Murder in the Green (34 page)

Ian frowned. ‘It’s possible, but I’m not sure it’s necessarily false accounting. Well, not in the ordinary way.’

‘So what is it?’ Libby peered at him, eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I see. You can’t tell me.’ She looked across at Ben and grinned. ‘How about if I make a guess?’

‘I can’t stop you,’ said Ian, putting his mug down.

‘You’re investigating a local drugs ring, aren’t you?’

Ian became very still.

‘You told me that yourself,’ said Libby. ‘That was why you were so busy. Now I know you’re often on more than one serious crime, but it struck me that this could easily have something to do with Frensham Holdings, couldn’t it?’

‘That’s a bit of a leap of faith, Lib,’ said Ben. ‘How on earth did you come up with that?’

‘I can’t remember now,’ said Libby, wrinkling her forehead, ‘but it’s sort of been in the background for ages. Oh – and I’ve just remembered!’

‘What?’ said Ian and Ben together.

‘Harry told me. How could I have forgotten? He said Richard Diggory had started taking orders for Frensham Supplies. He told me days ago. That must be why I saw him and Elizabeth Martin at Anderson Place. Mel said they had courier deliveries now Bill Frensham no longer came to see them himself.’

‘He delivered himself?’ said Ian.

‘Probably only to Anderson Place. He liked to keep in with Sir Jonathan, apparently.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ said Ian grimly. ‘I doubt very much if they needed a fleet of vehicles, or even salesmen.’

‘Oh?’ Libby looked puzzled.

‘The little we have managed to see indicates that there
were
virtually no supplies. They must have bought in just enough to keep people like Sir Jonathan happy.’

‘You mean they had no customers?’ Ben was frowning.

‘Not Frensham Supplies, no. Or rather, only a few. From before the new divisions started.’

‘Media and Marketing,’ said Libby. ‘Yes, that’s what Mel thought. She said Supplies seemed rundown. So why keep it going?’

‘Come on, Miss Marple,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘Simple isn’t it? As a cover.’

‘Oh!’ Libby looked annoyed. ‘Bugger. Of course. So was he supplying drugs? Bill, I mean?’

‘We’ve got our suspicions,’ said Ian. ‘He went out on deliveries but only made a few, rare genuine ones. So where else did he go?’

‘How do you know he went out?’ said Libby.

‘That came out in our first round of questioning,’ said Ian.

‘So someone knew what was going on – and killed him for it?’

‘In that case, John Lethbridge’s murder is unconnected, which seems unlikely.’

‘Round and round the mulberry bush,’ said Ben, sounding a trifle impatient.

Libby scowled at him and Ian grinned. ‘Absolutely right,’ he said, and stood up. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Lethbridge was blackmailing someone. That’s why he was talking about something being disgusting.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, either,’ said Libby. ‘If he was going round muttering when Wilhelmina got there it sounds as though he’d only just found out about whatever it was, so how could he have already been blackmailing someone?’

‘He’d let someone know, then,’ said Ian. ‘And it was something important enough to be killed for. Meanwhile, I have to find out more about both victims, so anything you can think of, let me know.’

‘But haven’t you already investigated Bill Frensham thoroughly?’

‘Of course. But that was with the possibility of Lethbridge being the murderer.’

‘So you were concentrating on Lethbridge and Monica?’

‘Not solely.’ Ian stood up. ‘As I said, we now need to go a little deeper into both their lives. Find a connection.’

‘Which has to be Monica,’ said Libby. ‘She was married to Bill and had an affair with Ian.’

‘Which was over, as far as we can find out.’

‘Have you looked at the gardeners’ shed?’ said Libby as she held the front door open.

Ian looked confused. ‘Gardeners’ shed?’

‘At Frensham Barn. It was mentioned to me by Barry Phillips. They had a burglary there, but Bill Frensham wouldn’t make anything of it. Didn’t even report it to the police.’

‘What? Why haven’t I been told about this?’ Ian’s dark eyes almost flashed.

