Murder Takes the Stage (11 page)

The ether almost crackled in fury. ‘Do you have any proof that Mr Winton's death is connected with Joan Watson's?'

‘His laptop was stolen.' Was that privileged information? She couldn't remember, but it was out now.

‘Laptops are often stolen,' came the sharp response – too sharp, too quickly? ‘But rarely for information inside them.'

‘Forgive me, but your wife's father was acquitted, so you must both wonder who
did
kill her mother?'

‘If we do, Miss Marsh, it is in the privacy of our family, not for public muckraking.'

‘The public is already involved as the trial was a public one. But,' she hastened to add, ‘I do understand it's upsetting for your wife even though she was only a toddler at the time.'

‘Quite. She was a child and has no recollection of this neighbour or the babysitter. Is that clear? And whatever rumours might be flying around, she is in no position to comment on them.'

‘Would your wife not want them scotched by an outside examination of the facts?'

‘That rather depends on what your line would be.'

‘The truth, so far as we can establish it.'

‘I doubt if you could. And I have to add, Miss Marsh, I doubt if you
should
.'

He rang off abruptly, and Georgia put the receiver down, shaken. She was being warned off, and this must be why Ken had hesitated over putting her in contact with the Trents. But why the need for secrecy on Matthew's part? Devotion to his wife? His reaction was excessive, if so. Knowledge of what really happened? That would depend on his age. If he was roughly the same age as Pamela, his knowledge would be second-hand. To have first-hand knowledge, he would have to be about fifteen years older and his voice did not sound like that of a man in his seventies.

Gwen and Terry's home, Badon Lodge, set under the North Downs, was an ancient house built on an even more ancient site. The house was of never-ending interest to Terry, who dug for archaeological artefacts and fossils happily in the cellar and garden and spent much of his time striding the hills with a resistivity machine in search of clues, while Gwen battled with keeping the lawn borders and vegetable garden in order, and preserving the resulting produce. Housewife at heart she was not, however. In her younger days she had been as much of a traveller as Terry, perhaps greater, but now she pursued this interest through books and the Internet.

Georgia had thought that Charlie, her only child, lived in London, but now it appeared from what Gwen told Luke and herself on arrival that he had bought a house near Whitstable. Peter and Janie had already arrived, and Georgia found her father in the kitchen getting Rick's story off his chest, while Gwen flew around checking last-minute details of the lunch and Terry looked after Peter and the drinks. Luke, seeing Janie on her own in the living room, had tactfully gone in to talk to her.

The reaction to the news about Rick was unexpected, at least by Georgia.

‘Full marks, Peter,' Terry commented. ‘Question is: suppose you do work out which concert or opera Rick might have gone to, what then?'

Peter looked taken aback. ‘We take it further.'

‘How, darling?' Gwen asked, bestowing a kiss on Peter's bald patch as she passed by with a tray of potatoes for the oven.

Time to step in, Georgia realized. Peter looked upset at what he probably saw as a negative rather than practical comment. ‘We can check the local police for unidentified deaths.'

‘But if he was with this girl,' Terry said, ‘he wouldn't have been unidentified. I don't want to be pessimistic, but she would have reported his name and details. Very unlikely for them
both
to die in the middle of a concert.'

Put that way, it sounded dismal, and for a moment Georgia too was thrown. This was the problem about sharing news; one threw the dice, but they could come up with unhelpful instead of helpful comments.

Providentially, at that moment Luke came in with Janie. ‘You're right, of course,' he said, ‘but I disagree with your conclusions, Terry. Once Peter and Georgia know
where
Rick was, a whole new scenario opens up.'

‘That's how I see it too,' Janie said firmly.

Georgia struggled between gratitude for her support and a desperate but illogical feeling that Rick was somehow moving further away from them with this spotlight on their fragile lead.

‘Don't you see,' Luke continued. ‘Once there's a pinpoint, we can advertise. Offer a reward. Check hotel registers, someone might remember, we might even find the girl herself.'

It sounded good, it sounded hopeful, but was Luke just saying that or did he really mean it? He must have sensed Georgia's doubt, for he squeezed her hand.

