Fethering 01 (2000) - The Body on the Beach

by Simon Brett; Prefers to remain anonymous

  The Bad Cop and the Good Cop exchanged glances. The understanding passed that Jude should take over again. “Who’s ‘they’?” she asked softly.

  “The other lads. The ones he was with when they found the body.”

  “Did they find the body at the Yacht Club?”

  Theresa nodded. “Aaron got in about four that morning. I started to bawl him out, but I could see what a bad way he was in. He’d been doing some stuff, I could tell. Weed, I suppose—maybe something stronger. Bit of smack perhaps. He was crying just like a kid. Wasn’t much more than a kid, really. Got in with the wrong company, that was all that was wrong with Aaron. What chance did he have, living with me, no man around…well, no man around for long? And me always on some medication for the depression and the panic attacks. I did try to look after him. He never got put into care. Times they wanted to, but I wouldn’t let them. I brought him up on my own, all on my own.”

  Jude nodded, soothing, commending the achievement. “So what did Aaron tell you?”

  “He said they’d been drinking. He didn’t say they’d been doing stuff too, but I knew they had. And then they decided to break into the Yacht Club…I don’t know what for…maybe a bit of thieving or just to smash the boats up. It wasn’t Aaron’s idea, it was the others. And they broke into one boat and they found this man’s body…He was dead. He was definitely dead before they found him. And they…I don’t know what they did to the body, or exactly what they put in his pockets, but it was some test…some kind of test…”

  “A test to prove how hard they were?” Jude suggested. “How tough they were?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know. Aaron’s been into a lot of this horror stuff, you know, books and films and stuff. A lot of that age are. Black magic stuff, you know. Maybe what they done to the body was something to do with that. You know what kids that age are like -terrified, but it doesn’t do to show they’re terrified, so they egg each other on to show how brave they are, and they do stupid things. Anyway, whatever they actually did, it ended up with them chucking the body over the sea wall into the Fether. That’s all Aaron told me, but he was in a bad way, a really bad way. He’d scared himself something terrible. He kept saying that the body would come back to life, that it was one of the Undead or some such crap, and that it’d come after him. And then he was afraid too the police was going to come and get him as soon as the body was found. I tried to calm him and put him to bed…Then I slept for a couple of hours, and Aaron was here when I woke up round eight…but later in the morning I went down the shops…and when I come back, he was gone…” A sob came into her voice. “And that was the last time I saw my boy.”

  “I still thought he was coming back then, but I wanted to do a kind of damage-limitation thing—stop anyone who knew anything about the body talking to the police. That’s why I come round your place with the gun.

  “But Aaron didn’t come back.” She swallowed down the sob welling up in her throat. “It was the drugs. He got into bad company and they started him doing drugs…and Aaron couldn’t cope…not with that and the other things they done. I think he just couldn’t take it any more. He was convinced this Undead body was going to come after him and get him…so he must’ve jumped into the Fether at high tide Tuesday night…and that was the end.”

  She didn’t burst into tears this time, but stood, her body shaking with dry sobs.

  “Did you tell all this to the police?” asked Carole.

  “No, not the half of it. I don’t want them thinking my boy’d been messing around with dead bodies.”

  “So why did you tell us?”

  “Ib stop you telling the police about the gun.” There was a naked appeal in the bloodshot eyes she turned on Carole. “That was the only reason I turned it on you. I was trying to frighten you, so’s you wouldn’t tell the police what Aaron’d done. You won’t tell them, will you?”

  “No. We won’t tell them.”

  “What about his friends?” asked Jude. “The ones he was with?”

  “Friends!” Theresa Spalding spat out the word. “You don’t call someone who gets a sixteen-year-old boy into drugs a ‘friend’, do you?”

  “No, you don’t. But who were they?”

