Murder in Abbot's Folly (11 page)

‘Why?' Peter asked mildly. ‘It was safe enough. Legally, the killer was found and put behind bars.'

As they drove to Dunham, the July countryside was looking its best with the wooded slopes of the hills providing a soft green background to the sleepy clusters of houses. It was hard to connect with the gruesome murder of Laura Fettis. As Peter turned into the pub car park, the Bat and Trap looked a dismal place. There was no attempt to attract passing traffic in the way of hanging baskets or a prettied-up forecourt.

There was a gate into the garden and Georgia walked over to peer into it. This was not a pub that offered customers parasol-shielded tables and chairs. There were only a couple of broken-down seats to be seen, lodged against the pub wall, and a gravelled area, now half weeds, roped off – where presumably the bat and trap game had been played, judging by the see-saw. The game was still very active in Kent, but this pitch looked unused and the wood of the see-saw was rotting.

A blackboard outside the pub unconvincingly claimed to provide good food, but to her the Bat and Trap looked to be one of those rare establishments, a pub that was still surviving on regular clientele – save that from the outside at least it looked only just alive. A lick of paint might help.

Inside, however, the pub presented an amazingly different image. It was spartan, but light, clean and welcoming, even cheerful. Georgia recognized Barbara's son Craig behind the bar and wondered what his take on his mother's catering projects was, and whether he was playing an active role in them. Barbara would need help.

Gathered round the bar was a group of regulars, judging by their body language, and there were no prizes for guessing which one was Tom Miller. The leader of the pack – in his fifties and red-faced – was centrally placed in the group, one elbow on the bar, and his shout to Peter of: ‘Over here, mate,' left no doubt about his identity.

Peter wheeled himself up to the group, but Georgia received a less cordial welcome and decided to retire to a watching position from the sidelines. There were few other customers, although she was aware of an elderly man watching her from a table near the window. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place him, so she took a few moments to sip her drink and then strolled over to sit near him, but not too obviously near. At his age – maybe early seventies – he could well have been living in Dunham for a long time and known Robert Luckhurst.

Once she was seated the conversation at the bar held her attention for a while. Some of the group had dispersed, but two cohorts remained flanking Tom Miller. Peter must have established his position remarkably early or else Miller was uncommonly eager to talk, because the discussion certainly seemed animated, and with so few people in the pub, it was easily audible. Miller's voice was – like his ego, she suspected – loud.

‘Just what was it like that day, Tom?' Peter was saying. ‘Long time ago, I appreciate that, and it must have been a confusing situation with so many people crowding into the folly. Still, it seems odd that Tanner consistently claimed his innocence.'

‘So would Jack the Ripper,' one of the cohorts snarled.

‘I read that Tanner had a witness to support him,' Peter continued blithely.

‘Yeah,' Tom drawled. ‘Mick Rider swore blind he walked back with him.'

‘But he didn't?'

‘I never saw Tanner after we left that folly place. I was at the back of the crowd, so he'd have been in front of me and he weren't. And before you ask, Frank here can tell you we walked back to the house together, didn't we, Frank?'

Frank received a dig in the ribs, and nodded. ‘Bloody Luckhurst.'

‘Did you actually talk to him at the folly?' Peter persevered.

‘Yeah. It was like this, weren't it? When we got inside, we could hear Tanner and Luckhurst going at it hammer and tongs in that study of his. Door was shut. So we stood there like chumps, not knowing what to do.'

‘What you want to know for?' Craig put in from behind the bar. ‘All this is old stuff.' He seemed a Miller partisan, which was natural enough, Georgia thought. He would have been a babe in arms at that time, though.

‘I prefer it from the horse's mouth,' Peter replied blandly, which earned him a suspicious look. ‘Could you hear what they were talking about, Tom?'

‘Not a lot. There was a lot of shouting and yelling.'

‘From inside the room or outside?' Peter asked.

Tom grinned. ‘Both.'

‘Tanner picked on you to blame for the murder. Was that only because of the footpath issue?'

