Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) (13 page)

C
oncentrating on emailing, texting and calling performers who had taken part in the Old Time Music Hall the following morning, Libby had almost forgotten her email to Ian.

‘Libby?’

‘Ian!’

‘Yes – were you expecting someone else? You’ve been engaged on both phones all morning.’

‘Sorry – yes. I’m organising a show for the Alexandria all in a bit of a rush.’

‘The Alexandria?’ Ian sounded surprised.

‘Yes – it’s being run by trustees now, and fully refurbished. We’ve been asked to do an End Of The Pier Show for the last week in August.’

‘Will you have time?’

‘I think so. We’re rehashing a Music Hall we did a year or so back.’

‘Well, it’ll keep you out of mischief,’ said Ian, ‘but I just wanted to say thank you for the email. It’s extremely helpful, and I’ve already called Andrew. I’ve agreed to defray some of the expenses if he continues his researches, which he says you want him to do anyway.’

‘Does that mean he won’t be able to share the results with us if you’re paying him?’

‘We’ll only be paying expenses, and you commissioned him first,’ said Ian.

‘I wouldn’t call it a commission,’ said Libby. ‘He just offered to help.’

‘Well, it’s very useful. And he’s going to try and trace a common family member between Ronald Barnes, Bernard Evans and this – what was his name? Mad Jack?’

‘The Honourable John Jarvis,’ said Libby, ‘or Bad Jack Jarvis.’

‘Yes. It would explain why Bernard had it, but not who killed him.’ Ian sighed. ‘I must go. Good luck with the show.’

After informing Fran about the phone call and her expected role in the new show, Libby went on organising. She dug out the programme for the Music Hall, her file of music and sketch scripts and set about putting the show together. She was lucky to have contacts within the world of entertainment who were happy to supply both memories, song lyrics and precious scripts, and spent a happy day deeply involved in her task. Sidney tried to help by spreading the papers all over the table and the sitting room floor, which of course made them easier to find.

Peter joined her in the afternoon, and together they worked out the final details and Libby set the printer to work on a fairly final script and lyrics. Most people who had been in the original Music Hall were happy to appear, the only ones she’d been unable to get in touch with being those on holiday. The panto stalwarts were delighted, Music Hall, concert party and pantomime being so closely related, and Hetty had volunteered to go into the costume store and dig out not only the Music Hall costumes, including those for the seaside set, but those panto costumes she thought might “come in”.

‘I know what it is, of course,’ said Libby, handing Peter a mug of tea. ‘It’s light relief after Dominic’s death.’

‘Possibly.’ Peter nodded and took a sheaf of printed paper from the printer. ‘Let’s hope this one doesn’t end in disaster.’

‘Oh, Pete, it wasn’t your fault!’ Libby hugged his shoulders. ‘Please don’t think it.’

‘You thought it was your fault,’ said Peter, ‘and considering the Alexandria’s recent history and how you were involved –’

‘Oh, stop it. You’re too superstitious and pessimistic by half.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

Libby regarded him suspiciously. ‘Hmm. Anyway, nearly everyone’s coming to a first meeting tonight, so we can get off to a flying start.’

‘Did you say you’d managed to get an MD?’

‘I didn’t say because I haven’t,’ said Libby. ‘Biggest stumbling block so far.’

‘Fairly essential, I’d have thought,’ said Peter. ‘Where are the usuals?’

‘Either away now or will be away, or have other commitments,’ sighed Libby.

‘I don’t suppose you thought of Terry’s sister?’

‘Bloody hell, Pete, no I didn’t!’ Libby leapt to her feet and grabbed her basket, which had once more replaced the more conservative handbags her nearest and dearest tried to foist on her. Finding a notebook, she began to leaf through it.

‘Don’t you keep numbers in your phone?’ asked Peter.

‘Of course I do, but not random ones, and I prefer to have everything written down in case the phone gets lost or stolen.’

‘That’s sensible, except that your phone’s so archaic no one would
want
to steal it.’

‘Anyway,’ said Libby, shutting the book and reaching for the offending phone, ‘I haven’t got her number and I can’t remember her name. I shall have to rely on Terry again.’