  “I don’t know for definite. There’s a bunch that gets together. Could have been any of them. But there’s one who I’m sure was involved. Older boy. Aaron worshipped him, thought he was the business all right. Asked him round here once or twice, but I turfed him out. I can always spot a bad ‘un. I’m sure it was him who got Aaron into drugs.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dylan.”

  “Surname?”

  “Don’t know. Never heard it.”

  “Any idea where he lives?”

  Theresa Spalding shook her head. “Somewhere local. Went to the same school as Aaron. Few years older, though, like I said. He’s left the school. Think he’s got a job now.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Carpet-fitter.”

  NINETEEN

  “What could be more logical,” asked Carole, “than that someone who has just moved into a new home should be looking to have it carpeted?”

  “Fine.” Jude nodded cheerfully. “I’ll just think of it as an acting job.”

  “Have you ever acted?”

  “Oh yes,” said Jude.

  “What—professionally?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Oh?” But, frustratingly, no further information was forthcoming. Carole swung the Renault into a parking bay.

  J. T. Carpets was a flat, rectangular building on a retail estate just outside East Preston. Nearby was a Salisbury’s, a Do-It-All, a Halfords, a Petsmart, an MFI and a Ibys ‘R’ Us. Here the devoted homemaker could find everything he or she required—provided he or she possessed a car in which to cart it all away. (And in many cases, the devoted homemakers round the Fethering area arrived in huge four-wheel-drive off-road vehicles—essential equipment to negotiate the notorious gradients of the retail estate’s car parks.)

  Inside the outlet (on retail estates what used to be called ‘shops’ had all become ‘outlets’), they were greeted by the distinctive smell of rope and rubber which rises on the air wherever new floor coverings foregather. Variegated rolls and piles of carpets were laid out across the floor area. Sample books spread over tables. Small displays of corners of room demonstrated to the unimaginative how some of the carpets would look with furniture on them.

  There were few customers. Late afternoons in November were not a favourite time for buying carpets. With the run-up to Christmas, people had other purchases on their minds.

  As a result, there were plenty of staff available, and the two women were quickly accosted by a young man in a sharp suit and cartoon-character tie.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. What can I do for you?”

  Jude was straight into her cover story. “Yes, I’m looking for a hard-wearing carpet for my landing and staircase,” she announced.

  “Certainly, madam. What sort of quality had you in mind?”

  “It’s not so much the quality that concerns me as the price. On a tightish budget, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes. Aren’t we all?” He chuckled automatically. “Well, with carpets as with most things, you get what you pay for, but we do have some very competitive offers which you’ll find—”

  “Excuse me, do you have a toilet?” Carole broke in.

  “What?” The young man was totally thrown.

  “A toilet. I need to go to the toilet.”

  “Oh. Well, we don’t have public toilets.”

  “You must have staff facilities.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m desperate. It’s my age.”

  The young man was so embarrassed by this that he immediately called over one of his female colleagues. Jude hid her grin as Carole was escorted out to the office area at the back.

  “Now, your cheapest option,” the young man continued, blanking out the interruption, “would be a hard-weari
ng cord…”

  Jude listened, occasionally throwing in doubts and questions. She moved easily—and with some relish -into the role of a dithery little woman unable to make up her mind. She invented a husband called Kevin whom she’d have to consult about the various options. Had Carole not returned from the lavatory at that point, she would soon have invented a couple of children and an ageing grannie whose opinions also required canvassing.

  “Better?”

  “Much better, thank you,” said Carole, showing Jude a covert thumbs-up sign. “It’s awful when you get taken suddenly like that, isn’t it? So embarrassing.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “How’re you doing?”

  “This young man has been extremely helpful. He’s showed me all kinds of possibilities. I think what I’d better do now is go home and discuss them all with Kevin.”

  “Good idea,” said Carole. It wasn’t until they were back in the car that she asked, “Who the hell’s Kevin?”

  “A necessary fiction. But never mind him. Have you found out what you wanted to?”

