Bones Under The Beach Hut

by Simon Brett

  'Were there suspects at the time?'

  'The usual ones. Everyone vaguely local who featured on the Sex Offenders Register. They couldn't pin it on anyone, though. Lack of evidence.'

  'Did you have any suspicions of anyone?'

  Miranda Browning shook her head. 'It never occurred to me for a moment that it might be anyone I had met.'

  'No.' Jude didn't raise the fact that in a lot of such cases the perpetrator was someone known to the family.

  'Do you think it'll be a comfort to you when the culprit is found?'

  'I really don't know. Whoever he is, I have hated him very deeply at times. At times I know I have wanted him dead. How I'll react now, I've no idea. I didn't know how I'd react to Robin's body being found. And through all the pain I think there may eventually be a positive side to that. Maybe it'll be the same when they arrest his murderer. As I say, at the moment I just don't know.'

  The healing session, as ever, left Jude wrung out like a damp rag. Miranda Browning was very grateful, saying that it had left her feeling more relaxed. But both women knew that the residue of pain inside her was something that could never be fully healed.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  'Which tennis player was in every final of the Men's US Open Championship from 1982 to 1989?'

  Carole and Jude looked at each other, both with wrinkled brows. 'Was it Jimmy Connors?' Carole suggested without much conviction. 'Or would he have been earlier than that?'

  'What's the name of that boring one?' asked Jude.

  'Pete Sampras?'

  'No, the other boring one. Czech, never won Wimbledon.'

  'Ivan something . . .'

  'Lendl!'

  'Yes, that's right. Ivan Lendl!'

  'Shall I write it down, Carole?' asked Jude.

  'Yes, I'm sure it's right.'

  Whether the gruesome discovery of Robin Cutter's remains had anything to do with it or not, there was a very good turn-out for the SBHA quiz night in the function room of the Crown and Anchor in Fethering. Reginald Flowers was, needless to say, the quizmaster, smart in a blazer and tie, which looked vaguely naval (but probably wasn't). Needless to say, he had his own neat little portable amplifier and a microphone to talk into.

  Beside him at his table sat Dora Pinchbeck, with a pile of forms to fill in and tick off. Her crushed expression suggested that she hadn't been allowed to forget her lapse over the booking of St Mary's Church Hall.

  Many of the Smalting Beach regulars were there, but there were also quite a lot of faces Carole didn't recognize. Twenty-two people including Reginald, dividing up into four table teams of four and one of five. Carole and Jude were sitting with a married couple; enthusiastic hutters they hadn't met before. The husband plumed himself on being Captain of the Smalting Golf Club, and it was a mercy when the start of the quiz stopped him talking about the fact. His wife spoke little, only nodding in admiration at his every pronouncement.

  Deborah Wrigley was there, somewhat to Carole's surprise. She would have thought a quiz night was too common an entertainment for the self-styled grande dame of the Shorelands Estate. But maybe curiosity about the Robin Cutter case had persuaded Deborah to slum a little. She had her son Gavin and his unfortunate wife Nell with her, so at least she was not without people to patronize. Carole reckoned the young couple were probably back on the South Coast to rescue Tristram and Hermione from their grandmother's rigid tutelage. 'Quality time' with Deborah Wrigley somehow seemed unlikely also to be fun time.

  Carole hadn't expected to see Katie Brunswick in the function room either. Again she wouldn't have thought quizzes were the obsessive rewriter's kind of thing either. But there she was, sitting rather incongruously at a table with Kelvin Southwest, Curt Holderness and an unfamiliar third man who made up the team.

  'I didn't expect to see you here,' Carole whispered to the girl as she passed.

  'Very important to get local colour,' Katie whispered back. 'I was told that at a writing course I went to once in the Dordogne.'

  Earlier in the evening Carole had been rather surprised when she and Jude had met Kelvin Southwest in the Crown and Anchor's main bar. Gone was all his smarm, all his creepy compliments about 'lovely ladies'. He had almost cut the pair of them dead, immediately turning away to seek out the company of Curt Holderness and some other men Carole hadn't recognized. At the time she and Jude had exchanged looks of the 'What's got into him?' variety.

