by Simon Brett
She knew she must post the letter before any hairline cracks appeared in her resolve.
It was on her slightly melancholy way back from the postbox that Jude decided she would shift her mood by talking to Carole.
No reply when she rang the doorbell of High Tor. Probably out taking Gulliver for a walk on Fethering Beach.
Jude had turned back down the path to return to Woodside Cottage when she heard the whimpering. It was the sad sound of a dog who not only hadn’t been fed, but had also, deprived of his morning walk, done what he knew he shouldn’t on the kitchen floor.
Jude went straight across the front garden to open Carole’s garage. There was no sign of the Renault.
She wasn’t prone to panic, but she knew this was serious. Before even sorting out Gulliver’s needs, Jude rang Ted Crisp.
They stood by the Renault in the car park behind the Hare and Hounds.
‘Doesn’t look good.’ Ted Crisp bent down to pick something up off the ground. He held it out. Jude recognized the bunch of keys immediately.
‘She’d never just have dropped them. Carole’s far too organized for that. Someone must’ve surprised her by the car and . . .’
‘And what?’
‘I don’t know. Taken her off somewhere.’
‘Did she tell you she was going to come up here yesterday evening?’
‘No. I guessed. I knew she’d been doing a lot of thinking about what’s been happening in Weldisham. It seemed a reasonable assumption that she’d come up here to continue her investigations . . . You know, to meet someone.’
‘Who? Her boyfriend?’
The hurt in Ted Crisp’s voice was so overt that Jude looked at him curiously. ‘Boyfriend? Carole hasn’t got a boyfriend.’
‘Yes, she has. Don’t pretend you don’t know. She’s been going round with some local solicitor.’
‘No, she hasn’t.’
‘She has. His name’s Barry Stillwell. Look, Jude, I know Mario, guy who works as a waiter in an Italian restaurant in Worthing. This Barry bloke took Carole out for dinner there last week.’
‘Yes, he did, but . . .’ A thought struck Jude. ‘Is that why you were so standoffish to Carole last time we were in the Crown and Anchor?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ted Crisp mumbled. He had his pride.
‘Ted, we haven’t got time to go into all this now, but I can assure you Carole thinks Barry Stillwell is the most boring man on God’s earth.’
‘Oh. Oh, does she?’ And he couldn’t help a little grin appearing through the foliage of his beard.
‘Anyway, time enough for that. What we’ve got to do now is to find her. Better check whether she actually was in the pub last night.’
They couldn’t avoid seeing the blackened shell of Heron Cottage, separated from the road by the police plastic tapes. Neither said anything, but the same dark thoughts were in both their minds as they rang the bell of the Hare and Hounds opposite.
Though the pub wouldn’t open for another half-hour, Will Maples was already there. He opened the door, but didn’t invite them in. ‘Don’t open till eleven,’ was all he said.
‘I know.’ Jude turned on her full charm, which few men could resist. ‘But a friend of ours has left her car in your car park and we just wonder where she might be.’
‘Usually, when a car gets left overnight in the car park, it’s because someone’s had a skinful and been sensible enough to order a cab. I expect your friend’ll be back later in the morning to collect the car.’
‘I don’t think so in this case.’
Ted Crisp held out the bunch of keys. ‘She dropped these by the car.’
‘Are you asking me to look after them until she comes in?’
‘No,’ said Jude. ‘We just want you to confirm that she was in the pub last night.’
‘Well, since I don’t know who you’re talking about, that could be a bit difficult.’ Will Maples wasn’t being exactly uncooperative; but equally he wasn’t making things easy for them.
‘Her name’s Carole Seddon . . .’
He shrugged. ‘Not a name I know. Not one of my regulars.’
‘Thin. Glasses. Grey hair. Light blue eyes. Wears a Burberry raincoat. My sort of age.’
‘Oh right, I think I know the one you mean. Yes, she came in before we opened yesterday evening. To talk to Lennie Baylis.’
