Murder by the Barrel

Book 18: A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

When the sleepy village of Steeple Martin announces its first beer festival, the locals are excited. Beer, sun and music, what could possibly go wrong? But when an unexpected death shakes the village, it's up to Libby Sarjeant to solve the puzzle. Was it just another rock star death or is there something more sinister afoot?

Release date: October 5, 2017

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

Detective Chief Inspector Ian Connell stood at the tall window of his sitting room and looked out at the moonlit lake. The silver slice across the black surface was almost theatrical, a spotlight on the flagged terrace below.

It was rare that he had the time to appreciate the good fortune that had brought him here. Others might say it was the result of hard work rather than good fortune, but Ian knew that luck had played a large part in his rise through the ranks of the police service.

Tonight was the first night of his weekend off, a weekend to enjoy with friends in Steeple Martin. His bag was packed and he could look forward to being plain Ian Connell for a whole two days.

Libby Sarjeant watched as the band on stage played an encore to an ecstatic crowd. Ben Wilde, standing beside her in front of the small bar at the back of the field, was mouthing something, but Jonah Fludde had never been a quiet band, and this was their most famous – and loudest – hit from the 1970s. She shook her head at Ben, grinning.

Further away, Ian Connell sat with Fran and Guy Wolfe. Libby was still marvelling at the transformation of Ian from detective chief inspector to ordinary citizen. She wasn’t quite sure she approved of the Jonah Fludde tour T-shirt he sported, but under the circumstances, as the first founder of this “Roll Out The Barrel” Beer Festival, she supposed it was allowable.

‘I’m closing up,’ shouted a voice in her ear. ‘We’re already past time. Only hope your mate isn’t keeping a beady eye on the clock.’

Libby turned her head and nodded. The new landlord of the village pub and sponsor of the festival, Tim Stevens, nodded and smiled back. Next to the bar, the street food stall, run by Harry Price’s restaurant, The Pink Geranium, was already closed. Libby’s son Adam, who had been manning it, was in the thick of the crowd with a party of friends.

At last, after a prolonged final flourish and extended cheering and applause from the audience, it was over.

‘My ears are ringing,’ said Libby.

‘I remember being unable to hear for at least twenty-four hours after a Who concert back then,’ said Ben. ‘I just hope we don’t get too many complaints from residents.’

‘You were properly licensed,’ said Ian, coming up behind them, looking at his watch. ‘And they finished almost on time.’

‘Difficult to shut them up,’ said Tim, pulling shutters down over his stock. ‘I’m glad you were one of the organisers.’

‘It was his idea,’ said Ben. ‘Standing in this very field.’ He stretched. ‘I’d better go and start stewarding.’

‘I’ll come,’ said Guy, arriving at Ben’s side. ‘Are they all going out to the car park?’

‘Most of them,’ said Ben. ‘Ian’s going to look after the gate to the Manor drive.’

Gradually, the field emptied. Libby, Fran and a few other Steeple Martin villagers went round with long-handled litter pickers and bin bags, occasionally waking up an over-enthusiastic participant who had to be encouraged to go and find a more appropriate place to sleep it off.

‘God, I couldn’t stand this sort of thing,’ said Libby, wiping a weary hand across her forehead.

‘Just think of them,’ said Fran, nodding towards the stage, where members of Jonah Fludde and their roadie team were packing up. ‘Every time they do a gig.’

‘I don’t suppose they did when they were in their heyday,’ said Libby. ‘They had minions.’

‘They’ve got minions now,’ said Fran. ‘The band members are only packing their own instruments.’

‘Except the drummer.’ Libby paused to watch as the drummer snapped out orders to the hapless roadie coping with the kit. Ron Stewart, frontman of Jonah Fludde, gently guided the drummer to the back of the stage and received a grateful look from the roadie. ‘Ron Stewart’s definitely honed his people skills. That was very nicely done.’

