Murder in the Dark

Book 12: A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

Genres: Female Sleuths; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

Lesley Cookman's bestselling series featuring amateur sleuth Libby Sarjeant is back for its twelfth instalment. An unidentified woman?s body is found in a remote garden in Kent. With the owners not in residence, the only people with legitimate access are the caretaker, Johnny, and landscape gardeners Adam Sarjeant and his employer, Mog. Libby is understandably afraid of her son falling under suspicion. With the help of her friend, Fran, she is determined to find the murderer, with or without the assistance of Chief Detective Inspector Ian Connell, who seems determined to be singularly unhelpful. But who else could the murderer possibly be?

Release date: September 27, 2013

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 261

Sample

Chapter One

The white-rimed undergrowth crackled and the grass crunched underfoot. In the moonlight, shapes loomed up on either side, threatening. The murderer paused, listening, but all was quiet. He then turned and crept from the scene, leaving the victim on the ground, staring silently and sightlessly through the branches at the stars.

Adam Sarjeant glanced over his shoulder at the creeping mist. Through it, the trees were vague outlines, giants moving noiselessly towards him.

‘Mog,’ he called. ‘We can’t go on much longer in this, can we?’

His employer pushed back lank dark hair and looked up from the paving slab he was lining up. ‘No. Just bring the tarp over and we’ll cover it all. With any luck it’ll be better tomorrow.’

Adam turned away from the new swimming pool he and Mog had been landscaping towards the covered pile of materials at the edge of the lawn. Beyond a wall, the house swam eerily like a great half-timbered ship. There was rustle over to his right, and a figure burst through the hedge.

‘’Ere, Adam! Mog!’

‘Johnny?’ Mog stood up. ‘What is it?’

‘Bleedin’ body, innit? Fuckin’ ʼell.’ Johnny suddenly bent double, his stringy grey pony tail swinging forward over his shoulder.

‘Johnny?’ Adam ran towards him. ‘Are you all right? What do you mean a body?’

Johnny lifted his head. ‘’Course I’m not bleedin’ all right. Call the cops.’

Mog arrived at Adam’s side. They looked at each other.

‘Had we better check?’ said Mog.

‘It’s a bleedin’ woman, I tell yer. Dead as a dodo. Call the cops.’ He sat down suddenly on the ground, his head in his hands.

Mog pulled out his phone and pushed buttons, while Adam ineffectually patted Johnny’s shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ he heard Mog saying. ‘No, I’m just working on the garden. The caretaker, he found it. Dark House, Dark Lane, between Steeple Cross and Keeper’s Cob.’

‘They say to stay here.’ Mog looked nervously towards the gap in the hedge where Johnny had burst through. ‘Where is it, Johnny?’

‘Just outside the grotto. They won’t make me go back, will they?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Adam. ‘They might.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Did they say how long they’d be?’ asked Adam.

‘No, and let’s face it, this house isn’t exactly on a major road, is it?’ Mog felt in his pocket for his tobacco. ‘Want a rollie, Johnny?’

‘Yeah. Ta.’ Johnny looked up and watched as Mog rolled two slim cigarettes.

‘It’s going to be dark soon,’ said Adam. ‘Have we got a torch, Mog?’

‘Don’t know. Might have in the van.’

‘Shall I go and see? If I walk about at the front the security light will come on and the police might see it.’

Mog nodded, leaning down to light Johnny’s cigarette.

Adam walked towards the gate in the hedge which led to the lawns at the back of the house and made for the drive at the side. The security lights came on and he walked to the gateway to see if he could see anything coming, but the lane, narrow as a cart track, twisted away in both directions, shrouded in unbroken mist.

He fetched the big wind-up torch from the van and went back to Mog and Johnny.

‘You know, I don’t suppose we actually need to stay out here. I’m sure we could go in to the house.’

‘Haven’t got the key.’ Johnny shook his head.

‘But I thought you were the caretaker?’ said Mog.

‘Yeah, well. Just here to keep an eye on things. The cleaner’s got a key. Missis calls ʼer and me when she’s coming down and the cleaner comes and gives the place a once over. I just locks and unlocks the gates.’

‘We could sit in the van,’ suggested Adam.

Mog nodded. ‘Come on, Johnny. We can all squeeze in.’

But as they approached the van, they heard an engine and within seconds a police car had pulled up in the lane.

‘You reported finding a body?’ The first uniform climbed out of the driver’s seat.

‘Yes,’ they said together.

‘That was quick,’ said Adam.

