Free Murder in the Blood by Lesley Cookman Page A

said Fran.
    He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s blunt. What is it?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Fran. ‘I just wondered why you’re taking such an interest when you’re not officially involved.’
    â€˜A favour, I told you. You wanted it investigated, didn’t you?’
    â€˜We wanted to find his mother,’ said Libby. ‘And you haven’t got any resources.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Well?’ she whispered to Fran, who shrugged.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜It’s as though he didn’t want to exist,’ said Fran, riffling through the few books on a shelf beside the television.
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Don’t you think you ought to check with them?’ asked Fran. ‘They might have the computer and the mobile phone.’
    â€˜And if they have, why didn’t they tell you when you went to get the keys?’ said Libby.
    Johnny stayed silent.
    â€˜So what exactly did you tell them?’ asked Fran. ‘Not the truth, apparently.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜And why did you really want to come?’ Fran sat down opposite him. ‘In the interests of a murdered British citizen?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He looked surprised. ‘Of course.’
    â€˜But that’s not all?’
    â€˜I’d rather keep that quiet, if you don’t mind.’ He stood up again. ‘Find anything?’
    â€˜No, nothing. Fishing equipment downstairs in the lobby along with scuba stuff,’ said Libby.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜But she wasn’t found until the evening,’ said Libby. ‘Was she killed during the day?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Or just didn’t have time,’ said Fran.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ asked Libby.
    â€˜If the killer had to be somewhere else – had to meet someone, perhaps.’
    â€˜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