they were born.”
“Her name was Libby Pearson. Mean anything to you?” He shook his head. “Maybe Pearson’s her married name. Do you remember one of Marie’s friends called Libby?”
Another shake of the head. “We are talking a long time ago, Carole. At the time I saw a lot of Marie’s school friends, but it was a very brief period of my life. I doubt if I’d even remember the name of Janine Buckley if circumstances had been different.” He was troubled by the memories the name prompted. “When I think she could now be a wife and mother, a grandmother even, if Michael Brewer hadn’t…” His head shook again in pained disbelief.
“Libby Pearson talked about a party at your parents’ house.”
“Goodness, she’s got a long memory. When was this supposed to have been?”
“1973, I should think. Your parents were apparently away in France.”
“Doesn’t ring any bells with me. So, what does this Libby say about that clearly unmemorable social event?”
“She says it’s the only time she saw Michael Brewer and Janine Buckley together.”
“Then she definitely wasn’t part of our group. Mick and Janine were all over each other all the time.”
That rather confirmed Carole’s image of Libby Pearson as a fringe player, someone who desperately wanted to be at the centre of the action, but was doomed always to remain peripheral.
“Libby also reckons that was the night that Michael Brewer got Janine Buckley pregnant.”
Robert Coleman shrugged. “Could have been. There were plenty of other opportunities, though, the way those two went at it.”
“You still don’t recall the party?”
“ Some vague recollection’s coming back, but not much detail, I’m afraid.”
“Libby said that, when Michael Brewer and Janine went upstairs, you and Marie were already up there.”
“Well, we would have been, in our beds, if it was the middle of the night. And I’d have been fulfilling my duty of preserving my sister’s honour. If our parents were away, then I was in charge. And I knew they’d take a pretty dim view of Marie getting up to anything of a sexual nature. Our mother had strong – even old-fashioned – views on moral issues.”
“And she now lives in France, is that right?” asked Carole.
“Yes. In a home down there. She went back to be near her family after our dad died. She was very ill…I think I told you that she’d had a major breakdown after his death?”
“You did tell me, yes.”
“Well, she’d never really settled in England, although she’d lived here for nearly thirty years, so when she came out of hospital, it made sense for her to go back to near where she was born. She’d got sisters and cousins over there.”
“Near Villeneuve-sur-Lot?”
Gaby confirmed that, and Robert went on, “I think it worked out pretty well for her. She was always going to be quite fragile emotionally, but she was happy to be back in France. She had a nice little house there, and we’d all go out and visit, till she was too feeble to look after herself and went into the home. She’s pretty gaga now, I’m afraid.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Gaby, who had been silent during their previous conversation, now came to life. “She’s frail, but she’s still got all her marbles.”
Robert Coleman shook his head sadly. “You haven’t seen her for nearly a year, Gabs. I’m afraid she’s gone downhill quite a bit.”
“Oh dear. I’ve meant to go and see her. I’ve just been so busy the last few months, particularly since Steve and I announced our engagement. I must get out there soon.”
Carole was about to announce her brilliant plan, which would both salve Gaby’s conscience and ensure her safety, but Robert Coleman spoke first. “I wouldn’t bother, Gabs love. She won’t recognize you.”
So Carole decided the moment wasn’t right. She’d make the suggestion when she could get Gaby on her own.
Once they were through in the club dining room, eating solid British fare, she reverted to the subject of the 1973 party at the house of Robert and Marie’s parents. “This Libby Pearson woman also mentioned a girl called Diana Milton. Does that ring any bells?”
A slightly mischievous smile crossed Robert Coleman’s face. “Now I’d be lying if I denied knowing that name. Right little raver she was.”
“That’s rather what Libby implied.”
“ A year below Marie in school, as I recall. But you’d never have known it. One of those girls who has an instinctive knowledge of her sexuality and what to do with it.” His smile became sheepish. “I’m afraid, Carole, mention of that name has brought back the party of which you speak in full Technicolor detail. Yes – preserving my sister’s honour was not my sole occupation that particular night.”
“Diana Milton?”
He nodded, with that mixture of apology and pride that men usually apply to their sexual conquests. “Yes.”
“But I understood she was at the party with her boyfriend.”
“They had a row. And I – took advantage of the opportunity.” A nostalgic smile. “Diana was…aah. Lost touch, I’m afraid, when I moved away from Worthing. I wonder what happened to her.”
“Probably ended up a dumpy housewife and mother, like every other teenage fantasy figure,” suggested Gaby.
“You’re probably right.” Her uncle chuckled wistfully. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of her for years until you mentioned the name, Carole.”
“I also asked Libby Pearson about Howard.”
“Hm?”
“Well, we’re only talking – what? Less than a year before Marie married Howard? Libby had never heard of him. She certainly had no recollection of him being at that party.”
“Well, no, Howard moved in different circles. He knew us all because he worked with Dad, and we lived above the shop. His thing for Marie was a kind of secret between them, until suddenly it all came out in the open and they got married.” His face scrunched up with the effort of recollection. “I don’t know. Maybe Howard was there.” Another chuckle. “Quite honestly, now you’ve introduced the name of Diana Milton into the conversation, I’m having a bit of difficulty remembering anything else.”
But Carole wanted him to remember other things. “What I find odd about this whole situation…you know, Gaby being stalked by Michael Brewer – ”
“But is it exactly stalking?”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it, Gaby.”
“No,” Robert agreed. “And most of the other descriptions are even less attractive.”
“But what I don’t understand,” Carole went on, “is, if Inspector Pollard is right and Michael Brewer did kill Howard and Bazza, then
“From what I’ve gathered from Pollard, his feeling is that Bazza’s murder was done simply to shut him up. He knew too much about what had happened to Howard.”
Gaby wanted explanations too. “The bit I still don’t get is how Bazza got involved.”
Her uncle grinned ruefully. “I’m afraid that is down to your brother. Your father was stuck at the hotel without means of transport. Phil immediately thought of the one person he knew who could produce a car at short notice. So he rang Bazza.”
“Are you saying that he was in on the plot to kill Dad?”
“No. Pollard thought he must have been. That’s why Phil was pulled in for questioning. The inspector could not imagine that anyone existed in the world whose first thought when a taxi was needed would be to get a friend to steal a car.”
“Ah. Shows he doesn’t know our Phil.”
“No. I’m afraid your brother was never quite the sharpest knife in the drawer. But, anyway, Phil’s off the hook, at least so far as the murder’s concerned. He could still be in trouble over his involvement with Bazza’s car- stealing activities, but I doubt if Pollard’ll bother to pursue that.”