‘Was it? I’m at a bit of a loss in this world,’ said Fran, resuming her litter picking. ‘I mean, that band who played last night – what were they called?’

‘Ellis.’

‘Yes. Which is a mad name for a band, in my opinion. They’re supposed to be famous, aren’t they? And they did all their own packing up.’

‘They’re up and coming,’ said Libby. ‘And they did this as a favour, really, because they know Bel and Dom. So I expect they couldn’t afford to pay roadies.’

Belinda and Dominic, Libby’s two older children, had graced the weekend with their presence, despite disapproving, along with their younger brother Adam, of the name of the event. Naming the Roll Out The Barrel Beer Festival had been the idea of landlord Tim, after he had agreed to sponsor it, and met with the approval of most of the older generation.

‘What does up and coming mean, these days?’ asked Fran.

‘Slightly more prestigious gigs in better venues, invited to appear at festivals, a record deal and apparently, being on a BBC radio playlist. Very important.’

‘So we’re quite favoured, then?’

‘Oh, yes. Luckily, two of them had known Bel and Dom for years. Well, since college, anyway.’

‘I thought they were quite good,’ said Fran.

‘Well, don’t sound so surprised,’ said Libby, amused.

By the time the site was cleared and Ron Stewart had packed his fellow Jonah Fludde members into the minibus he had hired to take them back to his house - and Fran and Guy had retired to the Manor, where they and Ian were staying overnight - it was very late when Ben and Libby walked slowly home to Allhallow’s Lane.

‘Remind me never to organise a festival again,’ said Libby. ‘If anyone else wants to use the field, I suggest you charge them a fee and stay out of it.’

‘I think you may be right.’ Ben yawned and extracted his key from the pocket of his jeans. ‘And just think, we’ll have the camping and car park field to clear up tomorrow, as well.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ moaned Libby. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘We could hire that cleaning company Ian suggested,’ said Ben, ushering Libby into number seventeen. Sidney the cat shot out between their legs. ‘Are you too tired for a nightcap?’

‘Unlike me though it is,’ said Libby, ‘yes. Straight to bed, I think. And yes, despite the money, I think we will hire that company.’

The following morning, slightly bleary-eyed, Libby and Ben arrived at the festival field and surveyed it gloomily.

‘It doesn’t look much better than it did last night,’ said Libby. ‘What time are we letting the lunchtime visitors in?’

‘Eleven thirty,’ said Ben, stretching. ‘Tim will be over to set up the bar in a minute and Harry will be coming to do the food stall.’

‘Come on, then, we’d better get the backstage area set up for the first band,’ said Libby. ‘They’ll be here any minute, too.’

She walked over to the stage and hauled herself up to the side.

‘They haven’t left it very tidy,’ she called out to Ben. ‘I hope the next band don’t -‘

‘Don’t what?’ called Ben, after a pause. He straightened up and frowned. ‘Lib?’

Libby appeared hanging on to the scaffolding at the side of the stage.

‘Don’t mind a body,’ she whispered.

Chapter Two

Sitting down abruptly on the edge of the stage, Libby put her head in her hands.

‘A body?’ Ben gaped. ‘Oh, Libby! Not again.’

Libby raised a tear-stained face. ‘It’s not my fault!’

Ben rushed over. ‘No, of course not.’ He put his arms round her. ‘I’ll call Ian.’

Libby nodded.

Ian answered immediately.

‘I’ll call 999,’ he said. ‘Ring off, Ben.’

‘Why? Can’t you...?’

‘No. I’m off duty. Ring off, and I’ll be over straight away. No one’s touched anything, have they?’

‘I don’t think so...’ said Ben doubtfully, but Ian had rung off.

He sat down beside Libby. Tim appeared from the back of the pub and began lifting the shutters on the bar, and Harry had already raised his own shutters.

‘We’ll have to tell them to stop,’ said Libby. ‘We won’t be able to carry on.’

