Murder in the Green (21 page)

‘Well, they didn’t seem over-keen on media interest,’ said Libby. ‘The Malahyde person and his sister seemed positively discouraging. I don’t know how Lewis’s researcher managed to get permission to film.’

‘Well, there’s no mention of the Goddess cult there, and as far as I can see it isn’t really known as the Goddess cult.’

‘No, but there are mentions of her and a horned god, representing the two sort of high gods. And that she is connected with the old Earth mother.’ Libby peered at Fran’s notes.

‘And the Maiden, Mother, Crone image which came from Robert Graves, so is very modern.’ Fran sat back frowning. ‘But there are indications of her being the symbol of rebirth and fertility, so if there are little pockets of Goddess worship, they could well have worked it into a nice little rite of fertility.’

‘Like bonking each other in the name of the Goddess.’

‘Something like that,’ said Fran, amused. ‘After all, that’s what that mob at Tyne Chapel were doing, weren’t they, all in the name of the devil.’

‘It seems to me that most weird cults are set up specifically to indulge in orgies,’ said Libby. ‘And it looks like this is what’s happening here, or are we getting ahead of ourselves?’

‘You said on the phone that Richard Diggory was a bit –’

‘Discombobulated,’ said Libby. ‘That’s what makes it suspicious.’

‘But he said he’d tell you all about it.’

‘Yes, but only because I made it sound as though I might be up for whatever it was.’

‘You be careful,’ warned Fran. ‘This is exactly what Ben doesn’t want you to do. That’s why he’s gone to all the trouble of setting up this party for you to meet the Frensham Holdings people.’

‘All right, all right. If he rings me, and I doubt if he will, I’ll prevaricate. But I want to know if that’s what all the goings-on are about which Bill Frensham introduced to Cranston Morris. This sub-culture, which was what was going on in the woods in Cornwall, I’m sure of it. And they put about the sacrifice rumour to stop people interfering.’

‘But surely that would make people interfere? If they thought sacrifice was going on, wouldn’t they report it to the police?’

‘Not if they were threatened,’ said Libby. ‘Gemma was terrified.’

‘She could have reported the animals on her doorstep before she left for home. The Goat people wouldn’t have come after her.’

‘She didn’t know that.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I tell you, she’d been threatened – or warned – before they even went to Cornwall. Which is daft. Why did the underground Cranston Morris bother to take Dan and Gemma and the other normal ones with them? Why not just go off on a jiggy-jiggy jolly without them?’

‘To keep the authenticity of the side going?’ suggested Fran.

‘Anyway, what we really want to know is whether it has anything to do with the Green Man murder.’ Libby pulled the keyboard towards her. ‘Beltane night and need-fire, that’s what we need.’

‘I’ve done that,’ said Fran. ‘It’s an old cleansing ritual. They used to drive their cattle through it, and all lights in the village or settlement had to be extinguished or it wouldn’t work. Then the villagers took home little bits of the fire to rekindle their own. And it was led by two chaste young men.’

‘Have trouble finding any of them these days,’ said Libby, ‘but yes, Gemma told me all about it.’

‘It’s a practice that has survived with some of the other old Celtic traditions, just for effect,’ said Fran. ‘I think they all jump through it, or something. Anyway, it was that night that John Lethbridge was killed.’

Silence fell. Libby stared at her friend, her mug half-way to her mouth.

‘OK,’ she said after a minute. ‘When did you come up with that?’

Fran looked surprised. ‘I told you. Fire and trees – he was killed in trees in the dark. It was Beltane night.’

‘But how do you know it was Beltane night? You didn’t at first.’

‘Well, I do now,’ said Fran. ‘And I’m going to tell Ian.’

‘I think you should,’ said Libby, ‘and right now, or he’ll think you’ve been holding out on him.’

Fran sighed, nodded and swallowed the last of her tea. ‘Can I use your landline?’

‘Be my guest.’ Libby waved a hand. ‘Give him my love.’ Fran scowled.