‘Diverted from traffic.’ The other uniform came up. ‘We were near the turn off on the Canterbury Road. Better take a look.’

‘I can’t go back,’ whined Johnny.

‘You found it, did you, sir?’ First Uniform looked Johnny up and down. ‘Point me in the right direction.’

‘You’d never find it,’ said Adam, with a sigh. ‘We’ll show you where the grotto is and you can take it from there.’

‘Grotto? Bloody Father Christmas got here early?’ said Second Uniform. Adam and Mog just looked at him.

‘Come on, Johnny,’ said Mog.

Adam led the way back to the hedge and pointed through at the Victorian stone grotto.

‘Johnny has to come through the grotto from his place,’ he explained.

The Uniforms peered  in to the grotto, with its mock bridge and tumbling “ruins”, planted with a variety of ferns.

‘Bit weird,’ sniffed First Uniform.

‘’S’artistic,’ muttered Johnny.

‘So where’s this body, then?’ asked Second Uniform, swinging his torch across the empty space.

‘Other side of the bridge.’ Johnny turned his back. ‘I don’t want to see it.’

‘All right, sir, all right. You stay here.’ Second Uniform stepped into the grotto, leaving First Uniform with Adam, Mog and Johnny.

‘Ain’t you going?’ said Johnny.

‘No, he’s got to look after us,’ said Mog.

‘Quite right, sir. Now,’ First Uniform got out his notebook. ‘Can I have your names and addresses, please?’

He had just finished writing them down when Second Uniform reappeared talking into a radio.

‘Better go and have a look, Steve,’ he said, as he ended the call. ‘I’ll stay here.’

First Uniform went through into the grotto and turned on his own torch.

‘Now, sir,’ said Second Uniform. ‘Did you touch anything?’

Johnny looked as though he was going to be sick. ‘No, I fuckin’ didn’t!’

‘And you don’t know the deceased?’

‘No.’

‘So she’s not one of the family who live here?’

‘No. Oh gawd, I’d better tell ʼer, ʼadn’t I?’

‘He means Mrs Watson, one of the owners,’ said Mog.

Second Uniform swung towards the house. ‘She not in?’

‘She’ll be in London,’ said Adam. ‘She’s not here that much.’

‘So you look after the place?’

‘Johnny does. We’re just landscaping round the new swimming pool.’

Second Uniform’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. ‘Strewth! And she’s not here much?’

Adam and Mog both shook their heads.

‘Enjoys ʼaving things done about the place,’ contributed Johnny. ‘It’s ʼer ʼobby, like.’

First Uniform came back through the grotto. ‘I can hear the cars,’ he said. ‘You go, I’ll stay here.’

After a moment a group of men rounded the side of the house and came across the garden.

The first man stopped in front of them.

‘Oh, no, Adam, not you,’ said Chief Detective Inspector Connell.

Chapter Two

‘Oh, no, Adam, not you!’ said Libby Sarjeant.

‘Yes, Ma, I’m sorry. Ian said he’s very sorry, too, but he couldn’t do much else, could he?’

‘He could have let you go home and called you in tomorrow!’

‘No, Ma, he couldn’t,’ said Adam patiently, ‘you know that really. So what I was wondering was, could you come and get me? Mog needs to get home, and he doesn’t really want to go all the way out to Steeple Martin first.’

Libby looked at her watch. ‘All right. I’ll just call Pete and ask him to take the panto rehearsal –’

‘Oh, I forgot! Look don’t worry, I’ll get the bus.’

‘Don’t be daft. Ben’s already gone to the theatre, or I’d get him to come with me. Will you be in the reception area?’

‘I expect so,’ said Adam. ‘Thanks, Ma. Bit much, still having to rescue me at my age, isn’t it?’

‘You’re still my baby,’ said Libby. ‘You all are.’

‘Shall I send Ben back to you?’ asked Peter Parker when she called him. ‘Can you wait?’

‘No, I’m fine, Pete. Sorry to have to ask this, but I suppose it is a bit of an emergency.’

‘Ian should have sent him home in a police car,’ grumbled Peter.

‘The village would have had a field day,’ laughed Libby. ‘No, I’m going. I’ll speak to you later.’

Libby decided that Ben’s new 4x4 was a better bet than her crumbling Romeo the Renault, and accordingly set off for Canterbury in it.

To her surprise, Chief Detective Inspector Ian Connell, old friend and sometime adversary, was in the reception area of the police station with Adam.

