by Amy Myers
‘I still don’t see what difference it makes,’ Josh said.
‘It means that Fanny could have been insisting to Adam that they sack Powell as their manager.’ And if so, Powell was back in the frame, and even Peter couldn’t ignore it.
‘That would give him a reason to kill her,’ Josh said immediately.
‘Yes. It’s one angle. Peter still thinks the answer lies in Friday Street, though, so you won’t be getting rid of me yet.’
Josh took this semi-joke seriously. ‘You take care, Georgia. My shoulders are broad, but there are others that aren’t. I’m warning you for your own safety. Accidents happen in these lanes. You turn nasty bends and you can’t work out where you are – that’s you with this case at present, I reckon. Suddenly you’ll find there’s a bloody great tree in front of you, and it’s too late to stop.’
Chapter Seven
‘Why?’ Georgia asked, for the umpteenth time, when they met for work on the Monday morning. Tomorrow they would be meeting Mike and still she had no answer as to why there was suddenly a lack of evidence against Jake Baines.
‘I can only think it’s because the evidence was so inconclusive. Not of a lot of blood, which would fit either Jake’s story that Alice was already dead when he arrived and found the dagger still in the wound, or his being guilty.’
‘What else was there?’
‘The crime scene, thanks to the arrival of Toby and his ghost tour troops, resembled a battlefield. Jake’s dabs on the knife were useless since the defence would naturally say it was there because of his role in the ghost play. He’d been waving it around for the last year or two. Any DNA left on Alice’s body could be put down to his touching her to see if she was still alive. Dear Toby had his prints on the knife too, and he was the one person in Friday Street who couldn’t have killed Alice, since she’d gone straight from the pub to the tower at three o’clock and he was in full ghost tour mode. When he arrived to find Toby and a dozen tourists milling around, the crime scene manager nearly tore his hair out – only refrained in case it added to the scientific confusion.’
‘So where does that leave us?’
‘With a chance, dear Georgia.’
She could read his mind like a book in large print. ‘Of finding a link between the murders? Peter, they’re separated by over thirty-five years. You’re theorizing too quickly again.’
‘Only until I find it, then I’ll have proof.’ A quick glance at her. ‘Or if I don’t, we’ll drop the case, I promise. My hunch is that we won’t get any further with Fanny Star until we find that link. Anything your end look hopeful?’
‘Far from it. We agreed with Josh to keep off Alice Winters in return for his co-operation over Fanny Star, but so far there’s been no reason not to do so.’
‘Until now.’ A great sigh of satisfaction. ‘Let us see what tomorrow morning brings forth, since Mike has so nobly offered’ (which Georgia translated as ‘been forcibly persuaded’) ‘to show us the crime scene. He did so in case, he admitted a little grudgingly, anything we’ve turned up on Fanny Star brought in a Winters connection. Apart, of course, from the obvious: the use of the same dagger.’
‘And Toby Beamish,’ Georgia added. Somehow it would be very satisfying to put him in the frame, even if, she had to admit, the Tobys of this world were seldom the sort to fit it.
‘Of course, in both cases the ghost of Lady Rosamund appeared in the guise of the flute music. It looks as if whoever played it after Jake’s arrest was right to do so.’
Georgia did not have sweet dreams that night. Toby, dressed as Lady Rosamund, was singing on a makeshift stage in the garden, while Hazel Perry emerged from the pub kitchens with a large knife and set off vengefully towards him. Or was he chasing her? In the midst of this maelstrom she opened her eyes with one surprisingly rational thought: how and when did Dana hear about Adam visiting Friday Street? From Henry before she arrived, or from Luke?
*
The morning dismissed this annoying detail for what it was. On a late spring day, with the wild flowers covering the banks that flanked the lanes, and even a short burst of sunshine to herald summer, it was hard to associate the tower with death.
As Georgia parked by the gate and Peter swung himself out into his wheelchair, the sight of Mike Gilroy marching towards them quickly brought it home that this was indeed a murder scene. Solid, tall, and his expression impassive, Mike always looked the same on such occasions, whether it was a stabbing outside a seedy back-street pub or a suspicious death in a rose garden. Georgia enjoyed seeing Peter unconsciously slipping back into police mode himself as they talked. She had no doubt the whole village was aware of their presence. How was it reacting to Jake Baines’ release? An unwelcome spotlight would once again be thrown on to Friday Street.