Terry Baker, married to Jane of the
Nethergate Mercury
, had introduced his talented sister to the Oast House Theatre company for the party held for Hetty’s birthday a few years ago. She not only played the piano, she sang, and had an enviable repertoire of old songs, including many of the London songs that were Hetty’s favourites. And sure enough, as reported by Terry an hour later, she would only be too delighted to help, as she had just finished filming a series for television and had six weeks off.

‘It seems a bit mean to make her work in her time off,’ said Libby. ‘How old’s her baby now?’

‘Nearly five,’ said Terry. ‘And her old man’s moved in with her now, so he can baby-sit.’

‘Your father?’ Libby frowned.

Terry laughed. ‘Her – whatd’yercallit – partner. Boyfriend. Young Robbie’s dad.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Libby, relieved. ‘I’ll let her have all the music when it’s settled. Will she want any other musicians?’

‘Don’t ask me!’ said Terry. ‘I’ve given you her number, you talk to her about it.’

By the time Libby began her meeting at the theatre, she had spoken to Susannah Baker, who not only had much of the sheet music Libby needed, but her own costume, as she did regular seasons with a professional London company doing their Music Hall with guest artistes.

‘You wouldn’t believe how many really quite famous people enjoy dressing up and singing comic songs,’ she told Libby. ‘Did you ever do it when you were a pro?’

‘Yes, quite often. I loved it,’ said Libby. ‘I was always sad that females couldn’t become chairmen!’

‘I know,’ said Susannah. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t possibly have room for me to do a number at the piano? There’s a nice one about a piano teacher called “Twiddly Bits” which I’ve done before.’

‘Oh, lovely!’ said Libby. ‘I’ll put you somewhere in the second half, if that’s OK, as it will come as a surprise for the audience. And will you need other musicians?’

‘A drummer, perhaps,’ said Susannah. ‘I know someone who will do it, I think.’

Libby announced this to the company, and handed out the rough programme she and Peter had decided on.

‘I know it’s going to be a lot of work to be ready in 5 weeks, but you can rehearse solos on your own most of the time. The main rehearsals will be for chorus sets and set pieces,’ she said. ‘Susannah would prefer Wednesdays and Thursdays as rehearsal nights until the week before the show, when she’s happy to come every night. Is that all right with everyone?’

When the company had signified their assent, someone at the back put up a hand.

‘Do we know any more about Dominic?’

Libby sighed and glanced over at Ben and Peter.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said, ‘but you remember Martha, who got attacked at the same time? Well, you’ll be pleased to know she’s come round and I’ve been to see her. Sadly, she doesn’t remember a thing about it, which isn’t unusual, apparently.’

‘Shall we buy a card and some flowers?’ suggested someone.

‘They won’t allow flowers in the ICU,’ said somebody else. ‘But we could get a card. Are we meeting tomorrow, Libby? I’ll get a card and we can all sign it.’

After this was agreed, Libby asked them all to sing through some of the better known seaside songs they had used in the Music Hall, then let them go.

‘Can you remember the routines we used in the seaside set?’ she asked Peter and Ben as they walked back down the drive.

‘We will between us,’ said Ben. ‘Can we get one of our choreographers to come along?’

‘Already done,’ said Libby. ‘All set for tomorrow.’

The following evening, the piano was moved on to the stage – ‘We must ask about their piano,’ said Libby – Susannah was introduced and the first rehearsal began. Libby was gratified to hear the songs being sung with gusto and nearly all the right words, and the choreographer was pleased that only a few people went right instead of left in most of the routines.

In the break, Libby went over to Susannah. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Fine. These are routines you’ve done before, are they? They only need brushing up.’

‘Yes, I just pinched them wholesale from our Music Hall. I’ve added a few more seaside elements and we’ve got a finale of some more seaside songs where we can wear more elegant costumes. We’ll need to rehearse that more thoroughly. What about your drummer?’

‘Yes, David’s fine. He doesn’t need to be here until the end though, does he?’

‘No, but it will be nice if he can put in a few of the comic boom-tishes, especially for the solos.’

