The Thursday Murder Club

by Richard Osman

  ‘Yes, that’s our game,’ concedes Bogdan.

  Ventham’s Range Rover pulls up alongside the low-loader and he steps out. He looks at the crowd and then at Bogdan, who shrugs. Karen Playfair steps out too and smiles at the scene before her.

  ‘And here’s the man himself,’ says Ron as he spots Ventham walking over.

  ‘Mr Ritchie,’ says Ventham.

  ‘Sorry to disturb your morning, Mr Ventham,’ says Ron.

  ‘Not at all. Carry on, make a speech,’ replies Ventham. ‘Pretend it’s the fifties, or whenever you were around. But when you’re done I’m going to need to access that path to do some digging.’

  ‘Not today, old son, afraid not,’ says Ron, turning back to the crowd. ‘We’re all weak, Mr Ventham, you can see that, right? Look at us, give us a nudge and we’d topple over. That’s the last you’d see of us. We’re feeble, the lot of us, we’re a pushover. A pushover, eh? Should be easy. But, you know, there’s a few people here who’ve done a few things in their life. Am I right?’

  Cheers.

  ‘There’s a few people here who’ve seen off, and no disrespect, better men than you.’ Ron pauses and looks around at his audience. ‘We got soldiers here, one or two. We got teachers, we got doctors, we got people who could take you apart and people who could put you back together again. We got people who crawled through deserts, people who built rockets, people who locked up killers.’

  ‘And insurance underwriters!’ shouts Colin Clemence from Ruskin, to happy applause.

  ‘In short, Mr Ventham,’ says Ron, his arm sweeping, ‘we got fighters. And you, with your diggers at half seven in the morning, have picked a fight.’

  Ian waits to make certain Ron has finished, that the bolt has been shot, then steps forward to talk to the same crowd.

  ‘Thanks, Ron. All rubbish, but thank you. There’s no fight here. You’ve had your consultation, you’ve made your objections, they were all overturned. You’ve got lawyers here, right? Alongside the people you’re telling me have crawled through deserts? You’ve got barristers? Solicitors? Jesus, you’ve got judges here! That was your fight. In court. It was a fair fight and you lost it. So if I want to drive onto land that I own at eight a.m. and carry out work that I’ve planned and that I’m paying for and that, also no disrespect, will keep your service charge at the reasonable level it currently is, then I will. I will and I am.’

  The term ‘service charge’ has a noticeable effect on the softer element in the crowd. They might well have four hours to kill until lunch and be looking forward to a show, but this fella does have a point.

  Joyce and Bernard, who had slipped away together during Ron’s grandstanding, are now returning with garden chairs under their arms. They walk through the crowd and open them out on the path.

  It is Joyce’s turn to address the crowd. ‘Radio Kent says it’s going to be lovely all morning, if some of you would like to join us? We could make a day of it if anyone’s got a picnic table they’re not using?’

  Ron turns to the crowd. ‘Who’s up for a nice sit down and a cup of tea?’

  The crowd gets to business, chairs and tables to be collected, kettle on, see what’s in the cupboard, too early for a drink, but let’s see if we can string it out. If nothing else this should be fun. Though, again, he does make a very good point about the service charge.

  Ibrahim stands by the cab of the low-loader, talking to the driver. He had estimated, by eye, that it was thirteen point five metres in length and is gratified to learn that it is thirteen point three. Not bad, Ibrahim, still got it.

  Elizabeth leads Stephen home, unscathed. Make him a coffee and she can head back out.

  46

  The call from Ian Ventham comes through to Fairhaven Police Station at around 7.30 a.m. Donna is drinking a litre carton of cranberry juice as she overhears the words ‘Coopers Chase’. She volunteers her services and sends Chris Hudson a text. He’s off this morning, but he won’t want to miss this.

  At 7 a.m. Father Matthew Mackie receives a call from a Maureen Gadd. By 7.30 he is up and dressed, dog collar front and centre and waiting for a cab to the station.

  47

  In front of the gate that leads to the Garden of Eternal Rest there are now twenty chairs. Mainly sun loungers, but also one dining chair because of Miriam’s back.