‘The detective?’
‘Mm.’
‘Do you know what she talked to him about?’
He was affronted. ‘What do you take me for? I don’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations!’
The response was so vehement that Jude wondered whether the manager was protesting a little too much.
‘And did she leave with Sergeant Baylis?’
‘No. She stayed and had a drink.’
‘On her own?’
‘At first, yes. Then a man joined her.’
‘Who was that? Did you recognize him?’ asked Ted.
‘Yes. Name’s Barry Stillwell. Comes into the pub quite often. He’s a solicitor . . . in Worthing, I think.’
‘Ah,’ said Ted Crisp, deflated. Then, unwillingly, he asked, ‘Did they leave together?’
‘I didn’t notice,’ Will Maples replied smugly.
‘But they didn’t stay in the pub all evening?’ asked Jude.
‘No. I remember they were sitting in the Snug, and when I looked a bit later, there were some other people in there.’
‘What time are you talking about?’
‘They must’ve both been gone by seven, seven-fifteen.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Jude got out a piece of paper and wrote on it. ‘That’s my mobile number. Could you give me a call if Carole comes back to collect her car?’
‘Yes, all right,’ Will said grudgingly. ‘But I probably won’t get a chance to look till after three. We tend to be pretty busy at lunchtime.’ He smiled at Ted Crisp in a way that must have meant he knew who his visitor was. ‘I’m running a very successful pub here, you know.’
The landlord of the Crown and Anchor nearly snapped something back, but was quelled by an urgent look from Jude’s brown eyes.
‘If that’s all,’ said the manager of the Hare and Hounds briskly, ‘I’ve got a lot to get on with.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your help,’ said Jude charmingly to the closing door.
They stood for a moment in front of the pub, both still avoiding looking at the wreckage of Heron Cottage.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Ted Crisp.
‘I think you try to contact Detective Sergeant Baylis. Tell him we’re worried about Carole. Try and find out what she talked to him about last night.’
‘I’ll track him down. And what do you do meanwhile?’
‘I talk to some people here in Weldisham,’ Jude replied mysteriously.
Behind the bar of the Hare and Hounds, Will Maples punched in the number of a mobile phone. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Two people came looking for her.’
Chapter Forty-three
Carole had passed a night of misery, probably as close to despair as she’d even been. Immobilized in her cold prison, she envisaged the slow death that she must suffer. Would hunger get to her first, or would the hypothermia win? Either way, it wouldn’t be an easy passage out of life.
After the departure of her captor’s vehicle, the total silence had begun to be broken. Not by human sounds, but by the rustling and scuttering of small animals, to whom the night belonged. In their world, Carole was an intruder, an alien presence. At first they would keep a proper distance from her, but then, when they realized she was incapable of movement, they would become bolder. As the strength drained from her body, they might not wait till death to obey their scavenging instincts. It was not a cheering thought.
She didn’t think she slept at all, but the suddenness with which she was aware of the light outside meant that maybe she had dozed fitfully towards the end of the night. Her body felt bruised, ach
ing from the hardness of the floor and the constrictions of her bonds. In spite of the cold, she had managed to control her bladder through the night, but she knew that couldn’t last for ever. Carole Seddon was a fastidious woman; she didn’t want to die in a mess of her own making.
She didn’t want to die full stop. Now that death was a realistically imminent possibility, she realized how enormously she wanted to live. She wanted to see Jude again. She wanted to see Ted Crisp. She wanted to experience another bone-headedly enthusiastic welcome from Gulliver. She wanted to walk again on Fethering Beach with the dog scampering manically around her.
But none of that looked very likely, as thin sunlight, reflected in pools of stagnant water, began to play on the slimy dome of the cave. The day had started for the rest of the world. In her prison that was irrelevant. However hard they searched, no one would ever find her here. She had been left to die in her own time. She found herself praying for a big freeze-up so that that time would be as short as possible.
