Murder in Steeple Martin (29 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

‘
L
IBBY
? H
AVE YOU GOT
any sugar?’

Libby slowly turned towards him. ‘In the cocoa tin by the sink,’ she said.

‘OK.’ Stephen went back into the kitchen.

‘Libby!’ Fran was almost shouting.

‘It’s OK, Fran,’ said Libby shakily. ‘I’ve got it. I think.’

‘Is he there? I can feel him.’

‘Yes, he’s here. Are you sure it’s him?’

‘Well, as sure as I can be. It feels like it. Call the police.’

‘How can I? When he’s in front of me?’

‘I’ll call them, then,’ said Fran. ‘Keep him talking.’ She rang off.

The blood was pounding in Libby’s head and she thought she might faint. As Stephen came back in to the room, triumphant with two mugs and the cocoa tin, she slipped off the arm and onto the seat of the chair. What do I say? she thought.

‘Sugar?’ he asked, holding up a spoon.

‘No, thanks.’ Libby reached out to take a mug and hoped she wouldn’t spill it.

‘So did Fran want to know about David?’ Stephen sat back in Libby’s cane chair, which creaked. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business but didn’t dare. Instead, she nodded. He looked so normal, in his jumper and jeans and Cat boots, his pleasant face smiling an enquiry.

‘Did she think he’d murdered Paula?’

‘No, she didn’t. In fact, that’s what she said to me yesterday, when I thought he might have done.’ Libby took a sip of scalding tea, which Stephen had obviously made by pouring boiling water on to a teabag, and then taking it out too soon. She squashed an instinctive grimace.

‘Do the police think he did it?’ asked Stephen.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Libby. ‘Will they have to investigate his death?’

‘Oh, yes. Didn’t your friends tell you? They will have been called. Was there a note?’

‘I believe so,’ said Libby, unwilling to reveal any more family business. ‘But I don’t know why he would have killed Paula.’

‘Well, he was her father, wasn’t he?’ said Stephen, and Libby nearly fell off the chair. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t you know?’ Stephen took a sip of tea, keeping his eyes on Libby’s horrified ones.

‘How – how did you know?’

For a moment Stephen looked disconcerted. Then he shrugged. ‘Oh, she told me,’ he said.

‘She did? I didn’t think you know her that well.’

‘I told you I knew her. When I told you she was a p.t. and you knew what it meant.’ He laughed.

‘So you did.’ Libby took a deep breath and put down her mug. ‘I didn’t realise you knew who her father was, though. I certainly didn’t.’

Luckily, Stephen didn’t question her as to whether she had known before he told her.

‘And why would he kill his own daughter, anyway? Not just to stop her telling anyone, surely. After all, she’d already told you.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen. ‘Anyway, he didn’t, did he?’

‘No,’ said Libby, ‘and he couldn’t have been responsible for the accidents, either.’

‘The accidents?’ Was she imagining things, or was Stephen looking wary?

‘Well, yes. Apparently they think the accidents were first attempts to kill her.’ Libby looked down into her mug.

‘Rubbish. She wasn’t even at the bridge.’

‘No. That’s very puzzling, actually. And even if she had been there, how would anyone be certain she would be the one to fall off?’

‘Frightener.’

‘Oh, yes! That’s what James said. He said she thought someone was out to get her, or frighten her, at least. You think she was right?’

This time she was certain Stephen looked wary. ‘It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so. And David was hardly the build to go scrambling up ladders or underneath bridges, was he? and I don’t suppose he had wire-cutters or anything. I can’t believe we thought Millie could have done it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It must have been someone with opportunity. And a very good reason.’

‘I expect there were a lot of men with a good reason,’ said Stephen, keeping his eyes on Libby’s. ‘But I would have thought it was a spur of the moment thing.’

‘Really?’

Stephen’s eyes moved to the window and Libby turned her head. A dark car had just drawn up outside, and as she watched she saw DCI Murray get out of the passenger side. Stephen stood up and a wave of relief washed through Libby, leaving her quite light-headed.

‘It looks as though you’ve got company, Lib,’ he said. ‘Still under suspicion, eh? I’d better leave you to it.’

Libby stood up and caught DS Cole’s eye as he peered through the window. He nodded briefly as there came a sharp rap on the front door. Across on the green two patrol cars had pulled up silently, but with their ominous blue lights signalling trouble. Stephen was pulling on his coat and looked up. ‘You’re in more of a mess than I thought,’ he said, his eyes going quickly from the front door to the kitchen.

