attacked his large Scotch suggested it wasn’t his first of the evening.
Now she could see his half-turned face, Carole knew who the man was. He’d been living in Fethering longer than she had. Rory Turnbull. Dentist with a practice in Brighton. Lived with a sour-faced wife in one of those huge houses on the Shorelands Estate. Carole knew the couple well enough to bestow upon them more than ‘the Fethering Nod’; she would actually talk if she met them. But the conversations they shared never strayed on to any subject more contentious than the weather.
“It’s the only philosophy worth a fart,” Ted Crisp was saying. “Eat, drink and be merry…”
“Don’t waste time with the eating,” said the dentist. “Drink, drink and be merry” – the landlord chuckled as Rory Turnbull went on – “for tomorrow we die.”
There was a change of tone in his last words, as if he were suddenly aware of their meaning, and that broke the conviviality of the moment. Jude moved away from the bar, cradling the two large glasses of wine and two packets of crisps.
Right, thought Carole, forget the body, forget the woman, now’s my opportunity to find out something about my new neighbour. I don’t know anything. Here’s my chance to fill in the gaps.
Jude placed the wine glasses and dropped the crisps on to the table. “I’m starving,” she said. “lakes it out of you, hoicking all that stuff round the house.”
“I’m sure it does.” Carole wondered whether she should repeat her offer of help, but didn’t.
“I’ll probably order something to eat soon,” Jude went on. “Haven’t begun to get my kitchen up and running yet.”
“Takes time, doesn’t it?” Life in Fethering had refined Carole’s skill in the deployment of meaningless platitudes.
“If you fancy joining me in a bite…”
“No, no, I’ll be eating later,” said Carole quickly.
But the thought of food was appealing. Suddenly very hungry, she opened her bag of crisps and put a greedy handful into her mouth. The lunchtime soup and bread seemed an age ago. She took a long swallow of wine.
“You look as if you could do with that,” said Jude.
“What?” Surely the woman wasn’t suggesting she had a drink problem? But when she looked into the big brown eyes, Carole saw no criticism, only concern.
“You look like you’ve had a bit of a shock.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I have,” Carole found herself saying.
Jude was silent. She didn’t ask any question, she offered no prompt, and yet Carole found herself ineluctably drawn to further revelation. “The fact is,” she said, “I did have rather a shock when I went for my walk on the beach this morning…”
And it all came out. The body. The interview with Detective Inspector Brayfield and WPC Juster. Not only the facts either. She told Jude exactly how diminished the police had made her feel.
And Jude simply responded. She didn’t push, she didn’t probe, she didn’t even appear to be waiting for more. Carole could have stopped at any moment.
But she didn’t. She went on. She went on to tell of the woman who’d arrived on her doorstep earlier that evening. Of their conversation. Of the gun. Of the woman’s disappearance.
“You didn’t hear anything? It was just after I opened the door to you.”
Jude shook her head. Blonde tendrils hanging from the bird’s-nest of hair tickled her shoulders. It must be blonded, Carole thought again. She must be my age. Well, nearly. It can’t be natural.
“No, I didn’t hear anything,” said Jude. “Not a thing.” Surely she’s not disbelieving me too, thought Carole. But the panic was quickly allayed. “Then, you get to know the sounds of your own house, don’t you? You hear things other people wouldn’t notice.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
For the first time since the revelations had started, Jude asked a question. “You say the woman appeared as if she was on drugs?”
“Yes. Well, she was certainly odd. She was on something. I mean, I don’t know much about drugs, except for what I see on the television…”
“No.”
“…but she did seem to be out of control. Which was why I was so worried about what she might do with the gun.”
“I’m sure you were.” And then Jude expressed her first opinion of the evening. “I should think drugs are probably behind the whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The body on the beach. The woman with the gun. There’s a lot of drug business down here. Long tradition of smuggling on the South Coast. Once it was brandy, silks and tobacco. Now it’s cannabis, cocaine and heroin.”
Carole chuckled. “You seem to know a lot about the subject.”
“Yes,” said Jude.
? The Body on the Beach ?
Seven
The pub door clattered open, making both of the women look up. The newcomer was a short man of about seventy. The dark-blue reefer jacket and neat corduroy cap bestowed a deliberately naval air. A wispy white beard on the point of his chin gave his head the shape of some root vegetable newly plucked from the soil.
“Evening, mine host,” he said as he strode towards the bar.
Carole recognized Bill Chilcott, another High Street resident. He hadn’t noticed her as he came in. She wouldn’t have minded if things stayed that way. Since Carole Seddon wasn’t a ‘pub person’, she didn’t want the impression to get round that she was. Anything observed by Bill Chilcott would immediately be passed on to his wife, Sandra, and soon all Fethering would know.
“Evening, Bill.” Ted Crisp reached for the pump handle. “Your customary half?”
“Yes, thank you. And my customary half-hour away from the little woman. Actually, Sandra’s deep into some programme about neighbours redecorating each other’s front rooms, so she’s as happy as a pig in…in its element.” He chuckled at his careful euphemism, then noticed the other man at the bar. “Rory. How’re you doing?”
“Been better,” the dentist grunted.
“Still, at least you didn’t get breathalyzed, eh?”
“No, no.” His face twisted ironically before he said, “Thank you for that.”
Ted Crisp handed Bill Chilcott his customary half. “What’s all this about the dreaded breathalyzer then?”
“The Bill was staking out Seaview Road last night. Stopped Sandra and me on our way back from line– dancing. I was fine, hadn’t had a drop, but on the way home I saw Rory’s car coming towards me, so I flashed him down to warn him there was a trap ahead. Of course,” Bill Chilcott went on innocently, “I had no idea whether you’d been drinking or not…”
“No.”
“So what did you do, actually?”
“Parked the car by the Yacht Club and walked home. Last thing I need at the moment is trouble with the police.”
“Last thing any of us need.” Bill Chilcott shook his head ruefully. “I think it’s a bit much, the police breathalyzing right down here in Fethering. Up on the main road, that’s fine, but here…Nanny state gone mad, eh? Mind you, if you want my opinion…the police shouldn’t be wasting their time harassing respectable motorists. They should be concentrating on the young people round here. There’s so much vandalism. I hear there’ve been more break-ins at the Yacht Club.”
“Have there?” Rory Turnbull looked shocked.
“Who’d you hear that from?” asked Ted. “The Vice-Commodore?” He said it teasingly, deliberately prompting a predictable reaction.
It came. Bill Chilcott’s tuber face turned purple with anger. “You know I don’t give the time of day to that old