‘I’m sorry about this, Libby,’ he said, coming forward to take her hand. ‘But however much I know that neither Adam nor Mog could have had anything to do with this, we have to go by the book.’

‘I know.’ Libby looked at Adam, who looked pale. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘He had to view the body, I’m afraid,’ said Ian.

‘It was OK,’ said Adam, valiantly. ‘They had to see if anyone knew who she was.’

‘And no one does?’ asked Libby.

Adam shook his head.

‘The owner of the property is coming down tomorrow, and we’ll ask her, of course.’ Ian patted Adam’s shoulder. ‘Go on. Go home and have a good strong drink.’

‘It wasn’t very nice, Ma,’ said Adam as they climbed into the car. ‘I think her throat had been cut.’

Libby’s stomach lurched. ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Didn’t they cover her up?’

‘We had to look while she was still in the garden,’ said Adam. ‘Mog hated it.’

‘Of course, both of you did,’ said Libby, turning the car round in the car park. ‘Come on, let’s get you home. Do you think Harry will let you have something to eat in the flat?’

Adam lived in a flat over The Pink Geranium restaurant, owned by Peter and his partner Harry Price, and run by Harry himself. He pulled a face.

‘I expect he would, but it’s Monday. He’s closed. Anyway, I don’t think I’m hungry.’

‘What do you want to do, then? Come home with me?’

‘No, I’m going to go to the pub. You go on to rehearsal and have a drink with me afterwards. I don’t want to sit in the flat on my own.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Adam. ‘I can have a pie in the pub if I feel like it.’

Libby dropped Adam in the high street, drove up The Manor drive and parked outside the theatre. She pushed open the glass doors and heard faint sounds of laughter from the auditorium.

She found Peter on the stage himself, giving a very good impression of a principal boy, while the rest of the cast hooted with laughter.

‘Going to take it on, are you?’ she asked when the laughter had died down.

‘I was just demonstrating to Olivia,’ Peter said, somewhat sheepishly. ‘I didn’t expect you back.’

‘Olivia, you’ve now seen just how outrageous you can be in panto,’ Libby said to the young woman hovering at the side of the stage. ‘The rest of you, take five while I have a word with Peter.’

‘How’s Adam, Libby?’ called someone from the back. Ben Wilde, Libby’s significant other, suddenly appeared from backstage.

‘Yes, how is he?’ he asked.

‘He’s fine, thanks,’ said Libby. ‘Well, a bit shocked, you know, but OK otherwise.’

‘So, how is he really?’ asked Peter as they sat down in the stalls.

‘Shocked, as I said. He’s gone to the pub. Is Harry at home? Because I think Ad could do with some company. I’ll go down at the end of rehearsal.’

‘I’ll give Hal a call,’ said Peter. ‘And you can carry on with the rehearsal. We’d just got to where the Prince and Dandini enter the forest.’

Libby called the rehearsal to order and went back to the beginning of the scene. The theatre, an old oast house owned by Ben’s family at The Manor, had been converted by him with help from Peter, his first cousin. Ben, Peter and Libby now ran it as a charitable trust, staging their own productions such as the annual pantomime, visiting companies’ productions –- amateur and professional -– and the occasional musical or comedy one-nighter.

When the Prince and Dandini finally ran out of steam and the disguised Fairy Godmother had given her bewitched sticks to Cinderella, Libby called a halt and, after locking up, led a Hamelin-like procession down the Manor drive to the pub. It seemed the entire cast wanted to know what had happened to Adam.

They found him ensconced at the table by the fire with Harry, an empty plate before him and a pint in his hand.

‘I was hungry after all, Ma.’ He grinned up at his mother.

‘So I see. Sorry about this lot,’ said Libby, sitting down and gesturing at the crowd behind her, who all pressed forward with questions, which Adam answered briefly but patiently. Eventually, he was left alone with Libby, Ben, Peter and Harry.

‘So do they think this Watson person had something to do with the death?’ asked Ben.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if someone’s gone to London to interview her or what.’

‘Ian said she was coming down tomorrow,’ said Libby, ‘but I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have sent someone round to see her straight away.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was someone she knew,’ said Harry. ‘Daft to leave a body on your own property.’

‘Not if you thought it was going to be undisturbed for a while,’ said Peter.

‘But Mrs Watson would have known Johnny was likely to find a body. She employed us to do the landscaping round the swimming pool.’ Adam shook his head. ‘In this weather. I ask you.’

‘Had you worked for her before?’ asked Libby.

‘No, Lewis knows her. He recommended us.’