Without a word, Libby made a dive for the front door, but Stephen was before her, grabbing her wrist as she reached for the latch. Throwing her to the floor he turned and made his way as quickly as he could through the assault course of the front room. Libby managed to get to her knees and open the door, but before anyone could do anything, Sidney took a hand. Streaking down the stairs and over the furniture in a single bound, he was in amongst Stephen’s feet before DCI Murray had even stepped over Libby.

The language, Stephen’s and Sidney’s, was appalling. Torn between hysterical laughter and feeble tears, Libby watched from the floor as DS Cole gently assisted Stephen to his feet and suggested he might like to accompany him to the station. Little DC Burnham appeared nervously as Stephen was ushered firmly out of the door, without even glancing at Libby, and helped her to her feet.

‘No caution?’ asked Libby shakily, looking out of the window to where Stephen was being helped into the back seat of one of the patrol cars.

‘No, we haven’t arrested him yet,’ said DCI Murray. ‘Now, Miss er – Mrs –’

‘Sarjeant,’ said Libby weakly, ‘with a J.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, now, DC Burnham, could we have some tea, do you think?’

DC Burnham paused on the edge of rebellion.

‘Oh, yes, I’d love a proper cup,’ said Libby. ‘Stephen had just made some, but it was awful. Here, I’ll do it.’

‘No, madam, you sit there,’ said DC Burnham, softening. ‘I’ll make a proper pot, shall I?’

‘Do you feel up to a few questions, madam?’ asked DCI Murray, creaking in to the cane chair. Sidney reappeared, his fur still standing on end, and came to investigate, ready to repel all boarders.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Libby, although she knew she wasn’t. ‘Did Fran phone you?’

‘Mrs Castle? Yes, she did.’

‘I can’t believe you came just because she said she thought I was with the murderer.’

DCI Murray smiled. ‘But when she said exactly who you was with – I mean, who was with you – well, we thought we’d better come.’

‘You mean, you knew it was Stephen?’

‘We had our suspicions, madam.’

‘But, how?’

DC Burnham came in with a tray she’d unearthed from somewhere and the cups left out since Millie’s visit.

‘Mr Pringle had every opportunity to cut the steel wire at your theatre, he knew in advance about the visit of the photographer, and he had arranged to meet the deceased on the night of her death.’

‘I didn’t know that!’ gasped Libby.

‘No, madam, you wouldn’t.’ DCI Murray took a tea cup and looked at her solemnly over the rim. ‘He was the father of her child, you know.’

‘You had his DNA?’

‘Oh, yes, madam.’

‘I didn’t even know you’d interviewed him,’ said Libby, shaking her head.

‘Well, madam, you would only see the parts of the investigation that involved you, or that any of your friends told you. And they told you plenty. You were all becoming a bit of a nuisance.’

‘But not Stephen. He didn’t tell us anything. Will you tell us why? When it’s over? Will he confess?’

DC Burnham leaned forward. ‘The baby was his, and his DNA was found on the bedspread, and all over her house and car. He wasn’t very careful. He’d be better admitting it.’

‘What about motive?’ asked Libby. ‘Was it jealousy?’

‘Probably,’ said DCI Murray, ‘but we’re not over-concerned with why, madam. Just who, how and when. And Mr Pringle is the who, he had the means for the how, and was available for the when. I can tell you that he and the deceased had been having a relationship for some time. At least a couple of years, apparently.’

‘He did say he knew her,’ said Libby, relieved to find the shaking was getting less. ‘But I thought it was just a passing acquaintance. But wait a minute – he was married up until a year or so ago.’

‘Yes, madam. So his wife told us.’ DCI Murray looked smug. ‘Another woman was apparently the cause of their split.’

‘Paula!’

‘It would seem so, from evidence found at her house. Yes. He was very careless.’ He leant forward conspiratorially, ignoring DC Burnham’s disapproving expression. ‘It appears the young lady fell against the marble fireplace.’

‘So it was an accident?’

DCI Murray nodded. ‘In a way. I doubt if she fell there all by herself, though.’

‘So what about the bedspread?’