‘Why should you have been? If it wasn’t reported to the police, and there was no reason for you to investigate Frensham Barn.’

‘I’ll get on to it,’ said Ian and began to walk to his car. ‘Oh,’ he said, turning back, ‘and thanks, Libby.’

Libby returned to the sitting room and sat down on the sofa. ‘I still don’t get it,’ she said.

Ben came and joined her. ‘You don’t need to. You’ve helped Ian, both of you. Now just let him get on with finding the culprit.’

‘I can’t get over the fact that the police don’t seem to have done enough research into Frensham’s life before this. That’s the most important part of the investigation, isn’t it? Finding out the victim’s secrets, who they met, what they did. All that. Ian didn’t even seem to know about the Goddess Cult and all those unsavoury practices.’ She looked thoughtfully at the empty fireplace. ‘Or perhaps he did and just hasn’t told us. But he didn’t mention it when I told him about my trip to Cornwall.’

‘As he said, Lib, you aren’t on the force and he doesn’t have to tell you everything. Now come on, forget it. Let’s see what’s on the box. Take your mind off it.’

But Libby couldn’t forget it. After Ben had gone to the Manor the following morning, she left a message on Gemma’s mobile. Gemma would be teaching this morning, she knew, but maybe she would ring back at lunchtime. Then she called Barry Phillips, but only succeeded in reaching Trisha.

‘They’ve been here again,’ she whispered. ‘The police. Did you tell them what I said?’

‘Unofficially, yes,’ said Libby, ‘but don’t worry. Your name wasn’t linked to anything.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘It’s just that now another body has been found they have to make even more enquiries.’

‘Oh, no!’ Trisha’s voice wobbled. ‘Is that why they’ve been into Supplies this morning?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘What did they want?’

‘I don’t know. Mrs Martin dealt with it.’

‘Oh, yes. She would.’

‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry to rush you, but I’ve got to get on. Can I take a message for Mr Phillips?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Libby, not wanting to mention the gardeners’ shed to anyone else. ‘I’ll try him again later.’

Fran wasn’t answering either her landline or her mobile, and when Libby called Guy’s shop, she learnt that she had volunteered to go back to Chrissie’s house and try to mediate between the warring factions.

‘With Cassandra commenting all the while, I suppose,’ said Libby.

‘That bloody cat. Kept me awake all night. God knows what it’ll be like if Chrissie does have a baby.’

‘Perhaps they’ll have to give it away. It won’t like the competition.’

‘The baby or the cat?’ growled Guy.

Libby put the phone down and wandered round the sitting room. Something was niggling at the edges of her mind, and she couldn’t pin it down. Something that Ian had said last night, possibly? She leaned against the table in the window and stared out at the lane. Something she herself had said? She sighed and looked at her watch. Nowhere near lunchtime yet, so Gemma wouldn’t be ringing back. What could she do until then? The obvious thing was to do what she had been going to ask Barry Phillips permission for, visit the gardeners’ shed.

But just as she had locked the back door and found the car keys, the phone rang.

‘Libby? It’s Gemma.’ She sounded breathless and flustered. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing’s the matter, Gem. I didn’t expect you to call me until at least lunchtime.’

‘I thought – well, I thought something had happened,’ said Gemma. ‘Diggory’s been ringing me.’

‘Oh, dear. Renewing his suit?’

‘In a way. Oh, Libby, you were right. He’s quite horrible. He’s been calling you names behind your back, too.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve managed to uncover the nasty little group he and Bill were running under cover of Cranston Morris and more. At least, I think so.’

‘We’ve been hearing about that,’ said Gemma, sounding shaky. ‘Is it to do with those sacrifices?’

‘No, I think they were just to put people off the scent. They were doing sort of Black Mass things. Very nasty.’

‘Oh, my God. Thank you for finding that out Libby. I don’t know how we shall be able to carry on, now.’ She took a breath. ‘And was that why Bill was killed? He said he’d had a letter that morning.’

Libby froze. ‘What?’ she said eventually. ‘What did you say?’

