Murder on the Old Road (23 page)

‘Anyway,' Lisa added, ‘Vic says if you give him a knock, he'll take you into the church. That'll be a start. Takes his time coming round, does Vic.'

‘And what's this in aid of?' Peter asked blankly when Lisa had gone, having said she knew no more than they did what Vic meant. ‘Anything you remember in particular about the church?'

‘Only the Wayncroft memorial chapel.'

‘Well, we'll find out in due course. In the meantime . . .'

‘So you've come then.' Vic nodded. ‘Thought you would. I'll just get my pipe and I'll be with you.'

What was so special about St Thomas's that she hadn't noticed before? Georgia wondered as Vic helped Peter steer his wheelchair down the ramp. It felt wrong to be coming into this church with its vicar so recently and horribly dead. Whatever secrets the church held, however, Anne could well have known about. One she shared with Robert Wayncroft? Whatever it was, it wasn't in the chapel, because Vic was leading the way to the far aisle. He stopped in front of a brass plaque, one of the world war memorials.

Looking at it more closely than she had on her first visit, Georgia realized that it was unusual, in that it was dedicated specifically to the memory of those who died in the air raid on Canterbury, on the second of June, 1942. A list of names followed, the last two separated by a scroll ornament. These two were servicemen, the others civilians. At the foot of the memorial was inscribed the legend: ‘The price of wisdom'.
Wisdom
again – a coincidence? She could not understand the context it was used in here, however. A terrible raid the price of wisdom? Did that make sense? She asked Vic, but he just shook his head.

Peter had his own questions. ‘Why just that raid?' he asked Vic. ‘There was a second one two days later and another one after that. Not so heavy, it's true, but nevertheless people died.'

It was Georgia who replied, however, not Vic. ‘Perhaps it was because Robert Wayncroft was caught in this one,' Georgia said. ‘Did he erect it? And your father was caught in the raid too, wasn't he, Vic?'

‘That's right.' Vic looked pleased, which meant they must be on the right track – to wherever this was leading. ‘Dad saw Mr Robert struggling to restrain a soldier who'd gone wild, but before he could pull him away a wall came down on him and he was killed. Mr Robert was pulled clear of it though. Dad always reckoned it was one of these two.' He pointed to the last two names on the plaque.

‘Shouldn't this memorial be in the Cathedral itself?' Peter asked. ‘It seems strange to have it here.'

‘Mr Robert lived in Chillingham. Seems natural enough to me,' Vic said non-committally.

‘Why did you want us to see it?' Georgia asked.

‘It could have been that raid changed Mr Robert for good, that's why,' he replied, and Georgia knew better than to push him. If the Painters or Moons had something to say they would do so in their own good time, not when it suited Marsh & Daughter.

Nevertheless, patience was not one of Peter's virtues – nor indeed one of hers, Georgia would admit.

‘Did Robert get on well with Lisa and Clive Moon?' Peter asked Vic as they left the church. ‘He obviously did with your family.'

‘I'd have said that was their business, but seeing as how Lisa and Molly think it's time to speak out, I'll tell you,' he grunted. ‘Mr Robert liked Lisa. Clive were a different matter.'

Georgia could not see that this was advancing Marsh & Daughter's case, but she supposed it was good that Vic at least thought he was contributing. Little by little she and Peter had tacit permission to dig away the layers of silence that led back to 1967. Or further, if this plaque had some relevance.

‘Did you get on with Clive Moon?' she asked.

‘I'd no time for the chap. Led Lisa a dog's life. Mind you,' he added fairly, ‘it didn't help, her and Hugh being what you might call close. But even after Mr Wayncroft died Clive never let her forget it. Took it out on the kids, especially Matthew, until Lisa had it out with him. Said, Catholic or not, she'd leave him and take the kids with her. That shut him up, and shut up wagging tongues too. It was over. Done with.'

Georgia hesitated. ‘Julian Wayncroft told me earlier today that Clive went overboard in pushing ahead the plans for the Becket ruins because he hated Hugh Wayncroft so much. Would you agree?'

