Murder in the Blood (21 page)

Sophie, as so many young people were, was almost surgically attached to her smartphone and answered immediately. Guy asked his question, and listened intently, his face clearing.

‘Oh, of course! I'd completely forgotten that. Thanks, Soph. See you soon.' He switched off the phone. ‘She remembered.'

‘And?' said Libby and Fran together.

‘It was Rachinda Sharma.'

‘Rachinda!' Again, Fran and Libby spoke together. They had met Rachinda and her sister Rachita at the same time they'd met Sally Weston's father.

‘How did she know about it?' asked Libby. ‘Those girls were never allowed to go anywhere.'

‘She brought some pictures into school, Sophie says, when they were doing some project or other in geography. I remember now, that Sophie had been very surprised, but Rachinda said she'd found them in her father's shop. Sophie said how lovely it looked, so I found out about it and off we went. I was busy indulging Sophie's every whim at the time.'

‘We can hardly ask her now,' said Fran.

‘Or her father,' agreed Libby. ‘But it's rather telling, isn't it?'

‘Explain,' said Guy.

‘I was wondering why even this murder seems to come back here to Kent, to our very own area,' said Libby, ‘and then I realised that you might hold the key. You were the first one to go over there, and if you found out from someone here, it might explain why there were links back here.'

‘I think I follow that,' said Guy. ‘So you think Rachinda's father might be connected to – what?'

‘People trafficking,' said Fran. ‘Oh, probably only a small cog in a bigger wheel, but it's very suggestive. I think I'd better tell Ian.'

‘But it wouldn't have been Mr Sharma Justin would have been coming to see,' protested Libby. ‘Not now.'

‘No, but the link to the area is there, isn't it?' Fran pulled out her phone. ‘I'll just leave a message.'

Libby left Fran with Guy in the shop and walked back up to Cliff Terrace. So that was the link. Rachinda Sharma's father somehow had connections to Erzugan, so there might be other people in the area who were also part of the trafficking scheme, which could explain why Justin Newcombe was coming to Canterbury.

Despite her seemingly logical reasoning, even Libby realised that this was possibly a leap too far. Yes, Rachinda's father had been mixed up in something criminal, although it remained shadowy, but there was nothing but coincidence here to link him to any of the events that had begun in Erzugan. Photographs shown to Sophie, found in his shop. No, Libby shook her head. She and Fran were now in danger of building whole buildings out of straw, not just the bricks.

She walked past her car on Cliff Terrace and up to the car park called The Tops, built over what had been empty cliffs, where Libby had walked as a child. The view here was less populated than from Jane's Peel House, as there was no building below the car park, only rocks. Nowhere to land anything, thought Libby, peering over the railings not like … She stood up straight. Not like the inlet at St Aldeberge.

Chapter Twenty-four

Libby remembered they had already spoken about the surveillance operation at Felling that had been part of a recent murder investigation, the one in which she and Fran had first met Patti Pearson, and in which a small inlet beyond the village had actually played an important part. And where, in fact, illegal immigrants had been landed. She thought back. Could those immigrants have been from Turkey? They were brought in by boat, but Libby had always assumed the boats had come from France. She had not been part of the further investigation into the criminals in the case, except for the unpleasant business of giving evidence in a trial. But that was all over, now, and whoever was organising large-scale illegal immigrations would surely have stopped using that particular landing point.

However, she realised, the landings at St Aldeberge were after George and Bert had come across their boatful of girls. So were the destinations constantly changing? She peered down over the cliff again. There were certainly enough places along this coast for concealed landings. The public didn't see most of them, because even if they went out on a boat trip with George or Bert, the
Dolphin
and the
Sparkler
wouldn't venture in close to the rocks. Most people thought of the wild coastline of Devon and Cornwall as smugglers' and wreckers' territory, but Kent and Sussex had their fair share. Just along from here at Nethergate and beyond Creekmarsh were the marshes, from where wool had been smuggled out and silks, tobacco, and brandy smuggled in.