As it happened, Ian Connell wasn’t at his desk and whoever was on the other end of the phone wasn’t keen on giving him any messages unless he, the desk sergeant, was put in full possession of the details. Fran declined, and finally got a grudging agreement that her name would be mentioned if Inspector Connell happened to be passing.

‘Try his mobile,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve both still got the number.’

‘But only for an emergency,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t like to.’

‘This
is
an emergency,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll do it.’

Fran sighed. ‘No. If he sees your number come up he’ll get annoyed and probably won’t answer.’

‘Hmmph,’ said Libby.

However, Ian’s mobile went straight to voicemail, and, unwilling to say too much, Fran asked him to ring her.

‘He will,’ said Libby, ‘because he’ll guess the only reason you’d call would be with information, concrete or not.’

‘I expect so,’ said Fran, turning her attention to the computer again. ‘Let’s look up Goat people now.’

But the only page on Goat’s Head Morris contained just a list of where they were performing and a contact telephone number.

‘Secretive, these Cornish, aren’t they’ said Libby. ‘I did wonder if they really are Morris men, or if they themselves are another sort of cult.’

‘Oh, let’s not get into that,’ said Fran. ‘Whoever killed Frensham was nothing to do with them. He might have linked up with them to perform weird and wonderful rites in Portherriot, but I think that’s where their involvement ends.’

‘I think I ought to go and see Gemma again,’ said Libby ‘despite what I said. I want to know who threatened her and when.’

‘I doubt if it’s got anything to do with the case, I’ve just said. Leave it.’

‘I want to know why she’s still worried,’ persisted Libby. ‘If she is.’

‘Why don’t you leave it until we hear back from Ian,’ said Fran.

‘What do you expect him to do?’

Fran’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not sure. Search the area where they held their Beltane night celebrations?’

‘If it was near to the Mount, wouldn’t they have searched already? Once they realised he’d disappeared?’

‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘I wish I knew more about police investigations.’

Libby went to make more tea while Fran amused herself searching for unlikely combinations of cults on the computer until her phone rang.

‘Ian, hello,’ she said.

Libby brought the two mugs back in and sat down at the table, watching her friend’s face.

‘No,’ said Fran, ‘it was just that I had a – well, I thought John Lethbridge might have been killed the night before the murder.’

Libby saw her face change.

‘What?’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘How? What happened?’

She listened for a long time, while Libby fidgeted on her chair and tried to contain her impatience. Eventually, she said goodbye and switched off the phone.

‘Well?’ said Libby.

‘They’ve found John Lethbridge’s body,’ said Fran.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Libby.

‘In the woods near the Mount. There’s a path that leads through them on the edge of a sort of escarpment. Very thick woods. He was found at the bottom of this sort of cliff.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Ian wouldn’t say. He just wanted to know why I’d thought it had happened on Beltane night. He wants to talk to me.’

‘But you don’t know anything else.’

‘I know. I think he wants to try and drum something else up, like he has before.’

‘Guy won’t like that.’

‘I can make sure he’s there with me.’

‘What about me?’ said Libby indignantly. ‘Why can’t I be there, too?’

‘After Ian’s warning to you? I don’t think he’d like that.’

‘Well, as long as you tell me everything afterwards.’ Libby was grumpy.

‘When don’t I?’ said Fran. She stood up. ‘I’d better get home. I think he wants to speak to me tonight.’

‘I’ve just made more tea,’ protested Libby.

Fran sat down again. ‘Sorry. But I’d better be quick.’

‘So, now we know Lethbridge was murdered,’ said Libby. ‘Does it change things? We’ve suspected it all along.’

‘So have the police I think,’ said Fran, sipping tea.

‘How did they find the body? Without hearing from you first?’

‘Just a plain old search, I think. They’d tried to find him alive, you know, credit card transactions, sightings, all ports and airports covered, but no trace, so they had to search for a body. Someone had seen him earlier that day – the day before May Day – and he was all right but a bit jumpy.’

