The Marsh & Daughter Casebook

by Amy Myers

  ‘And Fanny and Adam?’ Peter asked. ‘Mr Beamish, and you, Mrs Perry, overheard them quarrelling. Where was that?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Toby took obvious pleasure in having a role to play. Almost as good as his ghost tours, Georgia thought wryly. As indeed this was, in a sense. He led the way to the formal gardens on the right of the house. ‘We were sitting here.’ Toby halted by an old Tudor brick wall in which there was a stone bench set back with bushes on either side, and a rather nice stone fountain. ‘The rose garden is the other side of this wall – if,’ he said with heavy irony to Henry, ‘I remember correctly.’ In other words, because he wasn’t welcome at Downey Hall.

  It slid smoothly off Henry’s back. ‘You do, Toby. It is still a rose garden.’

  ‘Did the quarrel begin after you arrived?’ Peter asked. Georgia could see he was envisaging a profitable session with Suspects Anonymous as soon as he returned home.

  ‘No.’ Hazel was keeping her oar in too. ‘It was in full swing as we arrived. That must have been about an hour after the concert ended, and so getting on for five o’clock. Toby thought we should stay and listen.’ This was said apparently innocently, but the sting was there.

  ‘You know what we heard. We said it all to the police at the time. We stayed,’ Hazel continued belligerently, ‘until that Mr Powell arrived. I recognized his voice from earlier. When he arrived, Frances said something that sounded like “I’m off”, and then she was. She shot through the rose garden entrance, saw us, glared, and told us to get the hell out of it.’

  ‘And did you?’ Peter asked politely.

  ‘We did.’

  Why should Fanny walk away if she and Jonathan were lovers? Georgia wondered. She didn’t seem the type to leave it to two men to sort out a quarrel in which she was involved. She was a fighter.

  ‘Anyone know where she went then?’ Peter asked. ‘She was very drunk and abusive at the dinner.’

  ‘She was all right when it began,’ Josh said. ‘I remember being relieved, because Doreen and Ron were there. She seemed under control. She was even saying it was wonderful to be back with her family.’

  ‘She certainly changed,’ Sheila said wryly.

  But why? Georgia wondered. Or was she making too much of this?

  ‘Let’s go back into the dining room,’ Peter suggested. The room took on a different aspect now, as Georgia imagined the long table set here. It was a large room, but it must have been a squash all the same. Had Fanny felt claustrophobic, shut in with the gang, and with her abusive father?

  ‘She had too much to drink,’ Sheila began.

  ‘There wasn’t much time,’ Peter objected. ‘She was only at the table about three quarters of an hour, before you took her out.’

  ‘She must have been on the hard stuff beforehand, is all I can think,’ Sheila replied, frowning. ‘She certainly started shouting everyone down – does everyone agree? You were sitting next to her, weren’t you, Josh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Not tactful placing if by then Josh was married to Hazel, Georgia thought. ‘Any ideas on why she changed?’

  ‘It happened gradually. She was opposite Ron Gibb, remember. That must have brought back a few unwelcome memories,’ he said. ‘She—’

  ‘Began to shout about Friday Street,’ Toby interrupted with relish. ‘Apparently we didn’t know we were born. So caught up in pretty family flowers we couldn’t see the shit underneath. It was all cant and c—’

  ‘Poor Frances,’ Henry’s gentle voice cut over Toby’s.

  ‘It was at that point,’ Sheila said coldly, ‘that I thought it best to remove Fanny from the table. Do you wish to see the bathroom? It’s on the first floor.’

  Georgia glanced at Peter, who nodded. He wouldn’t be able to get up there, but he was indicating that it would be worth seeing from the point of view of location. The group all followed – perhaps, she thought, aware that the drama of that day was approaching its end, and it was all too willing to delay it.

  The bathroom – or at least the one Fanny had used, since there must surely be another in a house of this size – was approached by the back staircase, and not far from it. The lavatory was in the bathroom itself, and conjured up a vivid picture of the scene, despite its modern trappings.

