by Simon Brett
“Which could bring us back to the mysterious Joan.”
“It could, but it needn’t.” His hand was now resting gently on Jude’s shoulder. She could have told him to remove it, but she didn’t want a scene. Not yet, not before she’d got some more information out of him. Besides, she was a grown woman. She could look after herself. And having his hand on her shoulder was not a wholly unpleasant sensation.
“So you deny that you’re having a relationship with her?”
“I’ve told you. It’d be more than my job’s worth. And it’d be far too public for me to do such a thing. A campus like this is a breeding ground for gossip. Everyone would immediately know all the details. How could I possibly manage it?”
“This place seems quite private. We didn’t see anyone when we came in here this evening, did we?”
“The CCTV cameras would have clocked us.”
“Yes, and the security people might be interested in me. Because I have nothing to do with the university. But you…it’s part of your job to come and go as you please. And presumably Joan’s enrolled as a student here, so there’s nothing odd about her wandering around. If she’s studying Drama, why shouldn’t she come into the Drama Studio?”
“Jude, might I say that you do have rather a one-track mind?”
“Maybe.”
His hand was now holding her shoulder rather than just resting on it. And he was moving his face closer, as if to kiss her.
Jude, tempted but strong, held up a hand. “I came here because you said you kept the admission files here.”
“Yes, they’re on my laptop.” Recognizing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her at that moment, he raised himself out of the sofa’s depths. “I’ll get it.” He went back to the lighting box.
Jude swallowed the rest of her whisky. She topped up her grubby glass from the bottle on the floor. She looked around the room. Andy Constant’s convenient little seduction venue. Against the walls were racks of costumes, rifles, banners, swords, kitchen equipment, stepladders. All the impedimenta of the fantasies worked out by the students in the space. The fantasies which were engendered and controlled by Andy Constant during workshop sessions. And others that he realized out of academic hours.
He returned, holding his laptop open and already keying instructions into it. “What period were you talking about?”
“He came over to England round the end of last September. Any time since then, I imagine.”
“University term starts at the end of September. He’d have had to apply much earlier than that if he wanted to enrol as a full-time student…”
“Are there part-time courses?”
“Some.”
“Could you check those too, please?”
“Jude, I would be within my rights to ask you why the hell you want to know all this stuff?”
“If you did, I’d reply that I want to know why Tadeusz Jankowski was murdered.”
“Whatever the reason for his death, I can assure you it had nothing to do with Clincham College.”
“The information I’m asking you to check could maybe prove that. You do have it there, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he replied tartly. “The main records are over in the Admin block, but I keep copies of everything here. It is my job, you know.” He seemed to resent Jude’s insinuation that he might be less than diligent in his duties. Looking at the laptop screen, he said, “No, the name’s not here.”
“May I have a look?”
He sighed at her suspicion, but obediently sat down and placed the laptop on her plump knees. “OK, we’re in the file ‘ALLAPP’, short for ‘All Applications’. As you see, the dates are on different tabs. Check along the period you are interested in. The applicants’ names, you’ll see, are in alphabetical order.”
Jude went through the files for the previous nine months. The name ‘Tadeusz Jankowski’ did not appear. She handed the laptop back.
“So now do you believe me?”
“About that,” said Jude, “yes.”
He deliberately closed the laptop and placed it down on the floor. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and moved it quickly round to her neck. He drew her face towards his.
He had cleaned his teeth. He had at least made that effort to meet her. She could smell the fresh mint from his mouth. She could feel the strength of his eyes as they locked with hers. And he did have very kissable lips.
Jude had no puritan instincts in sexual matters. She tended to let her actions be dictated by the promptings of instinct. Such an attitude had frequently led to disaster, but the way to that disaster had sometimes been a pretty one.
Their mouths engaged. It was pleasant. He seemed in no hurry. His lips teased and nibbled at hers, his tongue flicking against her teeth.
Their eyes had disengaged, and over Andy’s shoulder Jude could see the contours of the room, the black walls washed by honey-coloured light, the jumble of stage equipment against the wall. She felt his hand slip over the curves of her shoulder towards the more rewarding curves of her breast. She liked the feeling. She didn’t like the man, but she liked what he was doing to her.
Suddenly her eye was caught by a flash of colour amongst the black of the props. She saw the outline of a face, red, with two black and white eyes over a circular mouth.
Propped up against the wall of the Drama Studio was a red-painted guitar.
Twenty-nine
“He said he had no idea where it came from,” Jude announced. “He’d asked the students to bring in musical instruments for some workshop they were doing. One of them brought in that guitar.”
“Which one?”
“He claimed he couldn’t remember, Carole. He didn’t notice. A lot of them brought stuff in.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“From what I know of Andy Constant, I’d think it was unlikely.”
“Hm.” Carole looked at her neighbour curiously. “And how did you actually come to be in the Drama Studio with him?”