‘Oh, Lord.’ Ben shook his head. ‘We’ll have to turn all the campers away.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Libby. ‘If they were here overnight the police will have to question them. And I recognised him.’ Her voice wobbled.

Ben looked at her sharply. ‘Who is it?’

‘One of the members of Ellis.’

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Ben.

Ian appeared through the gate from the Manor drive, a grim expression on his face.

‘Did you recognise the body?’

Libby nodded. ‘One of the members of Ellis – Bel and Dom’s friends.’

Ian’s expression became even grimmer. ‘I’ll go and have a look.’

As he disappeared to the back of the stage they heard the sound of the police siren, and suddenly the field was full of uniforms. Within seconds, Ian was back and shepherding onlookers away as patrol cars drew up in the drive. Libby and Ben watched as uniformed officers surrounded their friend and others went over to the car park and camping area.

‘Mrs Sarjeant?’ A red-haired, blue-eyed plain clothes officer smiled at Libby. ‘Remember me?’

‘Sergeant Maiden.’ Libby gave a tremulous smile back.

‘Inspector, now.’ He beamed. ‘You found the – er – fatality.’ He turned to Ben. ‘And Mr Wilde, wasn’t it?’

‘I wasn’t with her, I’m afraid,’ said Ben. ‘I haven’t seen it.’

‘DCI Connell has, though.’ Maiden frowned at his superior. ‘This is awkward.’

‘Awkward? Why?’ asked Libby.

‘He was off duty.’

‘Does that matter?’ Ben watched Ian deep in conversation with his colleagues. ‘He didn’t know the – er – deceased.’

‘No.’ Maiden smiled again. ‘I’m afraid we shall have to ask you some questions, though. Is there anywhere we can go?’

‘The Manor,’ suggested Ben. ‘My office. You’ve been there before.’

Maiden nodded and went across to where Ian was talking to the other officers. By this time, a blue-suited scientist had headed to the back of the stage, followed by lesser blue-suited minions. Ian came back and joined them.

‘I’m relegated.’ He sighed. ‘Not that I particularly want to be involved. Come on, we’ve been told to report to your office.’

He said nothing as the three of them walked across the field to the drive. Hetty was waiting anxiously at the heavy oak door of the Manor.

‘Another one, is it?’

Ben sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, Mum. Go back in the kitchen. We’ll come and see you in a little while.’

Fran emerged from the hall behind Hetty.

‘What’s going on?’

Ben told her.

‘I don’t believe it.’ She shook her head. ‘No one would.’

‘No.’ Libby smiled grimly. ‘Ben and I have to go and be grilled. We’ll see you later.’

‘What about Ian?’

‘Yes. I have to be grilled, too,’ Ian said with a smile. ‘I’m going to ask if you can go and keep an eye out for guests or bands arriving this morning. Who’s coming, can you remember?’

‘Oh yes.’ Libby pulled a face. ‘Can’t you?’

‘No.’ Ian frowned.

‘I can,’ said Ben. ‘The two founder members of Ellis doing an acoustic set.’

Ian and Fran looked shocked beyond belief.

Guy came out onto the forecourt. ‘Sophie’s coming over this morning,’ he said. ‘She was – is – a great fan of Ellis. Especially the original two.’

‘Should we tell them?’ asked Libby.

‘I will.’ Ian sighed, and led the way into the Manor.

The inquisition, as Libby called it, didn’t take long, and after warning them all not to say anything to anyone, and in particular the other members of Ellis, Inspector Maiden let them go.

‘Where, though?’ said Libby. ‘What are we supposed to do?’

‘We’ll go and see what they’ve said to Tim and Harry,’ said Ben. ‘They’ll know what the public have been told to do.’

Tim and Harry were sitting disconsolately on upturned crates in front of their respective businesses.

‘They aren’t letting anyone in,’ said Harry. ‘They’re questioning everyone who stayed in the camping part overnight and sending them home.’

