‘HE’S HERE,’ LIBBY SAID into the phone.
‘I’m on my way,’ said Fran. ‘I’m on hands-free.’
‘Hands -? Oh, the mobile. In the car. OK, see you in a bit.’ Libby put the phone in her pocket and stopped in front of Ian. ‘Hello.’
‘Libby.’ Ian stood up and looked down his nose at her.
‘OK.’ She sighed and fished for her key. ‘What have we done now?’
‘I’ll tell you when Fran arrives,’ said Ian, following her into the house and tripping over Sidney. ‘Blasted cat.’
‘Well, she won’t be long.’ Libby went through to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
‘Was that her on the phone? From her car?’ Ian followed her.
‘Yes, but on the hands-free.’ Libby turned to face him. ‘You know how law-abiding Fran is.’
Ian made no comment, merely folded his arms and leant against the door jamb. Libby sighed and took the teapot down from above the Rayburn.
‘Hello?’ Fran called from the front door. ‘You left it open.’
‘That was Ian.’ Libby looked at him accusingly. ‘Hardly security-conscious was it?’ She pushed past him into the sitting room. ‘Sit down, Fran. I’m making tea.’
Ian came in and took a chair by the table in the window. ‘Do I get a cup, Libby?’
Libby sniffed and returned to the kitchen, where she loaded a tray with mugs, milk in a jug and a sugar bowl. She poured the boiling water into the teapot and carried the tray into the sitting room.
‘Right,’ she said, depositing it on the table. ‘While we wait for it to draw, you can tell us what we’ve done.’ She sat down on the sofa.
Ian looked amused. ‘I love the way you assume I only want to talk to you because you’ve done something wrong.’
‘Well, it’s usually that or you’re warning us off,’ said Libby.
‘What about when I invited you over to the White Lodge with Professor Wylie?’
‘You wanted information,’ said Fran. ‘Is that what you want now?’
‘In a way.’ Ian gestured to the teapot. ‘Is that ready yet?’
Libby grudgingly got up and poured three mugs of tea.
‘Thank you.’ Ian sipped gratefully. ‘Haven’t had a chance to catch my breath today.’
Fran and Libby exchanged surprised glances. This wasn’t like Ian.
‘Nice to know you come here to relax,’ said Libby. She turned to Fran confidentially. ‘He fell asleep in that chair once last winter, Fran. Poor old soul.’
Ian put down his mug. ‘It’s not actually funny, Libby.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Which of you is going to tell me what happened when you went back to the barn?’
‘You know what happened.’ Fran frowned at him. ‘I told you.’
‘That you thought it might be a cannabis factory, yes. What made you think that?’
‘You don’t mean to say it was?’ gasped Libby.
Ian looked at her. ‘I said, what made you think it was?’
‘It wasn’t me, it was Fran. She remembered a report on the local news.’
‘All right, Fran, what made you think it was?’
‘I thought the windows might have been blacked out. We couldn’t actually get close enough to see, and there aren’t many windows anyway. And it looked as though someone had hacked through the undergrowth but tried to cover it up.’ Fran looked nervous. ‘I’m sorry, have I wasted your time?’
Ian sighed. ‘Not exactly. Was that all you noticed?’ He turned to Libby. ‘And you saw nothing else when you went on Saturday?’
Libby shook her head.
‘I suppose,’ Ian went on, ‘I should have had you both down to the station for questioning, and I have no doubt whatsoever that I shall get hauled over the coals for not doing so, but I know you both so -’ he paused. ‘We did go in. At least myself and DS Maiden did.’
He was quiet for so long, staring into his mug, that Libby began to get worried.
‘Ian,’ she said, ‘please. You’ve got something to tell us. Put us out of our misery.’
He looked up. ‘You were right.’
‘Cannabis?’ they said together.
‘No. Murder.’
Libby drew in a sharp breath but Fran just stared. ‘Not TB victims?’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘No, Fran, I’m afraid not. But victims plural, I’m afraid, yes.’
‘In the barn?’ whispered Libby through a throat that felt as if it had closed right up.
‘Yes. It looks as if it’s quite organised. Almost a little cemetery.’
‘But how?’ said Fran, who was looking anguished. ‘Why didn’t I know?’
‘You can’t know every time, Fran,’ said Ian. ‘And you and Libby put us on to the whole thing in the first place, so don’t feel guilty.’
‘It was Rosie who started it,’ said Libby. ‘Have you told her yet?’
‘No. After I told her this morning she owned the property I thought she ought to have a break. I shall have to tell her of course. I was wondering -’ he looked from Libby to Fran.
‘If one of us would come with you?’ supplied Libby. ‘Well, of course.’ She looked at Fran. ‘You don’t think we ought to see if Andrew could be there?’
‘After this morning?’ Fran raised one eyebrow. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘What’s this?’ Ian snapped. ‘Have they had a row?’
‘Er – we’re not sure,’ said Libby, ‘but it’s possible. I think it should be one of us, anyway.’
‘Or both,’ said Fran.
‘When?’ said Libby.
‘Before she gets to hear about it from the radio or TV,’ said Ian. ‘SOC’s in there now, with Maiden in charge. We only went out there after I saw you this morning, so the machine’s only had a couple of hours to get going, but that much activity isn’t going to go unnoticed, especially in a place like that.’
‘Did Mr Vindari come out to find out what you were doing?’ asked Libby.
