“Yes,” said Zofia. “I do not think he will do it, though.”
“What?”
“Marek does not want dealings with the police.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with his immigration status?”
“No. He just does not want dealings with the police.”
“You mean you don’t think he will get in touch with them?”
“No. I am sure he won’t.”
Carole snorted with exasperation. Jude didn’t say anything, but she was delighted.
? Blood at the Bookies ?
Twenty-Five
Before she started her shift at the Crown and Anchor, Zofia just had time to send an email to Pavel from the Woodside Cottage laptop. She didn’t know when she was likely to get a response. It would depend on how long he stayed in Krakow.
Jude’s afternoon was committed to a client whose whiplash injuries after a car accident needed massage and healing. Carole said she was going to spend a quiet few hours reading. But in fact she had other plans.
Jude knew she had other plans. Why else would Carole have asked to borrow her mobile? But, as she handed it across, she didn’t ask for any explanation.
The
Nor did her distracted concentration allow her to make much headway on the crossword. She knew Tuesday’s could sometimes be tricky, but her mind that afternoon was not dissecting and analysing words as it should have been. A few clues made sense, and she got them so quickly that she suspected the others were equally easy. But her brain couldn’t see through the verbal obfuscation to the patent truth. She knew if she failed to complete the puzzle, the answers in the next morning’s paper would make her kick herself for her ineptitude.
There was a phone number that could be rung to get answers to the day’s crossword, but Carole Seddon would never resort to that. For a start, calls were priced at the exorbitant rate of seventy-five pence per minute, and then again…well, it just wasn’t the sort of thing she’d do. She felt sure that Gerald Hume would be as much of a purist in such matters as she was.
The road by the River Fether was not busy on a chilly February afternoon. The few people out walking their dogs were what Carole thought of dismissively as ‘pensioners’ (until she realized that she and Gulliver would also fit the description). Between half-past three and four a few schoolchildren, defiantly coatless in the cold weather, returned to their homes. But as the shadows of the encroaching evening closed together and lights came on in the houses before their curtains were closed, the area was deserted.
It was nearly five o’clock and Carole could hardly even see the crossword, though she knew that two corners of clues remained intractable. There was a fifteen-letter word straight down the middle of the grid. She knew if she could get that, all the other answers would fall into place. She also knew that the solution was quite easy, but she could not for the life of her see what it was.
Stuff this for a game of soldiers, thought Carole. It was not an expression that she would ever have spoken out loud, but it was one she had learnt from her father and cherished. Time to get back to High Tor.
Before she turned the key in the ignition, however, movement from one of the houses along the road drew her attention. A woman was coming out of the front door. She moved, in a manner which to Carole’s imagination looked furtive, towards the turning into River Road. In the deepening gloom, Carole couldn’t make out the woman’s face well, nor could she see Gerald Hume’s photograph clearly enough to make comparisons. But the stranger was about the right age.
When the woman was close to her, Carole put the next part of her plan into action. On Jude’s phone she keyed in the number given her by Giles Newton, and pressed the ‘call’ button.
The woman reacted. She didn’t answer the phone, but she definitely reacted to its ringing.
She was Melanie Newton.
? Blood at the Bookies ?
Twenty-Six
Jude felt empowered after her session with the whiplash sufferer. There were times when her healing really worked and, though she might be drained by the transfer of energy entailed, she felt the peace of knowing she had actually done someone some good.
But her contentment was not total. There was something else that was making her feel bad. Her agreement to meet Andy Constant at the Bull that evening. She tried to convince herself that she’d only made the arrangement because he might be able to give her some useful information about the murder case, but she knew that was casuistry. She was going to see Andy Constant because she wanted to see him. And she knew he was seriously bad news.
Jude rather despised herself for the aromatic bath she took before her excursion. Also for the care she took with what she wore.
Andy Constant was an arrogant, selfish boor. He hadn’t even had the decency to invite her on a proper date, just a drink in a location which involved her in either a train journey and a long walk or an expensive cab ride. He didn’t deserve her attention.
But she still wanted to see him. Some instincts were stronger than logic.
¦
Carole really did feel like something out of a television cop show. She waited till Melanie Newton was halfway up River Road before driving the Renault slowly along and parking again a little behind her. Then, when her quarry turned right into the High Street, she edged the car further up till she could just see round the corner. Melanie Newton’s errand appeared to be the same as when Gerald Hume had seen her. She disappeared into Allinstore.
While the woman was in the shop, Carole turned the Renault round and parked at the top of River Road, facing towards the Fether. Sure enough, Melanie Newton soon passed by, carrying two loaded carrier bags, and retraced her steps. Carole waited till the woman was about to turn at the end of River Road and then drove the Renault back to where she had originally been parked. She was just in time to see Melanie Newton use a key to let herself into the house whence she had emerged some ten minutes earlier.
Carole hadn’t really planned her next step. Having found where the woman lived was perhaps achievement enough for that afternoon, but not for the first time she wanted to present Jude with a more tangible advance in their investigation. Also she recalled that Jude had a client that afternoon and was then going out somewhere for the evening. Either Carole would have to wait till the following morning to tell her neighbour of their quarry’s whereabouts, or she should try to consolidate her achievement straight away. She got out of the car.
It had felt cold inside, but that was as nothing compared to the freezing blast that hit her when she emerged. That cold evening in Fethering worries about global warming seemed seriously exaggerated.
She crossed resolutely to the house into which her suspect had disappeared. It was a semi, probably with three bedrooms. Before she had time for second thoughts, Carole rang the doorbell. A moment passed before it opened, and she found herself face to face with a young teenage girl in school uniform.
“Good afternoon, I’m looking for Melanie Newton.”
“She’s in her room at the top of the house.”
“Could I see her?”
The response was one of those ‘no skin off my nose’ shrugs which only teenage girls can really do properly. After it, the shrugger seemed to lose interest in the proceedings and disappeared into the kitchen from which she’d presumably come.
