by Simon Brett
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking you might feel better if you were to go to the police. Then you could put the whole business behind you.’
‘I doubt that. It’d just get me more involved. I’m sure there’d be endless questioning. And I’d probably become a suspect for having murdered the poor bastard.’
‘You’d soon be able to prove you had nothing to do with it.’
‘Maybe. But I just don’t feel strong enough for the stress of it all. Even though things seem finally to be going better for me, I’m still very fragile.’
‘I know. But I’d be here to support you.’
‘Yes, Jude. You’d be here. But you wouldn’t be in the interview room when the police started grilling me about my entire life history, would you?’
Jude was forced to admit that was true. There was a silence. Then she asked, ‘What did you mean by “things finally going better for you”?’
Sara blushed. ‘Oh, nothing really. Just, you know, thanks to you and thanks to other factors, I do feel I’m finally emerging from the state I’ve been in since … well, since things went wrong. I feel continuing life is now a possibility.’
‘And might one of the “other factors” be Kent Warboys?’
The blush deepened. ‘I have seen him a few times. But we’re taking things slowly. We’re being discreet.’
Jude wondered how being seen by Ted Crisp ‘all over each other’ in the Crown & Anchor came under the heading of ‘discreet’, but all she said was, ‘And it’s going well?’
‘I was beginning to dare to think so … but now I feel everything’s been shattered again.’ She looked pleadingly at Jude. ‘I’m just terrified of going back down to where I was.’
‘You won’t go back there,’ came the reassuring reply. ‘Yes, you’ll have setbacks, and each time you’ll fear the whole cycle is starting again, but it won’t. You’ll bounce back more quickly every time it happens.’
Sara Courtney grunted dissent, not willing to believe this was true.
‘Tell me about Kent. How did you meet him?’
‘At Polly’s. He came in a few times for coffee. He kept asking me questions. At first I thought he might be interested in me, but then I realized he was assessing the place, working out its development potential.’
‘Was this after Quintus Braithwaite had asked him to become involved in the project?’
‘Oh no, way before then. Kent had had his eyes on the development potential of Polly’s and other properties on Fethering Parade for ages. The way he told it, he heard Quintus going on about the SPCS Action Committee in the yacht club and thought they might have mutual interests.’
Which wasn’t exactly the way the Commodore had presented their connection, thought Jude without surprise.
‘And, Sara, when you discovered that it was the property Kent was interested in, were you disappointed?’
Sara nodded. ‘Yes. I felt stupid for having dared to hope that a man might even notice me. I went right back down to my lowest again. No confidence … thoughts of self-harming … you know, you’ve heard it all before.’
‘Yes. But Kent came back?’
‘Yes.’
‘And no longer asking questions about development potential?’
‘No. He asked me out for a drink. I thought he just wanted to pick my brains about Polly’s, but he didn’t mention the place. It was me he wanted to see.’ She sounded bewildered by the idea.
‘And why shouldn’t he? You’re gorgeous, Sara.’
‘Huh. Anyway, we got together and then it seemed to cool off, and I got all paranoid again. But he got back in touch and the last few weeks … We even went away together for a couple of nights earlier in the week … Actually to Paris.’
‘Very nice too.’
‘Yes, it was. And I felt really good. And now I’ve come back to this. The photo on the front of the Fethering Observer. And I just don’t need any more complications in my life.’
‘I can see that. So you’re not going to go to the police?’
‘No,’ said Sara Courtney firmly.
‘Seeing the photo should have cheered you up, you know.’
‘How do you work that out, Jude?’
‘Because, at the most basic level, it proves you’re not mad. When you saw the body, when you came to tell me about it, you didn’t know whether you’d seen it or not. You thought you might be hallucinating. At least what you saw in the paper this morning proves that what you saw was real.’
‘Yes. At the moment, though, I’m not sure whether that does make things better.’
‘Of course it does,’ said Jude briskly. Though the most empathetic person on God’s earth, she knew there were times when people needed a little nudging along. ‘So listen, Sara, you are faced with a dilemma. And I can’t tell you what you should do about it. It’s entirely your decision. Either you contact the police about what you saw in the store room at Polly’s, or you don’t. Over to you.’
Sara Courtney grimaced. ‘I can’t face it.’
‘All right,’ said Jude, being very careful to keep her voice unjudgemental. ‘Then what you saw in the store room at Polly’s is a secret between the two of us.’
She felt bad about lying. But she didn’t feel bad about having told Carole. Then something she saw in Sara’s face made her ask, ‘What, is there someone else who knows?’
The woman nodded. ‘I did mention it to Kent.’
FOURTEEN
Having already compromised her principle of client confidentiality, Jude could see no reason to keep from Carole what she had just heard from Sara. The woman had not, after all, been talking in the context of a healing session.
Carole, predictably given her Home Office background, had disapproved of Sara’s decision not to go to the police. ‘It’s the duty of every citizen to reveal any information they have that might be relevant to a police inquiry.’
‘So you’ve always done that, have you, Carole?’ asked Jude mischievously.
