by Amy Myers
‘Do you know why she left home?’
‘No. She’d never talk about it. She left Friday Street in 1961, and I didn’t meet her until 1963. Two years is a long time when you’re seventeen.’
‘What did she do in those two years?’
‘Acquired a knowledge of life’s hard edges, I imagine. Or more knowledge. I think the latter, though she wouldn’t speak about it.’
‘Yet she chose to return to Friday Street for the gig. Didn’t she explain why she wanted to go?’
Jonathan considered this for a moment or two. ‘No. She wasn’t eager to go. She refused at first. In fact, she quarrelled with Adam over it. Then she changed her mind. I told her she was crazy. They were high up in the charts, and to throw themselves away on such a small event was madness.’
‘Who actually invited her to Downey Hall?’
‘I imagine it’s in the trial reports. I think it was the owner of the place.’
‘Henry Ludd?’
‘Yes, that’s it, and his wife, Joan. She was a sour-faced woman. I got the impression she didn’t approve of the likes of Sweet Fanny Adams.’
‘You were their manager. Was Sweet Fanny Adams regarded at the time as serious music or just rebellion?’
‘I believe the former. Fanny was somehow fragile, as well as wild. She was like a flower out of control.’ He looked at her as if to see whether she understood. ‘That sounds emotional, I know, but one could get emotional over Fanny Star. If you brushed away the wildness there was the lost look underneath. That’s how she touched base with Adam and the spark ignited.’
She should have felt moved by this, Georgia thought, but for some reason she didn’t.
‘Adam was a gentle soul,’ Jonathan continued, ‘so he tempered her desire to go completely over the top. They should use the wildness to create, he said, not to destroy. They took their inner compassion on to new planes by demanding more from a rotten, unjust world. That developed into the wildness of SFA; it was a passion for justice for all.’
Just fine rhetoric, she wondered, or did he mean it? Hard to tell with this man.
‘Do you think Adam received justice for himself?’
‘I know he didn’t.’
At last. A glimmer of a case. ‘Do you have evidence for that?’
‘The fact that he wanted to go back to Friday Street on his release from prison. He told me it was to find the truth, and he had nothing to lose now.’
‘Except perhaps his life.’
He looked taken aback. ‘Are you implying he might have been killed rather than committed suicide?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think . . . I think it would explain everything.’
‘Was there any suggestion of murder at the time?’
‘No. There were diatoms throughout the body, so the pathologist said at the inquest, which indicates he was alive when he entered the water.’
‘You seem to have gone into it fairly fully.’ It was a casual remark, but Jonathan replied sharply all the same.
‘He was a client of mine – and a friend.’
‘And you believe he was innocent of Fanny’s murder.’
‘As much as one can be without hard evidence. I knew Adam. He wasn’t capable of murder – and before you say that in some circumstances any of us might do anything, let me qualify that. He couldn’t have murdered Fanny. He adored her; they were the head and tails of a penny. Two people joined at the hip.’
‘But if she was threatening to go solo and leave him . . .’ There was something puzzling here, but Jonathan seemed sincere.
‘Even if she did go solo, he wouldn’t have been driven to the point of murder. Upset, perhaps, but he didn’t really care about his career. Anyway, luck as well as talent plays its part in this world. It could have been Adam who would have made it solo. No, he didn’t kill her.’
‘Even if he believed, rightly or wrongly, that she was having an affair—’
‘Don’t think in clichés, Georgia. She wasn’t. She loved Adam, and that wasn’t sexual. She lived with him, but that was solely for the sake of their music. It’s hard to believe in this sex-driven age, but in the sixties people weren’t so single-minded about sex. Youth wanted freedom to explore and if one chose to explore music rather than sex then that was no problem. That was what freedom meant.’
