles, sounding faintly irritable. ‘Anyway, it means there'll be an inquest, which will be adjourned for the police to make further enquiries. You certainly won't have to attend that. Oh, and if Mrs Headlam does contact you …'

‘Why should she?'

‘She called me, first of all on the pretext of discussing the murder, but really to find out about the will. Apparently she's expecting to be left something.'

‘Well, she's not going to find out about it from me, is she?'

‘I know, but don't say anything about all the shenanigans over the funeral yesterday, will you? I don't want her thinking we're all at each other's throats.'

‘But you are.'

‘Fran! Don't be difficult.'

‘All right, all right. So are you coming back down here? Or will they interview you in London?'

‘I've got to give evidence at the inquest. They've established I'm the next of kin, and I get a little leaflet about what to do and so on. The inquest's tomorrow.'

‘Thursday! Inquest instead of a funeral. Do you want me to come with you?'

‘You can come if you want, but I can't see why.'

‘To keep you company, for God's sake! For support. I won't bother.'

‘Sorry.' Charles was contrite.

‘Let me know what happens.'

‘Of course. Sorry, Fran. You were right about something being wrong, weren't you?'

‘Do you think it was him?' asked Libby, after Fran had finished filling her in on Charles's side of the conversation.

‘What, Charles as a murderer? Of course not. He's suave, when he wants to be, irritable and a bit insensitive. I don't think he's a murderer. Anyway, why would he have involved me, and gone round making a fuss yesterday? No, it's nothing to do with him.'

‘And why do they think she was murdered?'

‘Do you mean what was the evidence for it, or what was the motive? Because I don't know either.'

‘I meant evidence. The coroner ordered an inquest, so something turned up in that. That's one reason for an inquest. The others are work related deaths, deaths in custody …'

‘All right, Libby, I get the picture. And I haven't got a clue. Charles didn't say.'

Libby darted back out of the way of spitting olive oil as she poured chopped vegetables into the pan. ‘Are we going then?' she asked.

‘Eh?'

‘To the inquest. Did he say when it was?'

‘Why on earth do you want to come?'

‘To find out, of course. Don't tell me you don't want to. Why did you go down to The Laurels after she was dead if you didn't think there was something wrong?'

Fran sat down at the kitchen table and picked up a fork. ‘I don't know. I wish I hadn't.' She stabbed the fork viciously at the table.

‘Hey, watch my valuable antique.' Libby poked her with a spatula. ‘We're going, then. Now, can you feed Sidney?'

Libby, in an excess of zeal and nosiness, managed to find out where and at what time the inquest was to be held, and she and Fran turned up in plenty of time.

‘Look! It's our pet policeman.' Libby pointed across the room.

Fran fumbled for her glasses. ‘Which one?'

‘The bald one with red hair.'

Fran looked at her. ‘The bald one with red hair. Of course.'

‘No, look. He's got red hair just round the back of his head and over his ears. It's what ‘is name – DCI Murray. Donnie Murray.' She giggled.

‘Donnie?'

‘His wife brought him to see
The Hop Pickers
and let it slip.'

‘Is he nice?'

‘I wouldn't know. I only saw his formal side.' Libby looked round and nudged Fran. ‘And that's his sidekick – DS Cole.' A tall, thin man with a thin moustache leaned nearer to DCI Murray in whispered conversation. ‘Flash Harry from St Trinian's.'

‘Libby!' admonished Fran. ‘Look, over there. Barbara and Paul are sitting with Charles.'

‘Who's the other woman?'

‘Marion Headlam. Looks as though she's trying to make up to Charles.'

‘Hard-faced cow, isn't she? Men are so superficial.' Libby sniffed. ‘Oh, here we go. On with the Motley.'

The inquest provided no surprises. Barbara had realised Eleanor was dead after sitting with her for several minutes, Paul and Charles had arrived within seconds of each other immediately after the discovery. Little Nurse Warner was called and said in a whisper that she had pushed her client to the french windows so that she could look at the gardens a few minutes before Mrs Denver arrived. Nurse Redding said she had gone into the room while Nurse Warner was there and left again without delay. Both swore that Eleanor Bridges was alive when they left her.

