She wondered why he was asking. He surely must already have got this information from Gaby or Marie or Phil. Was he asking in the hope that she would point up some inconsistencies in their stories? Or that she would show herself to be a liar? She felt on her guard, as though already under suspicion. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Quickly she ran through the circumstances of how she and Jude had ended up with Bazza in the Crown and Anchor. She had the impression of Inspector Pollard at the other end of the line with a notebook, ticking off points of corroboration. He then asked her to go through the conversation they had shared with the late Mr Painter. She provided as much detail as her memory could offer.
“This call he had on his mobile phone – you say it was from a friend?”
“That was the implication. He said it was a business call, and he only did business with his mates.”
“But he didn’t identify who made the call?”
“No. I assumed it was Phil Martin. Maybe asking Bazza to organize another car theft just as he had on the night of his father’s death? Maybe organizing the car in which Bazza met his own death?”
Her conjectures were greeted by a silence. Then Inspector Pollard said magisterially, “Our job is already a difficult one, Mrs Seddon. It is not made easier by members of the public fancying themselves as amateur sleuths.”
“No, I can see that. But it does seem likely, doesn’t it,” she persisted, “that Phil got Bazza to organize that car for Howard Martin on the night of the engagement party?”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to make any comment on that suggestion, Mrs Seddon.”
“Well, it would be nice if you did.”
She thought that was a reply worthy of Jude, but it didn’t produce any thaw in Inspector Pollard. “Even if I wished to, I would not be at liberty to discuss any details of the case.”
“No, of course not. Interesting, though, isn’t it” – time for a big stab in the dark – “that Bazza claimed never to have heard of Michael Brewer?”
“What?” His voice was tight with surprise. “Where have you heard that name, Mrs Seddon?”
“Oh, come on. Gaby’s my son’s fiancee. She’s told me some of the things you’ve asked her. Also, I was actually with her when she took the call on her mobile from Michael Brewer.”
“Oh. Right.” He couldn’t argue with that.
“So it’s no surprise that I’ve heard of Michael Brewer. And living down here, it’s no surprise that I’ve heard about the fact that he murdered Janine Buckley.”
“I suppose not.”
“And I gather no one’s seen him since he was released from Parkhurst?” Inspector Pollard made no reply. “So is he one of your suspects?”
“Michael Brewer is one of a large number of people we wish to talk to,” the Inspector conceded.
“But he’s disappeared off the face of the earth?” Again no response. “Though we know he’s alive, because he rang Gaby.”
“Mrs Seddon, if we could move on? That is,” he added sarcastically, “if you have no further comments to make?”
“Well, all I would say is that it doesn’t take a massive intellect to observe that the same murder method was used in the killings of Janine Buckley, Howard Martin and Barry Painter.”
Now she had gone too far. “Mrs Seddon, I am calling you to ask about the time you spent in the Crown and Anchor with Mr Painter. I would be grateful if we could confine our conversation to that subject. I’m afraid I haven’t got time to listen to your ill-informed amateur speculations. I know that members of the general public all believe they have greater skills in the business of crime solving than professional police officers, but I’m afraid statistically that is not the case. It is a pernicious fantasy prompted by ill-researched and inaccurate television programmes.”
This long speech had the intended effect of cowing even Carole Seddon into silence. “Right, I may need to contact you again. I will definitely be speaking to your friend Jude Nicholls.” So he’d known the name all along. “In the meantime, are there any further questions you wish to ask me, Mrs Seddon?”
“Yes, there is one.”
“Well?”
“Is Michael Brewer your chief suspect for the murders of Howard Martin and Barry Painter?” Inspector Pollard put the phone down on her.
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Twenty-Six
Libby Pearson was a large, over-enthusiastic woman in her late forties, and Carole got the feeling she had been a large, over-enthusiastic schoolgirl in her late teens. She entertained them in the large family kitchen of her large family house on the Fedborough side of Fethering. There was a strong smell of meat and herbs in the air, and their conversation was punctuated by clangs, as Libby moved pans from oven to oven of her large double Aga.
“Sorry, cooking. Always cooking. That’s the way it’s bound to be with a husband and two teenage sons.”
She offered them tea or coffee, but they said they’d just had some. This was true; it was not much more than half an hour since Libby Pearson’s name had first been mentioned in the sitting room of High Tor. The alacrity with which she had invited them round had been almost alarming, and in keeping with her all-round heartiness.
She pointed to a metal grille of aromatically steaming biscuits. “Those have just come out of the Aga, so if you fancy one, help yourself.”
She took a casserole out of the bottom right oven, took off the lid and sniffed it. “Bit more rosemary, I think.” Expertly stripping the spines from the stem, she added the herb, replaced the casserole and turned to face them.
“So you’re writing a book about poor Janine?”
Carole wondered why she’d made such a fuss about making contact. Libby Pearson seemed so ready to talk, she probably wouldn’t have needed any reason. And whether Gita or Carole herself was the potential author didn’t seem to worry her either.
Gita fielded the question. “Yes. It’s not just about her, obviously, but about the whole case: the circumstances out of which it arose.”
“The circumstances out of which it arose,” said Libby Pearson ruefully, “were too much drink and teenage sex.”
“Oh?”
“The school we went to was a convent. We were all taught Catholic values, but with people like Janine, they didn’t stick. Which was why she got into trouble.”
“Are you saying,” asked Carole incredulously, “that if she’d been a good Catholic, she wouldn’t have been murdered?”
“Of course I’m saying that. Janine Buckley was murdered because she got pregnant.”
“But you could say she got pregnant because she was a good Catholic. She didn’t use any form of birth control.”
“She shouldn’t have got herself into a situation where she even needed to think about birth control. The ruling of the Catholic Church is quite clear on such matters.”
Carole’s instinct was to continue the argument. But she reminded herself that they weren’t there to discuss Catholicism and morality. They were trying to find out all they could about Michael Brewer.
Smoothly, Gita Millington took up the questioning. “From what you say, it sounds as though you and Janine Buckley weren’t close friends. Are you suggesting that she was part of a kind of – fast set?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I
“Did you ever meet Michael Brewer?” Carole asked. “Oh yes. I certainly did.” Libby Pearson didn’t want to
