The Killing in the Café

by Simon Brett

  ‘That’s a good point,’ said Quintus Braithwaite, anticipating the rejection of Arnold Bloom’s suggestion.

  ‘But I still think,’ his opponent went on, ‘that ascertaining her views on the situation would be a necessary preliminary step. It’s important we know whether we’re likely to receive co-operation or obstruction from her.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Chair of the committee said shortly. ‘We’ll put it to the vote. Will those in favour of checking out Josie Achter’s attitude to what we’re doing please raise your right hands?’

  To his annoyance he saw that more of those present supported Arnold Bloom than him. It was then discussed which committee member should make the approach to Josie Achter to find out her position. Sara Courtney announced that Jude knew the woman in question through a Pilates connection.

  And to Jude’s annoyance she found out that not only was she on the SPCS Action Committee, she had also been delegated by it to approach Josie Achter.

  SIX

  The next morning, the Thursday, Carole Seddon had a call from a very worried-sounding Stephen. Her son told her that his wife Gaby had suffered a small amount of bleeding and was in hospital. The doctors had reassured him that this was not unusual at her stage of pregnancy, and if it was a sign of labour starting, the baby was sufficiently developed to be viable. But he didn’t sound reassured.

  Carole immediately asked if there was anything she could do, like looking after her granddaughter Lily while Stephen was at the hospital, and it turned out that that was exactly the offer he had hoped she would make.

  She threw a few overnight things into a bag, taking four days’ worth of underwear because she didn’t know how long her stay in Fulham would be. And then she was faced with the problem of what to do with her Labrador Gulliver. As she went downstairs to her immaculate kitchen, he looked up from his favourite position in front of the Aga reproachfully, as if to say, ‘You nearly forgot about me, didn’t you?’

  There were kennels she had used before, most recently when she went with Jude for a fortnight’s holiday in Turkey, but they weren’t close by and she didn’t know whether they’d take on dogs for an undefined period. So instead Carole hurried round from High Tor to Woodside Cottage to ask if Jude could look after Gulliver.

  This was not completely unprecedented. Her neighbour had stepped into the breach before and, when she heard the situation, immediately volunteered to take the dog.

  Carole said he could be left in High Tor if Jude had to go out or had a client to treat and that it might be simpler to feed him in her house because all his stuff was there. ‘And he needs a good walk twice a day. As you know, I tend to take him on Fethering Beach before seven every morning …’ She caught the expression in Jude’s eye. ‘… though it is of course up to you what time you take him out … and indeed where you take him.’

  ‘I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’

  Gulliver seemed to understand her tone of voice – or maybe he’d just recognized the word ‘walk’ that his owner had uttered. He looked up lovingly at Jude and wagged his sand-coloured tail.

  Carole made a considerable drama of giving Jude a key to High Tor. It might have been imagined that, being so close, the two neighbours would have a copy of each other’s keys on a permanent basis, but that didn’t take into account Carole Seddon’s attitude to security. Though she always had a key to Woodside Cottage on a hook in her kitchen, she only lent one of hers to Jude on an emergency-by-emergency basis. If she were honest with herself, this was because she thought her neighbour laid-back to the point of being scatter-brained, and worried that the key might get lost under the piles of cushions and throws in her cluttered sitting room. Or, worse, might be stolen by one of Jude’s flakier clients.

  Anyway, the arrangements were quickly made. Jude was surprised at how panicked her neighbour seemed to be by the news about Gaby, but she didn’t get a chance to ask further questions. A very tight-faced Carole was soon driving in her showroom-clean Renault towards Fulham.

  With the result that Jude hadn’t had time to tell her about the previous night’s meeting of the SPCS Action Committee at Hiawatha.

  There had been no call from Carole by the time Jude left Woodside Cottage on the Friday morning, so she just hoped that no news was good news. Her destination was Polly’s Cake Shop. With Sara Courtney as her go-between, and playing on their connection through the Pilates class, Jude had fixed a meeting with Josie Achter. She was still annoyed at having been dragooned on to the committee, but she was determined to discharge efficiently the duties that she had been given, and then work out her exit strategy.