  The members of the Smalting Beach Hut Association conspicuous by their absence at the quiz night were Lionel and Joyce Oliver. Given the news they had recently received, there was no surprise about that, but Carole and Jude couldn't help feeling a slight disappointment. Persuading herself that it was not a breach of client confidentiality, Jude had passed on to her neighbour what she had heard from Miranda Browning, and they were both aware that, if they were to advance in their investigation, they would probably have to talk to the Olivers at some point. It was not, however, destined to be that evening.

  Another absentee was Philly Rose. But then that was hardly a surprise. Since she'd passed Quiet Harbour over to Carole, she was no longer really a member of the hutters' community.

  'Have you all put down your answers to the question?' asked Reginald Flowers.

  'Well, we've put down an answer,' said Kelvin Southwest, who, after his earlier frostiness, now seemed determined to be the life and soul of the party. 'Whether or not it's the right answer is another matter.' And he and Curt Holderness guffawed. Even if she hadn't known what she did about the two men, Carole might still have felt there was something slightly sinister in their complicity.

  'Have you ticked that one off, Dora?' Reginald Flowers spoke to 'his' secretary as one might to a small child with learning difficulties.

  'I have,' she replied humbly.

  'Very well, next question . . .' The quizmaster cleared his throat into the microphone and coughed. 'I'm sorry. I think my bronchitis is coming on.' And his voice certainly did have a dry, husky quality. 'Right, this is the last question before we have a twenty-minute break when you can go and refill your glasses.'

  Good, thought Carole, mindful of Ted Crisp's demand that the participants in the quiz night should 'drink lots of booze'.

  Reginald Flowers again cleared his clogged throat and asked, 'Of which creatures is the collective noun a "parliament"?'

  'MPs!' shouted Kelvin Southwest raucously. 'That wasn't too tricky, Reg.'

  'No, no, I said "creatures", not human beings.'

  'MPs are not human beings!' riposted Kelvin, proud of his rapier wit.

  'The question is, "Of which creatures is the collective noun a 'parliament'?" And it's a creature, not a human being,' Reginald Flowers repeated, clearly put out at what he saw as a challenge to his authority. He made himself feel better by having another go at Dora. 'Make a note of that, please. That question may need rephrasing to deal with the nit-picking fraternity.' The note was duly made, and the quizmaster was siezed by a bout of coughing.

  Jude looked blankly at her teammates. 'Haven't a clue.'

  'I know it,' whispered Carole. And she mouthed 'Owls' at them.

  'How on earth do you know that?' asked Jude.

  'It came up in a Times crossword clue,' said Carole smugly.

  'So how are you two lovely ladies?' asked a leering Kelvin Southwest, more outgoing to them now as he queued at the bar with Curt Holderness. The Crown and Anchor would have been busy that night, even without the sudden influx of the quiz night crowd from the function room. Ted Crisp, Zosia and her girls were kept hard at it.

  'We're very well, thank you,' Carole replied primly. 'Curt, this is my neighbour Jude.'

  'Very nice to meet you,' said the security officer, with a lazy look of appreciation at Jude's ample curves.

  'Things have developed a bit since we last met,' Carole observed.

  'Things?'

  'I was referring to the discovery on Smalting Beach.'

  'Yes.' A guarded look came
into Curt Holderness's eyes. 'Nasty business.'

  'Presumably the police have talked to you about it?' asked Carole, possibly pushing her luck.

  'Why should they?' came the tart reply.

  'Well, I was thinking, since you're the security officer, they would automatically want to know if you'd seen any disturbance or anything unusual happening.'

  'Yes,' he conceded, apparently relieved. Carole wondered what he had thought she was going to ask him about. 'I did talk to them, yes. Not that I could be much help. I didn't see anything odd happening.'

