Murder in the Dark - A Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery Series) by Lesley Cookman Page A
Authors: Lesley Cookman
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suspect now, aren’t I? I was before, but now Roland’s been – well, it stands to reason.’
‘You don’t mind?’ Libby’s voice rose in surprise.
‘No, why should I? I didn’t do it.’
‘Why did you wait until yesterday before telling the police you were worried?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’ said Adelaide. ‘Well, I wasn’t worried about Roland, exactly. I mean, over the last week I’d had my eyes opened, hadn’t I? But I thought he’d done a runner, and I didn’t want it to look as though I’d helped him.’
‘I see.’ Libby watched her thoughtfully. ‘So is there any new information since we last saw you? We saw you were at Carl Oxenford’s house Monday morning.’
Adelaide’s mouth dropped slightly open.
‘And we know he’s not holding his surgeries at present,’ put in Fran.
‘If you must know,’ said Adelaide, rallying, ‘I was consulting him about Roland. He thought I should have told the police earlier that I was worried.’
‘You didn’t tell the police that when they came to search the house,’ said Libby.
Adelaide turned from the window where she had been standing. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘Of course not,’ said Libby wearily. ‘Look, you wanted to see us. Is there anything we can help with?’
Adelaide sat down. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’ She plucked at the arm of the chair. ‘I’m a bit scared, to tell the truth.’
Fran leant forward. ‘I’m not surprised, so would I be.’
‘Really?’ Adelaide gave a half smile. ‘I suppose you can’t see anything? You know, like you have before?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Sadly not. But the police want me on the search of the house to see if I can pick anything up. When is that to be, have you heard?’
‘I’ve told your policeman friend he can do what he likes with the house now. I don’t care.’
‘So you won’t want the swimming pool finished, then?’ said Libby.
‘I said before, if you remember, they can finish that because it’ll add value. But I don’t know when the police will let them back in.’
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, and you know Lewis is being consulted as a buildings expert? He asked me to send you his best wishes and condolences.’
Adelaide almost preened. ‘How nice. Do thank him for me.’
Half an hour later, Fran and Libby were outside.
‘Bloody star-struck about Lewis,’ grumbled Libby. ‘And what exactly were we there for? All she did was whinge. She’s not even vaguely upset.’
‘She wanted someone to whinge at,’ said Fran. ‘And she is scared. It was coming off her in waves.’
‘Scared of what. though? If she doesn’t know anything about Ramani’s or Roland’s murders she’s not likely to be the next victim. And if she’s the murderer, she definitely isn’t.’
‘But if she’s the murderer, she’ll be scared of being caught.’ Fran looked into a shop window. ‘Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.’
Libby obligingly peered into the window at an artfully arranged group of shoes. ‘Who by? How do you know?’
‘He came out of the hotel just behind us and has been hovering about ever since.’ She pointed at the window, and Libby saw the reflection of a plump, dark young man in a suit looking into another window a few yards away.
‘One of Adelaide’s sons,’ said Libby. ‘Bet you. He looks just like his father. Why is he following us, do you suppose?’
‘Because he wants to speak to us without his mother knowing, I expect,’ said Fran. She turned round and walked over to the young man, who stood, irresolute, his face a mask of embarrassment.
‘Are you Adelaide Watson’s son?’ she said pleasantly.
He nodded.
‘And you want to speak to Mrs Sarjeant and me?’
He nodded again.
Libby joined them. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of coffee, then. There’s a nice little place just down here.’
The coffee shop, still open but struggling a little against the might of
‘You don’t mind?’ Libby’s voice rose in surprise.
‘No, why should I? I didn’t do it.’
‘Why did you wait until yesterday before telling the police you were worried?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’ said Adelaide. ‘Well, I wasn’t worried about Roland, exactly. I mean, over the last week I’d had my eyes opened, hadn’t I? But I thought he’d done a runner, and I didn’t want it to look as though I’d helped him.’
‘I see.’ Libby watched her thoughtfully. ‘So is there any new information since we last saw you? We saw you were at Carl Oxenford’s house Monday morning.’
Adelaide’s mouth dropped slightly open.
‘And we know he’s not holding his surgeries at present,’ put in Fran.
‘If you must know,’ said Adelaide, rallying, ‘I was consulting him about Roland. He thought I should have told the police earlier that I was worried.’
‘You didn’t tell the police that when they came to search the house,’ said Libby.
Adelaide turned from the window where she had been standing. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘Of course not,’ said Libby wearily. ‘Look, you wanted to see us. Is there anything we can help with?’
Adelaide sat down. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’ She plucked at the arm of the chair. ‘I’m a bit scared, to tell the truth.’
Fran leant forward. ‘I’m not surprised, so would I be.’
‘Really?’ Adelaide gave a half smile. ‘I suppose you can’t see anything? You know, like you have before?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Sadly not. But the police want me on the search of the house to see if I can pick anything up. When is that to be, have you heard?’
‘I’ve told your policeman friend he can do what he likes with the house now. I don’t care.’
‘So you won’t want the swimming pool finished, then?’ said Libby.
‘I said before, if you remember, they can finish that because it’ll add value. But I don’t know when the police will let them back in.’
‘Right,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, and you know Lewis is being consulted as a buildings expert? He asked me to send you his best wishes and condolences.’
Adelaide almost preened. ‘How nice. Do thank him for me.’
Half an hour later, Fran and Libby were outside.
‘Bloody star-struck about Lewis,’ grumbled Libby. ‘And what exactly were we there for? All she did was whinge. She’s not even vaguely upset.’
‘She wanted someone to whinge at,’ said Fran. ‘And she is scared. It was coming off her in waves.’
‘Scared of what. though? If she doesn’t know anything about Ramani’s or Roland’s murders she’s not likely to be the next victim. And if she’s the murderer, she definitely isn’t.’
‘But if she’s the murderer, she’ll be scared of being caught.’ Fran looked into a shop window. ‘Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.’
Libby obligingly peered into the window at an artfully arranged group of shoes. ‘Who by? How do you know?’
‘He came out of the hotel just behind us and has been hovering about ever since.’ She pointed at the window, and Libby saw the reflection of a plump, dark young man in a suit looking into another window a few yards away.
‘One of Adelaide’s sons,’ said Libby. ‘Bet you. He looks just like his father. Why is he following us, do you suppose?’
‘Because he wants to speak to us without his mother knowing, I expect,’ said Fran. She turned round and walked over to the young man, who stood, irresolute, his face a mask of embarrassment.
‘Are you Adelaide Watson’s son?’ she said pleasantly.
He nodded.
‘And you want to speak to Mrs Sarjeant and me?’
He nodded again.
Libby joined them. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of coffee, then. There’s a nice little place just down here.’
The coffee shop, still open but struggling a little against the might of
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