Murder in the Blood (8 page)

‘There is that,' said Guy. ‘Did you tell him about your previous adventures?'

‘Yes. Martha had already told him a bit,' said Fran, ‘although I don't know why.'

‘Because we were investigating,' said Libby. ‘It was very sensible of her.'

‘Because now you can be as nosy as you like,' said Ben.

‘All right, all right.' Libby sighed. ‘Don't forget you're all just as interested. Where's Betty? We ought to tell her. She took us to Mahmud's place.'

‘Greta and Tom dragged her off to the village,' said Harry. ‘Walter refused to go and is sulking down by the pool.'

Libby peered. ‘So he is. I don't know how she puts up with it. He doesn't seem to like anything.'

‘I went over and asked him if he'd like to join us for lunch, but he said no, he didn't eat lunch.' Peter shook his head. ‘Which is a lie. We've seen him.'

‘Oh, forget about him. We'll probably see Betty and Greta and Tom later. We'll tell them then.' Fran pushed back her chair. ‘I'm going to lie on a sunbed, have a swim, and then a cup of tea.'

‘Unless we're summoned, of course,' said Libby at exactly the same time as Jimmy called out from his office.

‘Libby! Fran! There's a Mr Smith on the phone for you.'

Chapter Nine

‘I'll pick you up in ten minutes. That OK?'

‘Now?' said Libby. ‘We are on holiday, Mr Smith.'

‘But you were already asking questions, weren't you. So why not come along and give me a hand.'

Libby sighed and looked at Fran, who nodded. ‘All right. But not too long, please.'

She handed the phone back to Jimmy. ‘Thanks. We'll see you later.'

They went back to where the other four were carefully positioning sunbeds.

‘We're off,' said Fran. ‘Not really sure we're doing the right thing. Ian would never let us get this involved.'

‘But this bloke is doing it more-or-less as an individual,' said Harry. ‘He's not part of the police force.'

‘That makes it worse,' said Fran. ‘But at least he's a British police officer.'

‘But not a Turkish one. It all seems very shambolic to me,' said Libby, ‘but I suppose we might be able to help.'

Johnny Smith arrived in a silver hire car a few minutes later.

‘Alec Wilson's first,' he said after they'd both climbed in to the back seat. ‘See if we can find anything about this mother.'

‘We were also wondering if he was running from something when he moved out here,' said Fran.

‘Like that bunch at the Istanbul Palace,' said Johnny with a nod.

Libby gasped. ‘You thought that, too?'

He turned and looked at her, swerving on the dusty road. ‘Of course. I reckon we'd find something in the backgrounds of all those ex-pats.'

They were driving towards the village, past villas in varying states of completion or disintegration.

‘Just up here.' Johnny slowed the car and peered to the left. ‘There. See, between those two houses.'

Libby and Fran saw, in a gap between two matching villas, a smaller one almost set into the hillside.

‘How do we get to it?' asked Fran.

‘There's a drive, they said,' he muttered. ‘Here.'

The drive was simply a gap between the two matching villas and the one next to them. It led to the side of Alec Wilson's villa, which was small and unpretentious. Johnny led them to a covered porch and unlocked the front door.

‘No police tape,' said Libby.

Johnny smiled over his shoulder. ‘No.'

Fran was following unwillingly. ‘What's up?' whispered Libby.

‘We shouldn't be doing this.'

Libby stopped and looked at her. Fran nodded.

‘Is it the house?'

Fran shook her head.

‘Is it him?'

Fran nodded. Libby let out a breath. ‘Ah.'

Johnny was now at the top of the stairs that led to the main living area.

‘Johnny, shouldn't we wait for one of the Jandarma to come?' Libby called. ‘You said we'd have one of them overseeing us.'

Johnny's face appeared over the half-wall at the top of the stairs. ‘They didn't much care.'

Libby walked up slowly. ‘I can't help thinking we shouldn't be doing this. Not without some proper authorisation.'

‘The Jandarma are fine with it.' He shook the keys in her face. ‘They wouldn't have given me these, would they?'