Tom carefully replaced his glass on the counter and demanded a refill. ‘What else?' he said casually. (Rather too casually, Georgia thought.) ‘Anyway, like I said, I had this petition to hand over,' he continued, ‘so I banged on the door to get some action going. But it was that bastard Tanner who came out, wouldn't let us in. The chaps behind me started to push, and we were in what you might call a warlike situation instead of the quiet chat I wanted. I'm a quiet sort of fellow, ain't I?'

The cohorts speedily agreed.

‘But you did speak to Luckhurst himself?' Peter asked.

Tom Miller gave him a caustic look. ‘He weren't dead then, if that's what you mean. Far from it. Yeah, he moved his fat bum from the desk and came out to talk gentleman to gentleman.'

‘Any sign of a gun?'

‘Weren't looking for one.' Tom chortled. ‘And yes, unless he had a twin brother, it was Luckhurst, and Tanner wasn't having him waste time talking to the likes of me. Told us to get out. Some of my lads didn't like that, and a real shindig brewed up. I told Luckhurst that I'd see him another day with the petition, and I got my chaps out of there. It was turning ugly, and I don't like that sort of thing,' Tom said virtuously. ‘That was the last I saw of Bob Luckhurst – and of Tanner too, except in the dock.'

‘How many of you were there on the march?'

‘About thirty, maybe.'

‘Quite a lot. Would you have noticed where Tanner was while you were talking to Luckhurst?'

‘He wasn't in the room if that's what you're after. Outside in the lobby place. Must have nipped back in once we were out of there.'

‘But you didn't see him do so.'

Tom stared at him. ‘Look, mate, we chewed it over afterwards. The Old Bill took all our names and talked to the lot of us one by one. Satisfied?'

‘This witness of Tanner's – did you see him as you were on the way back?'

‘Sure did. But not Tanner. Look, chum, if Tanner had been fool enough to walk back with us he'd have been torn limb from limb for mucking up our march. We were fired up about it at the time, I can tell you. It was only thanks to Mrs Fettis that we kept the right of way, and now someone's done her in.'

Peter steered clear of that topic – rightly, Georgia thought. ‘Did you know Tanner well?'

Tom picked up his glass and drained a large portion of its contents with a flourish. ‘Sure. Used to go over to the old Edgar every now and then. But we weren't what you might call mates.'

‘News of the murder must have come as a shock.'

‘Too right it did. We was all back in the pub here. Heard the Old Bill's cars screaming by. “Summat's up,” I said. Then the police came barging in and wanted to know what we knew about it. We told 'em. They already knew Tanner had been there. Mrs Luckhurst told 'em.'

‘She wasn't at the folly though.'

Frank snorted. ‘Some woman was. Heard her voice.'

This was a new angle, Georgia thought hopefully. There had been no suggestion of this before.

‘Imagination, Frank,' Tom said unfazed. ‘I never saw her, and I was in that study.'

‘Heard it as we got there. It was some woman.'

Peter abandoned the mysterious female. ‘Apart from the footpath issue, did you like Bob Luckhurst?'

Georgia saw a general shaking of heads.

‘No,' Tom replied forcefully, ‘and here's for why. If you're going to be a country squire and lord of the manor you got responsibilities. He never took 'em on. Never showed his face except to complain about something. There were too many tractors, and not on the path. Too close to his blooming folly. Why should he worry? He had enough in the bank to put food on the table. Even if he didn't, he owned all that land. Had a duty to look out for us, know what I mean?'

Peter nodded.

‘He didn't have no love for the common man,' Tom continued viciously. ‘We could starve in our beds and he wouldn't have noticed. Respect has to be earned, don't it, and he didn't.'

‘He's wrong, you know.'

Georgia jumped at an unexpected voice and turned to look at the elderly man on her right. And now she remembered who he was. ‘I know where I've seen you before,' she exclaimed. ‘At the Gala.' It was the ‘peasant' who had bowed to her.

‘That's right,' he agreed. ‘So come a bit closer, m'dear, and I'll tell you why he's wrong.'

Georgia promptly did so. ‘Did you know Bob Luckhurst?' From his long lugubrious face she had put him down as a retired professional, but she was wrong.