‘What did I say? Which bit?’

‘About a letter.’

‘Oh, that. When we arrived for the start of the May Day parade Bill was cross. He was talking to Diggory and didn’t seem his usual self. Dan asked him what was the matter and he said it didn’t matter, he’d had a letter that morning, and he’d deal with it later.’

‘Didn’t you tell the police?’ Libby almost shrieked. ‘For God’s sake, Gemma, don’t you see how important that was?’

Gemma sounded even shakier now. ‘No, why? What could a letter matter?’

‘Because it was probably the reason he was killed, you idiot! Because the police could have been looking for that letter from the moment he was found.’

‘Oh, God.’ Now she sounded close to tears. ‘I just didn’t think. I’d forgotten all about it until now.’

‘Never mind,’ said Libby, ‘I’ll tell the police. Did they ask you about Lethbridge?’

‘Yes. All I could tell them was John must have been late. There was a gap in the formation before we started, but when I looked back everyone was there.’

‘Only it wasn’t John, was it, because he was already dead.’

This time Gemma really did break down and Libby had to spend a good deal of time calming her down.

‘Look, shouldn’t you be in class now?’ she asked eventually.

‘No. Free period. That’s why I rang you.’

‘Well, don’t you think you should ask to go home? I mean you’re obviously not well. I’m sure they’d understand, under the circumstances.’

‘I can’t let the children down,’ wailed Gemma.

‘Oh, right.’ Libby frowned. ‘Well, ring Dan at lunchtime and see what he says. Tell him all about it.’

Next Libby called Ian’s mobile number.

‘Yes?’ He sounded exasperated. Libby adopted a cowed and anxious tone and explained about Gemma and the letter. Ian exploded.

‘Fucking hell! Bloody woman! Why didn’t she tell us in the first place. My Christ, we could have had an arrest within a couple of hours. Good God, I’ll give her hell.’

‘Yes, Ian,’ said Libby meekly.

‘Sorry. God, Libby, I’m sorry. Thank you for that. Where is she?’

‘At her school. In a state. I don’t think she’ll want you turning up there.’

‘I don’t care if she doesn’t like it. God, this is unbelievable.’

Libby listened while Ian continued to rant until he finally ran out of swear-words and rang off, promising to update her later that day. Then she picked up her basket and her keys and left the house.

As she drove towards Frensham Barn through a brilliantly sunny late morning, she wondered exactly what she was trying to achieve. Last night she’d told Ian about the gardeners’ shed. Surely that was enough? But she’d had the feeling then that it wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities, and after their recent conversation it would have fallen even further. She wasn’t sure of the significance of the shed, either. She could be barking up entirely the wrong tree, but she had to know.

Arriving on the forecourt of the barn, it was obvious that there was no one there. Taking out her mobile, she rang Trisha again.

‘He’s not back yet,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to leave a message?’

‘Well – OK, then. When I met him before, he mentioned the burglary at the gardeners’ shed at Frensham Barn. It’s something,’ she crossed her fingers, ‘the police want to look into, so I thought I ought to come on a recce. I was hoping he’d meet me there, but obviously not.’

‘No,’ said Trisha. ‘Could anyone else help?’

‘Oh, no, don’t trouble anyone,’ said Libby hastily. ‘I’ll wait until I hear from Barry.’

Frustrated, she put the phone away. It was sweltering in the car, so she opened the door and climbed out. The air had that hot, silent shimmery feel that so rarely happens in England and she stretched, feeling her damp shirt pulling away from her back. Around the barn, the woods stood unmoving. Libby decided it would be cooler in there, and, anyway, she might as well reconnoitre as she was here, as she’d told Trisha. Taking her mobile out of her basket and sliding it into her jeans pocket with her keys, she set off for the woods.

As she reached the edge, she had the presence of mind to send a text message to both Ian and Ben, realising that her signal would probably disappear, and if she found anything she might need someone to know where she was. That, she thought, as she went into the woods, was where the heroines of fiction went wrong. They never let anyone know where they were.