  “Yes. Dylan is scheduled to be fitting carpets in a house on the Shorelands Estate tomorrow morning. For a Mrs Grant-Edwards. House is called Bali-Hai. I’ve memorized all the details.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “There was a duty-schedule board up in the office. Wipe-clean calendar thing with staff names and addresses where they were going to be working. I thought there would be,” Carole concluded smugly.

  “Well, congratulations. Very convincing. For a moment back there I thought you really did want to go to the loo.” Jude was silent for a moment. “Mind you, they might have told you where to find him if you’d just asked.”

  “Yes,” Carole agreed. And then she did something that she did very rarely. She giggled. “But the way I did it was much more fun.”

  §

  It was six o’clock and the Crown and Anchor had just opened. Carole had initially demurred at the idea of having a drink, but Jude had insisted they needed to talk to Ted Crisp as part of their investigation.

  He was going round, wiping down the tables and emptying ashtrays into a bucket.

  “Have to do everything yourself, I see,” Jude observed.

  “That’s right. It’s tough at the top. Bar staff don’t come on till seven during the winter.”

  “And in the summer?”

  “Summers I’m open all day. That’s when I make my money. From all those dads sneaking off and leaving the mums on the beach with the kiddies.” He took up his post behind the bar. “What can I do you for? Two large whites, is it?”

  “Yes, please,” said Jude, and Carole didn’t even make a token murmur of dissent. Instead, she moved straight to the purpose of their visit, “led,” she began, and paused for a nanosecond of shock at the knowledge that she, Carole Seddon, was actually standing at the bar of the Crown and Anchor and calling the landlord ‘Ted’, “you heard about that poor boy who was drowned the other day?”

  “That Aaron Spalding? Course I did. Couldn’t miss it. All over the telly, for a start. And lots of the old farts in here was talking about it and all…moaning on about young kids today getting messed up with drugs…and saying that kind of thing wouldn’t happen if they brought back National Service.”

  Carole wondered for a moment whether it had been Denis Woodville repeating his opinion, but decided it was probably a universal sentiment among the old codgers of Fethering.

  “Did you know him at all? Aaron? Did he ever come in here?”

  “Well, he shouldn’t have done, because he was underage, but yes, I seen him in here a few times. He’d come in with a bunch of them. They’d sit in that dark corner over there, hoping I wouldn’t clock them, and send up the one who looked oldest with a shipping order for drinks. They tried it on a few times, but I was wise to them. I’m not going to risk my licence for a bunch of kids.”

  “Had you seen them in here recently?”

  “Yes, three of them was in one evening this week. Monday, I think.”

  The night they went on to the Fethering Yacht Club and found the body in Rory Turribull’s boat, thought Carole. “Who were the other two?” she asked.

  “One I’d never seen before. Young kid, looked even younger than Aaron. But I know the one they sent up for the drinks.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “He comes in here quite often. Eighteen, nineteen I guess, so he can drink legally. But when he comes up and asks for three pints of lager on Monday night, I says to him, ‘I’ll pull one for you, no problem, but it’s going to be soft drinks for your two underage mates over there.’ Then he gets dead stroppy and starts swearing at me, so I tell him to get out. He’s a nasty bit of work, that one. Deals a bit in drugs and all. I can do without that sort in here.

  “Anyway, out they go, no doubt straight down to Nowtinstore, where he buys a dozen cans perfectly legally and they go off and drink them in one of the shelters on the front. At least they wasn’t doing it on my premises. I hope they froze their bollocks off out there.”

  “The police haven’t come and asked you whether you saw Aaron, have they?”

  “No, but presumably if they was retracing his movements they’d be interested in the next night, wouldn’t they? Not the Monday. His body was found on the Wednesday morning, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Carole agreed thoughtfully.

  “So who was this older boy?” asked Jude. “Do you know his name?”

  “Don’t know his second name, but his first name’s Dylan.”

  “Ah.” The two women exchanged significant looks.

  “What does he look like?”

