he was an attractive man, and the warmth of his handshake to Jude after she had been grudgingly introduced showed that he was well aware of his attractiveness. Over the years of being what could only be described as fanciable, she knew all too well the subtext of extra hand pressure and extended contact by which men expressed sexual interest. The instant thought came into her mind that perhaps Alec Potton’s relish for other women was the cause of the divorce currently in progress.
“Can’t thank you enough for looking after Immy,” he said enthusiastically. Closer to, Jude could see that his good looks were marred by nervous anxiety. He was a man under stress. And a lot of the stress seemed to be related to his daughter. He looked at her with something approaching fear, as though afraid she might crumble to dust at any moment.
“It was no problem. Virtually on my way back.”
“Anyway, thank you…Jude-was that the name?”
“That’s right-Jude.”
“Well, thank you for holding the fort. I’m back in time to get my daughter some supper. What do you fancy, Immy? What have we got in the house?”
“The usual boring rubbish.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I’d better take you down the Crown and Anchor, hadn’t I?”
“Mum said we should stop eating out all the time. We’ve got to economise.” It was said piously, but with an edge of humour. Imogen relished the idea of a meal out with her father.
“Ah,” Alec began soberly, “if Mum said that…” He was silent before continuing wickedly. “All the more reason to have supper at the Crown and Anchor.”
Putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, he led her towards the car. As he did so, he looked closely at the jumper she was wearing under her puffa jacket. “Is that mine?” She nodded. “You cheeky cow.”
Though she hadn’t yet seen Imogen with her mother, Jude felt pretty sure she knew which side the girl was taking in the divorce contest. The eyes with which she looked at her father were full of adoration.
“Hello. Stephen?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s your mother.”
“Oh, look, I’m sorry. I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
And that was that.
8
“You said they were going to have supper at the Crown and Anchor. Maybe we should do the same?”
Jude was amazed. The suggestion was a most unlikely one, considering who it came from. Carole was always reticent, even shy. The idea of her volunteering to manufacture an encounter with Alec Potton and his daughter was totally out of character.
“I think that might look a bit obvious, don’t you? I mean, given that I’ve only just met him, and that I’m not Imogen’s favourite person.”
“Yes, I suppose it might.” But Carole was desperate to find out more about the circumstances of Walter Fleet’s death. A murder investigation was the only thing that promised to take her mind off the subject of Stephen’s marriage. “I’m just so intrigued by it all.”
“Me too. Mind you, no doubt we’ll soon hear that the police have made an arrest and the case is solved.”
“Well, we haven’t heard it yet, have we?”
“No.”
“Oh, but there was something. On the news.” And Carole related what she had heard about the Horse Ripper’s activities near Horsham. “It’s such a horrible crime. Why do people do it, Jude?”
“I don’t know. I’m quite interested in it, though.”
“What a disgusting thing to be interested in.”
“Maybe. But human behaviour fascinates me, what brings people to do the things they, and particularly the appalling things. I’ve been making a note of the dates for these local horse mutilations and collecting the newspaper cuttings. I must get the Fethering Observer — it’s sure to report this latest one.”
“But why are you doing it?”
“I’m just getting data together, trying to see if any pattern emerges.”
“What kind of pattern?”
“I don’t know. Responses to the lunar cycle, international events…anything that might make sense of the senseless.”
“But horses…horses never do anyone any harm. Why on earth do these people do it?”
“There are as many theories as there are psychologists. Some researches have suggested there’s a link to paedophilia. Personally, I find that quite convincing.”
Carole shuddered. “There are some disgusting people about, aren’t there?”
“Oh yes.” But Jude was always going to take a less rigid view of such matters. “There are also a lot of people about who suffer enormously from instincts that the world finds unacceptable, and over which they themselves have very little control.”
“What-are you making excuses for paedophilia?”
“I’m not making excuses for it. I’m just saying it must be very difficult to go through life with feelings the entire world despises.”
“Huh.” Although Carole was a Times reader, there was, at bottom, a lot of Daily Mail in her.
But she was still hungry for the displacement activity of investigation. “Isn’t there anyone else we know who’s got something to do with the Long Bamber Stables set-up? Don’t we have any other contacts?”
“Don’t think we do, I’m afraid. We could ask Ted Crisp. A lot of people come and go through the Crown and Anchor. He might have heard something.”
“Yes…”
“Or, of course, we do know where we can find Imogen’s mother.”
“Oh, really? How do we know that?”
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Imogen told me that her mother works at the checkout at Allinstore.”
Carole’s knee-jerk reaction was characteristically snobbish. “Really? I thought, from what you’d said, that they were a nice middle-class family.”
“Divorce has unfortunate effects even on nice middle-class families. I gather Imogen’s mother is doing it for the money.”
“But it’s an extremely public way of earning money. I mean, everyone in Fethering sees you sitting at a checkout. It’s very humiliating.”
Jude thought about this. From what she’d heard of Hilary Potton, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d sought out that kind of humiliation, a public martyrdom to show all of Fethering the straits to which her husband’s behaviour had reduced her. She shared the thought with Carole. “Anyway,” she concluded, “Mrs. Potton, so far as we know, has only the most tenuous of links to Walter Fleet. I mean, her daughter rides at Long Bamber, but that’s about it.”
“Maybe, Jude, but tenuous links are all we seem to have at the moment.” Carole rose and picked up her handbag. “Anyway, as it happens, there are a few things I need from Allinstore. I’m going straight down there.”
The building must have been converted from something else; it couldn’t have been designed as a supermarket, unless by an architect who was either incompetent or had a wicked sense of humour. The large pillars that supported the roof seemed to have been placed where they would cause maximum obstruction to the smooth flow of shoppers. Some vindictive expert in space management had elected to put the tills directly behind
