Free Murder in the Blood by Lesley Cookman Page B

hotel.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜I thought she was older than that,’ said Fran.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜I wonder if that’s her with Alec Wilson,’ said Fran. ‘There were no photos in his house, were there?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Like who he or she was,’ said Johnny, coming into the room. ‘Find anything?’
    Libby held out the photograph. ‘Is that Alec Wilson?’
    â€˜No idea. There were no photographs at his house, were there?’
    â€˜Haven’t you seen the body?’ asked Fran.
    Johnny looked startled. ‘No. But you have.’
    â€˜Not really to look at. It was face down, anyway.’ Libby shuddered. ‘Vile. So you don’t know what he looks like?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜From his passport photograph?’ said Fran. ‘The Jandarma showed it to us.’
    â€˜Then can’t you say if that’s him?’ Johnny was frowning.
    â€˜No,’ said Libby and Fran together.
    â€˜Are there other photographs?’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜No one takes ordinary photos any more,’ said Libby. ‘They’re all on phones.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Anything?’ asked Ben.
    â€˜Fran’s suspicious of him,’ said Libby.
    â€˜And he does have some kind of agenda,’ said Fran with a sigh. ‘He virtually admitted it.’
    â€˜And he’s taken Sally Weston’s computer,’ added Libby.
    â€˜Are you sure his Met ID was genuine?’ asked Peter.
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜Yes.’ Libby turned to look at him.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Are you thinking spies?’ said Ben eventually. ‘Or whatever that would be called today?’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜It fits,’ said Fran at last. ‘But why would he involve us?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Why did he ask us to go with him this afternoon, then?’ asked Libby.
    â€˜Camouflage,’ said Fran.
    â€˜Eh?’
    â€˜Two