Murder Repeated

Book 20: A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series

by Lesley Cookman

Genres: Female Sleuths; Thrillers

Synopsis

THERE'S A BAFFLING MYSTERY IN THE VILLAGE OF STEEPLE MARTIN...BUT LIBBY SARJEANT IS ON THE CASE.

'With fascinating characters and an intriguing plot, this is a real page turner' Katie Fforde

Ten years ago, a missing person story causes a furore in Kent - and the national media. A beautiful young woman with a promising career as a singer walks home alone from a party and is never seen again. There is no evidence, forensic or otherwise, and no-one is ever arrested.

A decade later Libby Sarjeant is talked into inspecting a derelict hotel in her home village of Steeple Martin. The body of a young boy is discovered - but is it anything to do with the mysterious disappearance from over ten years ago?

This gripping and twisty crime mystery novel is is the perfect read for fans of Faith Martin, J.R. Ellis and LJ Ross.

(P)2020 Headline Publishing Group Limited

Release date: November 7, 2019

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Chapter One

‘I don’t like it here,’ said Libby Sarjeant, looking round at the bare walls, crumbling plaster, and broken window frames. ‘I think we should go.’

‘Oh, no, there’s loads to explore yet!’ Fiona Darling pushed her thick fair hair back off her face and beamed back at Libby.

‘I wouldn’t fancy trying to get up those stairs,’ said Libby darkly. ‘They look as though they might collapse any moment.’

‘Oh, I’m sure Ted said they were solid enough,’ said Fiona. ‘Anyway, I’m going through here. Kitchen, was it?’

‘I don’t really know. I only came here a couple of times, and that must have been at least twenty years ago.’

Fiona stopped and looked back over her shoulder. ‘Wasn’t that a long way to go for a meal from where you lived?’

Libby shrugged. ‘A lot of people came over here. We didn’t have quite so many up-market restaurants in the area then. Now we’ve got television chefs and all sorts, but back then, no. So the Garden Hotel got a lot of trade. And it was pretty.’ She looked around sadly. ‘All pink and green and light wood, it was. I expect they would have changed it when those colours went out of fashion, though.’

‘And when did it close?’

‘Not long before I moved here – or just after. I know there was never any suggestion of competition with Harry’s Pink Geranium. I think the owner died.’

Fiona nodded. ‘That’s what Ted said. The son took over or something, but didn’t want to carry on with the hotel.’

‘I’ve not heard much about it, which is surprising,’ said Libby. ‘Although I expect some of the older residents know. I shall have to ask.’ She peered at what looked like burning on the floor. ‘I think there’ve been kids in here having bonfires.’

‘Really?’ Fiona came back and looked down. ‘That’s dangerous.’

‘Certainly is.’ Libby frowned. ‘Just who is your Ted? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him, either.’

‘Oh, local builder,’ said Fiona carelessly. ‘He did some work for us when we moved into the barn.’

‘I see.’ Libby put her head on one side. ‘And was it Ted who told you about this place?’

‘Well, yes.’ Fiona’s gaze slid away.

Libby stayed silent for a moment. ‘And who had the idea about the community centre?’

‘Oh, me!’ Fiona turned back enthusiastically. ‘I thought I told you?’

‘Well, you did when we met at Harry’s, but -’

‘Oh, I know – I didn’t have time to tell you properly! But everyone said you were the right person to talk to...’ Her gaze slid away again.

‘Well, I was surprised.’ Libby perched on the unstable windowsill. ‘After all, we have the theatre, the village hall, and Carpenter’s Hall, and each of those has groups that meet in them. I wasn’t sure we needed another one.’

‘We could have a craft centre,’ said Fiona, ‘and a women’s networking centre -’

‘Networking centre?’

‘Well, you know, to exchange ideas. That sort of thing.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Libby with a sigh, ‘if you want to waste your money...’

‘My money?’ Fiona looked shocked. ‘Oh, I was thinking more of a public subscription.’

