Murder Takes the Stage (24 page)

‘Is that fair? He has advance schedules, jacket-design costs and budgets to fix.'

Peter considered. ‘The other option is to tell Luke he can cancel the contract, and we'll present a script as and when.'

‘Which course do you prefer?' She knew which she did, but then she was biased.

‘Cancel the contract.'

Relief. ‘That's my choice too. You never know, it might bring good luck, and evidence will come flooding in.' This solution would cut the Gordian knot nicely. There would be no more clashes with Luke the publisher.

‘Agreed,' Peter grunted. ‘Right now I'd like a dose of good luck. But this evening a dinner at the White Lion would do me. And a stiff drink.'

The White Lion served good food, and one of its many advantages was that Peter could get there easily by himself in the wheelchair. Luke was sitting on a bench inside with a half of bitter before him, looking up apprehensively as they arrived.

‘Is this joint deputation ominous?' he asked.

‘Only if you don't buy us a drink,' Peter assured him. ‘On second thoughts, buy me dinner and you're off the hook completely.'

‘Dinner, yes, but what particular hook might this be?' Luke asked him cautiously.

‘The Watson case. Georgia and I have decided to give you your money back—'

‘So far so good,' Luke quipped.

‘And cancel the contract. If we finish the Watson book, we give you first option of publishing it on the same terms.'

‘Ah. I'll have to think about that,' Luke said, then went over to buy their drinks.

Peter looked taken aback. ‘I thought he'd jump at it.'

‘So did I.' Georgia watched Luke returning with the two glasses. Peter had elected to have a whisky – always a sign that he was in turmoil, since he never usually drank spirits.

‘First,' Luke said, plonking glasses in front of them, ‘I don't like threats like this letter from Staines. Second, why the hell should I cancel a contract when I don't yet know and can't guess whether the text is defamatory or not? I haven't seen it, and you haven't even written it. Third,' he added, as Georgia began to laugh, ‘I
really
don't like threats. So fourth, things stay as they are for the moment.'

Thank heavens for Luke, she thought. Another cutter of Gordian knots. And glory be, publisher and authors were on the same side again.

‘I tell you what,' she said to Luke amiably, ‘Marsh & Daughter will buy
you
dinner.'

‘Done,' Luke said promptly. ‘Is Janie—' He broke off as Georgia's foot landed firmly on his. He looked at her in bewilderment. ‘What did I say?'

‘I imagine,' Peter said gently, ‘that Georgia wished you to know that Janie left me rather abruptly this evening.'

‘Ah.' Luke glanced from one to the other. ‘Was she pushed or did she run?'

That stopped Peter in his tracks. ‘Pushed,' Georgia answered crossly. Torn as she was over Janie, Peter had acted far too impulsively – at least to the observer's eye, she conceded.

‘Pity,' was Luke's comment.

Peter glared. ‘I do not need sympathy –
or
a nurse. Is that clear?'

Perhaps the good luck had been kick-started by the reconciliation with Luke, for when Georgia arrived the next morning, Peter was beaming. Had Janie returned? Apparently not from his opening greeting.

‘There's a message on your phone, Georgia. Hope you won't mind, but I listened to it. We might be on our way to that hard evidence our publisher will require.'

‘Good. Who? What?'

‘Or even why. Cath rang. She'd lost your mobile number, which is why it was on the office phone. Ex-Sergeant Buck Dillon wants to talk to us.
Us,
kindly note, not just you. He was prepared to come over here – no doubt,' Peter added sarcastically, ‘in view of the fact I'm wheelchair bound. I explained that no special treatment is required. The chair merely represents my legs, not my brain.'

‘Was he happy about that?'

‘He was. He even laughed. I like the sound of Buck Dillon. I've arranged for us to go on Monday.'

‘Any idea what he wants to talk about?'

‘He doesn't sound as if he's about to confess to anything, let alone murder.'

‘How about smuggling? Just a guess, but you did ask Cath to follow up that line.'

Georgia noticed Peter's sardonic eye on Cath, who kept protectively near her grandfather. Obviously protective ladies were still in Peter's mind, although the name
Janie
had not passed his lips since Wednesday evening. Georgia was sorry for Cath, who must feel rather as she did with Luke, torn between her job and her family loyalties. She only hoped that whatever Buck had to tell them wasn't going to destroy Cath's faith in him.