‘We’ve the pleasure of Mr Toby Beamish’s company this morning, Peter,’ Mike said grimly. ‘Says he has to unlock it personally. Only one key. Nose twitcher, that’s what he is.’
‘Tell him he’s a suspect.’ Peter didn’t bother to lower his voice.
‘He’d vanish like a ghost at dawn,’ Georgia told him. ‘Are you looking for anyone else for this one, Mike?’
‘Usually with a CPS decision like this, no. In this case, perhaps.’
‘So you do have a few butterflies to chase?’ Georgia said. Where and who? she wondered, reluctantly aware that even she was in search of that missing link.
‘Come off it, Georgia,’ Mike chided her. ‘You find a burglar in your house with your grannie’s best silver in his hands, and we don’t go looking for anyone else. That was the case with Baines; he was there with the dagger, which Toby usually brought. He had motive to kill her, and he was found with the recently killed body. Enough DNA on the body to set up a forensic lab on its own. What more could you want?’
‘To know why you’re prepared to open the investigation again.’ Peter began to wheel his chair purposefully through the gate.
‘We’re not.’ Mike stopped him, obviously needing more time without Toby Beamish’s flapping ears. ‘That’s where you two might come in. Alice Winters was a tease with half the village running after her. Bright girl, doing her gap year, and off to university in the autumn. With the good life ahead, she wasn’t going to tie herself down to Jake Baines. That’s what the row was about between them the night before, he says. There was a witness to that, though, who says it wasn’t serious. Josh Perry.’
‘Him again?’ Georgia said. Josh seemed to be the uncrowned King of Friday Street.
‘Seems a reasonable chap,’ Mike said, ‘and the story is likely enough. Baines was afraid of losing her while he stayed on the farm, and she was off to greener fields. He wanted to put a ring on her finger, but she wasn’t having any. If I can’t have you, no one will. Bingo, dead body. I gather there were a couple of other swains in the picture that could have woken up the little green monster, too. Tim Perry was one. Met him, have you? And—’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Georgia interrupted. ‘Drew Ludd. Tim’s best mate.’
‘Right. Or perhaps not-so-best friend where Alice was concerned,’ Mike said. ‘Okay, let’s go. Old Beamish will be busting his last button off. Thinks he’s a real English gentleman, he does. Like I’m a Frenchie.’
‘How do you see our Toby, Mike?’ Peter asked, his chair speed nearing Olympic standard.
‘Pompous ass.’
‘How about pompous snake?’ Georgia said. ‘Don’t go walking in any long grass with him.’
‘Bit of a lech, is he?’ Mike asked amiably.
‘Used to be. May still be. I wouldn’t care to find out.’
‘Mr Marsh.’ Toby stomped gushingly forward. ‘So here we all are again. His parents are much relieved that Jake is home with them. Good souls, both of them. Do I gather my humble theatre barn is to provide the setting for another case for Marsh & Daughter?’
‘It is not,’ Georgia said firmly. ‘We’re only involved because Alice Winters’ murder crosses a few boundaries with Fanny St
ar’s.’
‘Ah. My deodand dagger again. I had been looking forward to its return, but I see now, in view of Inspector Gilroy’s presence, that I might have to wait a while.’
‘Yes.’ Mike offered no other comment.
‘Of course,’ Toby continued, twirling his key ring round his forefinger, ‘practically anyone in the village could have taken it. My museum is not locked during the day, since I am in and out all the time. The guns are safely locked up, of course,’ he said hastily. ‘I hate to think that anyone in Friday Street might have crept in behind my back to take the dagger, but I’m afraid that seems to be the case. The routine, as I once explained to you, inspector, was that I collected the dagger on my way to the tower in the bus, or rather Cadenza collected it, and handed it to me. On the day of Alice’s death, she was most concerned to find that it wasn’t there. I was perturbed, but there was nothing I could do about it at the time, so Cadenza brought her cake knife as a substitute. It had been ready to do duty when the visitors returned from the tower.’ He seemed rather pleased with himself for having such an efficient assistant.