‘There's something they aren't saying,' whispered Fran.

‘How do you know?'

Fran shrugged. ‘I just know.'

The pathologist gave her evidence of conjunctival petechial haemorrhages, fragments of white cotton around the mouth and traces under the fingernails. She reminded the coroner that the diagnosis of suffocation could be impossible to establish with certainty on the basis of the post-mortem examination alone, but that in this case, although not immediately obvious to the untrained eye, there were enough indications for her to be certain.

Emerging into the sunlight after the coroner had adjourned for the police to continue their enquiries, Libby came face to face with DCI Murray.

‘Mrs – ah!' he said. ‘Quite recovered, now, have we?'

‘Yes, we have,' said Libby seriously, ‘but there's still the trial to come, isn't there?'

‘Certainly is,' said DCI Murray, ‘so tell me, why are you here?'

‘This is my friend Fran Castle,' said Libby, pulling Fran forward. ‘You remember, she was the one who phoned you.'

‘Ah. Yes.' He looked uncertain, but held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.'

‘Well, Eleanor Bridges was her aunt.'

Libby heard the hiss of Fran's indrawn breath, and felt herself blushing. Damn. She'd got it wrong again.

‘Really?' DCI Murray's eyes brightened. ‘So, tell me, Miss Castle, did you not visit her on her birthday?'

‘No, I went down the next day,' said Fran, reluctantly.

‘The next day? Had no one told you she was dead?'

‘Um, well, yes. I hadn't visited her before, so I wanted to see where she'd died.'

DCI Murray frowned. ‘Bit morbid, wasn't it?'

Fran hesitated. ‘Guilt, Inspector,' she said eventually. ‘I was quite upset.'

‘Hmm.' He peered at her. ‘Wasn't your psychic stuff again, was it?'

Libby stood frozen. Fran wasn't going to like this.

‘I told you, Inspector. I felt guilty. Mrs Headlam quite understood.' Fran took Libby's arm. ‘I think I'd like to go now, Libby.'

‘I may want to speak to you again, Miss Castle. Could you give me a phone number?'

‘She's staying with me at the moment, Mr Murray,' said Libby firmly, ‘so you can get in touch with her there. Come on Fran. Goodbye, Inspector.'

‘Fran!' Charles appeared in front of them as they turned away. ‘Why didn't you tell me you were coming?'

‘You didn't want me to come, so why should I tell you?'

‘It wasn't that.' Charles looked uncomfortable. ‘I just don't want you to get involved.'

‘Well, I am involved. The inspector wants to talk to me, so I don't think you've a hope of keeping me out of it, do you?'

Charles sighed. ‘Don't be angry with me, Fran. This is bad enough already. I've just had the Denvers blaming me for the whole investigation.'

‘That's ridiculous,' said Libby. ‘Sorry for butting in, but you had nothing to do with the pathologist's report, had you? You didn't ask the coroner to call an inquest?'

‘I know, but they seemed to think our poking about yesterday had something to do with it.'

‘That's nonsense. We got Libby's friend Peter to look it up on the internet yesterday. If the deceased isn't currently being seen by a doctor and there isn't one to sign the death certificate, the coroner's officer has to be called, and the coroner will ask for a post mortem. Then if that turns something up, like this one did, there will be an inquest. You might find, though, that they'll now release the body for burial.'

‘Will they?' Charles brightened. ‘That would be a relief, wouldn't it?'

‘There'd still be the investigation,' said Libby.

Charles looked at her with distaste.

‘She's right, Charles.' Fran patted his arm. ‘Don't worry about it. It hasn't got anything to do with you, you weren't even there when she died.'

‘But I was straight afterwards. And as far as I can see, Barbara's the only one who could have done it. God,' he said, shaking his head, ‘this is a nightmare. I don't like the woman, heaven knows, but to think of that. It's disgusting.'

Libby and Fran regarded him thoughtfully.

‘How about lunch, Charles,' said Libby suddenly. ‘Cheer you up.'

Fran gave her an incredulous look.

‘If you're sure?' Charles looked from one to another. ‘I could use some friendly company.'

Libby smiled evilly. ‘Then come along with me,' she said. ‘I know just the place.'