  ‘In the ten or fifteen minutes I was with her,’ Sheila said, ‘she was ranting on in much the same way as she had at the table about how much she hated the village and that at least now she had a chance to breathe fresh air in London. All nonsense. She’d had a raw deal over Ron, but blaming the village for that was a bit much. She told me to get out and leave her, so I did. I went back to the party to tell Michael what was happening, and then, when she didn’t appear for coffee in the drawing room, went back to check she was all right. She’d vanished – she must have gone out through the side entrance – and I presumed she was all right. She’d been sick after all, and needed air to recover.’

  ‘So there’s a blank period between Mrs Perry seeing her just before five, and drinks at six o’clock, and then again between seven forty and the time of her death. Any advance on that?’ Peter asked.

  ‘As I mentioned in my statement,’ Toby said righteously, ‘I saw her leaving the house as the party was breaking up, about twenty to eight. I was wandering about enjoying my first real look at Downey Hall,’ he didn’t even look at the Ludds, ‘and there was Frances, looking very white and in a furious temper still. She told me she was off for a quiet think. When we began to hunt for Frances, I suggested she might have been making for Owlers’ Smoke, as it was the first place anyone in the gang would make for if seeking a quiet retreat. That, alas, is where Henry and Michael found her.’

  ‘Is it possible to reconstruct where you all were during that hour and a half?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Sheila said. ‘We were here, and then – I’m sure I speak for everyone in this – suddenly we were there, looking at Frances’s dead body and Adam Jones.’

  ‘Was he standing or kneeling?’

  ‘The latter when Dad and I arrived,’ Michael said. ‘Rocking to and fro.’

  ‘Where was Jonathan Powell?’ Georgia asked, determined not to lose sight of her ‘prong’ of the investigation.

  ‘That’s the first thing I remember in the hunt for Fanny,’ Michael said. ‘I’d been having a talk with Father about business matters, and then we rejoined the guests about twenty past eight. We were just thinking we’d walk over for the concert when Powell came rushing in – that would have been about ten to nine – and said that he couldn’t find Fanny. Father and I shot off to Owlers’ Smoke immediately.’

  ‘And the rest of you?’

  ‘It was pointless our all running to the Smoke,’ Sheila answered, ‘so I searched the bedroom she’d been using in case she was lying down – and the bathrooms, of course. Another party set off to look in the grounds in front of the house in case she was collecting stuff from the afternoon stage.’

  ‘I rushed to the stage in the rear gardens,’ Toby murmured. ‘Such a noise while they sound-checked. No doubt that drowned out any screams poor dear Fanny gave.’

  It was an unpleasant image, and how like Toby to point it out, Georgia thought.

  ‘No one thought the situation serious then,’ he continued, ‘but when I returned to the house, I saw Henry running across the lawn to ring the police. That would have been about nine o’clock. Then we all made for Owlers’ Smoke. Foolish, perhaps, but that’s what happened. We needed to see for ourselves.’

  ‘Shall we go?’ Peter asked gently. It was the moment that some here at least must have been dreading. Facing Owlers’ Smoke and recalling what had taken place there.

  ‘There’s somewhere else we should go first,’ Georgia suggested. ‘The entrance hall, from where Adam is supposed to have taken the dagger.’ With the display case no longer there, she had not been able to get a mental picture of how easy it would have been for Adam or anyone else to remove it.

  ‘The display case was here.’ Michael so
unded belligerent, having marched them all through, as if he expected to be challenged on the point. ‘It’s no longer here, and nor, of course, is the dagger.’

  Georgia glimpsed Toby’s face. Was he thinking of the gap in his collection or of where the dagger was now, still with the police as evidence in the Alice Winters case? The same thought must have occurred to others there, bringing past and present uncomfortably close.

  ‘Adam could have easily taken it,’ Michael said.

  ‘Even though he was on his way to escort the Gibbs home?’

  ‘Certainly. He would have come this way and out by the front entrance,’ Michael said firmly. ‘He must have planned it, and it was all too easy for him to put his plan into action.’

  ‘And how did he know that Fanny would conveniently be in Owlers’ Smoke when he returned?’ Georgia asked. No one answered her. A significant point to be noted.

  There was silence as they walked out through the side entrance of the house across to the woodland where Owlers’ Smoke lay. Crowded into the glade with the bench and memorial stone, the group stood awkwardly, as if longing to escape rather than face the past.

