Lesley Cookman - Murder to Music

‘Some are probably more than fifty years old,’ Bertram replied, ‘others as little as a few weeks.’

There was a sudden shocked silence, then the noise level rose to an almost unbearable level, and there was a cut to the studio. ‘Our reporter joins us live from Nethergate outside the police station…’

‘So they haven’t confirmed anything,’ said Ben, as the item ended. ‘Not that the first bodies were TB victims or the second were suspected honour killings.’

‘They realised pretty quickly it wasn’t a serial killer, didn’t they?’ Libby stood up and went to fetch a bottle of wine.

‘Well, it couldn’t possibly be, could it? He’d have to be about a hundred!’

Within ten minutes of the news bulletin the phone started ringing. Fran called first, then Adam, then Harry and finally Rosie.

‘I want to go back and see if that man will let us have a look from his upstairs room,’ she said.

‘Colonel Weston?’ said Libby doubtfully.

‘Yes. He was rather dishy, wasn’t he? And he did offer.’

‘He might not be so keen now,’ said Libby. ‘The news has broken, and he will have been interviewed again by the police. And he’s quite likely,’ she added as a thought struck her, ‘to connect us with the breaking story.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, come on, Rosie! He already thought we were journalists or something last time.’

‘All right, I’ll go back on my own,’ said Rosie. ‘I can go for lunch in the pub.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Libby with a sigh, ‘I’ll come. I really don’t want you walking into the lion’s den on your own.’

‘Shall I meet you there? Or I could pick you up, if you like.’

‘That’s out of your way. Are you going to call Fran?’

‘Should I? Or will you?’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Libby with another sigh. ‘See you there at about mid-day.’

Ben, predictably wasn’t entirely happy about the proposed visit.’

‘Neither am I, but I couldn’t let her go on her own, could I? And she would have done. She’s gone from a sensible, if manipulative, mature woman to a complete wreck and back to a regained youth in a matter of a couple of weeks. It’s like holding on to lightning.’

Fran agreed to meet them there. ‘I don’t know how to reign her in,’ she said.

‘I know. If we had no conscience we’d just let her carry on on her own, but I feel sort of responsible, now.’

Fran sighed. ‘I wish we’d never gone to see her in the first place.’

‘But look what Ian’s discovered because we did. No, we’ve got to stick with it now.’

The sun continued to shine on the Wednesday morning, and although a little trepidatious, Libby enjoyed the drive to Cherry Ashton. Once again, she was the last to arrive, and found Fran and Rosie already ensconced at a table with Colonel Weston.

‘Ah! The trio is complete.’ He stood up and indicated a chair. ‘What can I get you to drink – er – Libby, isn’t it?’

Libby asked for a half of lager shandy and raised her eyebrows at the other two when he went to fetch it.

‘So what have you said?’

‘Nothing. He was already here when we arrived and immediately offered to buy us drinks. He’d only just sat down when you came,’ said Fran.

‘Thank you, Colonel,’ said Libby when the big man placed her drink in front of her.

‘Oh, Hugh, please.’ He smiled round at them all. ‘Now, what can have brought you back here so soon?’

Seeing Rosie open her mouth, Fran and Libby both rushed into speech.

‘The report on the -’

‘The discovery of the -’

‘I thought so.’ The smile disappeared. ‘I wasn’t so very wrong last time, was I?’

‘Wrong?’

‘Immediately after your visit we were all re-interviewed by the police, and not a couple of uniforms, either, a Detective Inspector and a Sergeant.’

‘Ian and Sergeant Maiden,’ said Fran. ‘Yes.’

‘So what are you?’ Hugh looked slightly annoyed. ‘Undercover cops? Very good cover, if so.’

‘Three nosy old biddies? Yes, that’s what I thought,’ said Libby.

He looked blank, then astonished. ‘You’re not?’

Libby chuckled and the other two smiled. ‘No, of course we’re not.’

‘Then what?’ He looked at Fran. ‘You knew the two detectives who came to see us all.’

‘Yes. We’ve known them for some time.’ Fran sipped her drink and looked out of the window.

Hugh frowned. ‘Now I’m even more confused. You work with them, do you?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘but we’re really not allowed to say any more. Although,’ she added, looking at Rosie, ‘we would quite like to take you up on your offer.’

‘What offer?’

‘To see what we can see from your upstairs window,’ said Libby.

DECIDING TO HAVE LUNCH when they returned to the Ashton Arms, they finished their drinks and set off after their involuntary host.

‘Do you know all your neighbours in this terrace?’ asked Fran.

‘Yes. We have a little neighbourhood watch scheme – we’re so out of the way we need to keep an eye out for each other.’

‘We noticed that,’ said Libby.

‘Me being nosy? Sorry about that, but so were you, as far as I was concerned.’

Libby decided not to mention Mr Vindari, and hoped the others wouldn’t either. She couldn’t quite say why she didn’t want to mention him, just that it didn’t feel right.

The walked up the little drive to the carriage arch and underneath to face a long two-storey building of mellow red brick.

‘Welcome to Ashton Court.’ Hugh waved an ironic hand. ‘Not my choice, my father converted a barn after the original house was demolished.’

‘It’s lovely.’ Rosie beamed at him. ‘You’re so lucky.’

Fran and Libby exchanged looks. Hugh preened slightly.

‘Come on in, then,’ he said.

He led them up a wide stairway to the upper floor and along a corridor to what appeared to have been an oast roundel at the end.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Panoramic views.’

They went over to the windows which looked out over a hundred and eighty degree prospect. Below them were obviously the gardens of the Court, to their right the back gardens of Ashton Terrace, and further over were the trees which formed the boundary to the White Lodge estate. Libby was surprised to see a much larger open area behind the barn than there had been previously. A white van, stakes and blue-and-white tape marked the fact that it was still a scene of crime and under the aegis of the police. The huge barn doors were now open, and inside she could see white-boiler-suited figures moving about.

‘You can see inside, can’t you,’ she said.

‘But not quite what they’re doing,’ said Hugh, behind her. ‘Until yesterday I didn’t know they were digging up bodies. Although when your friend the Inspector arrived it was fairly obviously something important. I thought it must be drugs.’

‘That’s what we thought,’ said Fran.

‘Oh?’

‘What I meant was – that’s why they went in to search,’ said Fran, turning back to the window.

‘I don’t get it.’ Hugh perched on a windowsill and surveyed them all. ‘You say you’re not police, but you’re obviously working with them, you’ve admitted that. But what on? As what?’

‘They’re helping me,’ Rosie said suddenly. ‘I own the barn. And the White Lodge estate.’

‘Ah.’ Hugh nodded. ‘I see. So my friend Mr Vindari was right.’

‘He told you?’ asked Libby.

‘After your last visit. He also said you’d told him the police were digging up bodies. I’m afraid I told him he was too gullible.’ He shrugged. ‘And then when the police came and didn’t say anything we decided it couldn’t be murder or we’d know about it. But it was.’