‘What about the guests in the Manor?’ asked Libby. ‘And Ron Stewart. They were all here last night.’

‘Was the victim, though?’ said Ian.

Four pairs of eyes looked at him in surprise.

‘He must have been,’ said Libby. ‘Where else would he be? He was killed here!’

‘Actually,’ said Ian with a sigh, ‘I think he was here last night. I’m pretty sure he was here.’

‘Why did you ask if he was, then?’ said Libby.

‘Because, like all witnesses, I can’t be absolutely sure.’ He turned and looked over his shoulder. ‘I suppose I ought to tell Maiden.’

‘You’re always telling us -‘

‘I know.’ Ian sighed again. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Well!’ said Harry, as they watched him stride over to the knot of policemen in front of the stage. ‘What happens now?’

‘No idea,’ said Ben. ‘He’s been told not to get involved.’

‘He said Ron Stewart was here last night,’ said Libby. ‘But we saw him leave.’

‘I expected he meant during the evening,’ said Ben. ‘Look, here come Fran and Guy. At least they haven’t sent them home.’

‘We sent the other two band members in to Sergeant Maiden,’ said Fran.

‘Inspector,’ corrected Libby.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Guy.

‘Wait, I suppose,’ said Ben. ‘Tim and Harry, you might as well go home.’

Harry stood up and stretched. ‘Why won’t they let the festival carry on?’

‘The stage is a crime scene,’ said Guy. ‘I suppose they could let people use the bar.’

‘If anybody asks,’ said Tim, ‘send them into the pub.’

‘I doubt if they will,’ said Fran. ‘They’re clearing the car park. There won’t be room on the high street.’

Tim and Harry vanished into their back doors just as a yellow-jacketed police officer approached them, looking irritable.

‘Someone over there says he’s supposed to be working here today.’ He waved a hand towards the gate.

‘My son,’ explained Libby. ‘May I speak to him?’

‘Well...’

‘Yes, Libby. Go on.’ Ian materialised and fixed the officer with a minatory glare. ‘In fact, I’ll come over myself.’

The officer opened his mouth, took one look at Ian’s face and shut it again.

‘Adam?’ Libby stuck two fingers through the fencing. ‘Why didn’t you come through the back gate?’

‘Dom and I went to collect Bel.’ Adam indicated his brother standing behind him.

‘Where is she, then?’

‘When we got here we found out and she went up to see Hetty.’ Dominic looked pale. ‘What happened, Mum? Who is it?’

‘One of Ellis,’ said Libby and held up a hand, ‘but I don’t think it’s one of your friends.’

If possible, Dominic turned even paler.

‘If I were you,’ said Ian, ‘I’d go up and join Belinda in Hetty’s kitchen. We’ve only met briefly, but I’m Ian.’ He held out his hand. Dominic took it gingerly.

‘The policeman, right?’

‘Yes, but I’m off duty today.’

‘You’re never off duty,’ said Adam glumly.

‘Go on, Dom,’ said Libby. ‘As soon as we can we’ll come up. Go on, Ad, you go too.’

‘What was Ad doing after the stall closed?’ asked Ian as they walked back to where the others waited.

‘He was in the audience. Then he went home via the back gate.’

‘Would he have seen anything?’ said Ian.

‘I doubt it. When was he killed?’

‘I’ve no idea, but last night, I would think.’

‘What now?’ asked Fran, as Libby came to a halt beside her.

‘I don’t know.’ They all looked at Ian.

‘I don’t know either.’ He looked round the field at various groups of officers, crime scene tapes and photographers. ‘As far as I can see, they’re questioning everyone in the car park field, then letting them go. I can’t see why they wouldn’t let you go, too.’

‘But we’ve got to clear up and get the fencing and gates ready for the hire company to pick up,’ said Ben.

‘And the staging,’ said Libby. ‘Although Ron Stewart organised that. Someone ought to tell him.’

‘Have you got a list of the people involved?’ asked Ian.

