Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) (10 page)

‘
B
ut all we found was his sister, Beatrice Retford. No mention of where he died or anything,’ said Libby.

‘Can you honestly say you could read this document?’ asked Andrew.

‘Well.’ Libby and Fran looked at each other. ‘Not properly,’ said Fran.

‘Look.’ Andrew turned the screen towards them. ‘Beatrice Retford, wife of Jasper. Then later, here, Jasper Retford of Cheapside, who gets Bartholomew’s house and “sundrie effects”. There are a lot of bequests and details of how the estate is to be administered –’

‘Are there?’ said Libby, peering.

‘Yes, but the language is fairly archaic. Finally, that the residue of the estate is to go to a Mary de Beauville – see, here? – who apparently has comforted him in his old age.’

‘Housekeeper?’ said Fran.

‘I think more than that,’ said Andrew.

‘De Beauville?’ said Libby. ‘That’s a bit like Beaumont.’

‘I think that’s a coincidence,’ said Fran. ‘Easy to read something into it. So what does it say about this Mary, Andrew. Does it tell us where she lived?’

‘In Tollybar’s house, but the residue of the estate is that she might live in comfort for the rest of her life. It also mentions her issue, Thomas.’

‘His?’ suggested Libby.

‘Very likely. Not exactly acknowledged, but it appears that he was looking after his own. Unusual in those days.’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t such a crook as Alastair Beaumont thought,’ said Libby.

‘The will is very detailed, and there seem to be several business ventures, but, as you say, no mention of the reliquary. But he left Jasper Retford his sundries, so it may be there.’

‘Or in the residue of the estate to Mary?’ said Fran. ‘If it was valuable, and she seems to be the closest to him.’

‘A private gift before he died is most likely,’ said Andrew. ‘Anyway, we’ve got all these names we can follow up –’

‘We?’ repeated Libby and Fran.

‘Don’t you want me to?’ asked Andrew with a grin.

‘But it would be a lot of work,’ said Libby. ‘And you’re –’

‘Bored,’ Andrew finished for her. ‘It would be an absolute pleasure, believe me. I can go up to Kew, and the British Museum, probably, and ferret about to my heart’s content.’

‘If there are any expenses,’ began Fran.

‘I shall bear them myself,’ said Andrew. ‘I shall be only too delighted.’

‘Well.’ Libby looked at Fran. ‘Even if it doesn’t get us any further with the murder, it would be terrific if you could trace the reliquary. The Beaumonts and the nuns would all be pleased.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Andrew. ‘Now, can you email me this will, so I have the link to go from?’ He gave Fran the address and she duly sent the document as an attachment.

‘There now.’ Andrew sat back, looking pleased. ‘And, I can tell you, it will be very good for our Rosie to come home and find me not ready to jump when she says jump.’

‘That confirms what we know about dear Rosie,’ said Fran, as they walked back to the car. ‘She uses Andrew as a diversion whenever she feels like it.’

‘And to feed poor Talbot when she flits off,’ said Libby, remembering the fat black-and-white cat who was so frequently left on his own. ‘I wish he could find someone else.’

‘I don’t suppose he wants anyone else,’ said Fran. ‘After all, when we met him he was happily single and not looking for anyone. Perhaps she’s as much of a diversion for him as he is for her.’

‘Except that he does a hell of a lot more for her than she does for him.’

‘It gives him something to do,’ said Fran. ‘And if he can find anything out about the reliquary it will be great.’

‘It’ll be fantastic,’ said Libby. ‘And I’m sure, somehow, that it went back to the Beaumonts at some point after old Barty got it. Alastair said it kept coming back.’

It was while Libby was concocting a hasty supper after her afternoon out that the phone rang.

‘Libby,’ Peter’s voice sounded strained. ‘Could you come round here now?’

‘Now? What’s up? I’m just starting supper.’

‘I’ve got someone here. I need help.’

‘Police?’

‘No.’ Peter’s voice dropped. ‘Dominic’s wife.’

Libby sent Ben a text to tell him dinner would be delayed, shoved the makings into the fridge and left the house. On the way to Peter’s, her mobile rang.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ said Libby. ‘Peter’s got Dominic’s wife with him and said he needs help. Sent out an SOS, in fact.’

‘Shall I come too?’

‘I don’t know. Can we play it by ear?’

