Murder to Music

fingers had stopped resembling sausages.

They dragged Rosie round the side of the house, keeping low, out of the gate and down the hedge until they came to the cars.

‘Into mine,’ said Libby. ‘We won’t all get into yours.’

They all bundled into Romeo and sat breathing heavily.

‘And now, Rosie,’ said Libby, ‘I think it’s time you told us what’s been going on.’

Chapter Thirty-five

BUT ROSIE WAS IN no state to tell them anything. They bundled her in their own coats and sat shivering until out of the darkness a large dark car slid noiselessly alongside the Renault.

‘I’m not going to ask what you thought you were doing,’ said Ian, as a policeman and DC Donnington half- carried Rosie into the back of the car and two marked police cars stationed themselves silently in front of the house.

‘We only went to find Rosie,’ said Libby, in a voice that still held the suspicion of a shake.

‘I thought she might be here,’ said Fran. ‘We didn’t know anyone else would be there. You weren’t answering your phone.’

Ian sighed. ‘All right. I should really take you both back to the station and question you, but Maiden can come and take a statement from you both here, then you can go home. All right?’

They both nodded, and waited, huddled together in the back of Renault until DS Maiden’s fresh and cheerful face appeared at the window.

‘You do get yourselves into some messes, ladies, don’t you?’ he said as he settled himself in the front seat. ‘Now just tell me everything in your own words. I’ll stop you if I need to.’

Halfway through the recital the house was suddenly lit up like a stage set. Through a confusion of police uniforms and yellow jackets they could see Weston and Vindari being escorted to the two police cars. Ian turned and gave a thumbs-up in their direction and disappeared.

‘Now,’ said DS Maiden as the account of the evening’s adventures petered to a halt. ‘I’ll just get you to sign this – yes, each page, please – and you can get off home. I’m sure DI Connell will need to speak to you again, but he knows where to find you.’

‘Always,’ said Libby wearily. ‘Thank you, Mr Maiden.’

The both got out of the car and stretched.

‘Are you OK to drive?’ asked Fran.

‘I’ll have to be,’ said Libby, wondering if she could.

‘Don’t worry.’ Fran nodded over her shoulder. ‘The cavalry’s coming.’

The big 4X4 stopped behind them and Guy and Ben leapt out.

There was a confusion of ‘Are you all right?’, ‘What the hell did you think?’, and ‘Bloody women’, and both women were held in bear hugs.

‘Let’s get you home,’ said Guy. ‘You look as if you need a drink.’

‘Is there time to get to a pub before closing?’ said Ben.

‘Just.’ Guy peered at his watch. ‘What’s the nearest?’

‘The Fox at Creekmarsh,’ said Fran and Libby together.

‘Is there a pub in the county you two don’t know?’ said Ben.

‘Very few,’ said Libby smugly.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in The Fox with drinks before them. Fran and Libby didn’t know the barman, which Guy said was a good thing.

‘Come on then,’ said Ben. ‘Tell us what was going on.’

Once again they told their story in tandem, this time with far more condemnatory comments than before.

‘So what do we think was happening?’ said Libby.

‘I really don’t know.’

‘Murder is what was happening,’ said Guy. ‘It sounds as though Weston had been killing women as a sort of hired killer for Vindari.’

‘So they were honour killings. Just not committed by the families themselves,’ said Libby.

‘That way the families could all have alibis,’ agreed Ben.

‘But what was Rosie doing there? Did Weston take her? Or did she go on her own?’ Libby looked at Fran.

‘I’m sure she went on her own. I think she’d remembered. I’m sorry she had to go through all that. And I can’t understand why Ian wasn’t worried about her.’ She sighed. ‘I trusted her, even though she’s turned out to be a bit of a -’

‘Flake?’ suggested Libby.

‘I suppose so,’ said Fran with a smile. ‘I know I’ve been wrong before, but never that wrong. And what about Andrew?’

‘What about him?’ said Libby. ‘A poor deluded soul like the rest of us? I think he’s genuinely fallen for her. She’s played him like an old boot, though.’

‘Your similes are quite without parallel,’ said Ben, patting her arm. ‘But yes, it would appear she’s not been entirely open with poor Andrew.’

Libby sniffed. ‘Serve him right. I hope he remembered to feed Tybalt.’

‘Talbot,’ said Fran.

‘And him, too. Come on, I’m cold and wet and fed-up with speculating.’

She wondered why the other three laughed at her.

Libby was awake early on Saturday morning. She and Ben had arrived home damp and dejected, had a large whisky each and gone to bed. Libby had thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep with everything that had happened that day churning over and over in her mind, but in fact she had slept almost immediately, and it was now that yesterday’s events were dominating her thoughts. She carefully slipped out of bed and padded downstairs.

The thunderstorm had cleared the air, and everything outside was sparkling under a clear blue sky. She fed Sidney, made a cup of tea and went into the garden to sit under the cherry tree, taking her phone with her. At six- thirty it was a bit early to ring anybody, but she thought she might send Fran a text.

However, it was a text from Ian she received first, at just before seven.

‘I’m going to sleep. Do not call me. I’ll buy you all a drink at your pub this evening.’

She called Fran.

‘Yes, I’ve had it, too. What should we do?’

‘Try and call Rosie?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Fran.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Libby, exasperated. ‘I suppose we just wait until summoned. Did Ian mean the pub here?’

‘Yes. Shall we eat there, too? And we’ll bring Sophie shall we?’

‘Ad will be working at the caff, but he can join us afterwards. I think they need to know all about it, too.’

Libby tried to spend Saturday as normally as possible. Ben didn’t go to work, but did go up to the Manor briefly to explain why he’d taken the Land Rover the previous night. Libby pottered down to the eight-til-late and the butcher and popped in to see Flo and Lenny in Maltby Close, and Peter to say sorry for disturbing his meeting with Ben.

‘If you’re about tonight, I don’t suppose Ian will mind if you sit in on the revelations,’ she said. ‘You’ve been there every time before!’

‘He does like his little Poirot gather-them-in-the-library moments, doesn’t he?’ said Peter.

‘Except it’s only explanation not accusation,’ said Libby.

‘Your time might come,’ said Peter, pointing a long finger. ‘Give me a call when it’s appropriate.’

It was almost eight o’clock before Ian made his entrance into the snug, where his audience was assembled.