‘Yes – on my computer,’ said Libby.

‘Ah.’ Ian stared at the floor for a moment. ‘OK – wait here.’

‘Where’s he gone?’ asked Libby, as Ian was lost behind a knot of blue-suited individuals.

‘On stage,’ said Fran. ‘Do you suppose they’ll throw him off?’

‘I don’t understand why they aren’t letting him be part of the investigation,’ said Guy. ‘He knows us, the village, even the field. And a lot of the people.’

‘That’s why, I expect,’ said Ben. ‘He’s been warned in the past about keeping us – or Libby, anyway – out of investigations. They probably think he’d hide things.’

‘Then they don’t know Ian,’ snapped Libby.

‘All right, all right.’ Ben patted her arm.

Inspector Maiden emerged from the backstage area and started purposefully towards them.

‘Mrs Sarjeant, DCI Connell tells me you have a list of people concerned in this – ah – event – at home. Would it be possible for us to send someone to fetch it?’

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Fetch it? I’ll go and collect it, if you like.’

‘Um – well, it would be better...’ Maiden eyed her warily.

‘No.’ Libby’s cheerful face rarely looked stormy, but when it did...

‘Send somebody with Mrs Sarjeant.’ Ian came up behind Maiden. ‘She’s hardly likely to run away with it, is she?’

Libby turned a fulminating eye on Maiden. ‘Do you really imagine I would let someone into my house alone to search my computer?’

‘If they had a warrant you’d have to, Lib,’ said Ian mildly. ‘As it is, I’m sure you can fetch it yourself.’

‘Hmph,’ said Libby and turned on her heel towards Allhallow’s Lane. Maiden, caught unawares, cast round for an officer to send with her, and finding no one, set off after her at a trot.

Libby left the door open for him.

‘I’m afraid,’ she said, opening up her laptop, ‘that I shall have to send it to the Manor Estate Office. That’s where the printer is.’

‘Oh.’ Maiden hovered uncertainly by the door. ‘Can we send someone to collect that? Or should Mr Wilde...?’

Libby, bad temper forgotten, beamed. ‘I’ll ring him.’ Before Maiden could protest, she’d pressed speed dial on her phone.

‘There,’ she said, and turned the screen to face him. ‘That’s the list of bands and suppliers. Luckily, it’s only a tiny festival. All the licenses are listed there, too.’

Maiden bent down to look at the screen.

‘It looks very clear,’ he said, straightening up. ‘And you’re sending that to the printer at the Manor?’

‘I’ve already done it.’

‘And you have to let all these people know when you’ve finished with – with -‘

‘Their services, or the bands. In fact, the bands that were due to play this lunchtime and early afternoon will be here already, I should think. The two members of Ellis, the band the – er – well, they’re here, aren’t they?’

‘They’ve been interviewed,’ said Maiden. Libby nodded and shut down the computer.

‘Come on. Ben will be back with your printout by now,’ she said, and led the way out of the front door.

Ben was waiting by the stage, the printout in his hand.

‘The other two bands have both arrived,’ he said. ‘Can we tell them to go home?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Maiden. ‘I’ll just check.’ He vanished behind the stage.

‘Is there someone else in charge now?’ asked Libby in a whisper.

‘No, but Ian keeps getting called in.’ Ben looked amused. ‘I don’t think they’re going to be able to keep him out of it. They’ve asked his advice three times since you’ve been gone.’

‘Well,’ said Libby, her eyes fixed on the low black car that had drawn up in the drive, ‘I think that’s just about to change.’

Chapter Three

Ben followed her gaze.

‘Is that -?’ he whispered.

‘Certainly is,’ said Libby. ‘Good morning, Superintendent Bertram.’

The woman came to a halt ten feet from the stage.

‘Mrs Sarjeant,’ she grated out.

Superintendent Bertram hadn’t changed much since Libby had last seen her several years ago. Her face was a little more lined, but her skirt was still as short, her . . .