She had her doubts, but it wouldn’t help to voice them. ‘Can you tell me what you remember of that day? If Adam was innocent, obviously someone else there murdered her. Did you know about this row between Adam and Fanny?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t serious. She was still annoyed because Adam had wanted her to come to the gig after she had initially refused, and then she found out her parents had been invited and blamed him. She was livid. To do Fanny justice she was pleasant to them and there were lots of hugs and kisses, but she let loose her feelings to Adam. She shouted she’d go solo as from that day, if he thought he could run her life. I told you I could have given evidence of motive at the trial over her going solo – and it was true that she’d talked about the possibility quite often, but never seriously. If I gave evidence for the defence, I might have been cross-examined about the row, which would have looked bad. I knew Fanny and the court didn’t. She wouldn’t leave Adam and he knew it perfectly well. We were a threesome.
‘The row was after the public show, and they still planned to go ahead with the evening performance as though nothing had happened. They were true performers. We had dinner. Fanny’s parents were there, and Henry Ludd had arranged for a lot of her friends to be there too – they called it the gang. Michael Ludd, obviously, and his fiancée, Sheila, his younger brother, Oliver, Josh Perry, his future wife and – who else – Toby Beamish. That was good of Henry, because I gather the Ludds and the Beamishes aren’t on speaking terms.’
‘And Tom? Was he there?’
‘Tom who? I don’t remember a Tom. There were others I can’t remember. Anyway, Fanny got drunk, and it didn’t go down well, being a posh dinner. Sheila, who had been her best friend when Fanny lived in Friday Street, reproved Fanny, who promptly stormed out. Sheila followed her because she was throwing up by this time, and came back without Fanny after ten or fifteen minutes, just as we all moved to the drawing room for coffee. Then the party began to break up into small groups, but I saw no sign of Fanny. When it was nearly time for the show, I went over to the stage to check the sound and so on, and realized neither Fanny nor Adam was around. I remembered Adam had said he would see Fanny’s parents home, so we concentrated on looking for Fanny. I alerted the party, and soon Henry came rushing back to say she was dead, that Adam had killed her, and Michael was keeping a guard on him. It all seemed completely unbelievable and it was only Henry’s expression that convinced us he was serious about ringing for the police. Then people started to move, running like a flock of sheep over to where she’d been found.’
‘And the dagger?’
‘No one noticed it missing from the entrance hall. Michael realized what it was while we were all staring at the body, I think. I was too cut up to notice much. When the police came, it didn’t take long for them to arrest Adam. He was crying, “I did it, it’s my fault”, over and over again. Which the police took, naturally enough, to be a confession. He was so dazed I don’t think he knew what he was saying.’
‘But you still think him innocent.’
‘Yes. He meant he’d encouraged her to come down to Friday Street, as an opportunity for her to face whatever demons were haunting her from the past.’
‘The Friday Street music supported him.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It was played during the night over the amplifiers. It’s a traditional village tune to indicate an injustice has been done.’
‘How weird. Yes, I think I remember. We all stayed the night, so we could hardly miss it. It woke up the whole neighbourhood, and most of us couldn’t sleep anyway. Are you implying the murderer played it?’
‘No. But it was someone f
rom Friday Street – and someone who had good reason to think Adam innocent.’
*
Georgia drove back, trying to work out why she felt dissatisfied. Powell had been co-operating, even if careful with his words. Too careful. Yes. He had given a good picture of a bygone age, of a tragic murder, and of a threesome of which he was the only survivor. A true picture? Overall, perhaps yes. Nevertheless, where better to hide a lie than to bury it within the truth? Mr Powell, she thought, as she turned off the Canterbury road towards Haden Shaw, as regards you, the jury is out.
Chapter Five
‘Another slap in the face,’ Georgia said ruefully, as she put the phone down.
Which was better, the witness who co-operated but possibly lied, or one who didn’t and sat on the truth? In other words, it was Powell versus Friday Street. After her report to Peter about Jonathan Powell’s belief in Adam’s innocence, they had agreed there could be a case to investigate. Fine, steam on ahead on all fronts – except that the road to Friday Street seemed permanently blocked. On the computer Suspects Anonymous was doing splendidly at keeping track of where they were, but it too had stalled.
‘Whose hand slapped this time?’ Peter swung his chair round to face her desk.