‘Round here?’ Libby was amused. ‘Not a lot of landed gentry with deep pockets in Steeple Martin, Fiona. I doubt if you’d get anyone wanting to invest. Maybe if you intended to turn it back into a top quality hotel and restaurant...’

‘Well, no...’ Fiona turned back towards the once imposing staircase. ‘I’m sure it would work, you know.’

‘Maybe, but you’ve had a look now. Can’t we go? I must say I’m not impressed.’

‘No, I can see that. But Ted says, with a bit of plasterboard and new skirting boards and window frames – well, he said -’

‘I think it would need more than that,’ said Libby. ‘Anyway, you hang on if you like, but I’ve got a few things to do, so I’ll shoot off, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, OK.’ Fiona looked despondent for a moment. ‘I’ll just take another quick look round the ground floor, then I’ll go.’

‘Right. I’ll see you then,’ said Libby vaguely, and slid carefully out of the front door. She hesitated, then turned to her right and began walking down Steeple Martin’s high street towards the doctor’s surgery and Maltby Close, where she crossed over and waved through the window of the Pink Geranium restaurant at Harry.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on the atmosphere inside the former Garden Hotel, but it had made her most uncomfortable. She assumed once refreshed and refurbished it would be fine but now, she didn’t really want to go near it again, and could not understand Fiona Darling’s aspirations for the place. Still, she’d done her duty and taken the woman round there, although why she should have done so she had no idea. Now she could wash her hands of it and go off to do her supermarket shop in Canterbury.

Nearly three hours later, as she drove back into the village, she was aware of blue lights flashing at the other end of the high street as she drove across into Allhallow’s Lane from the Canterbury Road. Sighing, she wondered which of Maltby Close’s elderly residents had needed the ambulance this time, and hoped it wasn’t Flo Carpenter or Lenny, Flo’s long time partner.

She had barely had time to get inside number seventeen with the shopping when there was a knock on the door.

‘Constable – er -’ she began in surprise.

The young woman on the doorstep smiled a little sheepishly. ‘Trent, Mrs Sarjeant. Except it’s Sergeant, now. Detective Sergeant.’

‘Oh, congratulations, DS Trent. What can I do for you?’

‘Er – could I come in for a moment?’

Libby frowned, but stood back. ‘Let me just put this frozen food away and I’m all yours,’ she said, turning back to the kitchen. She heard DS Trent shut the front door behind her and frowned again. She looked over her shoulder.

‘Now – what’s up?’

‘I believe you were with a Mrs. Fiona Darling this morning?’ DS Trent said, a little diffidently.

‘Yes?’ Libby felt the first stirrings of alarm.

‘Can you confirm where you were?’

‘The Garden Hotel – why?’

DS Trent looked puzzled. ‘The Garden Hotel?’

‘Yes. Why – where did she say we were?’

‘You weren’t at a derelict building in the high street here?’

Libby’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, I see! Yes, that’s what it’s called. Was called. It was the Garden Hotel for years. And yes, we were there. I left her there.’ She stopped. ‘What’s happened? Is she all right?’

‘Could we sit down, Mrs Sarjeant?’ DS Trent waved at the armchair beside the empty fireplace, looking weary.

Libby nodded and perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Come on, tell me what’s happened. And for goodness’ sake, call me Libby.’

DS Trent relaxed back into the armchair and smiled. ‘I’m Rachel,’ she said, ‘thank you. Well, you see, Mrs Darling says she found a body.’

‘What?’

‘You weren’t there at the time?’

‘No, I was not!’

‘She did say you’d already gone.’ Rachel Trent sighed. ‘She was looking in the kitchen at the time. Or what had been the kitchen.’

‘Yes, she said she was going in there.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to go there in the first place, and I got out as quickly as I could.’

‘So why did she want to go there?’ asked Rachel. ‘She wasn’t very clear about it.’

‘Do you want to take notes?’ asked Libby, eyeing her guest’s unencumbered hands.

‘No, this is an informal interview.’

‘Tea, then? Have you time?’

Rachel looked over her shoulder, as though expecting to see a large superior officer loom up behind her. ‘Oh, I suppose so.’