  ‘The body,’ Peter began matter-of-factly – the only way to do it, ‘was lying on a mac. Why? Was she wearing or carrying it when you saw her, Toby?’

  ‘I don’t recall, I’m afraid. Not wearing it, certainly.’

  ‘She could have picked it up for warmth, either on the stage or in the house,’ Michael suggested.

  ‘Did either you or Henry recognize it?’ Peter continued.

  Michael picked up the gauntlet. ‘No. It could have been in the house though. She came from the side entrance, and there were a number of coats and boots kept there for garden purposes. It could well have been one of ours.’

  ‘But why take it? She only had a skimpy dress and it was late evening, but a plastic mac wouldn’t have given her much warmth.’

  ‘It was overcast that evening. It looked as though it might rain,’ Henry offered.

  ‘If Fanny was distraught I doubt if she’d have cared about that,’ Georgia said. Another loose end. But there was an even more important one that still defied them.

  ‘The music was played over the amplifiers that night,’ she continued. ‘Had you discussed Adam’s guilt amongst yourselves?’

  Alice must have been in their minds, for no one answered. They had all heard that music again all too recently. At last Sheila said, ‘I can’t remember doing so. Can you?’ She appealed to Michael. ‘But Adam’s guilt seemed obvious, and we were so shocked and horrified that there was little point discussing it.’

  ‘This music,’ Georgia said, exasperated. ‘It’s so important to you all that you keep it quiet and refuse to talk about it. And yet it achieves nothing. Not with Fanny, nor with Alice. Don’t you think there’s something odd about that?’

  Josh flushed. ‘We can’t change the world, Georgia. We’re not Superman here. We can’t roll back the curtains and know whether someone’s guilty or not.’

  Peter took up the cudgels. ‘No discussion in the village? Nothing, even though you all knew Ron, for example, would have had a motive? I find that hard to believe. Just as I find it hard to believe you’re ignoring Alice Winters’ death in the same way.’

  They were clamming up again. Head boy Michael was obviously deputed by telepathy to answer. ‘Alice Winters’ death is in police hands. Over Fanny, only Sheila and I, and perhaps Josh, knew about Ron. Not even her mother. We were stuck. We couldn’t even raise the possibility.’

  ‘Even though an innocent man was charged with murder?’

  ‘We didn’t know he was innocent,’ Sheila pointed out firmly. ‘We thought Adam guilty.’

  ‘We did our best,’ Josh admitted, with obvious reluctance. ‘After hearing the music, Hazel and I visited Doreen on her own, just to chat we said. She told us Adam had left them at the Hall gates and she and Ron had been together after that. They heard police cars and sirens, and went to see what was going on. That satisfied us that Ron had an alibi. Besides, he’s dead. He’s not here to answer for himself.’

  Nor, Georgia thought, was Adam. ‘If Adam returned to the village in 1987, as we believe he did, he could have had two missions; firstly to see the place where it all happened, and secondly to see her parents. Was Ron Gibb alive then?’

  ‘Yes,’ Josh said. ‘He died only five, maybe seven years ago.’

  ‘He didn’t come to see Owlers’ Smoke, or the Gibbs,’ Henry said.

  It was the first time he had spoken for some time, and his words had all the more effect. ‘How can you know?’ Georgia asked.

  ‘Because he came to see me.’

  *

  ‘I seem to be popular today,’ Henry said drily as he opened the door of his home. Having refused to explain his statement before the assembled gathering he had quietly suggested to Peter and Georgia that they return on the morrow, Sunday. Peter had despatched her alone, on the basis that one might achieve more than two, particularly in this case. Besides, he explained, there was a lot of work to be done on Suspects Anonymous.

  As Sheila had said, it was a substantial house, though hardly on the scale of Downey Hall. As Georgia was led through into Henry’s ‘den’, which proved to be a comfortable sitting room that served as library, musical room and one for general relaxation, she found the reason for his comment. Dana Tucker was already installed.

  ‘I’ve been pumping Henry like crazy,’ she said brightly, as soon as she saw Georgia, ‘about Fanny and Adam’s last concert. I didn’t know he came to the village on the day he died. Don’t mind me, though. Just pretend I’m not here.’