‘Darling Michael Ludd’s. Frightfully sorry and all that, but they don’t believe in raking up the past, especially—’
‘At a time of village grief such as this?’ Peter guessed.
‘Correct. With Alice Winters’ death such a painful recent memory, he feels now is not the time to enquire into Fanny Star’s death. It seems to me it’s just the time. Exactly the same line as Toby Beamish is taking. Not to mention Josh Perry on behalf of himself and his wife, Hazel.’
‘How about Henry Ludd? He seemed a reasonably fair-minded chap.’
‘Friendlier, but the same answer, although I did get the impression that he could be pushed a little. He still has an air of “I don’t want to be involved unless I have to”. There’s always Drew, but I’d have to leave it a while.’
‘Cadenza?’
‘She put the phone down like a frightened rabbit.’
‘Perhaps she is, Georgia. In which case—’
‘There’s something to be frightened of.’ Georgia looked questioningly at her father. ‘Which must imply that if Adam Jones was innocent, they think Fanny’s murderer is still around.’
‘Not necessarily. He could be dead or have left the village.’
‘Or he could be Jonathan Powell,’ she pointed out.
‘You seem very taken with this theory.’
‘He was lying part of the time, I’m sure of it.’
‘So do a lot of people for what they perceive to be the best of reasons.’
‘You remember that fork, Peter? The two-pronged carver in the deodand museum? That’s this case: I’m taking one prong. The best line to pursue is Powell.’
‘Mine’s the other, Georgia,’ Peter said firmly. ‘Friday Street is where the answer lies.’
‘I agree that if Alice Winters’ murder has something to do with Fanny Star’s murder—’
‘Most athletic. That’s a very long jump,’ Peter said drily – and justifiably, Georgia accepted.
She subsided. ‘I could jump the Medway at present,’ she said bitterly. ‘Just to spite Friday Street. I won’t let it win. I won’t. So where next? My only ally in Friday Street is Dana and she’s suspect as an outsider too.’
‘Facts are next. I’ve concocted a sort of timetable for the day of the murder from the trial reports and witness statements, which I’ve fed into Suspects Anonymous. The private show had been due to begin at nine o’clock and Adam was discovered with the body at that time, give or take a minute or two.’
‘In the dark?’
‘It was late June, remember, so it would still have been twilight. Adam claimed he couldn’t remember how long he’d been there, but thought it was about five minutes. The police doctor said unofficially she’d been dead only a short time although no one save Toby Beamish claims to have seen her after Sheila Ludd left her at seven thirty. Sheila had escorted Fanny out of the dining room at seven fifteen and taken her to the bathroom where she was sick. The dinner had begun at six, guests repaired to the drawing room and terrace for coffee at seven thirty, and then the party split up into groups. That leaves a gap of over an hour between, say, seven forty when Toby saw her, and eight fifty, during which it would be hard to reconstruct precisely where anyone was, so even Suspects Anonymous can’t help there. Adam claimed he’d left the terrace at about a quarter to eight to see Fanny’s parents to their home, but Ronald Gibb testified that he had left them at the gates of the hall at about eight o’clock, leaving plenty of time for him to find Fanny and kill her.’
‘It’s time I did a Somebody’s Son,’ Georgia observed. Family trees for past members of the gang could help, if only as a reminder that family connections were vital when trying to understand a village. She’d work on it tonight.
‘It’s odd the guests weren’t asked about each other’s movements, only their own. Most of their statements imply they were merely chatting.’
‘It wasn’t relevant, since no one else was suspected. I’ve sent off to National Archives for stuff from the Crim 2 series, by the way, including the autopsy report on Fanny. Not that it would tell us much we don’t know already. I’d dearly love to know if any of the investigating team are still around, but it’s a long shot. They’d all have retired by probably 1998 at the latest, if they put in their full thirty years.’
‘You could ask.’
‘I have,’ Peter said gloomily. ‘Mike won’t budge on any help unless we can come up with something solid. Hearsay and guesswork – his words, the nerve of the man – are not enough. And something solid means—’
‘Don’t tell me. Back to Friday Street, and the Great Wall of Hatred.’