  As a barricade it is unorthodox, but effective. Trees crowd in on either side of the gate, so the only way up to the Garden of Eternal Rest is now through a phalanx of pensioners, some of whom are taking the opportunity to stretch out in the morning sun and have a well-earned nap. The diggers are not getting past for a while.

  Ian Ventham is back in his car, watching the scene. Karen Playfair has stepped outside and is merrily vaping away on an apple and cinnamon e-cigarette.

  Ian sees picnic tables, ice-coolers and parasols. Tea is being fetched and carried on padded trays. Photographs of grandchildren are being swapped. The Garden of Eternal Rest is a sideshow, for most of the residents this is just a street party in the midsummer sun. No need for Ian to get involved, they will fold like their loungers the moment the police arrive and they’ll wander off to do whatever they do.

  Ian is sure this little display will blow over, but he hopes the police show up soon. With the amount of tax he hypothetically pays, it’s really not too much to ask.

  48

  Elizabeth is not at the scene. Instead, after dropping Stephen at home, she has taken a route up through Blunts Wood and, as she clears the treeline, she steps onto the broad path leading up to the Garden of Eternal Rest. She walks up the path until she reaches the wooden bench, Bernard Cottle’s bench, where she sits and waits.

  She looks down towards Coopers Chase. The path curves towards the bottom, so the barricade is out of sight, but she can hear the polite disturbance at the bottom of the hill. Always look where the action isn’t, because that’s where the action is. A part of her is surprised that Joyce hasn’t made the walk up the hill too. Perhaps she lacks some of Elizabeth’s instincts after all.

  Elizabeth hears a rustling coming from the trees about twenty metres down on the other side of the path and that rustling very soon turns into the figure of Bogdan emerging from the trees, with a shovel over his shoulder.

  He heads up the path, nodding to Elizabeth as he passes.

  ‘Missus,’ he says, nodding to her. If he had a cap, Elizabeth felt sure he would doff it.

  ‘Bogdan,’ she replies. ‘I know you have work to do, but I wonder if I might ask you a question?’

  Bogdan stops his walk, lowers the shovel from his shoulder and rests his weight on the handle. ‘Please,’ he replies.

  Elizabeth had been thinking things through last night. Really – Ventham arrives, gets inside, makes his way to the kitchen and then kills Tony Curran within two minutes? She’d seen it done before, but not by an amateur. So what was she missing?

  ‘Did Mr Ventham tell you he wanted Tony Curran murdered?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘After their row? Perhaps he asked you to help? Perhaps you did help?’

  Bogdan considers her for a moment. Not fazed.

  ‘I know that’s three questions, forgive an old woman,’ adds Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, is only one answer, so is OK,’ begins Bogdan. ‘No, he didn’t tell me and no he didn’t ask, so no I didn’t help.’

  Elizabeth gives this her consideration. ‘All the same, it’s worked out nicely for you. You have a lucrative new job, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ agrees Bogdan, nodding.

  ‘Can I ask if you fitted Tony Curran’s alarm system?’

  Bogdan nods. ‘Sure, Ian gets me to do all that stuff for people.’

  ‘So you could have got in, very easily? Waited for him?’

  ‘Sure. Would have been simple.’

  Elizabeth hears more cars pulling up at the bottom of the path.

  ‘I know I’m being rude in asking, but if Ian Ventham had wanted Tony Curran dead, might he have asked you to do it? Is that the sort of relations
hip you have?’

  ‘He trust me,’ says Bogdan, thinking. ‘So I think maybe he would ask me, yes.’

  ‘And what might you have said? If he had asked you?’

  ‘There are some jobs I do, like fix alarms, tile swimming pools, and there are some jobs I don’t do, like kill people. So, if he ask, I say, “Listen, maybe you have good reason, but I would say kill him yourself, Ian.” You know?’

  ‘Well, I agree,’ says Elizabeth, nodding. ‘You’re absolutely sure you didn’t kill Tony Curran though?’

  Bogdan laughs, ‘I am absolutely sure. I would remember.’

  ‘This has turned into a lot of questions, Bogdan, I’m sorry,’ says Elizabeth.

  ‘Is OK,’ says Bogdan, looking at his watch. ‘Is still early and I like to talk.’

  ‘Where are you from, Bogdan?’

  ‘Poland.’