‘'Course I would,' Vic answered with a snort. ‘You've got to bear in mind that the police never knew about Lisa and Hugh. Even Mrs Jessica never told them, and whether Clive did him in or not, Lisa reckoned her kids needed a dad. One thing I can tell you –' Vic paused to cup his hands over his pipe as he lit it – ‘Clive had it in for Hugh. I remember him clear as day saying he'd get him one day.'

‘He threatened him to his face?'

‘He did. I was there and told him flat: Clive, you've got a chip on your shoulder. Keep it for your woodwork. Reckon he did,' he added, giving them a sideways look.

Georgia grinned. ‘I heard he's faked the wooden relics of St Thomas.'

‘He was real annoyed that they got put away and never used. He was a true carpenter was Clive, and when he told me about it later, I reckoned I could see what he was after doing. There were those monks hiding behind the screen ready to pull the strings of St Thomas. One pulled the staff so it struck the ground for the water to gush out; another one pulled his hand up and down so it could bless any pilgrim who put his penny in the monks' slot. They'd all have been on their knees, young and old, no matter what in those days. No hip replacements then. Maybe St Thomas did something about hips too.' Vic cackled. ‘Clive told me and Dad it had only been a bit of fun, but fun it weren't. We knew that. He was going to see Hugh Wayncroft done down, one way or the other.'

THIRTEEN

T
o Georgia's pleasure, Peter had elected to join her at Becket House, urged on by Molly. Perhaps this was only for extra trade, but it was also possible that Lisa's mandate about it being time to talk had been taken to heart. Peter was obviously convinced of the link between the two deaths, even if Clive Moon had been responsible for Hugh's. It was tantalizing that the missing clue could be within their grasp, but still eluding them.

When she came down for breakfast on the Thursday morning, she found Peter already at the table. The breakfast room was conveniently handy for staring out of the window towards John Painter's Shrine, and she noted that his table gave him the best view of it. As she arrived, he was taking full advantage of it. She was less sure than he was, however, that the Shrine had anything to do with the Becket story or had any relevance to Hugh Wayncroft's death. Whatever Val and Jessica might have hoped to find, it looked as if they had failed. Molly would surely have known if those flagstones had recently been moved, and there was nowhere else for anything to be hidden.

Molly came to serve her as she sat down, but Peter apparently had more important things on his mind than Georgia's breakfast. ‘Do you have a photo of Fred Miller around, Molly?'

He had the magic touch with Molly, even if he seemed to have lost it with Janie, Georgia thought, seeing Molly beam as though fulfilling this request would make her day. She reappeared some minutes later with the photo and a cooling teapot.

‘Fred Miller's been a silent witness for too long,' Peter commented as she handed him the photo.

‘He's dead,' Molly pointed out cheerfully.

‘Witnesses can speak from beyond the grave,' Peter replied portentously.

‘True enough. Also true that there was talk at the time that Fred and Clive were in it together. They were very vocal in trying to get Mr Hugh to think different about St Thomas, and they were in front of him in the column.'

‘Look at him, Georgia.' Peter handed her the photograph. ‘Taken in 1965.'

‘Not long after he took over the Three Peacocks,' Molly said. ‘He was a cocksure lad. Eager to get ahead.'

‘Did Fred do food at the pub, like Simon?'

‘Not like nowadays. His wife did a bit, but most pubs didn't in those days. Fred wasn't keen because no one saw food as a way to get ahead. Jeannie did though. She was a goer.' Molly grinned. ‘And one day she did go. A Frenchie came to the village, tracing one of his ancestors. Jeannie helped him out, and that was that. She flew the nest in the 1980s sometime. Served Fred right. He was all for development, but did he listen to her? No way. After Mr Hugh died, Fred thought the path was clear, but then Mr Robert told us there wasn't a hope of that. So Fred let the pub go to rack and ruin. No wonder she left. None of your hail-fellow-well-met about Fred. More of a surly glare. One word out of turn, and he'd kick you out, Vic said. Not good for custom.'

‘Did
you
think Fred, with or without Clive, murdered Hugh?'