‘Oh, he’ll do that, don’t worry! He’s a pro, too.’

‘Oh, lord – he doesn’t expect paying, does he?’

Susannah laughed. ‘No, he’s going to do it for the love of it, too. Anyway, he said he was going to be down in this part of the world for a while.’

‘Oh, he isn’t local?’

‘No, he’s a Londoner. I don’t know what his connections are down here, but it’s lucky for us.’

The huge card for Martha was produced and duly signed, and Libby decided to leave it at the theatre until she knew when she would be able to see Martha, rather than cart it to the pub for the traditional Wednesday drink.

‘Funny not to have Patti and Anne here,’ said Libby, sinking into a chair in the snug. ‘We’ve got quite a lot to tell them.’

‘You have,’ said Peter, putting glasses on the table.

‘You don’t think they’ll think we’re callous putting something as light-hearted as this show on so soon after Dominic?’

‘Of course not,’ said Ben. ‘I think Patti will be sensible and see it, as you’ve said, as a good way to get over it.’

‘Good,’ said Libby, ‘but it still feels odd to have more or less given up on the case.’

‘Ian hasn’t, and there’s nothing else you can do, is there?’ said Peter. ‘All you can do is wait for Andrew’s researches to turn something else up, and Ian’s waiting for the same thing.’

‘I doubt if that’s all he’s doing,’ said Libby. ‘I expect there’s all sorts of enquiries to be made. Into Estelle, for a start. There’s something not right there.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, Ian or his minions will find it,’ said Ben. ‘And, you’ve said yourself, the police always get there in the end, with or without you.’

The following day, Libby rang the hospital to see if she could visit Martha, and, given permission, arrived at the ICU just after lunch. Martha, now off nearly all her machines and drips, had been moved to a side room. She was sitting up, and smiled wanly as Libby came in.

‘I’m almost ready for a main ward, but the police want to keep me here,’ she said. ‘It’s very lonely.’

‘Well, here’s something to read,’ said Libby, producing the outsize card. ‘All the cast signed it. And I brought you a couple of books, although I don’t really know your taste, but Sister Catherine approved these.’

After Martha had read all the signatures on the card and exclaimed delightedly over the books, Libby asked how she was feeling.

‘Oh, much better. I still can’t remember anything, though. Mr Connell came to see me yesterday, and although he said he just wanted to see how I was, I know he was hoping I’d begun to remember.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sure he’ll find out who did this. He’s very tenacious.’

‘Don’t you and your friend sometimes – well, investigate?’

Libby laughed. ‘Sometimes. That’s what led to this whole debacle. My friend Patti asking me to look into the provenance of the reliquary on behalf of Sister Catherine. And look where that’s landed us.’

‘You don’t blame yourself, surely?’ Martha looked shocked.

‘It’s hard not to,’ said Libby. ‘If I hadn’t told my friend Peter about it, he wouldn’t have wanted to write the play …See? It’s dominoes.’

Martha looked distressed. ‘Yes, I see, but that probably means I was the reason Dominic was killed.’

‘
W
hat?’ Libby gasped.

Martha turned brimming eyes towards her. ‘If I hadn’t gone down to check on St Eldreda that one last time – the murderer must have been disturbed and killed Dominic.’

‘How on earth do you make that out?’ asked Libby, relieved. ‘Dominic was dead hours before you were attacked.’

‘He was?’ Now Martha looked bewildered. ‘Not at the same time?’

‘No, they’ve proved that.’

‘Oh.’ Martha looked down at her hands. ‘Oh. I see.’

‘So you haven’t any reason to feel guilty.’

Martha looked up, frowning. ‘But I don’t understand. Was Dominic trying to steal the relic? If so, whoever killed him wanted to save it.’

‘Maybe, but then he attacked you.’

‘I don’t understand that, either. It made sense when I thought I’d interrupted a murder, but if Dominic was killed earlier, why was the murderer still around?’

‘That’s what no one seems to be able to work out.’ Libby patted Martha’s hand. ‘So don’t you worry about it, there are enough policemen doing that.’