‘Trust me,' he said blithely. ‘I'm a publisher.' As she laughed, he added, ‘But I did mean it. After all, what have you two got on the Tom Watson case? Not one firm foot further forward, and yet you're both still sure there's a story there. So push on with Rick.'

Georgia heard the sound of a car pulling up, and one that could only be Charlie's. (The silencer needed attention.) Now the moment was upon her, Gwen looked panic-stricken, so Terry rushed over to kiss her, then seized her by the arm and led the way outside, with Luke following. Peter took himself as near as he possibly could to the doorway, thought better of it and remained in the living room to meet the new arrivals. Janie inevitably stayed with him, and feeling ridiculously anxious about the coming meeting, Georgia did too. She longed to peer through the windows but resisted temptation. Janie caught her eye and laughed, obviously reading her reaction correctly.

‘I'm glad I'm not the only nervous one,' she said.

‘Daft, isn't it?' Georgia said amiably. ‘I can't get used to the idea that Charlie has a real girlfriend.' Too late she realized that this was hardly tactful, as Janie did not comment and looked away.

Something sounded familiar about the girlfriend's voice as Georgia listened to the chatter outside, but she couldn't place it. Not, that is, until the girl came into the room with Charlie behind her and stopped short. It was Cath Dillon.

‘Georgia Marsh!' She looked totally bemused. ‘Why didn't you tell me, Charlie?'

‘Didn't know you knew each other.' Charlie grinned, coming over and giving Georgia a kiss.

‘We met over a case,' she replied. Now was not the time to mention which one. This was a time to be delighted for Charlie. Don't muck it up this time, Charlie, she thought. If she could have chosen someone for him, she couldn't have done better than Cath – so far as her limited knowledge of her went, of course. ‘Where did you two meet?'

‘Over what I thought was going to be a boring piece about new businesses in Thanet,' Cath joked. ‘It wasn't that boring.'

‘Damned with faint praise.' Charlie threw an arm round her shoulders.

From that moment everything went with a swing, to Georgia's relief. Terry and Gwen happily chatted to Cath, and Luke and Peter seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, as indeed she was. Janie was joining in well and looked much more relaxed than Georgia had ever seen her. The whole lunch passed happily, and only when it was over and they gathered in the garden did Georgia remember with a sickening jab who Cath's grandfather was – if Sandy Smith had been right.

Janie was firmly at the wheelchair's side, but Luke, ever adept at sensing what was needed, steered her away. Peter looked relieved and manoeuvred himself close to Georgia. ‘I take it this is Buck Dillon's granddaughter?' he whispered to her, and when she nodded, added, ‘Let's pull out all the stops. Don't hold back the horses, because we'll never get another chance like this.'

Luckily, the horses didn't need holding, as Cath herself came over to them, looking anxious. ‘Sandy Smith told me you've been chatting him up over the Tom Watson case.'

‘Of course. He's a central plank, as one of the Three Joeys,' Georgia replied.

‘And that you asked him about my grandfather.'

‘No. He told us.' Was Sandy Smith making mischief or was this a misunderstanding?

‘Whatever,' Cath said impatiently. ‘What's Grandpops got to do with the Watson case? His name's Bill, anyway, not Buck.'

‘There was a US sergeant at RAF Manston during the 1950's who was a friend of the Watsons.'

Cath frowned. ‘My grandfather was in the USAF Europe here, but I never heard him talk about the Watsons. For heaven's sake, he wouldn't have had time to fraternize with the natives.'

‘Yet he seems to have settled here,' Peter pointed out.

She glared at him. ‘That's true, I suppose. He married Gran in the mid fifties. But what's that got to do with Tom Watson? If Grandpops is this Buck, how would he be mixed up with the murder?'

‘Just as a friend of Tom's or Joan's, or both,' Georgia said. ‘That's why Peter and I would like to talk to him.'

Cath shot a journalist's appraising glance at her. ‘Just how would he fit in to the Watsons' life as a friend? I don't see Grandpops getting chummy with a clown and his wife. He'd only have been about my age, or even younger. If he was in Broadstairs, he'd be into dating the local girls—' She broke off. ‘Ah, I see,' she said furiously, ‘you have him lined up as dating Joan.'

