had a growing population of students, a lot of them foreigners studying at the town’s many language schools.
“The place has been around for a long time. As a college, or it may even have been a poly. Not very academic, did courses in estate management, animal husbandry, catering, that sort of thing. Most of the students there were local, and I gather they still are. I always think that’s the difference between a college and a university. A university is a place where young people go to get away from home, to spread their wings a little, start to find their own personalities, whereas a college…Anyway, in recent years,
“Does it take a lot of foreign students?”
“That I wouldn’t know. I don’t think more than the average so-called university.”
“Well, it’d be fairly easy to check if Tadek was enrolled there.”
“But how could he have been, Jude? If he was, surely the police would have described him as a ‘student’, not a ‘bar worker’?”
“He could have been doing a part-time course. Or maybe he started something and dropped out. A lot of students do.” Her neighbour didn’t seem particularly impressed by this new area of potential investigation. “Look, Carole, we do now have at least one connection for Tadek and the Fethering area. Apart from Madame Ego at the Cat and Fiddle. He was looking for Clincham College. It’s a lead.”
“About the only one we’ve got,” said Carole frostily.
Silence reigned between them until they reached the High Street. The cold wind off the sea stung their cheeks. Jude noticed with amusement how, the closer they got to the betting shop, the more the anxiety in Carole’s face grew. At last, when they were only yards away, she burst out, “Is there anything I ought to know? I don’t want to look a fool. I don’t want people staring at me. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
“Carole, it’s a betting shop we’re going into, not the temple of some obscure religious sect. Nobody will take any notice of you. And if you do feel self-conscious, just study the sheets from the newspapers stuck up on the walls. They’ll show all the runners and riders.”
“And nobody will think it odd if I don’t bet?”
“Nobody will think anything about you.”
“Oh.” But she didn’t sound reassured.
“Know anything?” asked Sonny Frank, the minute the two women entered the betting shop.
“Sorry. Nothing,” Jude replied.
“How’s about your friend?”
“Sonny, this is Carole. Sonny Frank – Carole Seddon.”
“Good afternoon.”
“How do? And what about you – know anything?”
“Well,” Carole replied, primly mystified, “I know quite a lot of things, I suppose. In which particular area were you interested?”
“Horses,” said Sonny. “Wondered if you knew a good thing on today’s cards?”
Carole looked to Jude for help, which was readily supplied. “Sonny was wondering if you had a tip for any of today’s races.”
“Oh, good heavens, no. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about horses.”
“Join the club,” said Sonny Frank, “The great international conspiracy of mug punters.”
“Ah.” Carole still looked confused.
“You know anything, Sonny?” asked Jude.
“Might be something in the 3.20 at Exeter.”
“Oh?”
“From a yard in the north. Long way to travel if the trainer reckons it’s a no-hoper.”
“So you’re saying it’s a cert?”
“No such thing, darling.”
“Are you going to tell me the name?”
The round head shook, its plastered-down hair unstirred by the movement. “Maybe later. See what form the jockey’s in first.”
Jude nodded acceptance of his reticence and crossed to the counter to hand in Harold Peskett’s bets. Carole felt stranded. Sonny Frank had returned to his
“The ground hasn’t really thawed out after the frost,” said a cultured voice behind her. “The going shouldn’t be too heavy.”
“Oh. Really?” Carole turned to see a smartly suited mature man with an impeccably knotted tie. He was the former accountant whom Jude knew as a regular, but to whom she had never spoken.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.”
“No, I am not an habituee.” Why on earth had she said that? Was it some form of inverted snobbery that put her gentility into overdrive in a common place like a betting shop?
“Well, I am, I’m afraid. Gerald Hume.” He stretched out a hand and formally took hers.
“Carole Seddon.”
At the counter, Jude had had Harold Peskett’s bets scanned by the manager, but lingered. Ryan looked sweaty and ill at ease. Once again Jude was aware of the strong peppermint smell that was always around him. “I was wondering if my friend and I could talk to you about something…?”
“What’s that?”
“About Tadeusz Jankowski…you know, the person who died.”
The young man was instantly suspicious. His dark eyes darted from side to side as he said, “I only saw him the once, that afternoon. I told you that. I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“Yes, but we’d like to talk to you a bit more about it. Amongst other things…”
“Why, what do you know?” There was a note of panic in his voice.
“Oh, this and that,” Jude replied, casually – and mendaciously. “We thought it’d be nice to have a chat and bring you up to date on what we do know. And you’re the person who knows everything that goes on in this betting shop. You, as it were, know where the bodies are buried.”
His pupils flickered like trapped tadpoles. “I can’t talk now,” he said.
“What time do you finish?”
“Five-thirty this time of year.”
“Meet in the Crown and Anchor?”
“OK,” he grunted reluctantly.
Someone’s got a guilty secret, thought Jude. She wondered if Ryan’s manner towards her had something to do with their encounter earlier that morning. Had he been doing something he shouldn’t have been in the betting shop’s back yard? And did he think she was a witness to his wrong-doing? Had her random talk of knowing ‘where the bodies are buried’ triggered some guilt in the manager?
These were her thoughts as she crossed back towards her neighbour, who she was surprised to see was in earnest conversation with the man whom Sonny Frank had once identified as a retired accountant. Animated by talking, he didn’t look quite as old as he had before. Probably only early sixties, steel-grey hair and a lean face with unexpectedly blue eyes. When he smiled, he was almost good-looking.
“Oh, Gerald, this is my friend Jude,” said Carole in a manner which was, by her standards, fulsome.
The introductions were duly made. “Yes, I’ve seen you in here before, but never known your name,” said Gerald.
“Same for me with you. And indeed with a lot of other Fethering residents.”
“You’re certainly right there. Isn’t that typical of England – everyone knows who everyone else is, but they