Peter opened the door before she got to the cottage, looking harassed.

‘What’s the problem?’ Libby whispered.

‘She’s been hysterical,’ Peter whispered back. ‘She seems to think it’s all our fault.’

‘But I thought they were estranged?’

‘So did we all.’ Peter made a face. ‘I’m wondering if this isn’t all about some sort of compensation culture.’

‘She’ll be lucky,’ said Libby darkly, and went inside.

Estelle Butcher was sitting bolt upright on Peter’s sofa, while Harry lurked behind her in the kitchen doorway.

‘Mrs Butcher.’ Libby went forward with her hand outstretched. ‘I’m so sorry about Dominic. What can I do to help?’

‘Who are you?’ Estelle Butcher’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed at Libby.

‘Didn’t Peter tell you? My name’s Libby Sarjeant.’

‘And what have you got to do with anything?’

‘I knew Dominic. I cast him in his first production at our theatre.’

‘Your theatre? Piddling little amateur set-up. Dom was a pro.’

‘An ex-pro, yes,’ said Libby, ‘like myself and several others of our company.’

‘Hmph,’ sniffed Mrs Butcher.

‘I can’t quite understand why you’re here, actually, Mrs Butcher,’ Libby continued, trying to keep her temper. ‘We don’t know how Dominic died.’

‘It was your play. You put him in this position. I’m not sure that isn’t actionable.’

Libby and Peter exchanged a look.

‘I’m quite sure it isn’t, Mrs Butcher. Dominic was found where he shouldn’t have been in suspicious circumstances. Nobody connected with either St Eldreda’s Abbey or the Oast House Theatre has any connection with or liability for that.’

‘Exactly what are you suggesting?’ Estelle Butcher looked as though she might fly at Libby at any moment.

‘Nothing. We don’t know why Dominic was there in his monk’s habit –’

‘Because he’d been in your bloody play,’ snarled Estelle.

‘The play had been over for hours,’ said Peter. ‘The monastery grounds and the Abbey had been locked after we all left.’

‘Then you left him behind and locked him in to be murdered.’ Estelle’s voice was rising into a shriek, but Libby detected a false and theatrical note behind it.

‘If Dominic was left behind it was his intention. He concealed himself, or else broke in somehow later. That’s what the police are looking into,’ said Libby.

‘The police!’ spat Estelle. ‘You’re making my Dom into a criminal. What was he supposed to have done?’

‘We don’t know, Mrs Butcher,’ sighed Libby. ‘And we thought you and he –’

‘Were having a break, if you must know. He’s been depressed since he left
Limehouse Blues
. We thought he should get away.’

‘Ah,’ said Peter. ‘Dominic gave the impression the separation was permanent.’

Estelle’s face was thunderous. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘I assure you, he did,’ said Peter. Libby looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

‘So we can’t tell you anything more,’ said Harry, moving forward. ‘The police are the ones to ask, not us. Have you been to his house?’

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Estelle swung round to face him.

Harry shrugged. ‘You seem to think it’s got everything to do with us, duckie. Now, why don’t you push off and pester the police?’

Libby stood up and Peter moved a step nearer. Estelle glared up at the three people surrounding her and seemed to shrink a little.

‘Come on,’ said Harry, taking her arm, ‘up you get and off you go.’

She resisted for a moment, then struggled to her feet, snatching her arm from Harry.

‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ she said, and made for the door. As she wrenched it open she came face to face with a surprised Ben and pushed past him.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘What did you do to her?’

‘Sit down, pet, and I’ll break out the booze,’ said Harry. ‘G&Ts all round?’

While Harry fetched bottles, glasses and ice, Peter and Libby told Ben about the nasty little episode.

‘Actionable? What on earth is the woman talking about?’ he said when they’d finished.

‘I think they really were permanently separated, but when she heard about his death she decided there must be something she could make out of it. I bet she booted him out after he lost the telly job,’ said Libby. ‘And I thought none of us really knew about his marriage, Pete? You said he’d told you.’

‘He can’t say he didn’t now, can he?’ said Peter, blowing a languid kiss at Harry while accepting his glass. ‘I formed the same impression as you did. She needed taking down a peg or two.’

‘And she obviously hasn’t been to his house,’ mused Libby. ‘I suppose the police wouldn’t let her.’