‘There has to be a way in, Georgia,’ Peter pointed out. ‘Find it.’
*
‘It’s all very well saying “find it”,’ Georgia grumbled, watching Luke remove an exquisite tarte tatin from her oven and wondering why her own powers of cuisine seemed to halt at strawberries and cream nowadays. ‘But a few ideas might help.’ She shouldn’t be talking shop at the weekend, but she felt frustrated enough to break the rules.
‘There’s Dana,’ Luke suggested. ‘Even if she doesn’t have the gift of instant “open sesame”, she must know the village better than you do by now.’
‘Dana?’ she picked up crossly, wondering how Luke knew her name. Then she recalled he’d met her in the pub during their visit in April. ‘What did you talk about when you met her? Anything helpful?’
‘This and that.’ Luke marched triumphantly into her living room bearing the tarte on one hand like a trophy.
‘So the “this and that” wasn’t helpful as regards Fanny Star?’ she persisted. She trotted in his wake feeling obscurely annoyed but unable to define why.
‘I asked her if she’d heard of the case, since she can’t be that much older than you.’
‘Eight or nine years, I’d say,’ Georgia muttered, instantly feeling bitchy. She would blame Friday Street for that too.
Luke ignored that. ‘Yes, she had. Wasn’t their music the greatest? Hadn’t it lasted well? Which of their tracks was my favourite? She liked “Allan Water”. She hoped the cottage would inspire her quest.’
Georgia reluctantly laughed at herself. ‘Quest? Sounds very exotic. She’s only a keen fan.’
Luke glanced at her. ‘Sure?’
‘That’s what she told me.’
‘You’re the detective; I hope you’re right.’
That was a thought. Georgia had assumed Dana’s interest in what they were doing was no more than general curiosity. ‘You mean she might be following up the murder case too?’
‘No idea. Where’s the cream? Try the vicar.’
Now that was a good idea.
*
Friday Street shared its vicar with several other parishes, a
nd the Reverend Angela Tanner lived in neighbouring Cookslea, which was all to the good, Georgia thought. It meant she might be able to get an objective opinion on Friday Street.
Angela Tanner was in her thirties, and at first sight Georgia doubted whether this jolly, straightforward-looking woman would do other than stonewall her. In fact she listened with obvious and deep interest to Georgia’s story.
‘I’d already heard that Friday Street has closed ranks against you,’ she commented.
‘Cadenza Broome?’ Georgia said with resignation.
‘News travels fast on the downs.’
‘What do you think of the moral issues behind this? Cadenza explained that if the music is heard it’s a summons to reveal anything relevant that one knows. But so far as I can gather, no one has revealed anything either over Adam Jones or Jake Baines, so the call of the music has failed. It’s time to let someone else look into it. Like me,’ she added practically.
Angela thought this through. ‘I agree, provided you’re not doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, to quote T.S. Eliot.’
‘You mean so that we can make a pile out of our books?’ Georgia asked frankly.
‘Precisely. What’s your answer to that?’
‘No one says the police shouldn’t investigate injustice just because they’re taking salaries.’
‘It’s their job.’
‘And it’s mine and my father’s. He was in the police force, after all, and investigated many mistaken verdicts from the past and no one said he was wrong to do it.’
‘I accept that.’ Angela smiled, and Georgia knew she was home and dry. ‘That’s the good news,’ the vicar continued. ‘The bad news is that I can’t see any way of helping you.’
Georgia was ready for this. ‘Friday Street is a small village, but even so not everyone in it can be so closely bound up with the Fanny Star case that they would refuse to talk to me.’
‘That’s true, but there are two factors you aren’t taking into consideration. I suspect that the people who have metaphorically slammed the door on you are what one might call the leaders of the village. Not leaders by political or legal definition, but in every village there tends to be a circle whose members “rule” by default. They’re unchallenged because they are here, there and everywhere, and willing to be so. Most people aren’t nowadays and are only too grateful for those who are. You’ve run into that circle.’