Her neighbour moved quickly on. There had been occasions during their previous investigations when Carole might have been accused of the same shortcoming as Sara. ‘So, including Kent, there are now four people who know about what Sara saw in the store room.’
‘Four we know of. There could be any number more. The police may be fighting off hundreds of witness statements from other people who saw the body. As is their custom, they’re keeping the progress of their inquiries irritatingly quiet.’
‘Yes.’ Carole looked thoughtful. It was the Friday morning. They were in the spotless kitchen of High Tor. Gulliver snuffled by the Aga in another pleasant dream of chasing something. ‘What we really need to find out is whether there is any connection between the deceased, Amos Green, and anyone else in Fethering.’
‘What kind of connection?’
‘That we don’t know. Maybe there is no connection. Maybe his murderer just chose to dump the body – at least temporarily – in the store room of Polly’s Cake Shop for reasons of his own. But I think the starting point of our investigation has to be looking for the connection.’
‘So how do we start?’
‘We start at the scene of the crime – or, if not that, the scene of the first discovery of the body.’
‘Polly’s Cake Shop?’
‘Precisely. Someone there might know something.’
‘Well, good luck trying to get anything out of Josie Achter. She is not the most sympathetic of interviewees. And she said she would never see me again.’
‘She might see me.’
‘I suppose everything’s possible, but I’d be surprised if she did.’
‘Worth asking.’
‘Maybe. And under what pretext would you be wanting to see her?’
‘As one of the people who found the body on Fethering Beach.’
‘She will deny having any connection with the body on Fethering Beach. In fact, I’m pretty sure she does have no connection with the body on Fethering Beach.’
‘I’ll think of something, Jude.’
‘Well, good luck.’
The number of the flat over Polly’s was in the phone book, so Carole rang it as soon as Jude had gone back to Woodside Cottage to deal with a client.
The phone was answered by a young female voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Oh, good morning. My name is Carole Seddon. Is that Josie Achter?’
‘No, it’s her daughter Rosalie.’
‘Is your mother there?’
‘No, she’s moved to a rented flat in Hove … just till the purchase of her own flat there goes through.’
‘Ah, do you have a number for her there?’
‘No.’
‘A mobile?’
‘No. My mother doesn’t give out her mobile number.’ Carole was meeting the level of co-operation Jude had warned her to expect.
‘Could I leave a message for her?’
‘What’s it about?’ the girl asked suspiciously.
‘Well, I’m one of the people who found the man’s body on Fethering Beach Thursday before last.’
‘Oh, are you?’ The tone of voice had changed to a mixture of caution and curiosity.
‘Yes.’
‘And why did you want to talk to my mother about that?’
‘I’m talking to lots of people,’ Carole lied. ‘Trying to find out whether the dead man had any connection with Fethering.’
‘Ah.’ There was a silence. Then the girl said, ‘I don’t mind talking to you.’
Because it was lunchtime, Carole had intended only to have a small glass of Sauvignon Blanc, but Ted had already poured a large one before she could give her order. Rosalie asked for a vodka and tonic.
They sat opposite each other in one of the Crown and Anchor’s alcoves. The pub’s doors facing the sea, open all summer, had now been closed against the busy wind roaring up Fethering Beach. It was only just after twelve and they had the place more or less to themselves.
‘Well, thank you for agreeing to talk to me,’ said Carole once they’d clinked glasses.
‘Not a problem.’
Like her mother, Rosalie Achter was one of the many people Carole knew by sight. She also knew their names, their employment and family circumstances, but she’d never actually spoken to them. She suspected that Rosalie Achter probably knew roughly the same amount about her. It was how things worked in Fethering.
‘I wondered,’ Rosalie went on, ‘why you thought my mother might have anything to do with the body you discovered.’
‘No particular reason. As I said, I’m talking to a lot of people.’
‘Why?’
It was a good question, and one to which Carole had to scrabble around to find a good answer. To her annoyance, the only one she could come up with was rather flimsy and feminine. ‘Well, I think it must be that actually finding that body was rather a shock. It’s upset me more than I expected it to. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen a dead body before. But this one was in rather a horrible state and, I don’t know, I just thought maybe finding out more about who he was might sort of humanize him, make him not so much a spook as a human being.’
The words didn’t convince their speaker, but Rosalie Achter appeared not to hear anything odd in them. ‘Well, presumably you’ve heard the news and seen the local paper?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you do actually know who he was?’
‘Someone called Amos Green, yes.’
‘And what makes you think he might have had something to do with my mother?’
The girl looked at her earnestly. Her hair was a brown so dark as to be nearly black. Though neatly shaped, it sprang out of her head in wiry profusion. Her features were sharp, eyes very black and skin dark. There was an almost manic quality to her body language and the way she spoke.
‘As I say,’ said Carole reassuringly, ‘I’m just talking to people.’
Another limp answer, but fortunately Rosalie didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, I’d never seen him before. I suppose it’s possible my mother knew him before I was born, but I’ve never heard her mention anyone called Amos Green.’