  Difficult, Georgia thought crossly, but if Henry didn’t mind then she was in no position to object.

  ‘I want to explain to you about Adam Jones,’ Henry began. ‘I didn’t recognize him at first. He had changed from the young man I recalled. He was in his late forties, and had had a hard life in prison. Once he told me his name, however, I could see the younger man in his face.’

  ‘He came to the Hall intending to see Michael?’

  ‘No. To see me. It was – and still is, in fact – my house. I believe in continuity, not in avoiding inheritance tax, though naturally I am willing to do so within limits. I was still living in the Hall when Adam Jones called, and Michael and Sheila lived here.’

  ‘Why did he want to see you? How did he seem?’ The questions tumbled out. ‘Was it the same day as he killed himself?’

  ‘It was. A Friday, the unlucky day. Tenth April, 1987. He assured me he was innocent of Frances’s death.’

  ‘Did he ask for help in tracking down Fanny’s murderer, or did he want to tackle the man responsible for her pregnancy?’ Georgia asked.

  ‘No.’ Henry looked tired. ‘He didn’t mention the latter, and didn’t want the former.’

  ‘Then,’ Georgia was bewildered, ‘why come to you?’

  ‘He came,’ Henry paused for a moment, ‘to play me a song. One of their hits, I gathered, “Allan Water”. It was what Frances would have wanted, he said. He’d brought his guitar specially, and asked me to walk to Owlers’ Smoke with him. Once there, he played the song to me. We sat quietly for a while and then he said he must leave. I didn’t ask where.’

  Puzzling. ‘Did you understand why Fanny should have wanted that?’

  ‘I imagine, as he committed suicide later, that he wanted to play their music once more in the place where she died.’

  *

  Josh Perry listened to Georgia in silence. The pub was already beginning to hum, ready for the evening. He thought for a moment, got up from his chair and went to the door.

  ‘Hazel,’ he called, ‘have you got a minute?’

  Hazel, swathed in kitchen cap and apron, arrived looking somewhat harried, which was natural enough with evening food to prepare.

  ‘Georgia’s barking up the Ron Gibb tree now. Even if he was the father of her child, she doesn’t see how he could have killed Frances, unless he left End Cottage earlier tha
n Adam did that night – and Adam would have told the police that. So Georgia’s hunting for someone else. She’s sorry to have to ask me again, but she begs me to tell her if I made Frances pregnant. What’s your opinion on that, love?’

  To her relief, Hazel didn’t look in the least bit vexed. Instead she snorted, ‘Josh and me were wed a year after Fanny left. And I can tell you, if Josh had been having it off with anyone at all, he put up a bloody good show of not knowing a bird from a bee.’

  Josh cleared his throat. ‘Now that we’re clear about that . . . Anything else you’d like to know?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Georgia was grateful for the opportunity. ‘I’d like to ask you, Hazel, about the row between Adam and Fanny.’

  ‘Again? What about it?’

  ‘Is it at all possible that since you and Toby weren’t there from the beginning you could have been mistaken about what you heard?’

  ‘How?’ Hazel looked mulish.

  ‘For instance,’ Georgia said, ‘you and Toby varied slightly in what you said you heard.’

  Hazel sighed. ‘How?’

  ‘You heard, “Don’t forget I can always go solo. We’d be better off on our own”, whereas Toby heard, “This triangle’s bloody impossible. We’d be much better off together”.’

  Hazel frowned. ‘What of it? Same thing. She and Powell were a fixture whether he was only her manager or her fancy man too.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible that the “together” meant her and Adam, not her and Powell, and that what you heard was a threat followed by a plea?’

  A long pause while Hazel considered this. ‘It’s possible,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I can’t say for sure after all this time. My mind wasn’t entirely on it at the time, to be honest. That Toby was only interested in pinching my bottom, and when he pulled me down on the bench, he had a go higher up. And him married to Liz.’

  ‘And you to me,’ Josh said grimly.

  Hazel ignored this, with only a friendly punch. ‘I can tell you there was a row going on between us too – that’s why Frances saw us as she came by.’