  'You didn't volunteer any information to them, did you, Curt? Because I seem to remember when we last met you were very against the idea of telling the police anything that—'

  'Excuse me,' he said, having just attracted Zosia's attention. But he wasn't about to give the order. He turned to his friend. 'Here, Kel, get the drinks in. Mine's a pint of Stella.' True to the Curt Holderness principle of never buying a drink for himself. Kelvin Southwest looked slightly sour at being landed with the round, but he didn't demur. Clearly the Crown and

  Anchor was not one of the local places that owed the Fether District Council official a favour and wouldn't charge him.

  Carole was intrigued by the relationship between the two men. They clearly knew each other well, yet there didn't seem to be much affection between them. And Curt Holderness appeared to hold the balance of power. She wondered what favours they had done each other in the past.

  Saddled with buying the drinks, Kelvin Southwest all of a sudden became elaborately chivalrous and asked if he could treat 'the lovely ladies' as well. To Carole's surprise, Jude responded quite sharply that they were fine, 'thank you very much'.

  When they eventually got their Chilean Chardon- nays and were walking back to the function room, Carole asked her neighbour why she had bitten off Kelvin Southwest's head. 'It's unlike you, Jude.'

  'Yes. There's just something I find rather creepy about him'.

  'I agree. All that smarm about "lovely ladies".'

  'And from someone who really loathes women.'

  'What?'

  'Kelvin Southwest is not attracted to women.'

  'But all his going on about "lovely ladies" . . .'

  'It's a front. Women don't turn him on sexually.'

  'How do you know, Jude?'

  'I just know.'

  Carole didn't argue. She knew there were certain areas of life in which Jude's instincts were much more accurate than her own. So maybe the fact that Kelvin

  Southwest appeared to fancy her more than he fancied Jude wasn't such great news after all. 'Then what do you think does turn him on sexually?'

  'I don't know,' replied Jude. And she shuddered.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  'Now you've all heard of scuba diving but the next question is: what do the letters "S - C - U - B - A" stand for?'

  At the tables around Reginald Flowers and his microphone, discussions erupted and a few confident contenders started writing down answers. Jude puffed out her cheeks in an expression of ignorance and looked around at her teammates. 'Sea Coast . . . Underwater . . . Breath Aid . . . ?' she hazarded.

  'Not bad,' said the Captain of Smalting Golf Club. 'But not right, I'm afraid. In fact, the correct answer is: "Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus".'

  'How do you know that?' asked Jude. 'Have you ever done it?'

  'Oh yes,' he assured her. 'I used to do a lot of other sports before golf took over my life. I don't know if I happened to mention it, but I am currently Captain of Smalting Golf Club.'

  'Yes, you did mention it,' said Carole testily. 'Quite a few times.'

  The golf captain and his wife looked at her open-mouthed, as Carole, who had been appointed team scribe, wrote the answer down. There were still a distressing number of blanks on the form. She had hoped, with her crossword expertise, to be doing rather better on the quiz. But then she hadn't really been anticipating questions on the names of the Arsenal team who won the 1994 European Cup Winners' Cup. And German aircraft of the Second World War could hardly be described as her specialist subject. Nor indeed could the hits of Beyonce.

  Though slightly soured by the fact that she knew so few answers, Carole was grudgingly impressed by the range of questions. It was fair enough, she supposed, that the subject matter covered should be broad. That ensured that no one - including, unfortunately, her - had any special advantage.

  She wondered whether Reginald Flowers had taken his list from a book or the internet, or whether he'd done his own research. From her assessment of the man's character, she thought the latter was probably the answer.

  Reginald coughed again into his microphone. 'Right, you've all had enough time on that one. Let's move on. The next question is a literary one.' There was groaning from some of the tables, which encouraged Carole. She reckoned here was a subject on which she was in with a chance. 'What is the name of the terrible school run by Wackford Squeers in Charles Dickens's novel Nicholas Nickleby?'

  As she smugly wrote down the answer, Carole was cheered by the sound of more groans. Through which sounded a raucous shout from Curt Holderness. 'Was it maybe Edgington Manor School? I heard some well dodgy things went on there.'

