The Shooting in the Shop (14 page)

Kath smiled again and opened her hands wide, as
if to say that her point was proved.

‘And did you see him that day?’ Kath shook her
head. ‘And there wasn’t another time, between last
Sunday and yesterday, when you sensed that Ricky
was near you?’

‘His car was there on the Sunday,’ Kath said slyly.

‘Yes, we’ve just established that.’

‘But it was also here later on the Sunday.’

‘Could you sense that?’ The Dippy Hippy looked
her curiously. ‘I mean, did you have an instinct that
the car was here?’

‘No,’ came the prosaic reply. ‘I saw it. Parked
down by the Yacht Club.’

‘What time of day was this?’

‘Evening. Eightish, probably.’

‘Yes. And did you see Ricky in the car?’ Kath
nodded vigorously. ‘Did you talk to him?’

‘No. I wouldn’t talk to him under those circumstances.’

‘Under what circumstances?’

‘He wasn’t alone. He had his latest Devil Woman
with him.’

‘Lola?’

‘I told you, I’m not interested in their names.
She’s the latest Devil Woman to seduce Ricky away
from me.’

So it had been Lola. In spite of their denials of the
fact, Jude now knew that Ricky Le Bonnier and his
young wife had been in Fethering in his Mercedes
4×4 on the evening that Gallimaufry had been set on
fire.

‘From what you say,’ Carole observed, as she sipped a
cup of coffee in Jude’s overfilled sitting room, ‘she
sounds like Fethering’s answer to Miss Havisham – a
woman whose entire life stopped when a man let her
down.’

‘There is an element of that about her,’ Jude
agreed. ‘Except that she’s not embittered. She seems
to have a very cheerful and benign outlook on life.
And she’s absolutely convinced that all Ricky’s affairs
with other women are just aberrations. He’s still
really hers. To her mind he’s never stopped being
hers.’

‘Which, I would say, is a measure of quite how
seriously that mind is disturbed.’ Then Carole, ever
practical, went on to ask, ‘What does she live on?
Fresh air, or does she have a private income?’

‘She’s got a job. Ted filled me in on a few details
after she’d left. She does the books for Ayland’s, one
of the boatyards along the Fether – one of the few
that are still in business. Apparently she’s had that
job for most of her life. Still, from what I gather, she has a fairly frugal lifestyle. So she doesn’t need much
money.’

‘Just enough to keep her in crystals and joss
sticks?’

Jude ignored the gibe and went on, ‘But I think
Kath’s a reliable witness.’

‘What, because she has
instincts
and can sense
people’s
auras
?’

‘No,’ said Jude patiently. ‘Because she keeps a
very clear division between what you call her
“instincts” and things she has actually seen with her
own eyes. And she definitely saw Ricky and Lola in
the Mercedes 4×4 on the evening of the fire.’

‘Yes, that’s odd, isn’t it, because when Ricky came
to see us, he implied that he had gone straight home
to Fedborough after he left your party. What time did
he leave, by the way?’

‘I don’t know exactly, but everyone had gone by
half past six. And so far as we know, the only other
time he went out that evening was to take Polly to
catch the seven thirty-two at Fedborough Station.’

‘So if your oh-so-reliable witness Kath is right, he’s
been lying.’ Carole drummed her fingers on the arm
of her chair. ‘The other thing I’ve been thinking about
is the gun.’

‘What about the gun?’

‘The fact that there was a gun. I mean, if Polly had
been found stabbed or strangled, well, all right, there
are plenty of suitable murder weapons available anywhere.
But a gun – in Fethering? It’s not as if we’re
talking about south London, or the back streets of Manchester, or the slums of Glasgow. I can’t think
that many people in Fethering have guns – except
for legitimate purposes like shooting at targets or
pheasants.’

Jude smiled inwardly at the
Daily Mail
sensibility
which informed all of her neighbour’s views on
criminal demographics. But Carole had, nonetheless,
raised an interesting point. ‘You’re right. And the
police statement said that Polly was killed by a single
bullet wound, which suggests that the weapon used
wasn’t the kind of shotgun which most people in
shooting parties would use. It’s a rifle or a pistol.’

