The Fethering Mysteries 09; Blood at the Bookies

“Actually I was just on my way to check that when you came downstairs. I think her full name is likely to be in the programme for the show I saw at Clincham College.”

Jude hurried back up to her bedroom to fetch the printed sheet she had been given at the university theatre, but she came down more slowly, studying the text.

Back in the sitting room, the two women looked up at her expectantly.

“Well, that’s very odd,” said Jude. “There’s no one on this programme whose first name’s Joan.”

? Blood at the Bookies ?

Thirty

“You’re the expert in surveillance work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jude.”

“Come on, who was it who did that very successful stake-out to find Melanie Newton?”

“Well…” Carole couldn’t help being flattered.

“And what we’re trying to do here is much easier.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. We know the girl is a student at the University of Clincham, we know she’s doing Drama, and we know her name’s Joan. Much more information than you had when you tracked down Melanie.”

“Yes, but we didn’t get much cooperation when we went to the university reception asking about Tadek, did we?”

“No. That’s why I’m talking about surveillance. Look, there’s only one entrance to the university. Which means all the students have to go through it every day.”

“Don’t they have halls of residence? For the minority of students who don’t live at home? If they do, a student could stay inside on the campus as long as he or she wanted to.”

“They do have halls of residence, but they’re not right on the campus. Andy Constant told me. So all the students do have to go in and out through the main gates.”

“So, Jude, are you suggesting I spend the next few days sitting in the Renault outside the university’s main gates until I get a sighting of this Joan?”

“No. I’m suggesting we go and have a drink in the Bull. It’s right opposite those gates.”

“You mean now?”

“Yes.”

“But Zofia wanted to come too. And she’s gone down to do another shift at the Crown and Anchor.”

“Carole, I don’t think she’ll mind, so long as we actually track the girl down.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So off to the Bull, in we go. And you never know, we might get lucky.”

¦

They did get lucky. Luckier than they had any right to expect. It was about five when they reached Clincham and the Bull was empty enough for them to get a table in the bay window, which commanded a perfect view of the university’s main entrance. Darkness had fallen during their drive from Fethering but the area was well lit and they could see the comings and goings of the students.

Mostly goings. Clearly many lectures or classes or seminars finished at five and a lot of the students were on their way home. They gathered in little knots, draped round each other, looking even younger in their muffled anoraks and hoodies. As always, they gestured flamboyantly, as though they were taking part in some adult performance of a play to which they did not quite yet know the words. Some were busy texting on mobile phones, some waving elaborately dramatic farewells to friends they would undoubtedly see the next day.

Carole and Jude had only been in their surveillance point for about twenty minutes when their luck kicked in. A bunch of students emerged from the campus, behaving even more flamboyantly than the others, and Jude was quick to recognize some of them from the cast of Rumours of Wars. She couldn’t see Sophia Urquhart amongst them, but it was definitely the Drama set. Even better, it included the girl whose pretty dark face was framed by long black hair. Better still, she was one of the group who decided to have a drink to start off whatever entertainment the evening might hold.

The Bull’s ‘Happy Hour’ seemed more or less permanent. The management recognized the value of their location and used low prices to encourage the students’ alcoholic consumption (not that many of them needed much encouragement). The Drama lot equipped themselves with pints of lager for both genders and commandeered a large table over the other side of the bar. Their presence doubled the decibel level in the pub.

“Well, there she is,” said Carole. “How do you propose that we start talking to her?”

“Not a problem,” said Jude, rising to her feet. “If you want to start a conversation with anyone involved in the theatre, all you have to do is to tell them how good their last show was. And fortunately I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing this lot’s last show.”

Carole, as someone who hadn’t seen Rumours of Wars, thought she should stay put, while her friend sashayed across the bar towards the loud assemblage of students.

Two of the boys were just coming to the end of some routine in cod French accents and Jude timed her entrance so that she rode in on a wave of laughter. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but you lot were in Rumours of Wars, weren’t you?”

Their attention was duly grabbed. Someone actually wanted to talk to them about their work. They confirmed that they had been in the show. One or two of them put on the faces they had practised in their mirrors for the moment when they would be interviewed on television about their professional lives.

Time for the tactical half-truth. “I thought the show was terrific. Saw it on Friday. Really packed a punch.”

A couple of the girls agreed that it was powerful stuff. “We felt, like, absolutely drained at the end of it,” said one.

“Yeah, like, the director really made us get into our parts. Even if it’s only a couple of lines, he said, I want to feel, like, the energy you’re transmitting to that person.”

Yes, I bet he said that, thought Jude. And a lot more garbage along the same lines.

Their eyes were gleaming, pathetically hungry for praise. “Well, I thought you were all terrific. I mean, I used to act and I do know what I’m talking about,” They lapped it up. “And the staging, too. It was a real ensemble piece.”

“Yeah, that’s what Andy – he’s, like, the director – he said he wanted us to be an ensemble.”

“Yeah, he said we should be like the…Berlin Ensemble…?” the girl hazarded.

“Berliner Ensemble.”

“Right, whatever.”

“A lot of backstage effort went into that show too.” She looked at the dark-haired girl. “I didn’t see you in it. Were you part of the stage management?”

“No,” the girl said, in an accent that sounded very slightly Spanish. “I was the assistant director.”

“Ooh yes. Like, working very closely with the director,” insinuated one of the boys.

“Shut up!”

But he’d got the others going. “You sound guilty to me,” said one.

“Teacher’s pet,” crowed another. “Or teacher’s heavy petting, maybe?”

“Just shut up!” the girl said again. But there was no vindictiveness in their banter.

“I wonder, actually,” said Jude to the girl, “if I could just have a quick word with you…” Time for another tactical lie “…I’d love to ask you about how the improvisation element worked out.”

“Sure.” The girl seemed quite ready to detach herself from the teasing boys around her. Picking up her pint, she sidled out of her seat.

“Let’s go and join my friend.”

“Is she interested in the theatre too?”

“Oh yes. Very,” Jude lied. Then, as they approached Carole, she continued, “I was just saying how interested you are in the theatre.”

“Really?” Carole’s pale blue eyes looked daggers at her neighbour.