“That bloke who’s often here. Good few sandwiches short of a picnic.”
“The one who got killed in the fight last Sunday?”
Matt nodded. “Poor bugger. Wrong place at the wrong time.” This seemed to be becoming a universal view of Ray’s death.
“You didn’t get involved in that fight, did you? Because I know you and Sylvia were here that evening.”
“No way. We’d gone well before the trouble started.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He looked affronted. “Of course I’m bloody sure.”
“It’s just that the fight appeared to be started by the bikers outside the pub.”
“So?”
“You were wearing black leather that night.”
“Just because you dress in black leather doesn’t mean you’re a bloody biker!”
“So why were you wearing black leather?”
He looked embarrassed for a moment, then mumbled, “Because Sylvia likes it. She says it’s sexy.”
Having made that admission, there was now a restlessness in his eyes, a look that was verging on suspicion. Carole realized that her interrogation time might be running out. Quickly she asked, “Going back to the pencil- written instructions on your docket…was there anything unusual about them, anything odd you were meant to do?”
He considered his answer, maybe wondering how much information he dared give her. “I had to pick up another tray from the kitchen and take it back to KWS.”
“Was that an unusual thing to happen?”
“No. Sometimes the publicans – or even more often the chefs – had some complaint about their order…or the wrong stuff’d got delivered. So quite often there was stuff to take back.”
“So what happens to that stuff when it gets back to the warehouse?”
“There’s a special bay you have to put it in.”
“And then?”
“Dunno. Not my responsibility.” Matt gave Carole the firm impression that he wished everything was not his responsibility.
“Just one last question…Were there any other instructions written in pencil on the docket?”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “No. Just deliver the scallops, take the other tray back.”
Ah. So he had known the contents of the tray he delivered. Carole was about to press him further, but was stopped in her tracks by the appearance of Ted Crisp in the pub doorway. He looked scruffier than ever, as though he’d slept in his clothes. Which he quite possibly had.
“What the hell’s going on?” he barked.
“Come for the delivery,” said Matt.
“Yes, I know why you’ve come.” He turned to Carole. “But what the hell are you doing here?”
Ted Crisp stared at her. His look was upsetting. It was entirely without affection. He stood beside Matt, the two of them in some way complicit, united against her.
Awkwardly, making some feeble excuse for her presence, Carole beat a retreat to the Renault. And for the first time she entertained the awful possibility that Ted Crisp himself might have something to do with the series of disasters at the Crown and Anchor.
? The Poisoning in the Pub ?
Twenty-Two
She didn’t confide that last fear to Jude when she got back to Woodside Cottage, but told her neighbour everything else about her encounter with Matt. Except, of course, for the detail about how she’d used her old Home Office ID.
“So,” said Jude, her brown eyes sparkling, “we’ve got a nice paper trail.”
“How do you mean?”
“The docket, invoice, whatever, that had the pencil writing on it. That gave Matt the instructions to get the two trays of scallops swapped round.”
“Yes, and those instructions were obviously suspect, because the original scallops didn’t come from the KWS depot. They came from Ted’s usual supplier in Brighton.”
Jude unconsciously tapped at her chin as she tried to marshal her thoughts. “I wonder if the instructions also told Matt to get the beer barrels jammed, so that Ted, Ed and Zosia would have to go down to the cellar to sort them out…thus leaving Ray alone in the kitchen?”
“Sounds a lot to write down. I wouldn’t be surprised if Matt was given those instructions verbally.”
“By whom?”
“If we knew that,” said Carole tartly, “then we’d be well on the way to finding our murderer, wouldn’t we?”
“Either way,” said Jude, “it still means that Matt is not an innocent party in all of this. What we need to find out is the level of his involvement. Was he just obeying orders? And if so, who gave him those orders?”
“Having met him,” Carole observed sniffily, “I can’t really imagine him having worked this whole plan out on his own. Even though that’s what the lovely Sylvia seems to think he did. I don’t think Matt was at the front of the queue when the brains were handed out.”
“No.” Jude rubbed her hands, as if preparing for action. “Anyway, the first thing we do is track down the invoice with the instructions on it.”
“And how do we set about that?”
“We ring KWS.” Jude picked up her mobile. “I’ll get the number from directory enquiries.”
“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to use your landline?” Though she now had a mobile herself, such a frugal thought was a knee-jerk reaction for Carole.
“Mobile’s not so easy to trace – unless you happen to be the police,” said Jude as she pressed the keys.
“But even if you do get the number, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get anyone to talk to you.”
“It depends who they think they’re talking to.”
“What do you mean?”
“These days a call from Health and Safety has about the same effect as a knock on the door in the small hours from the Gestapo.”
Carole looked appalled. “You mean you’re planning to impersonate a government official?”
“Certainly am.”
Carole’s mouth opened to commence a lecture on morality and civic responsibility, but then swiftly closed, as she remembered the subterfuge she had so recently practised on Matt.
Jude dialled the number that she had been given. “Oh, hello,” she said, “could you put me through to whoever keeps your records of orders? Yes, my name is Judith Metarius.” It was what she had once described to Carole as ‘one’ of her married names, leaving Carole more confused about her neighbour’s past than ever. “From Health and Safety.”
The lie seemed to have worked. Jude grinned at Carole as she was put through. “Oh, good morning. Judith Metarius from Health and Safety,” she said breezily. “Just need to check some information about a delivery that was made Monday before last.” She gave the date. “Delivery to the Crown and Anchor public house in Fethering. Yes, I know you do regular deliveries there. One gone out this morning, is there? Well, well. Yes, if you wouldn’t mind… Who am I speaking to? Raylene? Well, Raylene…Oh, it’s just a complaint we’ve had, probably nothing in it, but we do have to follow up everything. Yes, conkers, I know, and pancake races. Hanging baskets, really?
I can assure you, Raylene, this is nothing of that kind. Just a little technical query, no one about to be put out of business. So I’d be obliged if you could check the paperwork for me. Yes, that was the date. And the Crown and Anchor, Fethering, yes. Raylene, all I need is for you to find the signed copy of the delivery form, the one that the driver brought back to the depot at the end of the day. I need to check the details of that order. Thank you, yes, I’ll wait.”
Jude put her hand over the receiver and mouthed at Carole. “Not enough work to do, I’d say. Bit of a
