Murder Takes the Stage (7 page)

‘She'd been dancing in the show earlier,' Georgia commented. ‘She'd come straight home, so why dress up?'

‘You ladies always come back to clothes,' he joked.

Georgia cringed.

‘She has a point,' Peter said fairly, leaping in before Georgia could get her retort out.

‘But it could be that what was “dressed up” for you was her everyday garb. Or that she'd intended to go to the pub and changed her mind. Or—'

‘Don't tell me. She was expecting her lover for a quick one.' James laughed again, but Georgia controlled herself. ‘Risky with husband Tom expected home at any moment, don't you think?' he added.

‘The prosecution case,' Georgia said icily, ‘was that Tom had discovered she was having at least one affair.'

‘Maybe. But that doesn't mean the lover popped in that night, does it? Nor was there any evidence to that effect at the trial, from what I heard.'

‘He would hardly be likely to step forward voluntarily,' Georgia whipped back.

The jolly glare was turned on her. ‘Miss Marsh, if you knew my old governor, DI Tim Wilson, any such assignation would have been winkled out quicker than a rabbit by a ferret.'

‘Were there any signs of sex?'

‘Not that I heard of. Never saw the PM report, of course, but I don't remember it coming out at the trial. She was fully clothed anyway. No. Tom Watson had a row with his wife and killed her. That's what it looked like, and that's what must have happened. When the inspector came, we marched Watson out into the other room and grilled him. He wouldn't say anything. Nothing, except a shake of the head. Later at the station after he was charged, he had his story ready though. He was at the pub until closing time and when he got home, he found her dead.'

‘Did Tom have any previous history of violence?'

‘We didn't do official domestics in those days. A bit of wife-beating was OK.' He looked sideways at Georgia. ‘The neighbours said it wasn't exactly a happy marriage. Joan Watson was a forceful sort of woman, always shouting the odds – he was much quieter.'

‘Did you follow up other suspects?' Georgia asked. This had hardly been Micky Winton's view of Joan Watson.

‘Well, now, I can't answer that, for the simple reason that I was only a copper on the beat and not privy to my lords' and masters' deliberations.'

‘The press reports mentioned a few witnesses,' Peter pointed out hastily, perhaps having sensed her reaction to his patronage. ‘David Maclyn was one, the singer. Was there any suggestion he or any other witnesses were her lovers?'

‘No idea. Joan Watson put herself around a bit, but as I said, I was only a PC – politically correct that stands for.' Another smirk at Georgia. ‘What happened that night never fully emerged. The prosecution went for a row over her having lovers, but it could equally well have been that Tom was having it off with someone else.'

‘Cherry Harding?' Peter asked.

‘Who? Thing is, Watson didn't deny he was guilty. We followed up his story, talked to the folk in the show he was in and found his alibi didn't hold up, so that was that. He was right there with his fingerprints on the knife.'

‘Anyone else's?'

A glare. ‘Can't remember everything.'

‘Cherry Harding was Tom's sweetheart. Did she give evidence in Tom's defence? I couldn't find any reference to her in the press reports,' Peter said.

James thought for a moment. ‘Don't know about giving evidence. I think I remember her though. She was down the station the next day. There was some girl sitting there on a bench, scared out her wits, hanging on to her handbag like grim death and asking what was happening. Looking back, I guess she had a crush – or pash as we used to call it, didn't we, Peter? – on him. Big eyes, I recall. Too young for Tom Watson. She was out of her depth, she was. Burbling on about Tom being with her at the pub. The gov said she'd be a liability as a witness, as so many others could testify he wasn't.'

‘After he was acquitted, was there an investigation as to who else might have done it?' Peter asked, nobly not objecting to being lumped in the same age group as James.

‘No idea. I wasn't involved if so, but I don't recall talk of it. There would have been an hour before Joan Watson could expect Tom home from the pub, and I suppose someone else could in theory have nipped in, but pretty unlikely, eh?'

‘Why do you think he was acquitted?'

‘Hell knows. The gov was hopping mad. The judge looked flabbergasted, so the gov said, when the verdict was given.'

‘It seems it didn't do Tom Watson any good.'

