Murder in the Monastery (Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series) by Lesley Cookman Page B

reliquary to be loaned for the play.’
    ‘He what?’
    ‘Did Sister Catherine not tell you? He’s spoken to her several times.’ Libby crossed her fingers, hoping it was true.
    DI Davies put away his notebook, and Big Bertha sighed.
    ‘I’ll call him. Meanwhile, if you can all give me statements about your movements last night and what you know of Butcher and the other woman –’
    ‘Martha,’ said Libby helpfully. ‘Let’s sit down.’
    Davies, Ben and Peter lifted chairs off tables and they all sat down. Libby’s eyes went to the coffee machine, but she decided it would only prolong things if she offered.
    The interviews were straightforward, each of them giving as thorough an account of their movements the previous night as they could, unnecessarily so, in Libby’s case, and their candid opinions of Dominic Butcher.
    ‘And the woman?’ said Bertram.
    ‘Martha is an oblate. She lives at the Abbey with the nuns, but isn’t quite as bound by the monastic life, so she was in charge of us while we were there. She was also in charge of security for the reliquary,’ explained Libby. ‘The last thing I said to her last night was that I hoped she’d come and visit us in Steeple Martin.’
    ‘The – what did you call it?’
    ‘Reliquary,’ supplied Ben. ‘It contains part of St Eldreda’s finger.’
    Davies looked gobsmacked, Bertram nauseous.
    ‘Why were you looking into it?’ Bertram looked back at Libby, who explained.
    ‘As I said, DCI Connell knows all about it.’
    ‘We’ll have more questions.’ Bertram stood up abruptly. ‘Meanwhile, don’t get in my way.’
    Davies smiled at them weakly and followed his tiny blonde warlord out of the theatre.
    ‘You did enjoy winding her up,’ said Peter admiringly.
    ‘Dangerous thing to do, I reckon,’ said Ben. ‘But at least we might get Ian on the job. Coffee?’
    ‘She’s like a Jack Russell – makes up for her size with full-blown aggression,’ said Libby.
    ‘That’s giving Jack Russells a bad name,’ said Peter. ‘Coffee’s a good idea. Anyone got any coins?’
    They finished the clearing up and discussed how to tell the rest of the company.
    ‘Some of them said they’d be in to help this morning,’ said Peter, looking at his watch, ‘because we thought we’d be going to the Abbey. Shall we wait for them?’
    They filled in the time by going into the workshop to tidy up – Ben, bottling up behind the bar – Peter, and ambling aimlessly around the little garden outside the bar – Libby. While she ambled, she called Fran.
    ‘Did it happen this morning?’ asked Fran after a moment.
    ‘I don’t know. Sometime during the night, I supposed.’
    ‘Then why was Martha there? Did she stay up all night with the thing? Was she dressed?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Libby was bewildered. ‘Why?’
    ‘If she was dressed it would either be before she went to bed or after she got up this morning.’
    ‘It couldn’t be before she went to bed because the security guard would have found her on his rounds.’
    ‘So it must have been this morning,’ said Fran slowly. ‘But Dominic could have been killed earlier. He wouldn’t necessarily have been seen if he was in a habit among the ruins.’
    ‘No,’ agreed Libby, ‘and the security guard wouldn’t have been looking there, anyway. He was only there to check on the reliquary.’
    ‘Were the atrium doors open?’
    ‘Fran, I don’t know! All I know is what Sister Catherine told Peter. Big Bertha didn’t tell us anything.’
    ‘Oh, no!’ groaned Fran. ‘Is she on the case?’
    ‘Yes,’ giggled Libby, ‘and she didn’t know about Ian’s involvement. She wasn’t half cross! Oh, look, Fran, I’ve got to go. The others have turned up and we’ve got to tell them.’
    The members of the company who had arrived, somewhat blearily, to help with the get-out, were told of the tragedy and expressed varying degrees of shock and horror.
    ‘Like that business with The Hop Pickers,’