Murder to Music

the press.’

Libby looked across at Fran. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Chapter Twenty-seven

‘ACTUALLY, THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I was thinking,’ said Guy. ‘It just seems like too much of a coincidence.’

‘I suppose they have told the police?’ said Libby. ‘You said they’d closed ranks. They’re not trying to deal with it themselves, are they?’

‘I don’t know. Sophie said Rachanda was speaking in a whisper and couldn’t tell her much, except that she was frightened.’

‘Frightened?’ Fran looked alarmed.

‘About Rachita, I expect she meant,’ said Libby.

‘Rachita, how old is she?’ asked Ben.

‘About seventeen, I think,’ said Guy. ‘Younger than Rachanda, who’s the same age as Sophie. She wanted to go to university, too, but wasn’t allowed to by the family.’

‘So it’s entirely possible that Rachita’s run away if she’s being controlled in the same way,’ said Libby. ‘That’s probably why they haven’t told the police.’

‘We don’t know that,’ said Fran. ‘They may have told the police.’

‘In which case, wouldn’t Ian have been checking to see that none of his bodies is Rachita? He’ll be checking missing persons, won’t he?’ asked Guy.

‘Oh, yes, or the team will. Poor old Ian. This is turning into a hell of a case, isn’t it?’ Libby sighed.

‘There’s a link, somewhere.’ Fran was frowning. ‘I know there is. The TB bodies and now these. Must be a link.’

‘I don’t see how,’ said Libby. ‘The TB bodies were fifty odd years ago, and these are new. Recent, anyway.’

‘It’s to do with Paul Findon,’ said Fran.

‘And the estate agents, I reckon,’ said Libby. ‘I never trusted them.’

‘Riley’s in particular, or all estate agents?’ said Ben, amused.

‘Most of them. And I do object to the practice they have of employing beardless boys, who then pretend to know all there is about houses, bylaws and all the other things you need to know when buying a house.’

‘It doesn’t inspire confidence,’ agreed Fran. ‘Goodall and Smythe never employed anyone under thirty-five. They knew about gravitas.’

‘Back to the subject under discussion,’ said Guy, ‘what about this Rachita. Could she be – heaven forbid – one of Ian’s bodies?’

‘We need to know more about it.’ Libby was decisive. ‘We can’t just barge in.’

Her nearest and dearest hooted with laughter.

‘No, what I mean is,’ said Libby, waiting patiently until their mirth had subsided, ‘we can’t go and ask Rachanda’s family, and we can’t really suggest Ian does, either. We need to know if she’s been reported to the police first.’

‘I’m sure it would have been in the local papers and probably on local TV. A missing seventeen-year-old girl is news,’ said Ben. ‘And if she really is missing, and not being hidden away, the police need to be told.’

‘Can you imagine the scene, though?’ said Libby. ‘Police go knocking on the door and say they understand someone’s missing. Family say, of course not, who told you? A friend of your daughter’s. And who told her? Your daughter. Family, laughing hysterically, and you believed her? Exit police, tail between legs.’

They were all silent, considering this scenario.

‘Was Rachita at school?’ asked Fran.

‘Just about to go into the upper sixth form,’ said Guy, ‘so Sophie says. But on holiday at the moment, of course.’

‘Did she work?’

‘I think the family have a couple of shops. She may have worked in one of them.’ Guy shrugged. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘Oh, how are we going to do this?’ Libby banged a fist on the table. ‘How frustrating.’

‘It may be unconnected, Lib,’ said Fran. ‘We’re only speculating on a coincidence.’

‘But you don’t think it’s unconnected, do you?’ said Libby, with a shrewd look at her friend’s face. Fran looked discomfited, and shook her head.

‘In that case, we have to do something. This has landed in our laps. We can’t just ignore it.’ Libby looked round the table. ‘I think we have to tell Ian.’

Everyone groaned.

‘Guy – you tell him,’ said Libby. ‘You’re the one that got the first info from Sophie and he’d take it better from you than from Fran or me.’

Guy looked at his wife. ‘Do you think so?’

She sighed and nodded.

‘He’s likely to ignore his personal mobile at the moment,’ said Ben, ‘but I’ve got his card, haven’t I? We can ring his other mobile. Then he’ll know it’s important.’

‘Genius!’ said Libby, as Ben fished Ian’s card out of his pocket. He handed it to Guy, who took it and walked away from the table. ‘Not having you lot listen in,’ he said, with a grin.

‘Are we going to order food?’ asked Libby, watching Guy’s back.

‘Sandwich?’ suggested Ben, taking a menu from another table.

‘He’s got through,’ said Fran. ‘He’s talking.’

A minute later, Guy switched off his phone and came back to the table.

‘He’s interested,’ he said, sitting down and handing Ben the card. He looked round at them all. ‘He actually said, “Ah. That fits.” I said does it, and he said he’d tell us later and could Sophie give him Rachanda’s address. He won’t bring Sophie into it.’

They looked at each other.

‘Good job we told him, then,’ said Libby. ‘He wasn’t mad, then?’

‘Not at all. I think it was a good idea to use his police mobile, and that it was me who told him – thanks, Libby.’

Libby nodded. ‘And now you’d better get the address from Sophie.’

‘Can she close the shop for a bit?’ asked Fran. ‘She could come here.’

‘OK,’ said Guy, picking up his mobile. ‘I’m not a slave driver!’

Sophie joined them five minutes later and they ordered sandwiches and fresh drinks. He called Ian and dictated the address and phone number Sophie had given, then switched off.

‘How long have you known Rachanda, Sophie?’ asked Libby.

‘Years,’ said Sophie. ‘We were at school together. We were put in the same form when we were about twelve, and as we were both new we sort of stuck together. We used to walk home together and go and get sweets in her uncle’s shop. And I used to get asked to eat with them sometimes, remember, Dad?’

‘Yes, you always made me jealous,’ said Guy.

‘So they were nice people?’ persisted Libby.

‘Oh, yes, lovely. Rachanda’s mum didn’t say much, but smiled a lot, and grandma could talk for England, but not in English. Or India – or wherever. Her dad and the uncles were a jolly lot, too. There were cousins, as well. I don’t think they all lived in the same house, but fairly close to each other.’

‘But they wouldn’t let Rachanda go to university?’ said Fran.

‘No.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘You know what they’re like. Woman’s place is in the home, and all that.’

‘But there are loads and loads of Asian women doctors and lawyers,’ said Libby. ‘How did they get away with it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sophie. ‘That’s exactly what Rach told them, but it didn’t make any difference.’