She went on to tell Martha about the new Oast House Theatre project and the Alexandria.

‘Perhaps I’ll be out in time to see it?’ said Martha wistfully. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Patti will bring you, I’m sure,’ said Libby. ‘And now, I must go. We’ve got another rehearsal tonight, and I need to feed Ben before we go.’

Martha gave a tremulous smile. ‘I quite miss having a man to feed,’ she said.

‘You often miss things that in real life became quite tedious,’ said Libby. ‘And to be fair, he feeds me almost as much as I feed him.’

Martha had put her finger on the inconsistencies in the case, mused Libby as she drove home. Despite all the investigations into the provenance of the reliquary and Bernard Evans’s murder, the most urgent problem was Dominic’s murder and the attack on Martha which, frankly, made no sense.

Martha having not been taken to the nearest hospital due to the severity of her injuries, the drive home was long enough for Libby to meditate on the case from start to finish and come to no conclusions at all. It was with relief, then, that she drove into Steeple Martin and saw the familiar white cone of the Oast House Theatre above the rooftops of the high street and felt able to concentrate on the forthcoming rehearsal.

Several of the solo performers had brought their music for Susannah. Fran had arrived, as she was in one of the set pieces with Libby as part of the congregation in the wonderfully Victorian “Those Bells Shall not Ring Out!” They were also both in “If I Were not Upon the Stage”, another familiar music hall piece, where Libby had changed the “jobs” from the traditional chimney sweep and policeman to those more suitable for a seaside entertainment.

‘I went to see Martha today,’ she told Fran as they sat in the auditorium waiting for their turn to go on stage. ‘She’s a lot better. But puzzled. She didn’t know Dominic had died so much earlier than her attack.’

‘I suppose Ian is trying not to worry her.’

‘Yes. He went to see her yesterday and she said it was just to see how she was, but he obviously wants her to remember something.’

‘And she can’t?’

Libby shook her head. ‘She seems terribly fragile. I do hope this doesn’t leave her with some kind of permanent effect.’

‘Don’t start feeling guilty again,’ said Fran, ‘and listen. I had a thought. We still don’t know about that phone call saying the beneficiary was coming on the last night, do we?’

Libby sat up straight. ‘Gosh! No, we don’t. I did tell Ian – I wonder if he’s got any further with it?’

‘And he told you not to try and get in touch with her, didn’t he? What was her name?’

‘Chappell. Mrs Chappell. And, remember, we heard that she was going to come to a performance, but in the end she never came. Or, if she did, she didn’t let us know. If that call on the last night
was
bogus, whoever tried it on was taking a risk unless he or she
knew
Mrs Chappell hadn’t been.’

‘I can’t believe it was a serious try-on,’ said Fran. ‘I think it was probably more to test the security arrangements.’

‘Test the –?’

‘See if there were arrangements. To see, maybe, how easy it was going to be to get in.’

Libby wrinkled her brow. ‘But Dominic knew how to get in – he was already in. If, that is, he really was intending to steal the bloody thing.’

‘But there was someone else there, wasn’t there?’ said Fran. ‘And I can’t get anything on him. I’ve tried and tried, but all I get is that bright light associated with Martha, which is obviously her being hit on the head.’

‘Well, to be fair, you don’t usually get a clear picture of the murderer, do you?’ said Libby. ‘Eh up – we’re on.’

‘I wish we could ask Ian,’ sighed Fran, as they made their way down the aisle and on to the stage.

‘So do I,’ said Libby. ‘I feel locked out somehow, even though we started the case off.’

‘Don’t start that again,’ muttered Fran, taking her place on stage. ‘Come and be a member of the congregation and concentrate on something else.’

Libby found a missed call on her mobile at the end of rehearsal.

‘It’s from Ian,’ she told Fran. ‘He’s got something to tell us.’

‘Text back that you’re at rehearsal. He might decide to come down to the pub.’

Libby did so. ‘I didn’t know we were going to the pub tonight,’ she said, putting the phone away.

‘We are now,’ said Fran with a grin. ‘Go on, go and tell Ben and Peter.’