‘I think Lewis must know everyone with money in the county,’ said Libby.

‘He helped her with the interior of Dark House,’ said Adam. ‘You know, she’s one of these people who has to have celebrity designers. And we’re almost as good because we work with him.’

Lewis Osbourne-Walker, a television celebrity handyman with his own show, owned Creekmarsh Place, where Mog and Adam were restoring the gardens.

‘What else do you know about her?’ asked Peter. ‘Is there any other family?’

‘There’s a husband, but he works abroad.’ Adam shrugged. ‘Lewis would know more.’

‘Perhaps we should tell Lewis,’ said Libby thoughtfully. ‘After all, this Watson woman is a friend of his.’

‘Is that wise?’ asked Ben.

‘Wise?’ scoffed Harry. ‘Applied to our Lib? Don’t be daft.’

‘Actually, I think I will,’ said Adam. ‘After all, he got us this job.’ He fished his mobile out of his pocket and swiped the screen. As Lewis answered, he got up and moved away from the table.

‘Did you find anything out from Ian?’ asked Ben.

Libby shook her head. ‘But they had to view the body to see if they knew who it was. Her throat had been cut.’

A murmur went round the table.

‘There was a sort of caretaker there – he found the body. Ad said he was beside himself.’

Adam came back. ‘Lewis says he’ll call Adelaide Watson. Her husband worked for that big company that closed down near Felling, that’s why they’ve got the house here, but now he’s got a job in Brussels and she’s bored. Both their kids are grown up and moved away.’

‘So no one from the family was anywhere near the house?’ said Libby.

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve never even met Mrs Watson.’

‘Adelaide,’ murmured Harry. ‘Parents fans of Guys and Dolls were they?’

‘Eh?’ said Adam.

‘Adelaide was a character in the musical Guys and Dolls, ignoramus,’ said Harry.

‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘let’s hope she isn’t married to a gambling gangster.’

‘Eh?’ said Adam again.

Four faces turned towards him.

‘Adam!’ they said.

The next morning Libby was unsurprised to receive a phone call from Lewis.

‘’Allo, me old mate.’

‘Lewis! How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Look, Lib, about this body.’

‘Yes,’ said Libby warily.

‘I’m stuck in London and I’m filming in Somerset tomorrow, or I’d come down, but Adelaide’s got to come down to have a look at it. Wondered if you’d go and hold her hand?’

‘Me? Why me? I don’t know her from Adam!’

‘Ha, ha. He doesn’t know her either.’

‘What about her husband? Her children? She must have local friends.’

‘I don’t know that they have. When Roland worked at Felling he never had much time for socialising, and she’s not exactly the WI type.’

‘I can’t just barge in,’ said Libby. ‘And Ad and Mog have been told to stay away. Mog’s furious.’

Lewis sighed. ‘She’s just told me she doesn’t want to stay down there on her own. I suggested she took one of her London friends with her, but she sort of gave the impression that would be a no-no.’

‘Well, even if I pop in to do a bit of hand-holding, I’m not staying there. I have got a life, you know, Lewis.’

‘I know, and you’ll be deep in panto rehearsals by now, won’t you?’

‘Yes, and I had to leave one to pick Ad up from the police station last night.’

‘Well, can I just give her your number? Then if she wants a bit of company she can ring.’

‘Landline only, Lewis,’ warned Libby. ‘I’m not having her interrupt rehearsals.’

‘I promise.’ Lewis sighed again. ‘I’m sorry, Libby. Looks like Ad and I have got you mixed up in another murder.’

‘You bloody haven’t!’ said Libby, horrified. ‘Ad just happened to be there when the body was found, that’s all.’

‘And I know the owner of the property. Who, let’s face it, might be up to ʼer bleedin’ neck in the whole thing.’

‘Bloody hell,’ sighed Libby.

Chapter Three

Adam appeared in the doorway a little later in the morning looking harassed.

‘What’s up?’ asked his mother, going to put the kettle on.

‘The police want to talk to me again.’ He followed her into the kitchen and perched on the corner of the table.

‘Why?’

‘How should I know? Ian said he knew Mog and I hadn’t anything to do with it.’

Libby frowned. ‘I suppose knowing a person doesn’t preclude them from being a suspect. I expect this is the superintendent or someone asking why you haven’t been put through it a bit more rigorously.’

Libby’s phone rang.

‘Libby, look, you mustn’t be worried about Adam –’

‘How did you know he was here?’

