“I think we’re in time,” said Carole, as she brought the Renault to a halt opposite the house. “No sign of a van yet.”
She looked at her watch. Ten to nine. They’d just sit and wait. And chat. Maybe she’d find out a little more about Jude’s visitor.
“Brad was the friend you rushed back from the pub to see last night, was he?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“So he stayed over?”
“Yes. Well, it’s a long way back for him.”
Back where? Though desperate to know the answer, that was another question Carole could never have brought herself to ask.
“He seemed very at home, Jude.”
“It’s nice when friends feel relaxed staying with you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Jude looked across and gave Carole a sweet smile. Was there a trace of irony in it? Was Jude actually teasing her, deliberately withholding information, knowing how desperate she was to know about the relationship with Brad? It was impossible to tell.
Jude smiled inwardly. She was having a little game with her neighbour. If Carole had come out with direct questions, she’d have answered them. Jude had no secrets. But if she wasn’t asked, it had never been her habit to volunteer information.
She felt good, though. It was always a pleasure to see Brad, catch up on what he was doing. Old friends, Jude found, became more valuable with the passage of the years.
There was a sudden tapping at the passenger side window. Jude wound it down.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing parked here! This is a Neighbourhood Watch area and…Oh. Oh, Jude, good morning.”
The righteous resident of Shorelands bending down to the car window turned out to be Barbara Turnbull, her large frame swaddled up in an expensive tweed coat.
“Barbara, how nice to see you. You know Carole?”
“Yes. Yes, of course we know each other. Morning, Carole.”
“Morning.”
“I’m very sorry to have spoken to you like that, Jude, but you can’t be too careful. There’s been quite a spate of burglaries here in Shorelands and, since there’s a bit of an element in Fethering these days, we’ve all been encouraged to accost anyone we see lurking around.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize we were lurking,” said Jude.
“No, obviously you weren’t. But it’s an unfamiliar car and, since I didn’t know who was in it, it did look as though someone was lurking. Apparently, these criminal gangs send people down to check out potential targets. ‘Casing the joint’, I believe they call it.” Having shared this piece of underworld know-how with her acquaintances, she straightened up. “Anyway, I was just off to my mother’s for a cup of coffee and to take her dog for a walk. First chance I’ve had to get out for days. Been tied up with housework. But thank goodness my cleaning lady’s deigned to come back this morning.” Barbara Turnbull put a large smile in place over her features. “So nice to see you both.”
“And you, Barbara,” said Carole. “How’s Rory?”
The smile froze in position. “Rory’s absolutely fine,” asserted Barbara Turnbull, daring anyone to contradict her. “Goodbye.”
And with that she navigated her large, top-heavy body off down the road.
“Funny,” Jude observed. “When she didn’t know who we were, she thought we might be criminals lurking. As soon as she recognizes us, her suspicions cease. How does she know we’re not ‘casing the joint’?”
“Because we’re Fethering residents,” replied Carole stoutly.
“Still, I think it’s good…” Jude mused.
“What’s good?”
“All this security-consciousness. All this Neighbourhood Watch stuff.”
“I didn’t think you’d approve of that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you seem to have rather a hippyish attitude to property” was the answer that came instinctively to Carole’s mind. But all she said was, “I thought you’d regard it as snooping.”
“Oh, I do. And that’s the beauty of it. Everyone in Fethering seems to snoop. I’m sure it’s impossible to do anything in this place without someone having seen you at it…”
“Well…”
“Which makes me very optimistic that we’re going to find out how our two bodies came to end up on the beach. Someone must’ve seen what happened. It’s just a matter of finding out who that someone is. And I think we – ”
“Ssh! Look.”
A yellow Transit van had just drawn up outside Bali-Hai. Lettering on the side read ‘J. T. CARPETS’.
“Here we go,” said Carole, her hand tightening round the Stanley knife in her raincoat pocket.
Two men got out of the van and went round to open the doors at the back. Both were middle-aged, one almost completely bald, the other with grizzled grey hair.
Jude shook her head ruefully. “Neither of those looks like Dylan.”
“No.”
“Maybe you read the duty roster wrong?”
Carole was offended. “I did not! There were three of them allocated to this job. Dave, Ken and Dylan.”
“Well, there go Dave and Ken.” Jude watched the two men, now carrying toolboxes, open the gates to Bali- Hai and go up to the front door. “Looks like Dylan’s called in sick.”
But, as she spoke, they were aware of the sound of a car approaching fast. It was a Golf Gti, a good ten years old, tarted up with extra chrome and decals. The way it was being driven gave two fingers to the demure ‘20 mph’ signs of Shorelands.
“I think this could be our quarry,” said Carole, as she opened the car door.
They were both standing in front of Bali-Hai’s railings by the time the boy emerged from his Golf. He fitted Ted Crisp’s description perfectly. Bleached hair, single earring, ‘a nasty bit of work’.
He looked through them as he came up to the gates.
“Are you Dylan?” asked Carole.
“What if I am?”
“I’ve got something that belongs to you.”
“Oh yes?”
Carole took the Stanley knife out of her pocket and held it in her open palm, with the painted ‘j. T. CARPETS’ uppermost. Both women watched the boy closely. Though he quickly covered it up, his first reaction was undoubtedly one of shock.
“Oh, well, thanks,” he said casually, reaching out for the knife. “I can take it in to work with me.”
Carole withdrew her hand. “Don’t you want to know where we found it?”
“Not particularly.” After the initial giveaway response, his manner had become cocky, on the edge of insolence.
“We found it in a boat at the Fethering Yacht Club,” said Jude.
A flicker of the eyelid showed he hadn’t been expecting that. But again he recovered quickly. “Wonder how it got there…”
Carole took over the attack. “We know that you were there on Monday night with Aaron Spalding and another boy.”
Dylan’s lip curled. “You know a lot. Nosy pair of old tarts, aren’t you?”
“Being offensive isn’t going to help, Dylan. This is serious. And you know it’s serious. Aaron Spalding’s dead.”
“Yes, I do know that. Stupid kid. Should have known better than to muck around on the banks of the Fether, shouldn’t he?”