Fortunately Buck and Peter seemed to hit it off immediately. ‘My wife's out today, and that's good,' he told them. ‘She doesn't know too much about my misspent youth. I'd have preferred this young woman here –' Buck glanced affectionately at Cath – ‘didn't either, but there you go. She's got a job to do, she says.'

‘Whatever you tell me,' Cath retorted, ‘I won't believe you're a monster.'

‘See what I mean, Georgia?' Buck replied. ‘She tells me she might be joining your family, so I wanted you to see the kind of thing you'll have to put up with.'

‘Charlie's a lucky fellow,' Peter said.

‘Not yet he's not,' Cath shot back. ‘I'm still thinking it over.'

‘Don't think too long,' Buck suggested, ‘or the fat lady will start singing.' Then he turned to Georgia. ‘You'll have noticed that I keep my distance from the old crowd nowadays. No reunions for me.'

‘Because of Joan's death?'

‘Maybe. I guess you still have me in the frame for that.'

‘You, Tom Watson and the whole wide world at present,' Peter answered frankly. ‘But I'm afraid that Tom is still way out in front. Motive, means and opportunity. He didn't even have a credible alibi except for Cherry's evidence, and that's hardly reliable.'

‘She's out in cloud cuckoo land, that one,' Buck observed.

‘Did you know her then?'

‘Depends on what you mean by know. I remember young Cherry being around, making eyes at Tom, and I guess he liked that. It was a change from the way Joan treated him. I should tell you that I was a lot further in with that gang than I let you think, Georgia. And I had to cut myself off sharpish. The US Air Force wasn't too keen on its men being murder suspects or even giving evidence. We were supposed to be the good guys.'

‘
Were
you a suspect?' she asked.

‘I was interviewed by the police, but that was all, thanks to good old Uncle Sam. I was in camp that evening. No pass. That's a good enough alibi, I reckon.'

‘Could be,' Peter said politely.

Buck laughed aloud. ‘Sure, I could be lying through my teeth, but I'm not. I brought you folks here to confess, but not to murder.'

Georgia diagnosed the look on Cath's face as resignation rather than opposition.

‘My turn to speak,' Cath said firmly. ‘You asked me to look into post-war smuggling, Georgia. The trail led me straight to Grandpops, as you feared.'

Georgia had indeed, but nevertheless it was a shock to hear Buck himself confirm it.

‘It was just fun at the time,' he said. ‘Beating the system. It was a gloomy time all round in England. The USAF was sharing Manston with the Brits, as I told you, but we had our own supplies and did a heck of a lot better than they did. The war was only just over for us both, but you were still suffering more of the consequences. But it was tough for us Yanks too, dumped into a strange depressing place like this. We had to brighten it up. The war in Korea was still on, and so entertainment off duty was high priority. I met Joan, as I told you, and used to pinch a few cigarettes for her or the odd can of food. I'm not proud of it, but I was thousands of miles from home and it didn't seem like thieving. She began to ask for more and more, and she was drinking and smoking stuff I hadn't gotten for her, so I began asking questions like the dumb fool I was. Darn it if she didn't try to blackmail me. Turned out there was an organization running smuggled stuff in by boat from the continent. Don't know how much you know about the Kent coast, but way back smuggling was big business, with stuff landed at coves – the Gaps they're called at Broadstairs, aren't they? – and then run through tunnels to safe houses. In 1952 it wasn't so widespread, and this organization centred on Botany Bay out towards Cliftonville, which was nicely deserted back then.

‘Joan insisted I get drawn in on the distribution,' he continued. ‘As a US sergeant I'd be less likely to be caught, and the damn woman said she'd go straight to my CO if I didn't cooperate. So I decided to stay right on the sidelines, plead camp rotas in order to do as little as possible and keep my ears and eyes closed. I knew some of the
Waves Ahoy!
folk were mixed up with it because I'd overheard conversations at the pub. I kept out of them. It wasn't long after I joined that Joan was killed, and I was out of that circle like a shot, putting it round that I was being transferred. By the grace of God, I was, so I heard no more about it. So that's why I keep my distance now. I never thought I'd be back in this neck of the woods. But what happens? I meet Mary over in the States and find out she lived here. When my air-force time expired, I came back to find her, and here we are. I heard no more about the smuggling ring, but now you two come along,' he added without rancour.