  The message that came back from Sara had suggested Josie Achter was not about to be very accommodating. Friday was a busy day for her. The only time she could make a meeting was at eight in the morning. As the supplicant, Jude was in no position to argue.

  They had agreed that Sara would let her in at seven forty-five for her meeting with Josie at eight o’clock, which was also the time at which Polly’s Cake Shop opened to the general public.

  Once inside, Jude said, ‘Well, can you show me?’

  ‘Show you what?’ asked Sara, already changed ready for work into her black dress, white apron and cap.

  ‘The store room. Where you saw the dead body.’

  The young woman blushed. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’

  ‘You don’t know whether you can let me see it?’

  ‘No. I don’t know whether I saw it.’

  ‘The body?’

  She nodded awkwardly. ‘Yes, I … I was in a bad state then. You know, like when I first came to consult you. I was seeing things.’

  ‘You gave me a pretty convincing description of the man you found.’ Sara looked even more uneasy. ‘And then there was the blood on your handkerchief …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you put that in the wash?’

  A shake of the head. ‘It still worries me … the thought of going back to where I was when … you know, mentally.’

  ‘Yes. You’re not going back there, Sara,’ said Jude forcefully.

  ‘But if I’m starting to see things that aren’t there again …’

  ‘And you seriously think it wasn’t there? You didn’t see a body at all?’

  ‘No, I’m sure I didn’t.’

  But Sara still sounded confused and Jude wasn’t so sure. ‘Well, whether you did or didn’t, you can still show me the store room.’

  Silently, buttoning up objections, Sara Courtney did as she was told. She led Jude through the kitchen, where a whistling chef was opening plastic boxes of bacon and sausages ready for the breakfast orders. He waved cheerily at the two of them. ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ he said to Sara.

  ‘Morning, Hammo. This is my friend Jude.’

  ‘Morning, other gorgeous,’ he said. ‘I’m Hammo.’ He wore a striped bandana tight round gingerish hair and his green eyes flickered with mischief.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  He must have read a slight hesitation in her voice and felt an explanation was needed. ‘Yes, Hammo. Unusual name, I admit. And it’s nothing to do with the quality of my ham sandwiches. It comes from school – take too long to explain but its origin follows impeccable twelve-year-old logic.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for that.’

  ‘Can I get you a coffee or something, Jude?’

  ‘No, just had some, thank you.’ And no doubt, she reckoned, she’d be offered more when she got up to Josie’s flat.

  Hammo looked up at the sound of someone else coming in through the street door. ‘Ooh, I’m spoilt for choice this morning, aren’t I? Another gorgeous woman coming into my kitchen. And a highly intelligent one too.’

  ‘You don’t fool me, Hammo,’ said an approaching female voice, smoked to a turn by cigarettes. ‘I know you only want me for my body.’

  Jude turned to face the newcomer. A tall woman with grey hair bundled into an old-fashioned ballet dancer’s bun, she wore a bright orange c
oat and pink shiny boots.

  ‘Morning, Binnie,’ said Sara and Hammo together. ‘This is Binnie Swales who—’

  But the woman called Binnie interrupted the introduction. ‘I know you. Jude, isn’t it? You like éclairs.’

  ‘I certainly do. Yes, you’ve often served me over the years.’

  ‘Over the years?’ Binnie blew out a sceptically thin column of air. ‘Yes, a good few years they’ve been too. I’ve been here since before the Flood.’

  ‘Oh, you mean three or four years ago, when those freak high tides—’

  ‘I was referring to the biblical one,’ said Binnie. Then she set off towards the Ladies. ‘I must just slip into something less garish,’ she said.

  Hammo and Sara grinned at each other. Binnie Swales was clearly something of a character around Polly’s Cake Shop.