  “Tallish. Thin. Short bleached hair. One big earring.”

  “Sounds a real charmer,” Carole observed frostily.

  Jude looked down at her large watch-face and her expression suddenly changed. “Oh, Lord!” she cried. “I’d completely forgotten! I’ve got a friend coming round this evening! I must dash!”

  “So we’ll go to the Shorelands Estate first thing?”

  “Yes, fine. Communicate in the morning!” And, having gulped down the remains of her wine, Jude rushed out of the pub.

  Carole finished her drink more sedately, as Ted Crisp chatted inconsequentially of this and that. She didn’t feel relaxed alone with him. Carole Seddon would never really be a ‘pub person’.

  She tried not to be interested in who Jude’s ‘friend’ might be. They were only neighbours, after all. There was no reason why they should know everything about each other’s lives.

  “Another one of those?” asked Ted Crisp, as she sipped down the last of her wine.

  “No, thanks. I must get back home.” But at the door she did manage to stop and say, “Good night, Ted.” Just like a regular ‘pub person’ might have done.

  TWENTY

  It was after eight the following morning, the Friday. Gulliver had been duly walked and Carole still hadn’t heard anything from Jude. They’d agreed to go to the Shorelands Estate early and intercept Dylan when he arrived for work at Bali-Hai. According to the duty roster Carole had snooped at, all fitters were meant to pick up their carpets from the depot at eight in the morning and be at the properties where they were scheduled to lay them by nine.

  Her hand reached for the telephone to call Jude, but then she thought, this is stupid, the woman’s only next door and I must make an effort to be a little less formal. Something in Jude’s casual approach to life was secretly appealing. Carole knew that the ramparts of inhibition she had built around herself would never allow her to progress far down that road, but maybe she could take a few tentative steps.

  Going round to Woodside Cottage rather than telephoning would be one such step. So Carole Seddon put on her Burberry and went to knock on her next-door neighbour’s door.

  Tb her considerable amazement, it was opened by a man. He had a head of black curly hair, more of which sprouted out of the top of his Guernsey sweater. Between was heavy dark stubble. He had jeans, trainers, blue eyes a
nd a huge grin.

  “Morning,” he said cheerily. “I’m Brad. You must be Carole.”

  “Yes, yes, I am.”

  “Do come in. Jude’s just dressing. She won’t be a moment.”

  “Oh, thank you.” In a state of bewilderment, Carole followed the man through the cluttered sitting room into the kitchen.

  He indicated a plate of toast and marmalade. “I was having some breakfast. Would you like a coffee or something?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve just had some.”

  “Well, excuse me if I continue munching.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do sit down,” said Brad, as he lowered himself on to a chair and took a bite of toast.

  “Yes, thank you.” Carole knew she sounded ridiculously formal. “So, Brad, have you known Jude long?”

  “Oh yes. We go way back.”

  “Ah.” Bubbling to the surface of Carole’s mind were a whole lot of other questions she wanted to ask. How far back? Where did you meet? Where do you live? Are you a fixture in Jude’s life? What is the precise nature of your relationship?

  “Great place she’s got here, hasn’t she?” said Brad.

  “Yes, yes, it’s very nice. Needs a bit of work, of course.”

  He didn’t seem to hear the second part of this response. “No, good old Jude,” he said with easy admiration. “Always lands on her feet.”

  “Does she?”

  “Oh yes.”

  At that moment the subject of their conversation swept into the room in her customary swirl of drapery. She was twisting the blonde hair into a knot on top of her head. “Morning, Carole,” she called out blithely. “Brad’s introduced himself, I hope.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t ready. You know how it is.”

  Carole didn’t know how it was, and wouldn’t have minded a few background details to tell her how it was. But she didn’t get any.

  “We’d better be off then,” said Jude. She leant across the table and planted a smacking kiss on Brad’s marm-alady lips. “Don’t know how long we’ll be, but if you’re not here when I get back, it’s been good to see you.”