James shrugged. ‘So what? We all knew he did it.'

‘I do not love thee, Dr Fell, The reason why I know full well,' Georgia misquoted savagely as they left Tenterden.

‘You don't have to love him to take note of what he says,' Peter pointed out.

‘I noticed no signs of a wife around.'

‘He could be a widower.'

‘It was worthwhile going to see him,' she conceded. ‘Does that satisfy you?'

‘Cherry clutching her handbag on the seat waiting? It does,' Peter replied. ‘And on Tuesday you too can be satisfied. We'll go to Broadstairs to see the little sweetheart. Happy? Or would you rather go alone?'

Georgia was torn. Usually she did most of the interviewing while Peter did the Internet work. Although she would dearly love to meet Cherry Harding in a one-to-one interview, perhaps this early in the case, Peter should be there too. Cherry was a key witness. And, Georgia admitted with a struggle, it was just possible that she might be prejudiced in Cherry's favour. Peter's presence would keep her within limits.

When they reached Broadstairs on the following Tuesday, the public gardens on the seafront were crowded. The town seemed to have launched itself into the new summer season, and there was a general air of expectation. Cherry lived in a flat set back from the seafront at the western end of the town, and as they approached the apartment block, there were many elderly residents to be seen. Not that the town had the atmosphere of a retirement resort; far from it. The generational range seemed much broader judging by the mothers out with children and groups of schoolchildren gathering in the gardens.

Cherry lived in a first-floor apartment, but there was a lift to accommodate the wheelchair. She was almost the frail, white-haired, rosy-cheeked lady Georgia had pictured in her imagination. She was of medium height, perhaps five foot five, with silver grey curly hair framing her face, and she did indeed have rosy cheeks. She looked rather more robust than the stereotype Georgia had conjured up, however – perhaps the result of the sea air. She clearly lived an independent life of her own choosing – if the beaming smile and general air of serene confidence were anything to go by. An obviously home-made iced walnut cream cake made its appearance on the tea table, set amidst a bone-china tea set. Georgia thanked her for going to so much trouble, and Peter joined in enthusiastically. Excellent carer Margaret might be, but she believed in healthy apples, not cakes.

‘Nothing's too much trouble for anyone interested in my Tom,' Cherry answered matter-of-factly.

‘Will it be painful for you to talk about him?' Georgia asked gently, the girl at the police station still fixed in her mind.

‘Not a bit, if it helps.' Cherry sat to attention in her chair, almost as if she too remembered her younger self's long, anxious wait.

‘You always believed him innocent of killing his wife, didn't you?' Georgia asked.

‘Of course,' came the surprised reply. ‘My Tom couldn't have murdered anyone.'

‘But someone did. Do you know who that might have been or why?'

‘No, my dear. I've been asking myself that for over fifty years. I told the police Tom couldn't have done it, but it didn't make any difference. I told them he was at the Black Lion with me until closing time, but they didn't call me as a witness. They must have thought I would be lying to protect him. But I wasn't. He was there all right. He was with me in a small bar at the back, not in the public where the rest of them were. Tom wouldn't have got home until about eleven thirty, and the police said he called them at eleven forty. Not much time to have a fight, kill her and then straight away ring the police. It isn't a natural way of going on, is it?' She began to look distressed, and Georgia hastened to calm her down.

‘He was acquitted,' Georgia said soothingly. ‘Did the police come to see you after that?'

‘No. No one did. Only Harold, and Micky and Sandy, of course. Everyone still seemed to think he was guilty.'

‘What did you think of Joan? Did you like her?'

Cherry giggled – like a schoolgirl, Georgia thought, caught out saying something naughty. ‘No, I didn't. I was eighteen, my dear. I was in love with this older man, so of course I didn't like his wife. I thought Tom was the cat's whiskers. So funny, so gentle, and I had not had much fun and gentleness in my life up till then. I thought Joan was all right too, till she found out about me and Tom. She was a stunner and a lovely dancer. All the men fell for her, but she was a holy terror to Tom
and
to me when she found out.'

‘When was that?' Peter asked. ‘The prosecution thought it was the night of the murder.'