‘I wonder if they’ve found evidence that their break-up wasn’t amicable,’ said Ben. ‘If they’ve been questioning her, rather than just informing her of his death, that could account for her attitude.’

‘If you ask me,’ said Harry, ‘she’s shit scared.’

They all looked at him. Then Peter reached out and patted his thigh. ‘Quite right, love. She was.’

‘She is, Harry. I wonder why I didn’t think of that,’ said Libby.

‘Which means she’s got something to be scared about,’ said Ben.

‘Come to think of it, how did she know where you lived?’ asked Libby. ‘The police wouldn’t have told her.’

‘If they’ve been questioning her they would have asked if she’d had any connection with the theatre and possibly named a couple of names. Easy enough to come here and ask around. Anyone could have told her, in any of the shops,’ said Ben.

‘So do we think she wanted to find out if we knew anything against her?’ said Peter. ‘Was it a pre-emptive strike?’

‘Against what, though?’ said Libby. ‘We actually don’t know anything about her except that she existed – vaguely.’

‘She’s afraid you do,’ said Harry. ‘She was threatening you with all that shit about being actionable. Or at least, she was trying to.’

Peter looked up at his beloved perched on the arm of his chair. ‘You’re being very intuitive this afternoon, my pet.’

‘Because I’m not as involved as you all are,’ said Harry. ‘And I’ve seen that sort of woman before.’ He sniffed. ‘Common.’

The others laughed.

‘I wonder if we could find out about her?’ said Libby. ‘I mean, was she in the business too?’

‘If she was, dear, it was probably at the lowest possible end,’ said Harry. ‘If she wasn’t a woman I’d say drag artiste on the pub scene.’

‘The police must have found her, so why can’t we?’ said Libby.

‘The police had access to Dominic’s house. Even if they were separated, I expect they found at least an address. Or even letters from a solicitor,’ said Ben.

‘And they could have looked up his marriage certificate,’ said Libby, thinking of Andrew and the National Archives.

‘Or, of course,’ said Peter, ‘they could have discovered that they weren’t really married.’

‘And that would be a problem why?’ asked Libby, frowning.

‘Suppose she heard of his death before the police told her and came forward claiming to be the widow. All sorts of scams might be perpetrated.’

‘And in that case,’ said Libby slowly, ‘how did she know about his death in the first place?’

‘
W
e’re making bricks out of straw,’ said Peter. ‘All thescenarios we’ve just dreamt up could be true, but we aren’t likely to find out unless the police tell us.’

Harry glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. ‘Coming up to dinner time,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we all go and have a meal at the pub? Makes a change for me to be cooked for and waited on.’

‘I’d started dinner,’ said Libby half-heartedly.

‘How far had you got?’ asked Ben.

‘I put the vegetables back in the fridge. I hadn’t got any further.’

‘That’s it, then. We’ll go to the pub.’ Ben stood up. ‘Good idea, Hal.’

Peter unwound himself from his chair and stretched. ‘It is indeed,’ he said. ‘My lovely boy is spot on the money today.’

‘I told you, it’s just because I’m not as involved as you are. You’ve all had horrors since yesterday morning. Come on, finish your drinks and we’ll push off before the hordes descend.’

The pub, picturesquely set in the middle of the high street, leant confidingly up against the two cottages between itself and The Pink Geranium. Apart from being the “local” it had earned itself the reputation of being a gastro pub, and therefore attracted customers from all over East Kent, which sometimes made it difficult to get a table. However, being early on a Monday they had their pick.

‘When do you suppose we’ll be able to go back to the Abbey to do the get-out?’ said Peter. ‘There aren’t as many willing bodies during the week.’

‘No idea,’ said Ben. ‘I expect we’ll be told. I can probably drum up a couple of the estate workers to come and help, and, if it was Wednesday afternoon, Bob would come. He still shuts on Wednesday, doesn’t he?’

‘I think I might ask. Should I ring Ian?’ said Peter.

‘I’d just ring Canterbury nick and ask,’ said Harry. ‘You don’t want to be seen currying favour.’

‘True,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’

However, an hour later when they had finished their meal, Libby’s mobile rang.

‘Are you at Harry’s?’ asked Ian.

‘No we’re all in the pub. Where are you?’

‘Outside your house. May I join you?’