For the first time in their acquaintance, she saw Jude look embarrassed. “Oh, I was just checking out with him whether Tadek had ever applied to the university.”
“And Andy Constant kept those records in the Drama Studio?”
“Yes, he did.” Although she was speaking absolute truth, Jude found herself blushing like the biggest liar on earth.
“I see,” said Carole witheringly. “Anyway, that ties in with what I found out from Melanie Newton. About the connection with the University of Clincham.”
“Yes, I haven’t congratulated you properly yet on tracking her down. That was a brilliant bit of detective work.”
Carole glowed in the beam of the compliment, which also, as Jude had intended, took the focus off her own discomfiture. “Oh, it was Gerald Hume who gave me the lead. Once I’d got the photo from him, the rest was straightforward.”
“I’m still impressed.”
“Well, thank you.” Now it was Carole’s turn to blush.
“So I don’t think it would be too great a leap of logic to conclude that the girl from the University of Clincham with whom Tadek fell in love was the one who had taken the guitar from his room. And who then handed it over when Andy Constant asked them to bring instruments.”
“So who would that be? One of his Drama set, obviously. And the only one we know about of those is Sophia Urquhart.”
There’s also the mysterious Joan. The one I said he was having an affair with?
“I thought you said he denied having an affair with her.”
“Yes, but Andy Constant is not the kind of man whose truthfulness I’d trust very far in matters of relationships. He’s a born liar.”
“So you haven’t even met this Joan?”
“Well, I wonder…You remember that day when we went to see Andy up at the college, and he took us for coffee?”
“Yes.”
“The girl who came to fetch him…do you remember her?”
“Dark-haired? Looke
d a bit Spanish?”
Jude nodded. “I saw her with him again just before that show I went to see. And she was in the pub afterwards, but then I didn’t notice her there when Sophia gave Andy the message about Joan not being able to make it. I reckon there’s a strong chance she’s the one.”
“So how do we contact her?”
“Through the college—or university or whatever it wants to call itself.”
“We didn’t have much luck there when we were trying to find out about Tadek.”
“No, but he’d never been enrolled. We’ve got more to go on with this girl. We know what she looks like, we know she’s studying Drama with Andy Constant and we know her first name’s Joan.”
“Any idea of her second name?”
“No…” Jude suddenly remembered. “But I’ve got the programme for Rumours of Wars upstairs. I know she wasn’t performing in the show, but I’ll bet her name’s there in the backstage crew!”
She rose excitedly from her sofa, but in the hall met an equally excited Zofia running downstairs, clutching Jude’s laptop. “I’ve heard from Pavel!” the girl shouted.
“What, about the songs?”
“Yes. He’s back from—Krakow, he reply to my email. And we were correct. Tadek did write a song to his English girl. He sent a copy to Pavel.”
“Do you have the lyrics for it?”
“Better. I have a recording.” Zofia bustled into the sitting room and, after a quick greeting to Carole, placed the laptop on a pile of books on one of Jude’s cluttered coffee tables. “You are ready to hear it?”
“Yes, please,” said both women eagerly.
Zofia pressed a key and from the laptop’s tiny speakers came the strumming of an acoustic guitar. Then followed a voice, an innocent light tenor, singing in heavily accented English.
You’re my love and I love you like hell,
Though I don’t speak your language so well.
You’re the best in all the whole world,
You are all that I want in a girl.
I love you in good or bad weather,
I love things that we do together —
Sing, make love, talk on the phone.
All the time you’re just like Joan.
Carole and Jude exchanged satisfied looks as their suspicions were confirmed. Tadek’s song went into its chorus.
Just like Joan,
I’m overthrown
By the power of your love.
Just like Joan,
You’re in my zone,
Like an angel from above.
Oh, how big my love has grown.
It’s because you’re…just like Joan.
There was a silence as the song ended. Tears glinted in Zofia’s eyes. Hearing her brother’s voice sounding so close and real brought home to her once again the hard fact of her loss. To fight off sentiment, she said in matter-of-fact tones, “I think that is Tadek’s first attempt to write a song in English.”
“Then it’s pretty good,” Jude assured her.
“And,” said Carole, “it also confirms the suspicion we’ve had about who his mystery woman is.” They quickly brought the girl up to speed with their thinking, and told her about the pretty dark-haired girl they had seen at the University of Clincham.
“Then I must see her,” said Zofia immediately. “I must go to the university and talk to her.”
“Exactly what we were thinking.”
“But we must be careful,” Carole cautioned. “If she has something to hide, she’s going to be on the lookout.”
“Yes, she doesn’t want anyone to make the connection between her and your brother,” said Jude. “I think she has already gone some way to cover her tracks.”
The girl looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”
“Look, you say your brother was devoted to his guitar?”
“Yes.”
“So, however much he loved a girl, he’d never give it to her, would he?”
“No.”