‘Well, who in Fethering would have one of those?
And, more importantly, where is it now? If the
murderer had any sense, he would—’

‘Or she.’

‘Yes, absolutely right. He – or
she
– would have got
rid of the weapon as soon as possible.’

‘And, given the geography of Fethering, where
would you do that – speaking as a murderer who had
some sense?’

‘Well, the sea’s the obvious place. Except, of
course, the coastline’s so flat here, you might have to
go quite a long way out to find deep enough water.
Mind you, the same’s not true of the Fether. Even at
low tide, in the river there’s enough water – not to
mention a lot of extremely glutinous mud – to hide a
gun very effectively.’

Jude nodded agreement. She looked thoughtful. ‘I
was just thinking back to that boy who was drowned
in the Fether . . .’

‘Aaron Spalding? That was the first time we got
involved in a murder investigation, wasn’t it, Jude?’
Carole sounded fondly nostalgic.

‘Yes. But remember the interesting thing about
what happened to the boy’s body. He was what is
called locally a “Fethering Floater”.’

‘That’s right. He was swept up on Fethering Beach
twenty-four hours after he’d gone into the river. Of
course I remember, Jude. I was the one who found
him.’

‘Yes . . .’ Jude mused and unconsciously tapped at
her chin.

‘What?’

‘Well, I was just wondering whether what happens
to a body might also happen to something small and
heavy like a gun . . . ?’

‘That if it was thrown into the Fether, it, too, might
get washed up on Fethering Beach?’

‘Do you think it would?’

At that moment there was a loud knock on the
front door of Woodside Cottage.

There were two detectives, a man and a woman, and
they’d clearly attended all the latest training courses
on dealing with the public. Their approach was politeness
itself, apologizing for interrupting things, but
asserting that police work didn’t stop because it was
a holiday season. They explained they were making
general inquiries to try to ascertain the cause of the
death at Gallimaufry, and they had been informed that the deceased, Polly Le Bonnier, had been at a
party given by Jude on the Sunday, the day – or perhaps
the day before – she died.

At this juncture Carole suggested that perhaps she
should leave, so that the detectives could question
Jude on her own.

‘I think you should stay,’ said her neighbour.
She explained that Carole had also attended the party
and had, in fact, spent longer talking to Polly than she
had.

The police questioning was courteous and
thorough, but if Carole and Jude had been hoping
to be brought up to date on the official inquiry into
the death, they were doomed to disappointment.
Inquiries about how Polly had died were deflected by
the information that forensic investigations were still
continuing. When there was any news that could be
made public, the media would be informed. In the
meantime, the detectives would be very grateful if
the ladies could just answer the questions to the best
of their ability.

So they did. And no amount of prompts – such as
Carole’s assertion that during their conversation Polly
had seemed far from suicidal – made the detectives
divert by a millimetre from their party line. They
certainly never once mentioned the word ‘murder’.

After the detectives’ departure, the two women
felt rather flat. It was so frustrating to have spent
time with people who, undoubtedly, knew infinitely
more about the case than they did, and to end the encounter without even the most meagre scrap of
new information.

‘All we do know,’ Carole announced huffily,
‘is that their investigation is ongoing. Which means
they haven’t yet solved the case . . . otherwise they
wouldn’t have bothered coming to see you.’

This was so self-evident that Jude didn’t think it
worthy of comment. Instead, she began slowly, ‘The
only good thing about their visit—’

‘Oh, there is a good thing, is there?’

‘Yes. They’ve given me an excuse to ring Lola.’

‘What?’

‘I can just tell her that the police have been
questioning us. I’m sure she’d want to know. And
Ricky certainly would, he said so.’

‘Well, I think I’ll be getting along.’ Carole rose
to her feet. ‘Gulliver was covered in sand when I
brought him back from his walk. I came straight
round here, so I’d better go and do some sweeping up.
Let me know if you hear anything new from Lola.’

‘Of course I will,’ Jude called out to Carole’s
retreating back. Then she dialled the Le Bonniers’
number. She was relieved it was Lola who answered,
and quickly passed on the news of her visit from the
police.

