Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 4-6. Frances Evesham

Samantha corrected.

      The boy licked his lips. ‘Whatever. He’d better not come after our Dan.’

      ‘Dan who?’

      ‘My brother, Dan. He was at school with those lads who had a cannabis farm, and he reckons the cops are out to get him.’

      Samantha looked smug. ‘Those boys were lucky. They were given suspended sentences. Maybe your Dan should have been in court with them.’ She glanced sideways at Libby. ‘I worked on the case, you know.’

      The boy wiped his mouth on a grubby sleeve, elbowed the door, and cycled away. Gladys huffed. ‘Rude, that boy, like all his family. Thinks the world owes him a living.’

      Samantha turned back to Mandy. ‘Anyway, dear, perhaps you should rethink your jewellery. You don’t want to be a suspect in a murder case, do you? It wouldn’t be easy to persuade the judge to let you off lightly.’

      8

      Press conference

      Mandy served the remaining customers in tight-lipped silence, clearly upset by Samantha’s remarks. The final customer, Mr Ali from the Indian restaurant, took an impossibly long time to choose a roll, settling at last on salmon and cucumber. A round, jovial man, he’d once confided in Libby how much he hated the ‘English curry’ his customers demanded. ‘I wish I could serve some of the food my mother used to make, but it wouldn’t go down well. Not enough spice, too many vegetables,’ he’d sighed.

      ‘Mrs Watson practically accused me.’ Mandy burst out as the door closed.

      ‘It’s not you. She just likes winding people up,’ Libby soothed. ‘Ignore her.’

      ‘Easy for you to say,’ Mandy muttered, just loud enough for Libby to hear.

      Better to ignore that. Mandy would cool down soon enough. Libby switched on the television in the back of the bakery as Frank returned. ‘The press conference is about to start.’

      Sure enough, Chief Inspector Arnold sat behind a long table, flanked by a female police constable on one side and Detective Sergeant Joe Ramshore, Max’s son, on the other.

      The police constable introduced Arnold, who nodded at the assembled body of local and national press. Arnold’s face was composed, schooled into an ostentatious, solemn expression.

      ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending on such short notice. I called this press conference to discuss the suspicious death of a man in the library of Wells Cathedral. The first forty-eight hours after a murder are vital.’ He blinked as a press camera flashed. ‘I expect anyone holding information that might help our inquiries to step forward.’

      Mandy leaned closer to Libby. ‘He can’t help sounding up himself, can he?’

      Libby said, ‘He’s not my favourite person. How he loves to be in front of the cameras.’

      Glad to see some of her apprentice’s good humour had returned, she focused on the TV. Now she’d promised Angela she’d make inquiries, she needed to know all the available facts.

      Arnold performed well, she had to admit, with just the right amount of gravitas. Libby was impressed against her will. No wonder the man had risen so fast through the ranks. She pulled out a pen and scribbled in her newest notebook. The time of the victim's death had not been established, but the pathologist had identified a window of six hours, from the time Mr Temple spoke to the librarian at six o’clock in the evening, to midnight. Libby wrote, Rigor mortis?

      ‘Did anyone notice Mr Temple near the cathedral after six o’clock?’ the chief inspector asked. ‘We’re keen to speak to the last person to see him.’

      Mandy, scrubbing the counter, paused to chortle. ‘That would be the killer, then. He was the last one to see the victim.’

      ‘Shh. He's still talking.’

      ‘The forensic pathologist suggests midnight is probably the latest possible time for the crime to have been committed. Anyone in the cathedral or the streets nearby, should come forward. We want to know if anyone entered the building or behaved suspiciously.’

      The chief inspector spoke directly to the camera. ‘Were you in Wells that night? Did you see anything strange? The police are waiting for your call.’

      Libby murmured, ‘They’ll be swamped with statements. How many children board at Wells Cathedral School? I bet some were in town, and they’ll all have bright ideas.’

      The chief inspector added details. ‘The last service at the cathedral, Evensong, finished around six o’clock. There was no concert in the building that night.’

      ‘Don’t expect many folks attended evening service in the middle of the week,’ Frank pointed out. ‘Not in winter.’

      The chief inspector invited the press to ask questions, letting Joe Ramshore answer. ‘Typical,’ said Mandy. ‘Everything left to his team while he claims the credit.’

      Frank laughed. ‘He’s the boss.’

      A journalist raised a hand, waited for a microphone to arrive and asked, ‘Are there any significant clues as to the identity of the criminal, Chief Inspector Arnold?’

      Arnold beamed at the journalist’s use of his full title. ‘We have several lines of enquiry, all of which will be pursued with the utmost diligence. However, I would like to bring one item to your attention. This was found near the body.’

      With a flourish, he waved an arm. Libby squinted at the screen as he held up Angela’s orange scarf.

      As cameras flashed and whirred, Arnold explained, ‘This is a hand-knitted scarf. Mr Temple was not an aficionado of the art and craft of knitting.’ Scorn oozed from his voice.

      Mandy muttered, ‘An afici – what?’ Libby put a finger to her lips. She needed to hear every word.

      ‘His wife does not recognise the scarf as belonging to herself or anyone she knows. She has never seen her late husband wear it. This item may be important, so we would like you to think carefully. Have you ever seen this scarf? If so, please make yourself known to the police.’

      Joe gave the details of contact numbers for the incident room in Vicars Close, near the cathedral, and the press conference ended. Libby bit her lip. She must tell Joe of Angela’s confession about her relationship with Giles Temple.

      The phone rang before Libby could key in Joe’s number. ‘Hi, Mrs Forest? It’s Joe here, Joe Ramshore.’

      ‘That’s a coincidence. I was about to ring you. By the way, Joe, I think it’s time you called me Libby, like everyone else does. It can't be so hard, now you’re talking to Max again.’

      ‘Sorry. Libby. Look here, I can’t speak for long. I’m just leaving the press conference.’

      ‘I’ve been watching it.’

      ‘Can I come over in the next day or so? There’s something I want to run past you.’

      ‘Well yes, of course. I need to speak to you, too. How about tomorrow morning, about nine?’

      ‘Great, thanks. See you then.’

      Libby frowned. ‘That was weird. Joe wants to talk to me. I wonder what’s happened.’ There was a note of urgency in Joe’s voice that unsettled Libby. Still, his visit would give her an opportunity to worm information out of him, once she’d shared Angela’s confession.

      Mandy polished the oven door until it sparkled. ‘Don’t forget you’re taking me driving tonight.’

      Libby stiffened. She'd forgotten that promise. Her heart sank, but she couldn’t admit it. Not with Mandy in today’s touchy mood.

      Frank