Read Online Murder Takes the Stage by Amy Myers - Free Book Online

else.’
    â€˜Cherry Harding?’ Peter asked.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Anyone else’s?’
    A glare. ‘Can’t remember everything.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜Why do you think he was acquitted?’
    â€˜Hell knows. The gov was hopping mad. The judge looked flabbergasted, so the gov said, when the verdict was given.’
    â€˜It seems it didn’t do Tom Watson any good.’
    James shrugged. ‘So what? We all knew he did it.’
    â€˜I do not love thee, Dr Fell, The reason why I know full well,’ Georgia misquoted savagely as they left Tenterden.
    â€˜You don’t have to love him to take note of what he says,’ Peter pointed out.
    â€˜I noticed no signs of a wife around.’
    â€˜He could be a widower.’
    â€˜It was worthwhile going to see him,’ she conceded. ‘Does that satisfy you?’
    â€˜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