‘Ian’s coming to join us. Must be off the record,’ Libby said, switching off the phone. ‘You can ask him about the get-out.’

Ian joined them and accepted coffee.

‘I just wanted to tell you that you can go and take all your stuff away now. Forensics have done their worst.’

‘Can we ask you about progress?’ asked Libby.

‘As usual, I’ll tell you as much as we know so far, but it goes no further. OK?’

They all nodded.

‘It appears that Butcher was hit several times with a large stone, which has been retrieved. But the puzzling thing is that Mrs Fletcher –’

‘Who?’ asked the other three men together.

‘The woman you knew as Martha. She wasn’t hit with the same weapon. In fact, she hit her head on the corner of the stone plinth. We assume she was pushed over, probably as she ran from the attacker. Or she could even have tripped.’

‘Have you worked out what time this was?’ asked Ben.

‘The security guard’s previous round was at 4 o’clock, so somewhere between four and six. Butcher’s death seems to have been earlier according to the doctor, but Mrs Fletcher’s injury is put very close to six, so, again, there’s a discrepancy.’

‘So the killer had knocked off Dominic,’ said Libby, ‘realised he couldn’t get at the reliquary and waited until Martha showed up.’

‘But what was Martha doing up at that time in the morning?’ asked Ben. ‘She was fully clothed, wasn’t she?’

‘Also how did the killer know she was going to turn up?’ said Harry. ‘Unless she was in league with him.’

Ian laughed. ‘I knew I’d get you weaving fantastical theories. Unfortunately, we can’t prove any of them, so we have to plod on with boring police work until we can uncover the truth. Or not, as the case may be.’

‘Well,’ said Libby, ‘we had a visit this afternoon from Dominic’s widow.’

‘What?’ Ian put his cup down sharply.

‘Estelle Butcher? Is that her? She was informing us that it was all our fault and she was going to sue, or something.’

‘The woman’s a nightmare,’ said Ian. ‘We found her snooping round Butcher’s house. She couldn’t get in, but started shouting the odds when we told her she wasn’t allowed to. We took her for questioning at the station, but she wouldn’t say how she knew he was dead before we’d informed her, except that it was on the news.’

‘Well, it was,’ said Libby, ‘but not until this morning. Did it make the papers?’

‘We managed to scotch it until this morning. If he’d been a better known actor it would have leaked before then. And she was down there before the announcement.’

‘So she knew something. About his murder? Is she the murderer?’ said Peter.

‘There’s no evidence to suggest that, and, although her arrival is highly suspicious, we couldn’t very well hold her any longer.’

‘Is she the real Mrs Butcher?’ asked Libby. ‘Did you find evidence at Dominic’s house?’

‘No convenient marriage certificates or revelatory wills,’ said Ian with a grin, ‘but we checked, and Estelle Butcher does indeed appear to be married legally to Dominic Butcher. And the photo on the driving licence in her wallet is of her.’

‘But they were living separately,’ said Libby. ‘She was trying to make it sound as though they were still a loving couple.’

‘There was no evidence of that, either,’ said Ian, ‘but she’s definitely trying to hide something.’

‘Or find something,’ said Harry. ‘And hide what it is.’

Ian looked at Harry in surprise, while Peter said admiringly, ‘He’s on the ball tonight, isn’t he?’

‘Perhaps simply remove any evidence of their permanent separation,’ suggested Ben. ‘After all, to be the widow of a moderately famous actor would have a certain cachet in some people’s eyes.’

‘And, despite what Ian says, if he’s made a will leaving everything elsewhere rather than to her, she might be keen to get her hands on that,’ said Libby.

‘I doubt she’d want to,’ said Ian. ‘All Butcher left were debts. The house here was rented.’

‘What about the family house?’ asked Libby. ‘Is the lovely Estelle living in it?’

‘Yes, and, for once, he seems to have done the right thing, because the mortgage is paid off on his death.’

‘That’s a motive if ever there was one,’ said Libby, remembering her own post-divorce period when keeping up payments on the large family home had been a nightmare.

‘It seems unlikely that she would have arranged to meet him at the dead of night in deserted monastery ruins to do it, though,’ said Ian. ‘Or that he would agree to meet her then.’