‘Come into the kitchen while I make it,’ said Libby. ‘That’ll save time.’

‘Now,’ she went on, having switched on the electric kettle and fished teabags out of a box. ‘Fiona and the Garden Hotel. Didn’t she tell you anything about why she was there?’

‘I’m afraid she was hysterical.’ Rachel sat down at the kitchen table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘She was out in the road when the officers who answered the 999 call arrived, and apparently they couldn’t get any sense out of her. Then I arrived with SOCOS and Sergeant Davies, then the inspector, and they got her into a police car. So the Inspector sent me to see you to see if you could make it any clearer for us.’

‘Inspector? DCI Connell?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘No, Inspector Maiden’s SIO on this one.’

‘Oh?’ Libby’s eyebrows rose.

Rachel tried to suppress a grin. ‘Well, Deputy SIO. The top brass don’t think DCI Connell should be taking quite such an active part in the investigations, so he’s now heading up an MIT at headquarters. He’s overall SIO – office-based.’

‘MIT?’ asked Libby.

‘Murder Investigation Team. They’re theoretically in charge of all murders on their patch. How it’ll work in practice, I’m not sure. Especially keeping the DCI out of the front line.’ The grin finally broke out.

‘Ah.’ Libby grinned back. ‘And how long do you think he’ll be able to resist it?’

‘Not long.’ Rachel accepted a mug. ‘Thanks. So why was Mrs Darling there?’

Libby repeated the story Fiona had given her that morning.

‘Why, though? You’ve already got community spaces in the village, haven’t you? That hall where we’ve had the incident rooms, and that other one in the same little lane, as well as the theatre...’

‘I said that to her, but she’s got some new-fangled idea for a craft centre and a cake shop, or something.’

Rachel considered. ‘A tea shop might work, perhaps for the older people in the village.’

‘It might, but Harry opens at lunchtime and stays open as long as anyone wants him to in the afternoon. And he does wonderful cakes.’

‘Harry?’

‘The owner of the Pink Geranium.’

‘Oh!’ Light dawned. ‘He does that lovely Mexican street food.’

‘That’s him. Although it was just a Mexican restaurant when he started. Street food’s become a buzz word in the last few years. Anyway, back to Fiona...’

‘Sorry, yes. So what did she tell you about this builder? Or the owner of the building?’

‘Very little. The builder did some work when she and her husband moved in to the barn at Steeple Well.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘It’s just a lane, really. There was an old well there once, and I suppose people just built houses round it. There are only a few, and they’re very expensive. Anyway, Fiona started getting involved in everything going on in the village.’ Libby gave an amused grunt. ‘Only there wasn’t much to get involved with.’

‘So she thought she’d start something herself?’

‘Maybe.’ Libby shrugged. ‘Anyway, this builder, Ted, had been asked to do some refurbishment on the Garden Hotel building, I presume with a view to selling it on. Why Fiona thought she could get hold of it I’ve no idea, and why he thought it was all right to just hand over the keys...’

Rachel nodded. ‘It is a bit odd. And you don’t know what this builder’s other name is? Or the owner?’

‘Sorry, no. But you can find that out easily, can’t you?’

Rachel smiled and stood up. ‘Of course. Thank you so much for your help, Libby – and for the tea. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you quite so soon after all that Shakespeare business.’

‘No problem.’ Libby stood up and saw her to the door. ‘Give my regards to Inspector Maiden, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I expect he might want to talk to you himself at some point – and if I want to know anything else, can I ask you?’

‘Course you can. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll know someone else who does.’

She closed the door thoughtfully after Rachel’s disappearing back, and went back to the kitchen to put the rest of the shopping away, before sitting down on the sofa again and picking up the phone.

‘Wolfe’s Gallery,’ came the familiar voice on the end of the line.

‘Fran, it’s me. I remembered you said you were working today. Guess what? We’ve got another body!’

Chapter Two

There was a charged silence and Libby imagined Fran standing stock still with her eyes shut, possibly breathing deeply.