‘Was Joan the ring's organizer?' Peter asked.

‘Good grief, no. Joan was a good-time girl. Rotten to the core, but then she was young, in her late twenties, I reckon. Maybe she was just weak. I was even younger, twenty-two. She was proud of her looks, and no wonder. She was useful to the ring, she knew so many folk and could distribute stuff without eyebrows being raised.'

‘Who was the organizer then?' Peter asked.

Buck chuckled. ‘That's where I bow out, Peter. I settled here because it's far enough from Broadstairs not to cause any problems. I sure as hell didn't want my new life mixed up with my old.'

‘You must have had contact with some of them over the years,' Georgia said, despite Cath's frown, which was saying, ‘Don't push it.'

‘I stumble across them from time to time, but we're all older now, so we don't talk of the past. It's history now – even to journalists,' Buck added, grinning at Cath. ‘Never wake up a sleeping dog.'

‘Ken Winton did,' Peter said evenly. ‘And he died. Any connection?'

Georgia could see Cath looking uneasy as Buck replied, ‘I don't know, and that's the truth. Knowing I was around at the time, Cath mentioned Ken's theories over Tom so often over the years that I knew them inside out. I didn't take them seriously – and nor did I you, Georgia. Guess I was wrong there. Cath told me you'd found out that Tom came back to Broadstairs in 1975. That was news to me, and mighty hard to believe.'

‘We've good evidence for it. Could he have been mixed up with the ring?' Peter asked.

‘No way. Joan made it clear that he wasn't involved. Are you thinking her death might be mixed up with it?' Buck frowned.

‘It's on the cards.'

‘It's possible, I reckon. Joan was a greedy lady. Maybe she got too greedy and threatened the organizer, as she did me. So, Peter, here's my stake. You bring me proof that that's why she was murdered, and I'll come clean. Otherwise no way. It might be history, but I take no chances. I aim to stay alive to see Cath and Charlie's kids.'

‘Grandpops,' Cath complained instantly, ‘you make it sound as though there's one on the way. And for the record, folks, there isn't. Yet. Happy everyone?'

‘For you, yes.' Buck grinned. ‘Charlie's a good bloke and he'd be even better if he ever stops in one place long enough to think what's good for him, which is Cath. He'll settle down.'

‘Not likely,' Cath declared. ‘I'll be travelling with him.'

Georgia was watching Peter, who was clearly awaiting his moment to pounce. Then it came: ‘You implied the organizer is still alive, Buck.'

For the first time Buck looked thrown. ‘As I said,' he answered shortly, ‘bring me proof that's why Joan was murdered, and I'll sing like a nightingale.'

‘Would proof that he or she killed Tom in 1975 do?'

Trust Peter to float an idea as though it was a near certainty, Georgia thought. Nevertheless, it was a good ploy, on a par with beating woods to see which birds fly out. It was working in this case.

Buck looked very shaken. ‘You reckon old Tom was
murdered
?'

‘We've found no one who has seen him since then,' Peter replied. ‘Of course that's no proof at all, but he didn't return to his previous life in London after his visit. Even so, it's hard to see to whom Tom could have been a threat by that time. If he knew who killed Joan, he would have told the police at the time, and though the smuggling ring opens up another possibility, it seems a weak motive after all those years.'

‘Who knew about his return in the seventies?' Buck asked abruptly.

‘So far as we know, only his former neighbour, Micky Winton and Pamela Trent.'

‘And Pamela told her husband,' Georgia added. ‘None of them seems likely to have killed Joan though. Pamela and Matthew are ruled out through age, and neither the neighbour nor Micky seems to have had any motive.'

‘Whatever that was,' Buck commented.

‘The Giant Rat of Sumatra,' murmured Peter. ‘That's a cryptic clue Micky wrote in his diary for 1975. A story for which the world is not yet ready, according to Conan Doyle. That could have been the smuggling ring.'

‘Or the Giant Rat. That you, Grandpops?'

Cath was joking, but there was no answering grin from Buck this time.