  Few of the quiz contestants took any notice of what he'd said. It was lost in the general badinage of disappointment about having another literary question. But the effect of the security officer's words on the quizmaster was astonishing. Reginald Flowers's face went suddenly red and he reached up to loosen his naval-looking tie. For a moment he looked as if he was about to throw up. Dora Pinchbeck stared at him with a mixture of alarm and compassion. When Reginald next spoke there was a distinct wobble in his husky voice.

  'Right, have you all got that one? The school in Nicholas Nickleby? And we'll move on. Next question: what is the name of the guitarist brother of the Kinks' main songwriter, who co-wrote and took the vocal on Death of a Clown?'

  Carole raised her eyes to heaven. How could any normal human being be expected to answer that?

  Jude nudged her and whispered, 'Dave Davies.' Carole wrote it down. But then she'd never thought of Jude as being quite a normal person.

  They hadn't won. In fact, when the answers were read out, the combined intellects of Carole, Jude, the Captain of Smalting Golf Club and his silent wife had only managed to beat one other table. Carole left the Crown and Anchor feeling a little disgruntled. Of course, the quiz had been just for fun. It didn't matter who won. But she had rather prided herself on her general knowledge and was disappointed not to have done better. Though she hid it well, Carole Seddon did have a surprisingly competitive instinct.

  She and Jude were in the car park on their way home when Carole suddenly remembered she'd left her cardigan in the function room. She went back to fetch it, annoyed at having forgotten it and equally annoyed at having brought it in the first place. Sometimes the instinctive caution in her own nature infuriated Carole. Nobody else had taken a cardigan. Everyone else had trusted the warmth of the June evening, without worries about the fact 'that it might get a bit nippy later'. Sometimes just being Carole Seddon was an extraordinarily exhausting experience.

  The lights were off in the function room, but enough illumination came from outside for her to see the way to her table and pick up the offending cardigan from the back of the chair. As she moved towards the main pub she was stopped by the sound of voices she recognized.

  Between the function room and the bar ran a narrow corridor that led to the toilets. Carole shrank back into the shadows to listen. The two men, she reckoned, must have just been using the facilities, and fortunately the first words she heard from Kelvin Southwest were exactly the question she would have wished to put to Curt Holderness.

  'What was all that about the school? You know, what you shouted out to old Reg?'

  'You get a lot of useful information when you work for the police, Kel. Some of it information that people would rather never became public knowledge.'
>
  'Are you saying you've got something on Reg Flowers?'

  'You bet I have.'

  'Something he'd pay for you to keep quiet about?'

  'He's already made one payment, yes. But now he's not quite so forthcoming. So I think I need to have another chat with Mr Flowers rather soon. See if we can sort out some . . . more regular arrangement. I don't think he'll argue. Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned the name of the school?'

  'Mm. I'd heard he was a teacher. That where he used to work?'

  'Edgington Manor School, yes.'

  'I haven't heard of it. Is it local?'

  'Oh no. Up in the Midlands. But someone I knew on the force worked up there before he was transferred to West Sussex. And I met the bloke at someone's retirement do, and I told him I'd got this security officer job for the beach huts, and I was telling him about the set-up with the SBHA and what have you, and when by chance I mentioned the name of Reginald Flowers . . . well, he pounced on it and gave me chapter and verse.'

  'Yeah? So what had old Reg been up to?'

  'Well, let's just say he didn't get to full retirement age at Edgington Manor School. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he left the place under something of a cloud.'

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  On the way back from the Crown and Anchor to their respective homes, Carole told Jude what she had just overheard.

  'So you reckon Curt Holderness is blackmailing Reginald Flowers?'

  'I can't put any other interpretation on what he said.'

  'But you didn't hear exactly what had happened? Why he'd left the school under a cloud?'

  'No, I didn't,' said Carole, before adding darkly, 'but I could make an educated guess. I think we should try to talk to Reginald as soon as possible. Are you free tomorrow morning?'

  'Certainly am.'