‘Jake claimed he found Alice already dead, with the dagger still in the wound. How did you think Jake got the dagger if he planned this?’
Mike hesitated, obviously because Toby was eagerly awaiting snippets of inside knowledge too. Should he go ahead? After all, it was history now. Peter put him out of his misery by giving the answer. ‘Simple. No one would question seeing Jake at Pucken Manor. Even if he’d been seen with the dagger, it wouldn’t have been hard to think up a reason.’
Toby nodded. ‘He usually came to the barn about three thirty, the punters arrived at four o’clock and the show began about ten or fifteen minutes later, when they’d all finished their loo visits. I understand Baines says he wasn’t there until five to four on the day of the murder.’
For Mike’s sake, Georgia tactfully steered the conversation away from delicate territory. How did Toby ‘understand’ that? ‘Despite what you say, wouldn’t it have been a risk, Toby, for anyone not closely associated with the museum or Pucken Manor to be seen in the grounds?’ Georgia asked. He was hardly going to agree, she knew, but his answer might be interesting.
‘I don’t see why.’ Toby looked distinctly huffy. ‘People are always coming to the Manor, about this, that or the other. I am a parish councillor, after all, so even the Ludds have to call on official business every so often. Moreover, Cadenza has her duties as churchwarden and as the church is normally locked, people have to gain access somehow. We don’t ask every caller whether they have one of my deodands tucked under their mackintoshes.’
‘Is there usually somebody about in the grounds? A gardener?’
‘One day a week. Harry Baines, in fact, dear Jake’s uncle.’
Mystery explained? Georgia wondered.
‘And I take it he saw nothing out of the ordinary?’ Peter asked Toby. Mike was clearly torn between strict observance of protocol and interest in what might emerge.
‘It was not his day for the garden. He comes on tour afternoons, however. He is Pepper’s Ghost.’ Toby laughed uncertainly. ‘That is to say, not the ghost of Professor Pepper himself, but the effects man for the show. He comes on the bus with us, together with his assistant, Ted Hammond.’
The converted barn was more spacious than George had imagined from its outside appearance, holding about a hundred seats on a slightly raked floor. There was a roomy pit, where she could see the Pepper’s Ghost apparatus propped up, a compact stage with steps down to the auditorium, a backdrop of the inside of the tower across the rear of the stage, and curtained wings. A quick exploration revealed a small changing room and toilet on one side, and a fire exit at the rear. This, Toby explained, was unlocked on tour days, and it was the duty of the first person to arrive to unlock it.
‘Who was?’ Georgia asked.
‘Always Alice herself. She was a responsible girl, and some time ago offered for a small fee to put out chairs and make everything ready, including the stage. She was anxious to earn money to help towards her university costs. She needed to be at the barn quite early anyway because of changing into her costume. Jake always came later than her, so Alice had the key.’
‘So there is a spare one,’ Peter pointed out mildly.
Toby flushed. ‘Alice’s key is with the police. Naturally I had the master. For the tower I alone have the key.’
Mike cleared his throat. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a favour, Mr Beamish?’
‘By all means.’ Toby was the gracious upholder of justice.
‘I need to know exactly how long it takes to drive to Winters’ Farm and back at thirty miles an hour. Barring stop signs, of course.’
Toby looked put out and highly suspicious, but at least he meekly disappeared.
Mike heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Now, let’s get started. Baines claimed Alice herself had asked him to come later that day. There was someone she had to meet. Seemed unlikely to me.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘The farm. And that takes six minutes and thirty-five seconds with a fair wind and a Honda motorbike like he’s got.’
‘Evidence as to what time he left?’
‘Inexact.’
‘Twenty minutes to the hour, fifteen, or twenty-five, according to various witnesses who heard or saw him. Alice was last seen in the pub just before three, but no sightings of her after that, so we don’t know whether she went straight to the tower or not.’