‘Delivered his milk for thirty years,' he told her. ‘Very nice gentleman was Mr Luckhurst. He liked his milk fresh from the cow, or as fresh as the regulations let you. Quite a joke we used to have. Is it Buttercup's or Daisy's? “Daisy's,” I'd say. “It's a bit on the frisky side.” I had a herd myself once.'

‘You must have liked him a lot,' Georgia encouraged him.

‘Used to play chess with him most Monday evenings.'

Chess?
‘Was he a serious player?'

The man grinned. ‘Is there any other sort? But if you're asking if he minded me winning, no. “Your turn, Alf, I'll get my own back next week.”'

‘Did you play in Abbot's Folly or in the house?'

‘That folly. He liked it. It was his space. He was a kind sort of chap by nature. Not a good-deeder, but he kept his eyes open.'

‘One of the men standing at the bar was saying that he heard a woman's voice at the folly on the day he died. Was it usual for Mrs Luckhurst to go there with her husband? Could it have been her?'

‘I wouldn't know. I was on a campsite at Clacton when he was murdered.'

End of that line. ‘Did you know the Tanners?' she tried.

‘Went to the pub once or twice.'

End of that line too. ‘Did the Luckhursts have children?'

‘No. That's why the house had to be sold. Mrs Luckhurst was always too busy to have kids around. Pity. Bit of a tough nut was that lady. She would only have been about forty then, and she was a looker in her way. But what I'd call determined. Always nagging him about developing Stourdens into one of those tourist attractions.'

‘She was pushing hard for it?' A different impression than Amelia had given them.

‘Oh yes. One time I heard them rowing about it. It was winter so we set up the board in the house. They were in the next room. She wanted to give up her job and put Stourdens on the map with Jane Austen days and tours and so on. He wouldn't have it.'

‘Did he talk to you about Jane Austen?'

‘Now do I look that sort of chap? Me and Mr Luckhurst talked about sport. I'd a lot of time for him.'

‘That's really helpful,' Georgia said gratefully. ‘No one else we've talked to
liked
him. So I'm glad to know you did, Mr . . . er . . .'

‘Alfred Wheeler at your service. Wouldn't hurt a fly would Mr L. Makes me mad the way that Tanner murdered him – just over a blinking licence.'

‘You don't think he could have been innocent?'

‘How would I know? The jury didn't think so. Glad I wasn't here. I'd put in a quiet word for Tom Miller the last time I was at Stourdens. Tell you one thing – whatever Tom's telling that chap in the wheelchair you came in with, take it with a pinch of salt.'

‘I'll remember that. And the chap is my father.'

‘Looks a decent sort of bloke.'

‘He is.'

‘The sort to buy a chap a pint?'

Georgia laughed. ‘If not, his daughter is.'

‘What did you get out of that?' Peter asked as they drove away. They'd had a very poor sandwich lunch, and between their curiosity value to the pub and battling with tough bacon they hadn't been able to talk freely.

‘The words “good food” they boast about are misleading.' She'd been surprised that Craig hadn't enlisted his mother's services.

Peter laughed. ‘We suffer for our art.' A pause. ‘I wonder which woman's voice was heard in the folly that day?'

‘
If
there was one. And
if
it was Amelia Luckhurst's why didn't anyone else report it? Or did they? If she was there, where did she disappear to without being noticed?'

‘Unless it's a belated addition to the story, the police must have followed it up. She had good reason if, as Alfred Wheeler claims, Amelia and her husband were at loggerheads over Stourdens.'

‘But if so why didn't she develop Stourdens afterwards?'

‘She did in a way. She sold the house on the strength of the Austen connections. And thus,' he added triumphantly, ‘Austen
could
have been a factor in both murders.'

Georgia objected. ‘No, that's a bee in your bonnet. There's a difference between them. You're arguing that Bob's death came about because he stood in the way of development but that Laura's was for the opposite reason. Doesn't work.'

Peter rounded on her. ‘It does. Laura was having doubts about it. This Austen collection is beginning to loom large, isn't it? I wonder what it consists of, and how carefully the Luckhursts and Fettises went into the authentication question. Some of it at least seems to have been in the family for a long time, which is a good sign. And then there are the letters Tanner had, so don't forget the Clackingtons.'