Libby looked over her shoulder. Fran was still at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Fran's not happy about this,' she said to Johnny.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I don't believe in all that sort of thing, you know.'

Libby was shocked into silence.

Fran came up the stairs to stand beside her.

‘And how did you know?' she asked.

‘You think I didn't make enquiries?' He chuckled. ‘I must say, your DCI Connell is very protective of you.'

‘You spoke to Ian?' Libby's voice came out as a squeak.

‘Of course. I don't take people on trust, even if you do.' He folded his arms and surveyed them both. ‘Although you're good to be cautious even if it is a bit late. So why are you,' he pointed at Fran, ‘worried? Think I've got an agenda?'

‘Yes,' said Fran.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, that's blunt. What is it?'

‘I don't know,' said Fran. ‘I just wondered why you're taking such an interest when you're not officially involved.'

‘A favour, I told you. You wanted it investigated, didn't you?'

‘We wanted to find his mother,' said Libby. ‘And you haven't got any resources.'

‘We've got our eyes.' Johnny turned back into the room and pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and held out two more pairs for Libby to take.

‘Well?' she whispered to Fran, who shrugged.

‘We'll go along with it, but keep an eye on him.' Fran pulled on the gloves. ‘Don't let him take anything away.'

Alec Wilson's home was sparsely furnished and very tidy. Johnny had found a drawer full of bills and official documents, including his resident's permit, in the single bedroom, but apart from that there was nothing to give any sort of clue to either his personality or his relationships.

‘It's as though he didn't want to exist,' said Fran, riffling through the few books on a shelf beside the television.

‘Does anyone know what he did for a living?' Libby was taking china out of a cupboard in the kitchen area. ‘Was there a computer?'

‘No.' Johnny wandered back into the living room frowning. ‘But there's what looks like a charger lead for a laptop. So either the Jandarma have taken it – which is what we would do at home – or it's been stolen.'

‘You know,' said Libby, ‘his passport was in a little bag tied round his waist when he was found. What about a mobile?'

Johnny looked blank. ‘No one's told me about a mobile.'

‘Don't you think you ought to check with them?' asked Fran. ‘They might have the computer and the mobile phone.'

‘And if they have, why didn't they tell you when you went to get the keys?' said Libby.

Johnny stayed silent.

‘So what exactly did you tell them?' asked Fran. ‘Not the truth, apparently.'

‘I showed them my Met ID and the letter from my friend in Antalya. They just handed them over.' He sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of a couch.

‘And why did you really want to come?' Fran sat down opposite him. ‘In the interests of a murdered British citizen?'

‘Yes.' He looked surprised. ‘Of course.'

‘But that's not all?'

‘I'd rather keep that quiet, if you don't mind.' He stood up again. ‘Find anything?'

‘No, nothing. Fishing equipment downstairs in the lobby along with scuba stuff,' said Libby.

‘I'll check out the computer and mobile.' Johnny started for the stairs. ‘Coming to see Sally Weston's house?'

Sally Weston's lovely villa with its own pool was more productive, although nothing they found in the way of letters was useful. Her computer was password protected, and there was no mobile phone in evidence. She'd been found by the pool, Johnny told them, and there had obviously been no time for the killer to search the upstairs living room before the alarm was raised.

‘But she wasn't found until the evening,' said Libby. ‘Was she killed during the day?'

‘I don't know,' said Johnny, ‘but it seems odd that the killer would leave possible evidence behind unless he or she was scared off.'

‘Or just didn't have time,' said Fran.

‘What do you mean?' asked Libby.

‘If the killer had to be somewhere else – had to meet someone, perhaps.'

‘To provide an alibi,' suggested Johnny. ‘Yeah, that's good. Come on, you ladies have another look through her bedroom and then we'll get you back to your hotel.'

‘I don't like this,' said Libby, riffling desultorily through a drawer in the bedside table a few minutes later. ‘She was on the pill.'

‘I thought she was older than that,' said Fran.

‘Obviously not.' Libby picked up a framed photograph. ‘See – this is her.'

A blonde woman smiled out at them, her arm round the shoulders of a slight, prematurely grey-haired man.