She had reached the point where she could deny the imperative of her bladder no longer, when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Even though she felt certain that it was her captor returning, the fact that he had come back gave a disproportionate lift to her spirits.
His return changed the nature of her incarceration. All through the night she’d thought he’d left her there to die. Now it was clear he had some other agenda. Carole Seddon wasn’t about to be murdered; she had merely been kidnapped.
She shut her mind to the other reasons why he might have come back to her.
His body blocked the light as he rolled in through the narrow aperture. Carole wasn’t feeling light-hearted, but she thought a light-hearted approach might be worth trying.
‘If you’ve come to give me another loo-break,’ she said, ‘you’re only just in time.’
He didn’t speak, but untied the end of the rope from its root and helped her out into the open. The air was cold outside, but didn’t have the deathly chill of the cave.
‘You’re going to have to untie me or I’ll wet myself.’
He obliged, releasing her legs. But he only freed one hand, keeping her like a child on a parental lead in a shopping precinct. For a moment Carole thought she’d fall over, but she stamped some consciousness into her legs and arms, before giving in to the urgency of her bladder and squatting down. Again he averted his eyes.
Once she’d rearranged her clothing, Carole sat down facing her captor. ‘How long are you planning to keep me here?’
‘That depends,’ he said, the first words he’d spoken to her that morning. ‘Depends on how much you know.’
‘About what?’
‘Don’t play games!’ He snatched at the rope that still held her wrist and gave it a vicious tug.
Carole realized that, up until that point, she’d just been lucky. He wasn’t afraid to hurt her; he just hadn’t hurt her so far.
‘I know some of what you know,’ he went on. ‘Will Maples keeps his ears open in the Hare and Hounds.’
‘And he tells you everything, does he?’
‘Will Maples owes me a few favours.’ He grinned complacently.
‘Why? Is it something to do with drugs?’
‘Oh, well done. Not just a pretty face, are you?’ His grin turned cruel. ‘Not even a pretty face. Still, you’re right. Will Maples has been dealing drugs from the Hare and Hounds ever since he’s been there. I’ve known that for a long time, and so for a long time he’s done exactly what I tell him.’
‘Otherwise you’ll shop him to his bosses?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Is he involved with the Brighton dealers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Strange life yours, isn’t it?’ Carole felt defiant now. Since nothing she said was likely to do her much good, she might as well say what she thought. ‘A counterbalance of threats and blackmail. You’ve got information on someone, they’ve got information on you.’
‘Exactly, Carole. And so long as the people concerned agree to keep that information to themselves, everything in the garden’s lovely.’
‘And, if they don’t agree to keep that information to themselves?’
‘Ah, then . . .’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘Then, I’m afraid, they have to die.’
Suddenly he was alert to a sound that Carole had not heard. ‘Get in the cave!’ he hissed. ‘There’s someone coming!’
Chapter Forty-four
Irene Forbes ushered Jude into the sitting room. She seemed unfazed to have a visitor, but then it was hard to tell what emotions lay behind that smooth Chinese face. Jude was moved by the woman’s beauty, and also by her appearance of youth. From what Carole had said of her history, Irene Forbes must have been at least in her late forties, but she could have been twenty years younger. Her skin, the colour of Rich Tea biscuits, was unlined, and there was no touch of grey in the black bell of her hair.
She was simply dressed in white trousers and brown jumper, but somehow contrived to look exotic, a hothouse flower in the Englishness of a Weldisham sitting room.
Jude refused the offer of tea or coffee and said, ‘I was very sorry to hear about your husband’s illness.’
Irene Forbes bowed acknowledgement of the sentiment. ‘I’m pleased to say he’s a lot better than he was at the weekend.’
‘Good. People seem to make complete recoveries from strokes these days.’
It was unlike Jude to get caught up in this cycle of civilities, but there was something about her hostess’s serenity that unnerved her. Jude, a woman with her own inner strengths, could sense in Irene a matching or even stronger power.