‘I didn’t, but I knew he’d have told you we want to see him again. I’m afraid the powers that be don’t see it quite like I do, and they’re now talking time of death alibis.’ Ian sighed heavily. ‘Although no one seems quite sure when that was.’

‘So how can anyone provide an alibi?’

‘It has to be during the previous night. And Adam, Mog and this Johnny person were really the only three people we know about who were aware of the property being empty.’

Libby’s heart jolted. ‘What about the cleaner? And you know villages – they always know everything …’

‘Dark House isn’t really in a village, though, is it?’ said Ian.

‘And Lewis says they don’t have any local friends.’

‘Lewis?’ Ian’s voice sharpened.

‘You did know he introduced Ad and Mog to the Watsons, didn’t you?’

‘So he knew about the house?’

‘Oh, come on, Ian! Lewis was in London and filming in Somerset. And yes, he did the interior design for Adelaide Watson.’

‘And they had no local friends.’ Ian fell silent.

‘Well, you can ask her, can’t you. She’s coming down.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Ian.

‘Lewis told me,’ sighed Libby. ‘Look, I seem to be getting involved again, and I really don’t want to. I just think it’s daft to imagine Ad –’

‘I don’t imagine anything,’ said Ian sharply. ‘We just need to see him again. Is he still without transport?’

‘Yes,’ said Libby, ‘but –’

‘No, you won’t bring him in,’ said Ian. ‘We’ll come to him. Shall I speak to him? Oh, and this is strictly off the record.’

Libby handed the receiver to a nervous Adam and turned to pour boiling water into the teapot.

‘He says he and someone else are going to come and see me in about an hour. What did he tell you?’ Adam handed back the phone and Libby repeated her conversation.

‘So where were you the night before last?’ she asked, fetching milk from the fridge.

Adam looked half irritated, half amused. ‘Why, do you suspect me, too?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I was home alone after I came back from lunch with you and Hetty.’

‘Sunday, of course,’ said Libby gloomily. ‘There wasn’t even anyone in the restaurant who might have seen or heard you.’

‘Mother, dear, you are making me paranoid.’ Adam took his mug. ‘I’m sure Ian will make sure I don’t get banged up for it, but it’s horrifically worrying, nevertheless.’

‘Best thing to do is find the real murderer,’ said Libby. ‘Come on, I’ll light the fire.’

By the time Ian arrived, Libby was making a pot of soup for lunch.

‘This is DC Robertson,’ Ian introduced the young man standing nervously behind him. ‘This is Mrs Sarjeant and her son Adam.’

‘I’ll go back in the kitchen,’ said Libby, waving her wooden spoon.

‘No need,’ said Ian easily. ‘As long as you don’t interrupt.’

Libby looked at Adam. ‘Would you rather I went away?’

Adam didn’t look at her. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Take a seat, then.’ Ian sat in the armchair opposite Adam on the sofa, while DC Robertson took a chair by the table in the window. Libby hovered in the kitchen doorway.

Having established once more that Adam had no idea who the dead woman was, Ian proceeded to ask about his movements over the whole of Sunday.

‘So,’ he said finally, glancing at his notebook, ‘after you left Hetty’s on Sunday you went back to the flat and that was it?’

Libby caught DC Robertson’s surprise at the informality of the question.

‘I popped to the pub for a pint –ʼ

‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Libby burst out.

Adam scowled. ‘And I called Sophie, but that won’t help, will it?’

DC Robertson was looking even more bewildered. Ian took pity on him.

‘I know the family,’ he said. ‘Adam, did you call Sophie on your mobile?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it will show up in both your phone records. Sadly, that doesn’t help, because your mobile could be used anywhere. And we know there’s a signal at Dark House, because Mog called 999 from there.’

Adam nodded morosely.

‘Don’t worry.’ Ian got up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know you didn’t do it, but we’ve got to go through the motions.’

‘Any idea who it is yet?’ asked Libby.

‘We’re going through a few people reported missing over the last few days, but no luck so far,’ said Ian. ‘Cheer up, both of you. You’ve been close to murder investigations before.’

‘But we haven’t been suspects,’ said Libby.

Ian sighed. ‘No.’

Libby saw them both out and went back to Adam. ‘He’s right, Ad. He knows you didn’t do it, but he’s got to go through the motions.’

‘Suppose one of those missing persons turns out to have some sort of link to me?’ Adam looked up, his face pinched.

‘Then you’d have recognised her, wouldn’t you? Come on, the soup’s ready. Nothing like soup for cheering up a winter’s day.’

Adam had gone b. . .