Fran’s hunch was right, and Ian was waiting for them in the pub, a cup of coffee before him.

‘We are honoured,’ said Libby, sitting down next to him. ‘You’ve got something to tell us?’

Ian frowned. ‘Yes, but not brilliant news, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, what is it?’ asked Fran. ‘Something about the reliquary stand?’

Ian and Libby both turned surprised glances on her.

‘It’s that bright light,’ she muttered. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, you’re absolutely right,’ said Ian. ‘It’s ironic, really.’

‘What’s ironic?’ asked Peter, as he and Ben deposited drinks on the table.

Ian gave a wry smile. ‘What hit Martha. It was, effectively, the reliquary. The stand,’ said Ian. ‘It’s confirmed that she was pushed and hit her head on it.’

‘Hasn’t it taken rather a long time to find that out?’ said Ben.

‘No, we knew, you remember, but Forensics were puzzled. They did more tests.’

‘What a shame she can’t remember what happened,’ said Libby. ‘I bet she’ll be devastated that it was her precious St Eldreda who bashed her.’

‘Strictly, it wasn’t,’ said Peter.

‘She’ll see it like that,’ said Fran.

‘She was so protective of the reliquary,’ said Libby. ‘I bet that’s why she was attacked.’

‘Has she said anything to you?’ asked Ian. ‘I know you went to see her again today.’

‘You do?’ Libby raised her eyebrows.

‘Of course. She’s being watched. You know that.’

‘Hmm. Well, she said she remembers going down to see St Eldreda – her words – for the last time and that’s all. She assumed she’d interrupted Dominic’s murder.’

‘And you told her otherwise,’ said Ian with a resigned expression.

‘Wasn’t I supposed to?’

‘The less we lead her, the more her memories will be genuine. Oh, well, it can’t be helped. There is one other thing you need to know.’

‘What?’

‘Her husband has apparently turned up.’

‘Her husband?’ said Libby and Fran together.

‘Mr Fletcher, yes. I’ve no idea how he knew what had happened, but he turned up at the hospital. He was refused entry, of course.’

‘Does Martha know?’

‘No, and she’s not to.’

‘If her real name was in the papers that’s how he’d know,’ said Fran. ‘And we know how quickly information about Dominic got out there. Look at how fast Estelle was on the scene.’

‘Anyway, why do we need to know?’ asked Libby. ‘If Martha’s not to know it would have been better not to tell us, seeing how unreliable I am.’ She sniffed and everyone laughed.

‘Because there’s every chance he’ll try and see other people. There was a phone call to the Abbey which we assume to have been him.’

‘Phone calls!’ said Libby, holding up a finger. ‘That’s what we were going to ask you. What happened about that phone call I told you about saying the beneficiary was coming on the last night?’

‘We haven’t traced that call,’ said Ian, ‘but Mrs Chappell never did come, although she intended to. Her daughter-in-law went into labour on your first night and she rushed off to Aberdeen.’

‘It was a fairly ridiculous try-on if it was one,’ said Ben. ‘Whoever it was must have known it would never been handed over just like that.’

‘A warning, then?’ suggested Peter. ‘Who took the phone call?’

‘I don’t know, but it was Martha who told me. She was our liaison with the Abbey. I think she said it was Sister Catherine.’

‘I daren’t ask her,’ said Ian. ‘The doctors are on my back every time I go near her.’

‘When will she come out?’ asked Fran.

‘Not until she no longer needs specialist nursing,’ said Ian. ‘Once she’s off all drips and monitoring equipment she’ll go back to the Abbey. They’re used to looking after the sick.’

‘They won’t let anyone in there, either, will they?’ said Fran.

‘Do you think someone might try?’ Ian narrowed his eyes at her.

‘Yes.’ Fran lowered her own eyes and picked up her drink.

‘Someone’s worried that she’ll remember,’ said Libby. ‘That means someone who’s been around the whole time.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t forget that whoever killed Dominic could have been a complete outsider.’

‘A partner in crime? Otherwise, who would know? I can’t see Dominic telling anyone else, can you?’ said Peter.