  ‘Yes, I’d got that. Which part?’

  ‘Near Krakow. You heard of Krakow?’

  Elizabeth certainly has heard of Krakow. ‘I have, yes, it’s a very beautiful city. In fact I went there, many years ago.’

  It was in 1968 to be exact, to conduct an informal interview, on trade delegation business, with a young Polish army colonel. The Polish army colonel later very happily went on to run a bookmaker’s in Coulsdon and had an MBE for services to the British State, which stayed in a locked drawer until the day he died.

  Bogdan looks out over the Kent hills. He then holds out a hand. ‘I should work. It is nice to meet you.’

  ‘It is nice to meet you too. My name is Marina,’ says Elizabeth, as she shakes his huge hand.

  ‘Marina?’ repeats Bogdan. His smile returns, once again, like a baby deer attempting to walk. ‘Marina was my mother’s name.’

  ‘How lovely!’ says Elizabeth. She’s not proud of herself, but you never know when this sort of thing could come in handy. And really, if someone is going to have so much personal information tattooed on his body, what is she expected to do? ‘I hope to see you again, Bogdan.’

  ‘I hope to see you too, Marina.’

  Elizabeth watches as he continues up the path, swings open the heavy iron gates and takes his shovel into the Garden of Eternal Rest.

  There is more than one type of digger, thinks Elizabeth, as she starts to walk back down the hill. She thinks of another question she should have asked. Does Ian Ventham have the same alarm system as Tony Curran? If so, it would have been an easy job for him to get into Tony Curran’s house. Had he needed to. She would bet he does. She will ask Bogdan the next time she sees him.

  When Elizabeth reaches the barricade, she finds that the gate has been padlocked and that the padlock is being guarded by three women, including Maureen Gadd, who plays bridge with Derek Archer. Very badly, in Elizabeth’s view.

  Elizabeth climbs the gate and makes the small jump on the other side back into the heart of the action. How many more years of that? Three or four? She spies Ian Ventham climbing out of his car as Chris Hudson and Donna De Freitas approach. Time to join in the fun, she thinks, and taps Joyce on the shoulder. Bernard is asleep in the chair next to her, which at least explains why Joyce hadn’t come snooping.

  In theory, she approves of chasing after men, if that’s what you wanted to do, but surely Joyce must find it exhausting?

  49

  Joyce

  When Elizabeth arrived, Bernard had already fallen asleep, which I think was a blessing, because he does get worked up. He had looked tired when I had knocked for him this morning. I don’t think he’s sleeping at night.

  Elizabeth and I went to see Donna and Chris, collecting Ron on the way. He was looking in the pink, which was nice to see. While it is still fresh, this is everything I remember after that.

  Donna does something with her eye shadow and I always mean to ask what it is, but I haven’t yet. Anyway, it was DCI Hudson doing the talking and he was quite impressive in his way. He was saying such and such to Ian Ventham. Ian Ventham said he wanted us all out of the way and had the paperwork to back it up. Which seemed fair.

  DCI Hudson said he wanted to talk to the residents and Ron told him to talk to him (Ron) instead. Ron also said that Ian Ventham could stick his paperwork up the proverbial. Which is par for the course for Ron, as you know. Donna then suggested that DCI Hudson perhaps should talk to me. As a level head, of all things.

  So DCI Hudson explained the legal niceties to me and warned that he would be forced to arrest anyone who blocked the diggers. I said that I was sure he wouldn’t actually arrest anyone and he agreed that this was true. So there we were, back to square one.

  Ron then asked DCI Hudson if he was proud of himself and DCI Hudson replied that he was an overweight, fifty-one-year-old divorcee and so, by and large, no, he wasn’t. This made Donna smile. She likes him, not like that, but she likes him. I do too. I was going to say to him that he wasn’t overweight, but he actually is a bit and, as a nurse, it’s best to never sugar-coat things, even when your instinct is to be protective. Instead I told him he should never eat after 6 p.m., that’s the key if you don’t want diabetes and he thanked me.

  That’s when Ibrahim joined us and suggested that DCI Hudson might try Pilates and Donna said that was something she would pay to see. Ian Ventham didn’t want to join in the fun and told Donna and DCI Hudson that he paid their wages. Donna said in that case could she ask him about a pay rise and that’s when Ian Ventham started shouting the odds about this, that and the other. People without a sense of humour will never forgive you for being funny. But that’s an aside.