‘Did Ian tell you that?’ Libby said in surprise.

‘Yes.’ Fran looked equally surprised. ‘Oh, I suppose I’m going to be cast as an expert witness again. He shouldn’t really tell me anything.’

‘No.’ Libby looked thoughtful. ‘I tell you what, that body had been there for nearly two months. I bet it was in a state.’

‘Oh, yuck, Lib. Don’t even think about it.’

‘Good job you didn’t see that in your mind’s eye, wasn’t it?’ Libby grinned wickedly. ‘Put you off your cornflakes, that would.’

Fran put down her mug. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘that’s it. I’m going. I’ll let you know what Ian says.’

‘Oh, by the way,’ said Libby as she stood on the doorstep. ‘Is this common knowledge yet? Have they released it to the press?’

‘Why?’

‘Can I tell Ben?’

‘He’s told me, so it can’t be classified. I expect they’ll release it on the news this evening.’ Fran got into her car. ‘Talk to you later.’

Libby went back inside, brow furrowed in concentration. Now the situation was a lot clearer and seemed to remove several suspects. She sat down at the table and drank the remainder of her cooling tea. She remembered her feelings of this morning, when she had almost decided to give up amateur detection.

‘What,’ she said out loud to Sidney, who had appeared and was winding himself round her legs, ‘do I actually have to do with this case? Only Gemma wanting me talk to her silly Morris side. Because I’ve been foolish enough to get myself involved in murders before. But why did she want me to
talk
to them? She’s never really explained that.’ She stood up. ‘I’m just a sucker for a mystery, I suppose, and because of that, other people get me involved.’ She took the mugs to the kitchen and stood looking through the conservatory to the garden.

‘I can’t help it,’ she sighed, as Sidney jumped up to the work surface and began nosing at the bread bin. ‘Satiable curiosity, like the elephant’s child. An intellectual exercise.’ She frowned as she decanted cat food onto Sidney’s chipped Victorian saucer. ‘Except that it’s real people, not characters in a television drama.’

She put the saucer on the floor and reflected on the real people. The proposed meeting with Martin and Phillips now didn’t seem relevant, if, as seemed certain, Lethbridge’s and Frensham’s murders were linked. But now there was a new suspect. The Goddess herself. Wilhelmina Lethbridge.

Chapter Twenty-one

True to his word, Ben had begun preparations for his “leaving” party. His gift to Libby was to send her as a special envoy to Frensham Barn.

‘What do I have to do?’ she asked, when he told her that evening.

‘See which rooms are available, facilities like cloakrooms, and what catering arrangements they have.’

‘Couldn’t Harry do the catering?’

‘Not everyone’s a vegetarian, Lib. Unless Harry soils his fingers with a bit of meat I think that’s out of the question.’

‘Yes.’ Libby sighed. ‘Pity. And who do I meet?’

‘Barry Phillips. He’s in charge of marketing, which is where Frensham Barn fits into the organisation.’ Ben frowned. ‘I’ve always quite liked Barry. I don’t like to think of him mixed up in any of Bill Frensham’s dirty work.’

‘Are you sure there was dirty work?’

‘Pretty sure. Apart from trying to chisel money out of us, dodgy deals with the suppliers and a lot of cash deals which I’ll guarantee didn’t go through the books.’

‘Doesn’t sound too awful,’ said Libby.

‘I suppose not, but definitely illegal.’ He smiled. ‘And immoral.’

‘But old Sir Jonathan said Bill Frensham was one of the most upright and straight businessmen he’d ever met. And they used to hold functions at Anderson Place. Why do that when they had the barn?’

‘More prestigious,’ said Ben, ‘and let’s face it, Frensham wouldn’t let Sir Jonathan get wind of anything underhand, would he?’

‘Another thing,’ said Libby, chewing her lip, ‘won’t they think it’s odd you booking the place when you’d had a run-in with them?’

‘The girl I spoke to didn’t comment,’ said Ben.

‘I wonder if that was Trisha.’