‘I wonder if that's her with Alec Wilson,' said Fran. ‘There were no photos in his house, were there?'

‘No, but it looks as if that was a much more planned killing, doesn't it? Taking the body out to sea and going back to clean up?' Libby sat on the bed and tapped her chin with the photograph. ‘Whereas this was a panicky murder. Which means that Sally definitely had some kind of knowledge the killer didn't want made public.'

‘Like who he or she was,' said Johnny, coming into the room. ‘Find anything?'

Libby held out the photograph. ‘Is that Alec Wilson?'

‘No idea. There were no photographs at his house, were there?'

‘Haven't you seen the body?' asked Fran.

Johnny looked startled. ‘No. But you have.'

‘Not really to look at. It was face down, anyway.' Libby shuddered. ‘Vile. So you don't know what he looks like?'

‘No.'

‘From his passport photograph?' said Fran. ‘The Jandarma showed it to us.'

‘Then can't you say if that's him?' Johnny was frowning.

‘No,' said Libby and Fran together.

‘Are there other photographs?'

‘Not in here. Probably somewhere, though.' Libby stood up. ‘Let's have another look.'

Finally, Fran came across a shoebox tucked into a cupboard in the kitchen, but it was obvious that the photographs were at least ten years old.

‘No one takes ordinary photos any more,' said Libby. ‘They're all on phones.'

‘But often transferred to computer,' said Johnny. ‘I'll take hers with me.'

He dropped them back at the hotel in time to find the rest of the guests preparing to return to their rooms for tea and showers.

‘Anything?' asked Ben.

‘Fran's suspicious of him,' said Libby.

‘And he does have some kind of agenda,' said Fran with a sigh. ‘He virtually admitted it.'

‘And he's taken Sally Weston's computer,' added Libby.

‘Are you sure his Met ID was genuine?' asked Peter.

‘It certainly looked it,' said Fran, ‘and if it wasn't, how did he know about Martha's enquiry to the consulate and how did he get the keys from the Jandarma?'

Harry was staring at the sky. ‘You said he was a commander?'

‘Yes.' Libby turned to look at him.

‘In the Met they have commanders in charge of different sections of the force,' said Harry. ‘I wonder which section he's in charge of?'

They were all silent, looking at him.

‘Are you thinking spies?' said Ben eventually. ‘Or whatever that would be called today?'

‘It occurred to me that maybe the British authorities knew he was here. That's why there's suddenly a senior Met policeman on the scene only a couple of days after he died.'

There was a further silence.

‘It fits,' said Fran at last. ‘But why would he involve us?'

‘Partly to see what you knew,' said Harry. ‘After all, he went straight to Martha, didn't he? She told him about you two – and us – and then he went hotfoot after you.
And
he's spoken to Ian. He's got lines of communication we could only dream of.'

‘Why did he ask us to go with him this afternoon, then?' asked Libby.

‘Camouflage,' said Fran.

‘Eh?'

‘Two English tourists he could ask about the deaths,' said Ben.

‘Except we didn't know them,' said Libby.

‘He probably thought it would look better than just one strange bloke going into other people's houses,' said Harry.

‘How do you know so much about it, anyway?' asked Guy.

‘I lived in London, didn't I? On the streets, some of the time.' Harry picked up his towel. ‘Right, I'm off to the shower. Coming, Pete?'

‘He could be right,' said Libby, watching Peter and Harry stroll off down the path to their room.

‘If he is, I doubt if we'll find out anything more about it,' said Fran. ‘He's used us for whatever reason, and that will be it.'

‘How infuriating.' Libby shouldered her basket. ‘Do you think he'll talk to Justin and Neal?'

‘If he's really investigating, yes, I would think so.' Fran began to walk down the path after Peter and Harry. ‘He'll have got a list of people from the Jandarma, won't he?'

‘If Neal comes into the bar tonight you can ask him,' said Ben. ‘Now, come along woman and make me a cup of tea!'

But there was no sign of Neal Parnham when they assembled in the bar that evening. Betty and Walter were sitting with Greta and Tom, although Walter didn't look as if he was enjoying himself very much.