‘The throw? We think he wrapped her up in it and put her in her car, intending to drive it away. I think the fire sirens scared him off. He certainly didn’t bother to clear away any evidence from inside the house, and there was plenty.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself. ‘He’d never have got away with it.’

Ten minutes later, after assuring themselves she wasn’t a quivering wreck, the police presence left and Libby went straight to the phone. While she was still explaining things to Fran and thanking her for her prompt action there was a heavy pounding on the front door.

Ben, Peter and Harry crowded into the room overwhelming her with hugs, kisses and, from Harry, a large bottle of scotch.

When she’d sorted them all out, found seats for them all, pacified a now furious Sidney and found glasses for the scotch, she slumped into the cane chair and began to explain.

‘So he must have been seeing Paula for months,’ said Peter, when Libby finally ran out of steam.

‘While she was still seeing James, certainly. Before that weekend when she said they’d conceived.’

‘It was years, according to DCI Murray,’ said Libby.

‘That was why he agreed to come over here and stage manage,’ said Harry, with the air of one who has had a light bulb moment.

Libby nodded. ‘And I thought he fancied me. That’ll teach me.’

‘He went to some trouble to make it look as though he did,’ said Ben, patting her hand. ‘I was very jealous.’

‘You old bugger, you weren’t,’ said Peter. ‘You knew the old trout didn’t fancy him back.’

‘So what exactly did Fran say?’ asked Harry.

‘She told me yesterday she didn’t think I was right about David, but today she said she’d had this dream about opportunity. And that made me think about what you’d said. And Stephen was right here when she was telling me, and suddenly I realised. He was the only one who had the opportunity to cut the wire, he knew who would be underneath it, or not, and he knew about the photographer coming.’

‘Do you remember I couldn’t get hold of either Paula or him that night I phoned everybody?’ said Peter. ‘I suppose they were together.’

‘Maybe, and then when he got home there would have been this message. She must have already told him about the baby and her intention to snaffle James,’ said Ben.

‘So he decided to frighten her again. He almost admitted that to me,’ said Libby, shuddering and causing three willing hands to vie with each other to top up her scotch.

‘The fire, of course, that must have diverted attention away from him up at Lendle Lane,’ mused Harry.

‘I would have thought it would have been the opposite,’ said Ben. ‘More people around the village late at night.’

‘I don’t suppose he intended to kill her, he probably just lost his temper. We still don’t really know how she was killed, do we?’ said Peter.

‘She hit her head on the fireplace.’ Libby shuddered again, and Ben heaved himself over to sit on the arm of the cane chair to put his arm round her. The chair uttered a protesting creak and Sidney swore from underneath it. ‘DCI Murray said he thought it was an accident, but Stephen panicked. And the fire engines disturbed him, like Ben said.’

‘There you are then,’ said Peter, ‘spur of the moment, I would have thought, then he drove back and collected the bedspread to wrap her in to make it look as though … oh, no, she was left in her car.’

‘He had to use something of hers rather than his, or something from his car, or wherever he killed her, so it didn’t link back to him,’ said Harry. ‘Hey, I’m getting good at this.’

The other three looked at him with disapproval. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘I don’t think it was that well thought out,’ said Libby. ‘The police think he wrapped her in the bedspread to move her. That’s all there was to it. What I don’t understand is why David didn’t see it.’

‘He’d just found his daughter dead,’ said Ben gently. ‘I don’t suppose he was seeing or thinking straight.’

‘We actually suggested Stephen right at the beginning, didn’t we?’ said Libby. ‘He was the obvious one for cutting the wire.’

‘But we didn’t know he knew Paula. How could we have done?’ said Peter.

Libby shook her head. ‘We couldn’t. I was surprised when he admitted it to me the other day.’

‘Do you know what’s so awful?’ said Ben, absentmindedly stroking Libby’s hair.

‘All of it?’ said Libby, squirming slightly.

‘No, the fact that it wasn’t James’s baby and David committed suicide for nothing.’

‘If only he’d waited,’ said Harry.

‘It would still have come out about him being the father of both of them, and he was really worried about that, as well. Incest does
not
go down well in village life.’ Peter swallowed the last of the whisky in his glass and stood up. ‘Come along, pet. Let’s leave these two to recover from all the traumas. And you’ve got some prepping up to do while I go and tell the rest of the family.’

When they’d gone, Ben threw a log on the fire and sat down opposite Libby.