‘Look,’ she went on, trying to be more assertive, ‘it’s very kind of you to invite me in when you have no idea who I am. We have a mutual friend, actually. Her name is Carole Seddon and she came to dinner a week or two back.’
‘A charming woman,’ said Irene. ‘She comes from Fethering, I believe. Graham very much enjoyed her company. I believe they have a mutual interest in the Times crossword . . . Something, I fear, that I could never master.’
‘Nor me.’ Jude found the woman’s stillness seductive. She felt the urgency within her seep away and it was with an effort that she continued, ‘Look, Carole’s gone missing, and I’m very worried about what may have happened to her.’
‘I am sorry she’s gone missing. And if I could do anything to help you find her, of course I would. But I’m afraid I do not know your friend well. I only met her that one evening.’
Jude took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, this is difficult to say, but I’m afraid Carole’s disappearance may have something to do with the bones.’
‘Ah.’ The monosyllable was one of acceptance.
‘The bones that she found at South Welling Barn. Carole had managed to discover a lot more about where those bones came from and, in doing so, she may have upset someone.’
‘I would think that was very possible.’
‘Mrs Forbes, I haven’t got time to beat about the bush. Carole thought the bones belonged to your husband’s first wife, Sheila.’
There was a silence. Then Irene Forbes slowly lowered her face, so that she was looking at the floor. ‘They always say it is impossible to keep anything secret in an English village.’ She sighed and looked up again, with a trace of a smile around her lips. ‘Graham and I have had thirteen years together, three in Kuala Lumpur and ten here. We have been lucky. Many people do not have so much in their lifetime.’
‘But how long have you known about . . . what happened?’
‘About Sheila? Not long. Only a matter of weeks.’
‘It must have been a terrible shock for you.’
‘A shock certainly. But more a sadness.’
A detail fell into place. ‘My friend Carole told me she first saw you in the church. St Michael and All Angels. She said you were crying. Was that because of what you’d heard?’
The helmet of black hair hardly moved as the woman nodded. ‘Yes. Religi
on can sometimes help. Faith is so much more forgiving than morality. No, it was very sad. That for Graham and me to be happy, someone else had to suffer so much.’
‘Did it affect how you felt about him . . . when you knew?’
Irene Forbes shook her head slowly, but very firmly. ‘No. You love what a person is, not what they’ve done.’
‘And the police know about it, do they? About the murder?’
‘They suspect. Soon they will know for sure. A policeman – Detective Sergeant Baylis – came to see Graham last Friday. He had phoned in the morning to say he was coming.’
‘Which was why Graham didn’t go for his usual pre-lunch drink that day?’
A graceful inclination of the head acknowledged this. ‘I don’t think Sergeant Baylis had to come. I think he was just giving a warning, giving Graham time to prepare himself. He said there were suspicions about the bones belonging to Sheila, and that DNA tests would be conducted to try and make a match with other Helling relatives.’
‘So, from that moment, your husband knew that his time was limited?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hadn’t he known before?’
‘No. I tried to keep it from him. But when the police came, I could keep quiet no longer. That was the shock that brought on his stroke.’ With sudden passion, Irene Forbes said, ‘I hope he will not live long. Graham has always hated the idea of being impaired, of doing anything at less than his best. He would make a bad invalid. And he would not enjoy court proceedings.’
‘No.’ Jude let a moment of silence hang between them, before going on, ‘I’m sorry to keep interrogating you, Mrs Forbes . . .’
‘I am not really Mrs Forbes. Only in my soul.’
‘Yes. But, look, I’m very worried about Carole. I’m sure she’s been abducted by someone because of what she’d worked out about the bones.’
Irene Forbes let out a humourless laugh. ‘Well, I can assure you it wasn’t Graham. He’s lying upstairs in bed, with only one side of his body working. He’s not capable of abducting anyone.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting he was. I was thinking of Brian Helling.’