‘How big was the crime scene, Mike?’ Peter asked.
‘Biggest in a long time,’ Mike said. ‘We had to rope off the whole field, from where you parked beyond the gate over to the far side of the stile. And a tough job it was; being grass, there’s no respect for footpaths.’
‘Why the stile?’
‘One or two of the tour visitors used the footpath from the church rather than the bus. More atmospheric, our Toby claims.’
Georgia had a vision of ghostly cows stolidly pursuing intrepid tourists and littering up Mike’s crime scene.
‘Pick up any trace evidence by the fire exit?’ Peter asked.
Mike shook his head. ‘Tarmac path all the way round the building. Nothing but a few cans and tissues from late-night revellers. The scientists crawled over the fields, but we can’t take the shoeprints of everyone in Friday Street.’
‘Any other way the killer could escape if Jake isn’t guilty?’
‘Plenty. He could dash across the lane and the fields opposite, or go further down the lane and pick up a track back to Winters’ Farm.’
‘Did the local residents hear anything?’
‘Heard a few cars going up and down the road, but there always are. There’s a farm entrance further along the lane, which has a fair amount of traffic, so it’s not unusual to hear cars here. Not all tourists stick to the motorways, either. A couple heard Jake Baines’ motorbike coming down, but couldn’t be precise enough to pin it down to the time he says he got there.’
‘The main trace evidence was in here, of course.’ Mike led the way back to the stage and Georgia followed him, while Peter nosed around the hall.
The chalk marks that had indicated the body’s position were still visible, though there were no other signs of police presence that Georgia could see. That would no longer be needed even if the case was ongoing. Everything of interest would have been bagged and removed, every detail of the scene photographed, and recordings made on the spot by pathologists and scientists. For Marsh & Daughter’s purpose, however, it was valuable to be here. Here they could concentrate their minds on visualizing the scene without the distancing factors of film, printed word or sound. Evidence could only take one so far; the items had to be chained together to connect the story – and those, for Marsh & Daughter, were best considered at the crime scene itself.
Mike pointed to the main entrance. ‘Baines states he came in the door, couldn’t see or hear Alice, checked the audience toilets to his left at the back, then came up on to the s
tage to see if she was in the changing room. He found her lying here, half concealed from view by the curtains. She was turned away from him, so thinking she was ill he knelt down and leaned over her. He saw the dagger and blood, though there wasn’t much of the latter with it still in the wound. He half rolled the body back towards him, thought she might be alive, caught hold of the dagger but didn’t pull it out. He only had a little blood on him, and she could only have been dead a short while, even if he’s telling the truth. Said he didn’t know what he was doing in grabbing the dagger, and he might be right, of course. Nasty experience if he’s innocent.’
‘Six and a half minutes each way, Mr Gilroy.’ Toby had burst in through the door like an Olympic sprinter at the finishing post.
‘Five seconds out,’ Mike said blandly, not a smile on his face.
‘Well done, Toby,’ Peter said genially. ‘While you’ve been away we’ve been talking about any possible links there might be between Alice’s murder and Fanny Star’s. Any ideas? From all you say, there would be a degree of risk in seizing the dagger from your museum, unless it was Miss Cadenza Broome or yourself, Toby. So I ask myself why someone should bother to take the dagger?’
Toby stared at him aghast, then picked on the salient point for him. ‘Me?’
‘It seems so,’ Peter murmured regretfully.
‘It seems,’ Toby whipped back with some dignity, ‘someone was trying to put the blame on me. If I did for some unknown reason decide to kill poor Alice, I would hardly choose such an obvious weapon as one of my own deodands.’
He had a point, Georgia conceded. Or was he as good a games player as Josh Perry?
*
‘What’s the matter with you, Georgia?’ Luke said finally. ‘I thought you and Peter would be pleased at the way things are going. There’s obviously a book in it now, and it’s shaping up nicely. Normally Peter’s like a dog slavering at the thought of a particularly juicy bone if he can find a link between past and present. I’d have thought even you would be pleased. Today you’re more like a growly dog deprived of bones for the last month. This is a weekend, and we have an agreement over this. Remember?’