“Which means that if—as seems likely—this Joan was the one who gave the guitar to Andy Constant, she must have got it without your brother’s knowledge. Marek said, when he waited in Tadek’s room on the day he died there were no signs of his music, no guitar, no CDs, no tapes. I think Joan must have gone into the room and cleared it all out.”
“Because it would link him to her?” Carole nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. And if she did do that, it means she must have known that he was dead…or about to die. So she either killed him herself or at least knows who did.”
“I think, Zosia,” said Jude, “that you should get back to your brother’s friend Pavel again. He might know more about this Joan. After all, if, as we think, they got together at the music festival in Leipzig, then Pavel might well have met her.”
“Yes, that is good idea. But we must see her as soon as possible,” said Zofla urgently. “We know she is called Joan. Do we have her other name?”
“Actually I was just on my way to check that when you came downstairs. I think her full name is likely to be in the programme for the show I saw at Clincham College.”
Jude hurried back up to her bedroom to fetch the printed sheet she had been given at the university theatre, but she came down more slowly, studying the text.
Back in the sitting room, the two women looked up at her expectantly.
“Well, that’s very odd,” said Jude. “There’s no one on this programme whose first name’s Joan.”
Thirty
“You’re the expert in surveillance work.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jude.”
“Come on, who was it who did that very successful stake-out to find Melanie Newton?”
“Well…” Carole couldn’t help being flattered.
“And what we’re trying to do here is much easier.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. We know the girl is a student at the University of Clincham, we know she’s doing Drama, and we know her name’s Joan. Much more information than you had when you tracked down Melanie.”
“Yes, but we didn’t get much cooperation when we went to the university reception asking about Tadek, did we?”
“No. That’s why I’m talking about surveillance. Look, there’s only one entrance to the university. Which means all the students have to go through it every day.”
“Don’t they have halls of residence? For the minority of students who don’t live at home? If they do, a student could stay inside on the campus as long as he or she wanted to.”
“They do have halls of residence, but they’re not right on the campus. Andy Constant told me. So all the students do have to go in and out through the main gates.”
“So, Jude, are you suggesting I spend the next few days sitting in the Renault outside the university’s main gates until I get a sighting of this Joan?”
“No. I’m suggesting we go and have a drink in the Bull. It’s right opposite those gates.”
“You mean now?”
“Yes.”
“But Zofia wanted to come too. And she’s gone down to do another shift at the Crown and Anchor.”
“Carole, I don’t think she’ll mind, so long as we actually track the girl down.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“So off to the Bull, in we go. And you never know, we might get lucky.”
They did get lucky. Luckier than they had any right to expect. It was about five when they reached Clincham and the Bull was empty enough for them to get a table in the bay window, which commanded a perfect view of the university’s main entrance. Darkness had fallen during their drive from Fethering but the area was well lit and they could see the comings and goings of the students.
Mostly goings. Clearly many lectures or classes or seminars finished at five and a lot of the students were on their way home. They gathered in little knots, draped round each other, looking even younger in their muffled anoraks and hoodies. As always, they gestured flamboyantly, as though they were tak
ing part in some adult performance of a play to which they did not quite yet know the words. Some were busy texting on mobile phones, some waving elaborately dramatic farewells to friends they would undoubtedly see the next day.
Carole and Jude had only been in their surveillance point for about twenty minutes when their luck kicked in. A bunch of students emerged from the campus, behaving even more flamboyantly than the others, and Jude was quick to recognize some of them from the cast of Rumours of Wars. She couldn’t see Sophia Urquhart amongst them, but it was definitely the Drama set. Even better, it included the girl whose pretty dark face was framed by long black hair. Better still, she was one of the group who decided to have a drink to start off whatever entertainment the evening might hold.
The Bull’s ‘Happy Hour’ seemed more or less permanent. The management recognized the value of their location and used low prices to encourage the students’ alcoholic consumption (not that many of them needed much encouragement). The Drama lot equipped themselves with pints of lager for both genders and commandeered a large table over the other side of the bar. Their presence doubled the decibel level in the pub.
“Well, there she is,” said Carole. “How do you propose that we start talking to her?”
“Not a problem,” said Jude, rising to her feet. “If you want to start a conversation with anyone involved in the theatre, all you have to do is to tell them how good their last show was. And fortunately I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing this lot’s last show.”
Carole, as someone who hadn’t seen Rumours of Wars, thought she should stay put, while her friend sashayed across the bar towards the loud assemblage of students.
Two of the boys were just coming to the end of some routine in cod French accents and Jude timed her entrance so that she rode in on a wave of laughter. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but you lot were in Rumours of Wars, weren’t you?”
Their attention was duly grabbed. Someone actually wanted to talk to them about their work. They confirmed that they had been in the show. One or two of them put on the faces they had practised in their mirrors for the moment when they would be interviewed on television about their professional lives.