  Hammo returned to his breakfast preparations as Sara said, ‘Come on. Have a look.’ And opened the store-room door.

  It was exactly as she had described it. Two large upright freezers against one wall and deep wooden shelves on the other. A lot of mostly janitorial supplies stacked up on them. The only food items were big boxes of dried packaged items like crisps, noodles and pasta. The whole area was scrubbed spotless. Any residual thoughts in Jude’s mind that there might be visible evidence of a corpse having rested on the store-room floor nearly a fortnight before were quickly dispelled.

  She looked around the space. ‘And where did you say you saw the gun?’

  It was a cheap shot which she wasn’t very proud of, taking Sara off balance like that, but it worked, eliciting the reply, ‘On the windowsill by the back door.’

  ‘Right.’ Jude moved quickly on before Sara became aware of her lapse. ‘I noticed the door wasn’t locked. Does everyone have access to this room?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Whoever needs to stock up from something in here, they just come and get it.’

  Jude nodded. Apart from the one through which they had entered, there was another more solid-looking door at the far end. ‘That’s the one that leads out to the beach?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Well, it leads out to the yard, then the service road, then the dunes.’

  ‘Can you open it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Sara pushed a horizontal bar on the door and it swung open. The wind was riding up over Fethering Beach and the smell of the sea was almost overpowering.

  ‘Can the door be opened from the outside?’

  ‘Not without a key, no.’

  ‘And is it on the burglar alarm system?’

  ‘Yes. When that’s set, it works for all the entrances to the café.’

  ‘And what about the flat upstairs? Is that on the same system?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought to ask. But I would assume so.’

  Jude wandered out into the little yard. It was tidy and uncluttered. Wide gates leading to the service road were held closed by a chain and padlock. When opened they would have allowed delivery lorries to back in to get as near as possible to the store room. They could also presumably, if required, have allowed a corpse to enter and depart.

  She turned back and looked into the dark eyes of Sara Courtney. ‘Did you really see a dead body in there?’ she asked.

  Sara broke eye contact. ‘I prefer not to think about it.’

  Which was, Jude reflected, a rather strange answer. Particularly from someone who had just inadvertently admitted to having seen a gun on the store room’s windowsill.

  The sitting room of Josie Achter’s flat looked out over the grey expanse of Fethering Beach, but its interior was functional rather than comfortable. Though everything was perfectly clean and tidy, the place looked somehow unloved. There were no family photographs on display and the pictures on the walls appeared to have no personal resonance. The lack of emotional investment in the place was emphasized by the cardboard boxes on the floor into which Josie had been packing books.

  Jude’s expectation of being offered coffee was not realized and the vibes she was getting from the owner of Polly’s Cake Shop suggested that her presence there was something of an imposition.

  After truncated pleasantries about Pilates, Jude cut straight to the chase. ‘You are aware, I hope, Josie, of a plan to run Polly’s as a Community Project?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours about it. Not much happens in Fethering you don’t hear rumours about.’

  Her voice had a nasal twang. She was short. Her purple trousers and tight black woollen top seemed to restrain her body, almost corset it. A gold motif round the neck of the top was echoed by the gold leather of her sandals. Her hair was cut short, black with a purplish sheen.

  ‘And what do you think about it?’

  Josie shrugged. ‘What does it matter what I think about it?’

  ‘Well, you are the current owner of the place.’

  ‘Yes, but as soon as I get the price I want for it, I’ll be out of here.’

  ‘And you don’t care about its future?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Well, you’ve invested so much time and effort into it.’

  ‘It’s my business. What is a business except for something you invest time and effort into? Then when you decide to leave, you want to cash in.’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t care whether it continues to operate as a café or not?’

  ‘There’s a logic for it to continue operating as a café. Maybe I can get a better price if I sell it as a going concern. If someone offers me more, I don’t care what they want to do with the place.’