‘Have you spoken to her since he was formally identified?’
‘Yes. She rang me yesterday.’
‘And did she make any comment about the body?’
‘She just repeated some of the things she’s said before about Fethering.’
‘Not enthusiastic?’ asked Carole, remembering the report Jude had given of her encounter with Josie Achter.
‘She loathes the place. She said that the finding of dead bodies on the beach could not make her hate Fethering more than she already does.’
‘Quite extreme views.’
‘My mother is a creature of extremes … as I have learned, spending the last eleven years living alone with her.’
‘So you mean it’s eleven years since your parents divorced?’
‘Yes. Nearly twelve. Getting away to university was quite a relief, let me tell you. Even if I only went as far as Brighton. Getting away from all that Jewish crap my mother force-fed me with. I don’t believe a word of it – don’t think I ever did – but my mother kept on and on about it. At uni, though, I started for the first time in my life to be my own person. And there was no way I was going to live back here after I graduated.’
‘So where are you living?’
‘Still in Brighton. Got a very manky flat there, not in what the good people of Fethering would regard as a nice area, but at least it’s my own.’
‘You’ve bought it?’
‘I wish. No, it’s rented. When I say it’s “my own”, I mean that it’s my own space, a space on which my mother can’t encroach.’
‘Ah. Brighton of course is not that far from Hove, where your mother is going to be in her new—’
‘It’s quite far enough away, thank you. And I’ve got a network of friends there – people my mother and the nice people of Hove wouldn’t want to mix with. Given a bit of luck, I’ll never have to see her again.’
‘Ah. Local Fethering gossip used to say—’
‘Carole, I’ve already stopped listening. I stop listening every time someone mentions “local Fethering gossip”. It almost always means uninformed lies.’
‘You may have a point. Anyway, one of the “uninformed lies” which had been going round Fethering was that you were going to take over the running of Polly’s Cake Shop when your mother retired.’
‘She may have had that idea. I never did.’
‘But you studied Hospitality and Catering.’
‘You can do that without going into a family business.’
‘I agree. But you do still work for your mother at Polly’s.’
‘That’s only because I haven’t yet got my head together to do something else. When the sale of the place finally goes through, I’m off out of here.’
‘You’ll get a job in Brighton?’
‘Probably. There’s always plenty of bar work and waitressing around there.’
‘Yes, I’m sure there is. Going back to your parents’ divorce …’
‘What about it?’
Carole, still recollecting the pains of her own split from David, trod carefully. ‘Presumably that was a big trauma for you?’
‘Yes. I was like twelve. It’s not a great age to have your whole life suddenly turned upside down.’
‘Do you still see your father?’
‘Not very often. Not as often as I’d like to see him. If my mother had her way, I’d never see him.’
‘Do you know what led to the divorce?’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Had either of them got someone else?’
‘Not so far as I know. Though I wish for my father’s sake that he had found someone. He deserved something nice in his life. I’m glad to say he has actually remarried since.’
‘Were you at the wedding?’
‘God, no. Not invited.’ And the omission was clearly still a painful one.
‘And as for yo
ur mother? Did she have someone else?’
‘I wouldn’t wish her on any man. All I recollect from the time they were together was my mother constantly sniping away at my father, criticizing him, undermining him. And she continued to do that right through my teens, all the time we were living in the flat over Polly’s, just the two of us.’ The girl’s dark eyes glazed over. Carole was beginning to wonder whether the vodka and tonic was her first of the morning. ‘I’d like to have had a relationship with my father. My mother saw to it that that was not possible.’
‘And what about your own relationships?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Did your mother encourage you to have boyfriends?’
‘Hardly. I wouldn’t have wanted to introduce any boy I fancied to her. Put him off me for life. So any relationships I did have I made sure she knew nothing about them. Which was fine once I got to uni.’
‘And is fine now?’
‘Are you asking me if I’ve got a boyfriend at the moment?’
‘Well …’
‘Bloody nosey, aren’t you?’ It was an accusation Carole would have been hard put to it to deny. ‘Well, if you want to know, I had a long-term relationship which broke up four months ago. Since then it’s been nothing but the odd one-night stand.’
‘Are you still upset about it?’
‘Still upset? I’ve been upset all my bloody life, as far back as I can remember. Anyone born to a mother like mine would be permanently upset.’
Carole rather wished she had Jude with her. The conversation was getting uncomfortably psychological, and Jude was always better at dealing with that stuff than she was.
‘Going back to the body, the one I and my friend found on—’
‘I know which body you’re talking about. Incidentally, at the police press conference they said he’d been killed by a gunshot wound. Did you know that before you heard it from them?’
‘Yes. My friend and I saw the bullet hole in his temple.’
‘Ah. Anything else unusual you noticed?’
‘Well, his legs appeared to have been tied together with rope, but that had broken.’
‘And what did that make you think?’
‘It made me think that perhaps the body had been tied to some heavy weight to take him down to the bottom of the sea. And when the rope broke he had floated free again.’