‘No one did,’ said Ian. ‘It’s a weekday afternoon, so unlikely there are many people around. House to house is getting going of course, but I don’t suppose we’ll get much response until later.’
‘I thought it looked the sort of place where there would be mostly retired people,’ said Libby.
‘Well, no one had been raised when I left there. My DCI wanted me to interview you as quickly as possible, which I’ve done, and now perhaps we ought to go and see Rosie.’
‘Now?’ said Fran doubtfully.
‘Yes,’ said Ian firmly. ‘If you don’t want to come I’ll raise a policewoman, but I thought she might prefer you.’
‘OK.’ Libby finished her tea. ‘Can I call Ben in case I’m back late?’
‘You won’t be late,’ said Ian. ‘We won’t be long.’
‘What about the estate agents?’ asked Fran. ‘They must be mixed up in it somehow.’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Ian stood up. ‘Do you want to call Guy? I’ll take you both in my car and bring you back here if you like.’
‘I’ll take my own and go home afterwards,’ said Fran, ‘but I expect Lib would like a lift.’
‘A lift?’ Libby came back from the kitchen where she’d called Ben on her mobile. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Did you tell him what was going on?’ asked Ian as he shepherded Libby to his car.
‘Briefly. He just sighed.’
‘Poor Ben.’ Ian smiled as he put the car into gear.
‘He is not.’ Libby was indignant. ‘He’s very understanding.’
‘He’d have to be,’ said Ian.
‘So what exactly did you find when you went to the barn?’ Libby asked after a few minutes. ‘Graves?’
‘Yes. Fairly shallow and very obvious.’ Ian was frowning.
‘Could you – I mean – were they -’
‘They all appear to be female, if that’s what you’re asking, but I was only there at the start of the examination of the site, so I could be wrong. They will, however, be very difficult to identify.
‘Oh,’ said Libby, feeling sick.
‘Have you warned Rosie we’re coming?’ she asked presently. ‘She might be out.’
‘I said I wanted to drop in late afternoon. I think she assumed it was still about the ownership of the house.’
‘Well, it is, in a way,’ said Libby. ‘But at least you can be sure she has nothing to do with it.’
Ian didn’t reply.
‘Oh, come on, you can’t think she did! She didn’t even know she’d been there as a child.’
‘That’s what she says, and she’s very convincing.’ Ian paused while he took a sharp bend. ‘But to a jaundiced eye it could look as if she got you and Fran involved deliberately to give weight to the fact that she’d never been there before and knew nothing about the sanatorium, her uncle or the barn.’
‘Harry said that. Well, not about her uncle and the barn, but he thought she was using us and that Fran couldn’t see it because she wanted to be like her. As a writer, I mean.’ Libby fidgeted with the strap of her bag.
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘Oh, I agreed it looked like that, but then there was all the business of finding the records and Paul Findon and I sort of believed her again. And she was in a shocking state when we arrived this morning.’
‘Yes.’ Ian shot a quick look at her. ‘She was in a state before I got there, too. Is this something to do with Andrew? You said they’d had a row.’
‘I don’t know, really,’ said Libby uncomfortably. ‘We just guessed. But I’m sure she didn’t know about owning the place. And she said she wants to sell it, but the agents will have to be looked into, won’t they? There’s definitely something been going on there.’
Ian looked amused. ‘I should say there has.’
They had arrived at Rosie’s cottage. It was raining again, and as Libby struggled out of the passenger door of Ian’s car, the hawthorn hedge enveloped her in a wet embrace. Fran, pulling up behind, and Ian stood together under Fran’s umbrella watching her.
‘Don’t help, will you?’ she said grumpily.
Rosie’s eyes widened in surprise when she opened the door and saw Libby and Fran with Ian.
‘Has something else happened?’ Her voice faltered slightly, and Fran moved forward to take her hand and lead her into the sitting room. Talbot the cat, spread out on a windowsill, pricked one ear and opened an eye.
They all took seats around her and Ian leant forward.
‘I’m afraid something else has happened, Mrs George,’ he said. ‘We had reason to investigate the barn on your property and – well – I’m afraid we found something.’
‘Not more graves?’ Rosie whispered, colour fading from her face to leave it almost grey.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Libby and Fran edged closer to Rosie and Fran took her hand. Libby was pretty sure this wasn’t an act. Rosie was genuinely shocked, as she had been earlier in the day. She hoped Ian was wrong about her.
‘So that barn was an isolation unit?’ She turned to Fran. ‘That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?’
If that’s an act, it’s a good one, thought Libby.
‘I’m afraid these aren’t old graves, Mrs George.’ Ian cleared his throat and sat up straight. ‘We think they’re murder victims.’
Rosie’s mouth opened but no words came out.
‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Libby, hoping Rosie wasn’t going to faint or throw up. ‘I could find my way around the kitchen.’
Ian looked up quickly and nodded. Libby stood up and went out of the room. Talbot followed.
‘OK, chum, where’s the kitchen?’ Libby asked him. Talbot obligingly wound round her legs and trotted ahead of her into the kitchen, where he stood hopefully by a shiny chrome bowl.
‘I’ll see to you in a minute,’ said Libby, ‘after I’ve sorted the grown-ups out.’ She filled the electric kettle, found mugs on a shelf and tea in a caddy. So far, so good. The teapot was harder to locate and she was just bending down to look in a cupboard beside the cooker, when she heard a movement behind her.
‘So, what have you done to upset her now?’ said Andrew.