Eventually, she let out her breath in a gust and said ‘Go on, then. Tell me.’

So Libby told her.

‘Do I know the Garden Hotel?’ asked Fran. ‘It doesn’t ring any bells.’

‘Long before your time,’ said Libby. ‘The Ex and I used to come over for dinner occasionally. I don’t think I knew the family who owned it.’

‘And there’s a body. How long has it been there?’

‘Oh!’ Libby stopped in surprise. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’

‘Well, is it a recent body, or an old one?’

‘I’ve said, I don’t know. I don’t suppose Rachel knew, either. It was only found a couple of hours ago. There won’t be much in the way of forensics, yet, will there?’

‘No. So why do you say WE’ve got a body? It’s nothing to do with us.’

‘Fiona told them I was with her. Oh, not when she found the body, but I suppose to explain why she was there.’

‘But you aren’t the reason she was there. That Ted the builder was.’

‘Only because he told her about the building. The idea of this community centre seemed to be entirely hers.’

‘Will it cost a lot to get the building back to life?’

‘Hey!’ said Libby. ‘I don’t care about that! It’s the body I’m interested in.’

‘You don’t think the community centre or Ted the builder have anything to do with why it’s there?’

‘Good heavens, Fran! How do you work that out? No, I don’t! Fiona is brand new to the village – well, almost – and Ted the builder has simply been given the keys to the building. Which I find very odd.’

‘It is odd,’ said Fran. ‘One does wonder why.’

‘To tart it up, Fiona said. I assume by whoever’s left of the family who owned it. I’m going to ask around to see if anyone in the village remembers anything about it.’

‘Leave it to the police.’

‘Ah!’ said Libby. ‘But that nice Rachel Trent has asked if she can come and ask me if she wants to know anything.’

‘She means about the village.’

‘Well – yes...’

‘And Inspector Maiden won’t want you poking your nose in.’

Libby sighed. ‘No, all right. I just thought you ought to know. Anyway, you’re coming over tomorrow for Edward’s party, aren’t you?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it!’ said Fran, and ended the call.

Edward Hall, historian, lecturer, and friend, had moved into the area just before Christmas, and although that was now some months ago, he had only just got around to having a house-warming event. Libby was looking forward to it, especially as she would be able to catch up with friends she hadn’t seen for some time.

‘Because,’ said Ben Wilde, her significant other, later, ‘you haven’t been delving into any murders recently.’

Libby began to be indignant and changed her mind. ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That’s really sad, isn’t it?’

‘It’s really only Fran and Guy and Ian, I suppose,’ said Ben.

‘And I do see Fran,’ said Libby. ‘Just not as often.’

‘Well, tomorrow she and Guy will be staying here, so we’ll see as much of them as we want.’ Ben gave her a hug. ‘And now I want my dinner, woman.’

To Libby’s frustration, Rachel Trent did not appear to ask her any questions the following day. Nor did Fiona Darling answer her phone call, letting it go to voicemail, so she had nothing to tell Fran when she and Guy arrived in the evening.

‘Well, in that case, you’ll just have to let it be an ordinary police case, won’t you?’ said Fran with a grin. ‘Especially if even Ian isn’t going to be involved.’

‘Maybe Ian’ll be there tonight,’ Libby began.

‘And you will NOT bring it up!’ said Guy. ‘Leave it, for goodness’ sake.’

Libby sighed and gave in.

At a quarter to eight, the four of them walked down to the Pink Geranium to meet Peter Parker, Ben’s cousin, and Harry Price, his partner, who had closed the restaurant for the evening. They had delivered food to Edward earlier in the day and now they were more or less off-duty. The people carrier Ben had booked for the Steeple Martin contingent was picking up his mother, Hetty, at The Manor and coming on to The Pink Geranium before taking them all to Grove House, near the village of Shott a couple of miles away.

‘Who else is coming?’ Fran asked, when they were settled and on their way.

‘Don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he’s invited Andrew.’ Andrew Wylie was another historian, whom Edward had met during a previous adventure of Fran and Libby’s.