‘All talk, no proof,' Molly said firmly. ‘No one knew for sure, and that includes me. We all knew Mr Wayncroft was at the back of the column, but people were moving up and down all the time. Mostly though Mr Hugh, Fred and Clive were at the back and Mr Harper and Mrs Jessica at the front because they were all the stars of the show. Mr Hugh liked being at the back, so he could linger when he liked. He liked the peace of the Old Road. When we got near Chillingham, Mrs Jessica nipped back to tell us that the lute players would strike up when we'd nearly reached the village, then would come two of the villains, herself and Mr Val, then at the end would come Fred, Clive and Hugh in all their glory. She left to return to her earlier place, and I heard the lute players strike up. I looked round and saw Mr Hugh then ambling along behind Clive and Fred, quite happy.' A pause. ‘But you'll be wanting your breakfast, Georgia,' she said pointedly.

‘Yes please.'

Peter grinned as Molly went out to the kitchen.

‘You look very satisfied with life,' Georgia said.

‘I am. I spoke to Mike earlier.'

Poor old Mike. ‘It wasn't even his case.'

‘He rang
me
.' Peter was indignant. ‘There's something new on Anne Fanshawe's murder.'

‘What?'

‘The landlord's wife remembers seeing her hanging up her anorak in the hall as she arrived that evening.'

‘So? That explains why Anne wasn't wearing it.'

‘She was behind the bar when Anne Fanshawe left, and shortly afterwards she went to the loo and saw the anorak still hanging there. She said she didn't worry about it as it was a warm night and Anne wouldn't have missed it. When she went to lock the outside doors however, twenty minutes or so later, it
wasn't
there, so she assumed Anne had come back for it.'

‘But Will's team found it there the next morning.' Georgia had a sudden cautious hope that this might be leading somewhere at last. ‘She's sure it was Anne's?'

‘Yes. It was bright red, and she complimented Anne on it when she arrived at the pub.'

‘And she wasn't wearing it when she was found. So that means—'

‘She came back (as I said),' he added complacently, ‘probably not for the anorak itself, but because her credit cards were in it. Her killer saw her do so and went out to talk to her. An unexpected opportunity for murder.'

‘What about the torch that
you
said would require advance planning?' Georgia asked innocently.

Peter brushed this aside. ‘In the killer's hotel room. He or she noticed the anorak still there, watched to see if she would return, saw her, came down, took the coat out to her, and accompanied her as she made her second trip towards the farmhouse. He'd then have to take the anorak back to the hotel, as he couldn't take the risk that someone had noticed the coat while it was still hanging there and so would deduce from its absence that Anne had returned. His luck ran out, because someone did. Nevertheless, where does this take us?'

‘Alibis are blown to pot. Oh, Peter, are we there?'

‘Mike thinks so. Now he merely has to find evidence.'

‘Someone staying overnight.'

‘The King? Becket himself? Both anxious to give his heartily disliked half-brother an alibi only because it also gave him one?'

‘Could be. Or Seb or Aletta?'

‘Seb was camping, which makes it less likely, but Aletta could have accompanied the killer – which would have given Anne confidence that she was in no danger. There's Tim and Simon too, who have to be considered, tough though that would be for Luke. All the main pub bedrooms are all overlooking the front of the pub, and I'm sure Will Whitton is well aware of it.'

Georgia contemplated the days ahead. It was countdown. The last performance of the play would be on Saturday, and on Sunday the group would return to Chillingham along the Old Road. Just as it had in 1967. Every time she thought of that it grew more ominous.

Peter was watching her. ‘Don't worry, Georgia. There has to be a resolution soon.'

‘Yes.' Was he talking of Hugh's murder though, or of her IVF treatment, or of Janie? All problems for which there had to be some cure.

‘Meanwhile, it's time,' he continued, ‘that we had a thorough look into the Shrine, or the Poo-House as it was elegantly nicknamed.'

‘You're fixated on that. Why not the St Thomas ruins if you have the bones in mind?'

‘Because of the ease with which Anne Fanshawe signed the ruins back to the Wayncrofts. Almost, don't you think, as if she knew they would find nothing.'

It was hard to judge Molly's reaction when they approached her about the ‘more thorough' look at the Shrine. All she said was: ‘I've been expecting this. I suppose it has to happen, no doubt about it.'

‘You think there's something still hidden there.'

‘I don't know nothing of the sort, but Vic and I can't keep putting you off trying to find out. Not now. We always reckoned Dad had a reason for staying out there so much. When do you want to do it?'