  Jude dared to joke, ‘There’s a local rumour it’s going to be sold and reopen as a sex shop. Would you approve of that?’

  Her question only prompted another shrug. ‘Be no skin off my nose.’

  ‘But don’t you feel any responsibility for your regular customers?’

  ‘Why should I? Do they feel any responsibility for me?’

  ‘Not responsibility perhaps, but they feel a loyalty to you.’

  ‘Do they? Do you think they would notice if suddenly one day they don’t see me in the café, they see another owner? It wouldn’t make a single one of them blow the froth off their cappuccino.’

  ‘You don’t make it sound as if you’ve enjoyed your time running Polly’s Cake Shop?’

  ‘It’s a business. It’s my work. Why should I enjoy my work? The vast majority of people in this country don’t enjoy theirs.’

  ‘No, but surely in the hospitality business you have to maintain at least a front of being welcoming?’

  ‘And that’s exactly what I have maintained – a front. Listen, Jude, I bought this business at the end of a very sticky divorce, when my bastard ex-husband and his bastard lawyer screwed me out of a lot of the money I should have got by way of settlement.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask the reason for the divorce? Did your husband find someone else?’

  ‘No, he didn’t have the balls to do something like that. In a way, I would have preferred it if he had. No, the divorce was on the grounds of his “unreasonable behaviour”.’

  ‘That could cover a great variety of things.’

  ‘It certainly could. And if you think I’m about to itemize them, you’ve got another think coming. So, given the circumstances that made me end up here, are you telling me I should be sentimental about Polly’s Cake Shop? It’s never been more than a means to an end. That end is funding my retirement. I’m shortly to retire and my only concern is to get as much money for the place as I can.’

  ‘Are you planning to move away from Fethering?’

  ‘You bet your life I am. The moment I see this village for the last time cannot come soon enough.’

  ‘Right.’ A lot of the supplementary questions that Jude had been planning now seemed to be irrelevant. Having heard Josie’s views on Fethering, it was clearly not the moment to ask whether she felt a sense of community about the place. (She had a feeling that Josie’s views on ‘community’ would make Carole’s sound positively benign.) Nor was it time to
enquire whether, as suggested by Flora Claire, she might consider selling Polly’s Cake Shop at a lower price ‘for the sake of Fethering’. The important part of the interview with Josie Achter could be reckoned to have come to an end.

  And she didn’t seem the kind of woman who’d appreciate small talk. Jude was preparing the right kind of farewell remarks when footsteps were heard hurrying up from the café and the door opened to admit a short slender girl with wiry dark brown hair, dressed in jeans and T-shirt but carrying a black waitress’s uniform. Jude thought there was a pretty strong chance that she was Josie’s daughter Rosalie.

  ‘Morning,’ said the girl on the way through the sitting room to the rest of the flat.

  Josie did not even acknowledge the greeting, and certainly didn’t make any introductions. She just called out, ‘Ros, I’ve asked you not to change up here. You don’t live here any more. You can change down in the Ladies like the rest of the staff.’

  There was no response from the bedroom.

  ‘Your daughter?’ asked Jude just for confirmation.

  ‘Yes.’ No further comment or elaboration.

  ‘I heard a rumour that at one stage there was a thought of her taking over the business.’

  ‘As I said, there are a lot of rumours in Fethering. Doesn’t necessarily mean any of them are true.’

  At this point Rosalie, now in waitress kit, came hurrying back through the sitting room. She wasn’t carrying her street clothes, so presumably would be returning to the flat to change back at the end of her shift. But as she made her way to the door leading down to the café, neither she nor Josie said anything.

  Jude, whose work had often involved her in the complexities of mother-and-daughter relationships, knew that there could be many explanations – including her own presence – for their silence.

  But she thought it was worth continuing the previous conversation. ‘I’d heard that Rosalie did a Hospitality and Catering course in Brighton.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Some people thought that was with a view to her taking over the business.’