‘We don't have him down as anything,' Georgia said evenly. ‘We'd just like to meet him.'

‘Now that,' Cath said, ‘would not be wise. Because I can tell you now, if you put Grandpops in the frame for Suspect Number One for Joan Watson's murder, instead of Tom, you can forget it. He's too old and too happy to have muck raked up when it's not true. Subject closed. Clear about that?'

‘Clear about your opinion, Cath,' Peter took the situation on, and it was high time to stop it in its tracks. Georgia could see Gwen and Terry looking aghast at this exchange, and Charlie – as usual – was nowhere to be seen. ‘It's possible, however, for someone to be old and so appear to have buried the past so completely it's forgotten. But sometimes it isn't. Your grandfather should judge that for himself, not you, unless of course he's mentally or physically ill. I give you my word that we won't upset him.'

Cath set her mouth in an obstinate line. ‘You don't have to. You won't be meeting him, if I have anything to do with it. And believe me, I will.'

‘That,' Georgia remarked, ‘is the second threat I've had in a few days. Why is everyone so eager for us not to reopen the Tom Watson case? There must be some reason.' And before Cath could answer, she added, ‘Look, I'm really happy you're with Charlie. Let's drop the subject of Tom Watson and enjoy the rest of today.'

‘Suits me,' Cath said neutrally. ‘Just don't go anywhere near Grandpops.'

‘Yet another protective carer,' Georgia remarked ruefully to Luke. ‘First we have Janie, then Fenella, now Cath.' The afternoon had been a reasonably successful one after the storm had died down.

‘Don't lump them all in the same category. It won't help. They're all different people, different personalities, different needs.'

Georgia felt rebuked. She tried hard to tell herself that Luke too was falling under Janie's spell but failed. He wasn't. He was just
right,
damn him. It didn't help to admit this. Anyway, Monday morning in the office would be the time to discuss Cath, not here.

When Monday came, however, Peter had more news from Mike to relate to her. ‘Thanet police have arrested a local fellow who'd been acting suspiciously, but he's been released without charge.'

‘Nothing more?' she asked.

‘No. The official view given the time and place is that it was a random attacker, one of those nutters who decide to murder the first person they come across.'

‘Unlikely for Ken to go down to the seafront at that time of night, and unlikely for a random attacker to search for a key and follow up with a burglary.'

‘I agree, but I did say “official view”, and it's still a possible theory. Now what do you want to do about Buck Dillon? I think we should leave him until we know more about his relationship with the Watsons. Then we'll have firmer ground to move on.'

That seemed sensible, Georgia agreed, even though it went against the grain to appear to give in to Cath. That just added to her frustration. They weren't making headway either on Tom Watson or on Rick. There were so many musical events in the capitals of Europe, especially Prague and Vienna, that it was like searching in the proverbial haystack for a single straw worth clutching. She was beginning to lose faith in the idea anyway. It would have been unlike Rick to have hitch-hiked on a relative whim to far-off cities, unless, of course, the girl lived in one of them. Was she even British, or had they just rashly assumed that? The Iron Curtain was well and truly raised by the time Rick disappeared, but it must have been a very special occasion or singer to make Rick travel so far without a word to them. Or, she acknowledged dolefully, a very special woman.

Think about Tom, not Rick, she told herself. Avenues still existed where Tom was concerned and she and Peter might actually achieve something. ‘Anything on our website yet?' she asked.

‘Someone who thought she saw Tom in a supermarket last week.'

Georgia sighed. ‘Not very likely. Have you got details?'

‘Of course,' Peter replied crossly. ‘What do you suggest? That we haunt every supermarket in Kingston until he comes back to do another shop-up?'

Silence. Even Luke's well-intended softeners did not break the gloom that evening, which persisted overnight. When she reached the office next day, she was relieved to find that Peter looked brighter. ‘A call from Christine. The funeral's next Monday, June twenty-third. She'd like us to go. She's a game lass, Georgia. She says everyone might be there.'

‘Of course we'll go. Who's everyone though?'