‘Estelle, then,’ suggested Libby. ‘We don’t know that they were completely estranged, do we?’

‘It certainly looked like it,’ said Ian. ‘There was no evidence of any contact between them at his place, except some fairly heavy solicitors’ letters. We’ve gone over the whole place again, especially since the break-in.’

‘Break-in?’ said four voices.

‘Attempted break-in, I should say.’ Ian grinned round at them all. ‘Sorry we didn’t keep you informed.’

‘Oh, stop it.’ Libby slapped his arm. ‘Come on, when was it?’

‘Thursday night. There were padlocks on all the doors and the windows had been sealed, so whoever it was only made a very half-hearted attempt. But it was enough to make us think there was something in there that someone wanted to get at.’

‘And that presumably points at Estelle,’ said Libby.

‘Or the partner in crime suggested by Peter,’ said Ian.

‘Dominic was in debt, you said, didn’t you?’ said Ben. ‘So there’s nothing in his place worth stealing.’

‘It’s incriminating evidence they’re after,’ said Libby.

‘But what incriminating evidence?’ said Fran. ‘A letter from someone? Email accounts? What?’

‘We’ve looked at all those,’ said Ian. ‘Most of the contacts either on his computer or in his address book are connected with television. It’s as if he had no family at all.’

‘Isn’t Estelle’s name there?’ said Peter.

‘No. Which makes us think he had cut everybody from his former life out – except his show business contacts.’

‘But you’ve got his birth certificate? You know where he came from?’ said Libby.

‘Yes, Libby, don’t worry. And his marriage to Estelle. That’s her real name, by the way.’

‘Why does all that matter, anyway?’ asked Ben. ‘It’s poor old Bernard Evans whose background we wanted to trace.’

‘And we are,’ said Ian. ‘It’s all costing a fortune. Superintendent Bertram’s very pleased she handed over to our division.’

‘Can we do anything?’ asked Libby. That won’t interfere, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Ian. ‘Never let it be said!’

‘I think you’ve got enough to do organising the End Of The Pier Show,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sure Ian will tell you if there’s anything you need to know.’

‘Like tonight,’ said Libby. ‘You think Martha’s husband might try and get to her through us?’

‘It’s possible, although I have no idea why. Just be on your guard. One thing – from the phone call received at the Abbey and his approach at the hospital, it looks as if he doesn’t know her name is now Martha. He might not even know she was an oblate.’

‘Then why did he call the Abbey?’ asked Peter.

‘It mentions the Abbey in the media. Not that there’s been much, but as you found out, social media is the very devil. No one can control it.’

‘OK, we’ll be vigilant,’ said Libby. ‘Now – who wants another drink?’

For Libby, Friday and Saturday were taken up with organising the new show. She visited the Alexandria and admired its restored Edwardian glory, and received permission to look through the boxes and files left by the original owner, Dorinda Alexander. There were a few old costumes, too, all housed at the Nethergate Museum, and although Libby had seen them all in far less formal surroundings a few years ago, she was delighted to be able to go through them all, and was even allowed to photocopy some of the programmes and other documents.

‘To think,’ she said ruefully to the librarian, who was helping her with the photocopier, ‘I could have taken all this lot home with me at one time, as a gift.’

‘Really?’ The librarian looked interested, but Libby decided it probably wasn’t politic to go into the story and just smiled again, benignly.

‘We’re doing an old style End of The Pier Show at the Alexandria at the end of August,’ she said. ‘I do hope you’ll come and see it.’

The Alexandria management had promised posters by the beginning of the following week, so Libby arranged to collect some as soon as she received the phone call. Then, leaving the car where it was, in a reserved spot in the Alexandria car park, she climbed up to Cliff Terrace and Peel House.

Jane answered the door holding Imogen’s hand.

‘Hello! This is a nice surprise,’ she said. ‘Do you want something, or is this a social visit?’

‘Oh, dear! Do I only see you when I want something?’

Jane laughed, leading the way into the sitting room. ‘Of course not, but I’m happy to be a source of information for Sarjeant Investigations Limited.’