Cherry looked surprised. ‘Oh, no. Tom told her some days before that. He was going to leave her and marry me.'

Georgia's heart sank. This was a different picture to the one they had been given by Ken, and it was not a good one. Why hadn't the prosecution pounced on this? Tom would have had a motive, if Joan had refused to let him go. Divorce laws were far from lenient then. Either he would have to sue on grounds of her infidelity or persuade her to divorce him on those grounds – and from what Georgia had gathered about Tom, he was hardly likely to have let Cherry's name be used.

‘I wasn't there, of course,' Cherry continued. ‘Tom just told me they'd had a row.'

Georgia guessed what Peter was thinking. It was looking worse for Tom, and Cherry must have realized it, because she looked anxiously from one to the other. ‘But he would never have
killed
her over it. Tom wasn't like that.'

‘Why did Joan pick Tom to marry? From what you say he wasn't the type to fit her lifestyle, and in the photos we've seen so far he doesn't look particularly handsome. Was she on the rebound from someone else?'

‘I mustn't spread stories,' Cherry began maddeningly.

‘But you need to clear Tom if you can,' Georgia pressed her.

‘He
was
cleared,' Cherry said stoutly. ‘I know people still said he did it, but he didn't. I wanted to tell everybody that at the trial, but I wasn't called. They thought I'd be prejudiced – and so I was. But because I knew it was true. He was with me.'

‘There's still a chance to establish the truth. The
Chronicle
is to publish another article about it soon, so everyone will be talking about the case again.' Peter was embroidering somewhat. ‘You would want to know what really happened, wouldn't you? The real killer has never been found.'

Cherry still looked undecided, and sitting here eating her walnut sponge it was easy for Georgia to believe she was still living in a world of over fifty years ago.

‘Ah, well, David's long dead, so I suppose it won't hurt,' she said at last. ‘David Maclyn and Joan had an affair. He was married to Mavis, and Joan was single when it began. Something went wrong – Mavis, probably – and Joan jumped into marriage with Tom. She treated him worse than a faithful puppy. I'd only just joined the show that season, but I could see what was happening.'

‘So it was love at first sight for you and Tom,' Georgia said encouragingly.

Cherry looked pleased. ‘It was. He said he'd never been so happy as that summer.'

‘But he had a baby at home,' Peter pointed out. ‘That must have worried him if he was about to leave Joan.' Georgia froze in case he had gone too far.

‘No,' Cherry shook her head vigorously. ‘It didn't. Mind you, he was fond of baby Pamela. Very fond.'

For the first time Georgia began to have doubts about Cherry's memory. Had she convinced herself that it was true that Tom would leave Joan regardless of his child?

‘What went so wrong that could have driven Tom to murder as the police believed?'

‘Her lovers, dear. Not just David. There were others. There was an American sergeant at Manston. That was the wartime RAF station near here. The Americans had taken it over, and this sergeant and Joan hit it off. Tom hoped Joan would want to get spliced to him, if they split up.'

‘And there were others too?' Georgia asked. Was this another example of Cherry convincing herself that Joan was unworthy of her beloved Tom?

‘Yes, but I don't like to spread tales.' Cherry sounded very determined, and Georgia decided not to press the point.

‘Could she have been pregnant when she died?'

Cherry looked shocked. ‘I don't know. Tom never said.'

‘When he came home again after the trial, what happened then?' Peter moved to safer ground, helping himself to more walnut cake – which pleased Cherry.

‘It was terrible. Me being so young, I couldn't handle it. He was in a daze, didn't know what to do with himself. He told me he'd get through it alone, and then we'd be wed. My parents were dead against it, of course, and I needed their consent, so he said we'd wait until I was twenty-one, and then we'd marry and get away from Broadstairs.'

‘But something made him change his mind and kill himself. What was that? Did the show not want him back?'

‘He didn't kill himself.' Cherry glared at her, and Georgia was instantly contrite. ‘Harold – he was the producer – said it was too much of a risk to have Tom back in a family show even though he was acquitted. Perhaps he was right. Harold usually is. But poor Tom! It was hard on him because Harold was looking for someone else for the Three Joeys, not expecting him to be back.'