many variables for any kind of logical pattern to be discernible. But the attempt to impose order on such chaos does sometimes bring me the same kind of satisfaction that I used to derive during my working life from balancing columns of figures. Perhaps because my life has followed a relatively predictable course, I am fascinated by the random. Maybe, in my own perhaps pernickety way, I am trying to impose logic on the random.”
“I see.” And now she almost did.
“And it keeps me off the streets.” He smiled rather wanly. “I’m not sure how I would fill my time without my regular attendance at the betting shop.”
There was a moment of silence before Gerald Hume, realizing the danger of sounding pitiable, abruptly changed the direction of the conversation. “Still, enough about me. I don’t have nearly that amount of information about you yet, Carole.”
“No.”
Her retirement from the Home Office and divorce were established with the minimum of comment.
“I see,” said Gerald. “I never married.”
“Is that a cause for regret?”
“Rarely. I think I am probably not designed for connubial bliss. I tend to be rather analytical in all my dealings, which may lead to a level of detachment in my behaviour. And I have been given to understand that marriage requires engagement with the partner rather than detachment from them.”
“I think that is usually thought desirable, yes.”
Carole was touched by his quaintness, and found her own speech beginning to echo the formality of his. She had also by now realized that Gerald Hume wasn’t and never would be a ‘date’. The attraction between them was not physical, it was purely intellectual. This revelation did not bring her even the mildest flicker of disappointment. In fact it reassured her, clarified her feelings.
“May I go off on a complete tangent, Gerald…?”
“By all means.”
“…and ask whether you do crosswords?”
As Carole knew he would, he confirmed that he did. “I do the
“I usually do the
“I knew you would.” This confirmation of his conjecture seemed to make him particularly happy. “I am very glad that we have met, Carole. I think there are a lot of similarities in our personalities.”
Deciding that this was not a completely undiluted compliment, she moved on to another possible area of mutual interest. “Gerald, have you ever applied your analytical mind to the subject of crime?”
He smiled with relish. “I most certainly have. I enjoy the process of deduction, very similar in fact to that required in the solution of a crossword. But I’m afraid the crime writing I favour is of an older generation. The so- called Golden Age, when authors played fair with their readers in regard to plotting. Though contemporary crime fiction may have gained in psychological reality, that has always been at the expense of the puzzle element. And for me it is in the puzzle that the appeal of the genre lies.”
“But have you ever applied your deductive powers to a real crime?” asked Carole.
“Might you be thinking of the recent regrettable incident, which occurred at the place where I spend a large portion of my days?”
“I was thinking of that, yes, Gerald.”
“Hm. The first time I have been so close to a murder, outside of fiction. I’m afraid, in my professional life – though accountants may frequently be thought to get away with murder…” He let out a small dry laugh at this small dry joke “…they are – perhaps fortunately – rarely involved in the real thing.”
“So have you joined in the increasingly popular Fethering pastime of trying to work out whodunit?”
“I have.” He sighed. “But without much progress. I regret in this instance the Almighty Author has provided us with an inadequacy of information. Dame Agatha would never have been so parsimonious with the clues. Though we habitues of the betting shop were witnesses to one part of the tragedy – and your friend Jude witness to a further part – we have very few facts that link the poor young man to his penultimate destination.”
“Were you particularly aware of him when he came in that afternoon?”
“I can’t say that I was, Carole. Yes, I noticed a young man I had not seen before come into the shop. The noise of the hailstorm was very loud when the door was opened, so I looked in his direction. But I very quickly returned to my investments. I can’t honestly say that the young man made any impression on me at all.”
“Gerald, you said then that you had not seen the victim before…”
“That is correct, yes.”
“But last week’s visit was the second time he had been in the betting shop.”
“Was it?” The ex-accountant looked genuinely amazed by this news. “I had certainly never seen him before.”
“And you are there most days during opening hours?”
“Well, not opening hours – betting shops tend to be open for an increasingly long time these days – but I’m there during afternoon racing hours. I tend to arrive about half an hour before the first race and stay there until after the last.”
“And would you say you tend to notice everyone who comes in and out?”
“I do. I make a point of that. My researches into the randomness of gambling are obviously related to the demographic profile of the people who participate.”
“So you’re sure you’d never seen Tadek before last week?”
“Tadek?”
“I’m sorry, Tadeusz Jankowski was always called Tadek.”
“I understand. No, I had definitely never encountered him before last week. When was he seen?”
“Round the beginning of last October.”
Gerald Hume’s brow clouded as he tried to explain the anomaly, but then it cleared. “Last October, yes. I remember now. I was unwell. I had a serious throat infection which kept me to my bed for a few days. I think it must have been during that period. Did Ryan the Manager see him?”
“It was while Ryan was on holiday.”
“So how do you know the young man was in there?”
Carole explained about Jude’s conversation with Pauline.
“Ah yes. That would make sense. Pauline never does much in the way of gambling, but she always keeps her eyes on everything that’s going on. A habit that she learnt from her late husband.”
“Oh?”
“He was a fairly considerable crook. Or so Fethering gossip has it…and this is another instance when I would be inclined to believe Fethering gossip.”
“Jude said that Pauline was one of very few women who go into the betting shop.”
“That is true. It is more of a male enclave…though a lot of the ladies put in an appearance round the Derby or Grand National. Or down here when Glorious Goodwood is on, of course.”
A new thought came suddenly to Carole. “Ooh, that reminds me. Other women in the betting shop!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Apparently when Tadeusz Jankowski went into the betting shop last year, he spoke to a woman who was often in there. Another regular. Very well-dressed, middle·class woman…does that ring any bells, Gerald?”
“Well, there are one or two fitting that description who come in from time to time…”
“This one used to be very regular, but then stopped coming…round about last October. Any idea who it might be?”
Gerald Hume beamed as the recollection came to him. “Oh yes. I know exactly who you mean. I’m sorry, with her not having been in for a few months, I’d completely forgotten about her. But yes, she fits your description exactly.”
“Did you ever talk to her?”
“No. She kept herself to herself.”