She turned back to Cliff Terrace and her car. Below her now stood The Alexandria, where in a few weeks the Oast Theatre Company would be performing their End Of The Pier Show. She sighed. She really should be concentrating more on that and less on mysterious murders.

When she got back to Steeple Martin, she called Patti.

‘You remember when the police broke up the smuggling that was landing in the inlet at St Aldeberge?'

‘How could I forget?' said Patti, a trifle bitterly. Her own congregation had been under suspicion during that investigation.

‘I just wondered if that could also be connected to our Turkish murders.'

‘I suppose so,' said Patti slowly. ‘It was only a couple of years ago, but I don't see …'

‘I'm just trying to pin down a connection between the bloke who was murdered in London and our area,' said Libby. There must have been connections here apart from the St Aldeberge one and before that over at Creekmarsh.'

‘Creekmarsh?'

Libby explained about George and Bert and the cargo of Turkish girls.

‘And you told me about the other time you found out about the trafficking of girls, didn't you?' said Patti. ‘From – where was it?'

‘Transnistria,' said Libby. ‘It's a wicked traffic. But I'm just wondering if the links to this area are still here, and some of those girls were shipped from our little village in Turkey.'

‘It begins to look like it, doesn't it?' said Patti. ‘It can't be entirely coincidental that your Sally came from here.'

‘Actually, I think it's more to do with her family, not her so much,' said Libby. ‘She'd moved away from Cherry Ashton long before she went to Turkey. Her house here was let.'

‘Well, it sounds very complicated to me,' said Patti, ‘but it does seem that there is a history of people trafficking along our part of the coast, so it's quite conceivable that if it's a regular occurrence some of it should come from Turkey.'

‘By sea,' said Libby, ‘that's the thing. Most of them come overland from wherever they're initially picked up, some are landed along the Italian coastline, for instance, and then taken to Calais. But this way the traffickers aren't relying on anyone else along the way. They get the girls – or men – onto the boat in Turkey, then off it goes all through the Med, right round Portugal to France and bingo. Mind you, they could land anywhere along the south coast, so I don't know why they come right round to the Channel, where the Border Force boats are constantly patrolling.'

‘Perhaps because there
is
already a network in place here?' said Patti.

‘Maybe,' said Libby. ‘And before you say it, I know it isn't any of my business, but I can't help wondering what's been going on.'

‘Of course you can't. You've been involved in so many investigations now it's second nature. And especially as this one touches on things you've dealt with in the past.'

‘I haven't actually dealt with them,' said Libby. ‘They rather thrust themselves on to me.'

Patti laughed. ‘Well, you're dealing with this one, and it certainly thrust itself on to you, although finding a body isn't exactly funny.'

‘You nearly found one in your church,' said Libby.

‘Yes, but it wasn't me, and anyway at the time we thought it was a natural death, didn't we?'

‘Yes, and look where that ended up.' Libby sighed. ‘Oh, well, I'd better get on with doing something else, I suppose.'

‘You could paint. Don't forget you promised to do one especially for me, and Fran's Guy always wants more.'

‘I know, and I've got the show to do, too, although that isn't that much effort. The team at The Alexandria know what we want by now, so I don't have to worry so much. I'll keep you posted, Patti. Thanks for listening.'

‘That's what vicars do,' said Patti. ‘See you soon.'

Libby wandered into the conservatory and wondered what she ought to paint for Patti. Not the St Aldeberge inlet, with its two isolated houses, one either side on the cliffs, both still standing empty, that was for sure. What else did Patti like? Her lovely friend Anne, of course, but Libby didn't think a portrait of Anne would go down too well hung on the vicarage wall. The Pink Geranium and the pub, then? Libby brightened. Of course! That was where Patti spent the happiest time of her week with Anne. She would make a start now.