‘And Ian, of course,’ said Guy, with a sly glance at Ben.

‘But I expect it will mostly be colleagues from work,’ said Ben. ‘He doesn’t know many people except us locally.’

‘Philip Jacobs,’ said Harry. ‘They both belong to the chess club at the pub, and they have a meal in the caff on occasion.’

‘Who’s Philip Jacobs?’ asked Guy.

‘Barrister bloke we met last year when Twelfth Night was on,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t know they were friends.’

‘He doesn’t have to tell you everything, Lib!’ said Peter.

When they arrived at Grove House, a perfect small Georgian manor house set back from the road, they found several cars already on the gravelled forecourt. The big front door stood open and light spilled out into the dusk.

‘Hello, everyone!’ Edward suddenly appeared, sporting his famous wide grin. ‘Lovely to see you all.’

He greeted Hetty, Libby, and Fran with kisses, and the men with manly hugs. ‘Come inside! Hetty, Fran, you’ve not been here before have you? I’ll give you the tour in a bit.’

Inside in the long drawing room, Edward hurried them towards the long table set with drinks.

‘Pushed the boat out, haven’t you?’ said Libby. ‘This is lovely.’

‘You have a way of putting things, Libby,’ said a voice behind them.

‘Ian!’ Libby turned round with a delighted smile.

‘Hello, mate,’ said Ben, holding out a hand. ‘Haven’t seen you for a bit.’

Detective Chief Inspector Ian Connell greeted them all in a similar, but slightly more restrained, way as Edward.

‘And you know Philip, don’t you?’ said Edward, waving forward a rotund, dapper man in a tweed waistcoat.

While greetings were being exchanged, and Edward went off to meet more new arrivals, Libby took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Ian.

‘No, Libby,’ he said with a smile, before she’d got started. ‘I can’t tell you anything about the body you nearly found yesterday. A – I don’t know very much myself, and B – I’m currently confined to the office.’

‘Yes, Rachel told me that.’

‘Rachel? Oh, yes, DS Trent. You’re busy getting her on side, are you?’

‘Well, she was asking about the village, and -’

‘She’s very sensibly getting a little local background knowledge and went to the most qualified person she knows.’ Ian patted her shoulder. ‘And if you don’t know, you’ll know someone who does, won’t you?’

‘That’s what I told her,’ said Libby. ‘It’ll probably be the Steeple Martin Mafia again.’

‘Mafia?’

‘You know – you’ve used them,’ said Libby with a grin. ‘Hetty and Flo and their cohorts.’

‘So we have. But what would they know about a boy – I gather the body is of a young male – hiding in a derelict hotel?’

‘But what if he was hidden before it became derelict?’

Ian shook his head. ‘No, the body is comparatively recent. Well, within the last six months, the pathologist thinks.’

‘So really, looking back into the history of either the village or the hotel is pretty useless?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Ian smiled down at her again. ‘Cheer up, Libby. You can have a lovely time ferreting about on the outskirts of the investigation for a change.’

Disgruntled, Libby turned back to her friends, who had been joined by Professor Andrew Wylie, small and dapper, with a neat white beard. She asked after his health and that of Talbot, his adopted cat.

‘I gather you found another body?’ he said, taking a sip of his red wine.

‘No, I didn’t – I just nearly did,’ said Libby. ‘I had been with the woman who did find it, though.’

‘I used to know the Garden Hotel,’ said Andrew, smiling reminiscently. ‘Very pretty it was.’

‘Yes, I used to go there for the odd dinner,’ said Libby. ‘Pink and green decor. Very “in” back then.’

Andrew nodded. ‘Such a shame what happened.’

Libby’s ears pricked up. ‘Why? What happened?’

Ben groaned. ‘Oh, don’t, Andrew, you know what she’s like.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing awful – just that the owner died and his wife couldn’t keep it up on her own. The son didn’t want it, either, so it was closed up and more or less left to rot.’

‘Why didn’t they sell it?’ asked Fran. ‘From what you and Libby h. . .