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it,’ said Libby, frowning. ‘Why was he there? I mean, it’s logical for Martha, or Cornelia or whoever she is, to be there. She was very protective of that reliquary, and I can quite believe that she got up early to check on it. Probably did that every morning, and don’t forget it was due to be removed that day, so it was one of her last chances to look at it.’

‘So why was Dominic there?’ said Harry, returning them to the first problem. ‘Have the fuzz got any idea, Ian?’

‘What a sweet, outmoded expression, petal,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t believe they’re called fuzz these days, are they Ian?’

‘Much worse,’ said Ian. ‘And the only idea we’ve got is that he was planning to steal the reliquary. He had a variety of impressive hardware under that habit.’

‘So someone stopped him by bopping him on the head,’ said Libby. ‘And then hung about for a couple of hours before doing the same to Martha. Doesn’t make sense.’

‘You said Martha was very protective of the reliquary,’ said Ian. ‘Would she have been liable to try and steal it if she thought it was in danger?’

They all looked at him in surprise.

‘In danger of what, though?’ asked Peter. ‘Of being stolen? That doesn’t make any sense, either.’

‘But might she have thought she could keep it safe rather than see it sold to the highest bidder?’ said Harry. ‘That figures.’

‘That means, then, that it was someone else who was watching over the reliquary,’ said Ben, ‘to make sure it went back to the auctioneers, or Mrs – what was her name?’

‘Chappell,’ said Ian. ‘Yes. Which, of course, means that we looked at the security guard very carefully indeed. But he is simply an employee of the security company and has been for years, with no connection to Marshall, Chappell or the auctioneers.’

‘But that is the way you’re thinking?’ said Ben.

‘It’s one avenue,’ said Ian with a smile.

‘Oh, we’re not going to get anything out of him,’ said Libby. ‘He’s just come to pick our brains.’

Ian laughed. ‘Well, you do occasionally spot something we don’t.’

‘Have you found anything to link Bernard Evans’s murder to this one?’ asked Peter.

‘Not yet, but that’s not to say I won’t. I’m looking into the Beaumonts at present.’

‘Alastair?’ said Libby, surprised.

‘No, the family. Remembering what he told both you and me, that the thing boomerangs backwards and forwards, usually illegally, it occurred to me that it was a member of the family who killed Evans and took it, deciding it would be better back in the family vault and bringing luck back to the glorious Beaumonts.’

‘Only Alastair says it never does. But he’d have been around in the seventies – he’d know if the reliquary came home?’ said Libby.

‘He says it didn’t, to his knowledge. But I’m now looking into the known extended family at that time, to see if there were any black sheep.’

‘Because, of course,’ said Libby hesitantly, ‘it might have been a family member who didn’t want to keep the reliquary, but didn’t see why the
proceeds
should go out of the family.’

Ian gave her the look of a teacher with a favourite pupil. ‘Well done, Lib.’

‘Ah!’ said Ben. ‘That makes sense of all the other times it was nicked. Someone in the family got indignant about outsiders making money from it.’

‘That’s all very well,’ said Harry, ‘but it
wasn’t
nicked this time, so does that mean that Marshall or Chappell or whoever is a distant Beaumont?’

‘The person looking after the reliquary saving the proceeds for the beautiful Beaumonts once again, you mean?’ said Peter.

‘All very complicated,’ said Ian, ‘and all lines which are being followed up. It’s an immensely complicated investigation, so you’re welcome to poke around a little, as long as you don’t tread on our toes or antagonise witnesses.’

‘That’s very handsome of you, Ian,’ said Libby, ‘and did I tell you about Andrew and Bartholomew Tollybar?’

She related the whole search for the will and Andrew’s willingness to help.

‘So whether Jolly Tolly’s will gets us any further, I’ve no idea, but we might know where it went next and who purloined the papers.’

‘And there’s a possibility that whoever did told his or her children and it’s that line of the family that are the black sheep,’ said Ben.

‘A whole flock of the bloody things, by the sound of it,’ said Harry.

Ian looked interested. ‘It’s certainly another theory. You will keep me posted about anything Andrew turns up, won’t you?’ He stood up. ‘I must go. The security guard will let you into the Monastery and will give you the keys to your shed. There’s no need for you to go into the Abbey, is there?’

‘Only to see Sister Catherine, but you never know when they’ll be praying,’ said Libby. ‘But I shall try to see her. I feel responsible for the whole thing, somehow.’