Lesley Cookman - Murder to Music

There was absolutely no reason to connect this with the White Lodge murders, but it was inevitable that Libby would. She rang Fran.

‘Why should they be anything to do with our barn bodies?’ said Fran, who was trying to control a pan full of spitting oil.

‘They could be the murderers,’ said Libby.

‘Hired assassins?’ suggested Fran. ‘Oh, Libby, go back to the television and leave me to cook my stir fry.’

Hired assassins, thought Libby. Good one. I wonder if Ian’s thought of that?

But it wasn’t until the following day that Libby found out what Ian thought about anything.

On Friday morning Adam called.

‘Can you come down to the flat, Ma? I think we need a council of war.’

‘We do?’ Libby’s heart jumped. ‘What about?’

‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’

‘OK. I’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Libby, who was still in her dressing gown.

‘No, Ma, not there. Sophie’s flat.’

‘Oh, right. OK – half an hour, then.’

Head filled with all sorts of images, none of them good, Libby dressed hurriedly and set off for Nethergate, keeping a close eye on the petrol gauge which was hovering dangerously close to the red line.

The nearest she could park to Guy’s shop-cum-gallery was way beyond Coastguard Cottage. This was a Friday towards the end of August, and the holiday-makers and weekenders were out in force – as were their cars, parked like a shiny metal sea wall all the way along Harbour Street.

Guy was in the shop on his own when Libby pushed open the door. He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs and made a face. ‘They’re all up there.’

‘Don’t you want to go, if it’s Sophie…?’ Libby trailed off.

‘It’s not Sophie.’ Guy grinned. ‘It’s a case for Castle and Sarjeant.’

‘Right,’ said Libby in surprise, and made for the stairs.

In the little sitting room over the shop sat Fran, Adam, Sophie and a beautiful Indian girl.

‘Hi, Libby.’ Sophie stood up and came to kiss her. ‘This is my friend Rachanda. She’s told us some things that we think you ought to hear.’

‘Me? Why me?’

‘Because you know all about the case. I wanted to call you last night, but Ad said it would be better if we did it this morning when Rach could be here.’

Libby smiled at Rachanda, who smiled sweetly back. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Rachanda, especially as we’ve heard so much about you.’

‘That’s why we thought you ought to know what’s been happening,’ said the girl in a barely accented voice. ‘You see, there’s more to Rachita’s adventure than we first thought, and I think we must tell the police. My parents won’t hear of it, though. They haven’t even allowed the police to interview her.’

Libby turned to Fran. ‘You said yesterday the police wanted to interview her. Why? She was a missing girl who’d turned up at home. Why would they want to see her?’

‘Apparently they always do,’ said Sophie. ‘In case the family are lying and the person hasn’t really come back, or the people who made the report weren’t telling the truth in the first place or in case something awful has happened while the person’s been away. It’s quite normal.’

‘So, what’s Rachita’s story?’ asked Libby.

‘I’ve heard it, so I’ll go and make more coffee,’ said Fran. ‘Or tea, anyone?’

Libby and Rachanda opted for tea, and Rachanda started her story.

‘Sophie says you all wondered if there was a boyfriend involved, although she didn’t think so. But, in fact, there was.’ She paused and looked into the empty fireplace. ‘And the worst sort of boyfriend, too. Not that any boy, unless chosen by my parents, would have been good enough, but this one was beyond everything.’

‘Amazing in this day and age,’ said Libby.

Rachanda smiled. ‘Not in our culture, as I expect you know. There are many women trying to change things and standing up to their families, but I wasn’t brave enough.’

‘Brave enough?’ repeated Libby. ‘Were you afraid?’

‘No, no,’ Rachanda corrected hastily. ‘I wasn’t brave enough to leave the community. A lot of women who do get away never see their families again. I didn’t want that. I love my family.’

Fran reappeared with a tray and handed out mugs.

‘Go on,’ said Libby. ‘Who was Rachita’s boyfriend?’

‘He was an illegal immigrant.’

‘Oh, no.’ Libby shook her head, remembering the last occasion she and Fran had investigated the illegal workers scams.

‘Yes. Sophie says you know something about them?’

‘A bit. Not a lot. Where was this boy from?’

‘Pakistan, we think.’

‘And where did she met him?’

‘He was doing some building work at an uncle’s shop. We have several uncles who are shopkeepers. The council said the facilities at the back weren’t correct, so Uncle Jaiman had to have an extension built.’

‘Health and safety,’ said Libby.

‘Exactly.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘And this Kiran was one of the builders. Rachita used to go there on the way home from school every day -’

‘Like we did,’ put in Sophie.

‘Yes. And they became friendly.’ Rachanda shook her head. ‘I didn’t know anything about it, none of us did, even Uncle Jaiman.’

‘Is that the only place they met?’ asked Libby.

‘No. You see, the extension was finished and Kiran and the other men left. But Kiran arranged to meet Rachita at the place where he was staying.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My sister says it wasn’t at all nice. But then, suddenly, Kiran sent her a message saying he had to leave. He didn’t say why. And so my silly little sister ran away to go with him.’

‘What made her come back? Is she disillusioned?’

Rachanda shook her head. ‘No. Kiran is dead.’

Libby gasped.

‘That’s why I said you needed to be here,’ said Fran. ‘The confirmation of a theory – if not quite the right one.’

‘What? You mean… one of those builders found in Medway?’

‘Yes.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘Two of them. Kiran and another boy – they were only nineteen. Rachita says they were hiding, but they wouldn’t say who from. Just that if they were caught they would be killed. She thinks it was something they had worked on that wasn’t right, somehow.’

‘How did she get home? Did she have any money?’

‘No. The place they were hiding was some old building, and the boys went out to find food. When they didn’t come back, Rachita went out at night, found a phone box and called my father. He went and picked her up. Then she heard about the two people murdered. Then, yesterday, they were named on the television news, although she’d already guessed it was them. She was hysterical.’

‘And your parents won’t let her speak to the police?’ said Libby.

‘No. They say it will bring shame.’

‘Oh, really .’

‘I know.’ Rachanda sighed. ‘It is ridiculous. This is why I told Sophie yesterday and she said we must tell you and her mother.’

Fran opened her mouth to correct this, but closed it with a smile at Sophie. ‘And you did the right thing Rachanda. So now we must tell the police. And if necessary, protect you from your parents.’

Rachanda nodded. ‘They will not be pleased. Neither, I think, will my sister.’

‘That,’ said Libby, ‘is not our problem.’

IAN’S PERSONAL MOBILE WAS switched off, unsurprisingly. Neither Fran nor Libby had his dedicated police mobile number in their phone books, so Libby phoned Ben to ask if he still had Ian’s business card.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At home. Why?’

Libby sighed and told him.