  Anyway, Ibrahim, who is very good with this sort of thing, conflict and inadequate men and stalemates and so on, stepped in and offered to ‘thin the crowd out’ to give everyone a bit of breathing space. It was agreed that this was the thing to do.

  Ibrahim walked over to the barricade picnic, which was in full swing, and suggested that anyone who didn’t want to be arrested should perhaps move their chairs off the path. This shifted a few of the fairweathers. Colin Clemence led the charge. When Ibrahim reassured the rest that they only had to clear the path and were very welcome to stay out and watch the action, there was a proper exodus. Though not a quick exodus, because you know that getting out of a garden chair at our age is a military operation. Once you are in one, you can be in it for the day.

  Eventually the scene was as follows. The barricade, with the gate firmly locked behind it, was the stage and the crowd, happily back in their chairs, was the audience. And who was on the stage? There was Maureen Gadd, who plays bridge with Derek Archer (and not just bridge, in my opinion, but that’s not to be repeated), Barbara Kelly from Ruskin who once walked out of Waitrose with a whole salmon and pleaded dementia (my foot, but it worked) and Bronagh something, who is new and on whom I have no further information. I have seen all three of them on their way to the Catholic Mass on Sundays, then hours later, trudging back. They were padlocked to the gate like bikes on railings.

  And in front of them? The barricade had disappeared and left just one man. Awake now, sitting to attention, unmoved, unbowed, terrific posture: Bernard. Unlike him, I suppose, but he must feel strongly about the graveyard. You should have seen him. The last guard, like Henry Fonda, or Martin Luther King, or King Midas. This was too much for Ron, who grabbed a chair and sat right next to him. Whether out of solidarity or a desire for attention, who knows? But I was glad that he did. I was very proud of them both, my stubborn boys.

  (I don’t mean King Midas by the way, I mean King Canute.)

  Ventham had gone back to his car, for the time being, with Donna and Chris.

  I poured Bernard and Ron cups of tea and settled down myself, assuming the fun was about to end.

  Which was when the taxi arrived and the fun really began.

  Forgive me, my doorbell is ringing, I’ll be back in a moment.

  50

  Father Matthew Mackie always likes to chat to taxi drivers. These days they are often Muslim, even in Kent, and their kinship makes him feel very com
fortable. They also react well to the dog collar. But today he has been silent.

  He is relieved to see that the gate up to the Garden is still locked and guarded and that the diggers are idling on their trailer. He had left a phone number on the noticeboard outside the chapel for just this eventuality and that was the number Maureen Gadd had phoned this morning, promising also that she would ‘alert the troops’.

  Mackie took those ‘troops’ to be the three women in black standing stock-still by the gate. In front of them are a woman and two men in chairs, who didn’t seem quite the type. In fact, now he looks closer, he is sure that one is the gentleman with the opinions from the public meeting. And the man in the middle, is he the man from the bench the other morning? Well, whoever they are, and whatever their motive, all are welcome in this particular flock. To the side of the gate is a crowd of around fifty residents, sitting, watching and waiting for a show. Fine, he will give them a show. He supposes this might be his last and only chance.

  Stepping out of the taxi and giving the driver a large tip, Father Mackie sees Ventham is in a Ford Focus, talking to two police officers. One of them is a large man looking too hot in a jacket, the other a young, black woman in uniform. No sign of Bogdan, not even in the cab of the trailer. He will be somewhere nearby, surely?

  Mackie wanders over to the gate; Ventham has yet to spot him. He takes a moment to speak to, and bless, the three guards. One of them, the mysterious Maureen Gadd, asks if there is the chance of a cup of tea and Mackie says he will see what he can do. Before heading over to confront Ventham, he stops, to introduce himself to the seated figures.

  51

  Joyce

  Sorry, the ring at the door was a parcel for upstairs and we always sign for each other, so that’s where I’ve been. Sometimes, if I know Joanna is sending me flowers, I pretend not to be in, just so a neighbour picks them up and sees them. Terrible of me, really, but I’m sure people do worse.