was a woman who normally had control of her emotions. Only love and compassion had the power to upset her inner calm, but neither of those was causing her current restlessness. It was still the feeling that she was missing something.
She wished Carole was there, so that they could toothcomb through the events of the last couple of weeks. Two memories might do better than one. But Carole, of course, was hopefully bonding in a one-to-one situation with her granddaughter. Jude would have to work it out on her own.
She felt sure that what she was missing was a detail from the previous Sunday, the night of Dan Poke’s gig at the Crown and Anchor and its terrible aftermath. She focused her mind in video-camera mode, and tried to replay the sequence of events that she had witnessed. She made mental notes, ticking off the names of everyone who had been there and what they’d been doing.
Pretty soon she remembered a person neither Carole nor she had considered up to that point. Greville Tilbrook. He’d certainly been at the Crown and Anchor at the beginning of the evening, in the car park with his protesting acolytes. Jude remembered the almost unhinged fury with which he had reacted to the sight of the girl with ‘Fancy a Poke?’ across her bosom. Surely Greville Tilbrook’s obsession hadn’t been enough for him to kill Ray for wearing the same T-shirt? Still, it might be worth checking out the whereabouts of Fethering’s Mr Civic Responsibility on the relevant evening.
But the thought was a new one, and a distraction. Not the missing detail which she was sure she had overlooked.
It took a while, but then she remembered, in a blinding flash. And flash was the operative word, because what she remembered was the fact that many of the audience at the gig had been using their mobile phones to take photographs. And one of the people her mind’s eye could see distinctly doing just that was Zosia.
Jude’s call found the Polish girl in her flat, between shifts at the Crown and Anchor. She was using her few hours of Saturday-afternoon freedom to work on her journalism course. Jude was constantly impressed by Zosia’s unobtrusive industry. She was really making something of herself.
Jude’s first question was about the Crown and Anchor. Had there been any more trouble?
“No. Not much business, but no trouble.”
“Were the bikers back yesterday evening?”
“Thank goodness, no. I think because the police got involved on Sunday that must have frightened them off.”
Then Jude moved on to the main purpose of her call. Zosia confirmed that she had indeed taken some photos at Dan Poke’s gig. And that fortunately they were still in her phone.
“That’s brilliant,” said Jude. “Could I come round and have a look at them straight away?”
“Well, you could, but it might be simpler if I just sent them to your mobile.”
“Ah. Yes.” Jude felt slightly ashamed of her ignorance of the possibilities offered by new technology. “Is it easy to do that?”
“Very easy,” replied Zosia, with that amused tolerance which the young reserve for their dealings with the old. “I’ll just check on my phone to see how many I took. It wasn’t many, just I think when Dan Poke was beginning his act. For most of it I was back behind the bar, serving drinks.” There was a brief silence. “Just four. Four photos is all I took. I will send them to you as picture messages.”
“Do you have my mobile number?”
“Of course I have,” said Zosia patiently.
The pictures arrived with a speed that made Jude again feel guilty for not having explored her mobile’s potential before. And though the screen on which they appeared was tiny, their quality and clarity-was remarkable.
The first one showed Ted Crisp introducing his so-called friend Dan Poke. The landlord’s expression of pained bafflement brought back to Jude the sympathy she had felt at the time for his humiliation. More interesting, though, than Ted were the other people who were in shot. Sylvia, near the ‘stage’ area, her arms draped round Matt.
The second picture was Dan Poke beginning his act.
Jude looked at the third photograph. This time Zosia had focused on the audience rather than the star. Amongst the busy crowd Jude saw herself and Carole, both caught at those mouth-opening, eyelid-drooping moments which are such a feature of most amateur photography. Standing just behind them, with his pre-makeover leather jacket, long hair and beard look, was Viggo. Nearest to the camera, poignantly, sat Ray, his eyes alight at the prospect of seeing ‘someone from off the television’. Little more than an hour later his difficult bewildered life would have ended.
The fourth photograph was of the bikers. Jude didn’t know why Zosia had taken it. Maybe for identification, a rogue’s gallery, in case of further rowdiness at the Crown and Anchor. This idea immediately made her think of the police. Given Ted Crisp’s resistance to the idea of having CCTV at the Crown and Anchor, surely the official investigation must have sought out any photographs taken on mobiles that Sunday night? She’d have to check that with Zosia.
In the crowd of bikers a figure stood out. Though clearly one of them – and in fact from his body language he looked to be one of their leaders – he wasn’t in their livery of leather. He was the man with whom Jude had nearly had an altercation at the bar, the man with a scarred face and two and a half missing fingers. She remembered the rank body odour that came off him.
The photograph also provided the missing connection that had been troubling her all day. The man was wearing combat trousers and a sleeveless T-shirt with a camouflage design. As if to reinforce the point, on the edge of the frame Viggo was visible, looking at the scarred man with an expression that verged on the idolatrous.
Jude rang Zosia back straight away. First she asked if the police had seen the photographs.
“No. They didn’t ask me for them. And, anyway, until you asked just now, I had completely forgotten about them. The police do not talk to me for very long. They just ask me what I am doing in the pub till the fight starts. I tell them that I am serving behind the bar all the time. I had forgotten I went to do the lights and took the photographs. Do you think I should ring the police and tell them?”
Jude was faced by a dilemma that had occurred more than once during her amateur investigations.
The correct answer to Zosia’s question was yes. If not necessarily a crime, it was certainly unethical to withhold evidence from the police. On the other hand, Jude desperately wanted to follow up the new information herself.
Without too much of a pang in her conscience, she replied airily, “Oh, I don’t think you have to, Zosia. I’m sure the police are busy with their investigation and have got lots of leads to follow up. I mean, if they get back to you and actually ask whether you took any photographs, then obviously you must tell the truth. Otherwise, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother them.”
Zosia seemed quite content to accept this advice. “Was there anything else, Jude? Because this project I’m working on has to be delivered by the end of next week and – ”
“Yes, there is something else, actually. I know I sound like a complete Luddite, but could you explain to me how I can send the photographs you sent me on to someone else?”
With great forbearance – and not a little amusement – Zosia spelled out the procedure, which was second nature to her generation.
Jude followed the instructions to the letter and sent all four photographs to Kelly-Marie’s mobile. The accompanying text read: “DID ANY OF THESE PEOPLE COME TO SEE RAY IN THE LAST FEW WEEKS?” Jude was glad there was no one watching as she composed the message. She didn’t do much texting, and it was a laborious process for her.
Then, because she was rather impressed by her new skill, she also sent the photographs to Carole’s mobile.
Only ten minutes later Kelly-Marie rang back. “I’m sorry. I’m clumsy with text.”
Join the club, thought Jude. “But do you recognize any of the people? Have you see any of them at Copsedown Hall?”
“Yes, I have seen one,” Kelly-Marie replied carefully.
“Which one?”
“The one with the bad face.”
“You mean the scarred face?”
“Yes.”