‘Thanks for letting me know. I must say, their
investigations are very thorough. They seem to be
contacting everyone who had anything to do with
Polly or anyone else in the family.’

‘Is that a problem for you?’

‘Not really. Well, it’s just another thing that takes time, like Mabel’s ear infection, and the Dalmatian
puppies, and Piers reappearing from his parents’
place in Gloucestershire, and Flora needing full-time
attention for the last couple of days . . .’

‘How is she, by the way?’

‘Better today, thank God. She’s a tough old bird.
The iron discipline she exercises over her emotions
has reasserted itself. It’s in the genes, you know. If
you asked, Flora would tell you that her upper lip has
been permanently stiffened by generations of aristocratic
in-breeding.’

‘How long is she staying with you?’

‘Till New Year’s Day.’ Lola didn’t quite manage to
prevent this from sounding like a prison sentence.

‘Where does she live?’

‘Service flat in a big block in St John’s Wood in
London. Very exclusive, very tasteful, very soigné.’ A
gloomy thought intruded. ‘Though God knows how
much longer she’ll be able to manage there on her
own. Her hands are virtually useless now.’

Apparently casual, Jude changed the topic of conversation.
‘The detectives who came to see me were
very pleasant.’

‘Yes, they all have been. I mean, heaven forbid
you should ever be involved in an investigation into
an unexplained death, but if you were, you couldn’t
ask for a more sensitive and efficient bunch of cops in
charge.’

‘You’ve seen a lot of them?’

‘And how. Well, obviously they’re going to be
asking us a lot of stuff, since Polly was Ricky’s stepdaughter. But they have been as pleasant as their
job allows them to be. Mabel’s taken a definite shine
to one of the young detective constables. And, incidentally,
she keeps asking about you too, Jude. You
made quite an impression on her when we went to
the swings that day.’

‘I’m honoured.’

‘So you should be. Mabel’s very picky about who
she favours with her friendship. At the moment the
list only includes you, the detective constable and
Lisa Simpson.’

‘I’m doubly honoured.’

‘Well, be careful. Or you could find I’m dragooning
you into babysitting duty. There are very few
people who Mabel will allow to babysit her.’

‘I will await the call. How is her ear infection, by
the way?’

‘Getting better. Antibiotics finally kicking in.’

‘About the police . . .’ Jude gently nudged the conversation
back on track. ‘What kind of stuff have they
been asking you? Checking alibis and things like
that?’

‘Oh yes. A lot of very gentle probing along the
lines of “Where were you on the night of the twenty-first?” But at no point have they suggested that we’re
suspects in any criminal actions. Instead, they’ve
done a lot of circuitous talk about how important it
is to be able to “eliminate you from our inquiries,
Madam”.’ The accent she dropped into for the last few
words reminded Jude of Lola’s background in Footlights
revues.

‘And I assume that you and Ricky could both
account for yourselves throughout the night of the
fire?’

Jude had made the question sound as flippant
and unimportant as she could, but still detected a
guardedness in Lola’s tone as the reply came back,
‘No problem. One of the only advantages of Mabel’s
ear infection – and it wouldn’t be an advantage for
anyone who wasn’t looking for an alibi – is that it
makes her sleep very badly. She kept waking up
through Sunday night, so Ricky and I could give
firmer accounts of our whereabouts than usual.’

‘And you weren’t in Fethering earlier in the day,
you know, on the Sunday?’

‘Ricky was. You should know, he came to your
party. I was stuck at home, looking after poor little
Mabel. She was feeling really sorry for herself. That
was the worst day of the ear infection . . . well, that
and the Monday. She just lay on the sofa, hardly
reacting to anything. She didn’t even perk up for
Polly, and she adores Polly. That is, adored.’ Once
again, Lola winced from the pain of bereavement.

‘Yes, at my party Polly told Carole she was going
back to your place to see “the little ones”.’

‘Not that she saw much of them. When it comes
to parties, Ricky’s a great “stayer”. He never leaves
when he says he’s going to. As a result it was after
six when they got back here, and Polly only had about
half an hour with the kids before Ricky had to take
her to the station to catch her London train.’

‘The seven thirty-two?’

‘I think it was that one.’

‘Except, of course, she never caught it, did she?’