After setting up the easel with a piece of fresh stretched watercolour paper, she frowned. However well she knew her own high street, she'd never really looked at it properly. She could do pictures of Nethergate from her various viewpoints from memory because she painted them in real life so often, but she'd never painted anything in Steeple Martin. She scowled afresh at the easel. And the inhabitants of her own village would be sure to come peering and commenting if she took up a position on the corner of Maltby Close with her easel and she'd never get anything done. So a quick pencil sketch, then, and a photograph for the detail. She unearthed her sketchbook and found her camera, luckily able to download pictures to the computer. She didn't have a smartphone with all its photographic capabilities, which was a shame at moments like this. Armed with the tools of her trade, she set off down Allhallow's Lane.

At the corner, she met Bethany Cole, the vicar.

‘Shopping?' said Bethany, eyeing the basket.

‘Sketching,' said Libby, ‘but don't spread it about. I'm going to take a photograph and do a lightning sketch before anyone notices.'

‘Why?' Beth was obviously amused.

‘Everyone will want to come and look. And they think I'm mad enough already.'

‘Why do you need to do it, though? You know the village so well.'

‘I want to do The Pink Geranium and the pub, and I never really look at them from over the road.'

‘Is it for the pub, then? Or Harry?'

‘No, actually, it's for Patti,' said Libby. ‘She wanted a picture, and I thought as this was where she spent her days off …'

‘With Anne.' Bethany nodded. ‘Good idea. This is where she's happiest. If ever the dear bish decides to move me on, I should recommend Patti to take over here.'

‘Wouldn't that be difficult with Anne living here? They can spend their time together here because it's away from Patti's parish, but if she was here …'

‘Yes,' Bethany mused. ‘You're right. I hadn't thought of that. God, I wish the bloody clergy would stop being so hypocritical.'

‘I think it's the laity who are worse,' said Libby. ‘After all, who was it who defeated the first synod vote for women bishops?'

Bethany sighed. ‘I know. Well, I'll let you get on with your sketch. Unless you'd like a bulldog to guard you?'

‘Really? Would you?' Libby beamed. ‘No one would dare push past the vicar, would they?'

She and Bethany took up positions on the corner of Maltby Close, where Flo lived with Lenny, and at the end of which stood Bethany's church. Libby wrestled the sketchpad out of her basket and began – awkwardly – to sketch the view she wanted. Bethany stood just to her right said and tried to look as though she was deep in conversation without saying a word. After a moment, Libby gave up and took out the camera.

‘It's no good,' she said with a sigh. ‘I can't do quick sketches any more.'

Bethany laughed. ‘I can't do sketches, quick or otherwise. Here, give me the basket.'

Libby took a selection of pictures she thought might be good enough and put the camera away.

‘Thanks, Beth. At least I've got something to start on. Are you on your way to the church?'

‘I wasn't, no. I was going to the farm shop, but as I'm here, I'll pop down. I think I've got flower ladies or someone in there.'

‘Good luck, then, and thanks for being a bulldog.'

Libby went slowly back to number 17, thinking as she went. Patti's picture had temporarily driven the murders out of her mind, but now they surfaced again. Although there was nothing to be done, she still felt as if she needed to know what had been going on. She would send a little updating email to Jimmy's former guests, and see what they had to say. Not that she could tell them much, but at least she was keeping in touch.

By the time Ben came home, she'd made a start on Patti's painting, sent emails, and started cooking. She brought him up to date with George's and Bert's surprising revelations and her own tenuously made connection with the events at the St Aldeberge inlet.

‘All very plausible,' said Ben, ‘but I expect the police will be looking in to all of that. But I said talking to George and Bert was a good idea, didn't I?'

‘You did. Do you think we ought to tell Ian about that?'

‘I'm sure he knows. If they are thinking trafficking, then any reports that have come in over the last few years will have surfaced already.'

‘Yes, I suppose so. I just want to know why Justin was coming here.'

‘We'll probably never know, and it could be nothing to do with this case after all.'

‘I know, but even the police think it is.' Libby went back into the kitchen. ‘Dinner's nearly ready.'

Greta, Betty, and Neal all emailed during the evening, but none of them had anything enlightening to say. Libby replied to them all, trying to remember just what she was allowed to say, and went to bed.