? The Poisoning in the Pub ?
Twenty-Eight
Carole Seddon was normally very organized about her shopping. Regular trips to Sainsbury’s, avoiding weekends, once a month to stock up on large essentials, once a week for food. Rarely was she in the position, like her less far-sighted neighbour Jude, of having to rush down to Allinstore, Fethering’s only supermarket, for emergency rations. But that Sunday evening she was.
She’d only had a sandwich at lunchtime after Viggo’s visit to Woodside Cottage, and was quite peckish by the time they left the Middy in Fratton. As she drove back to Fethering, she found herself visualizing the ham omelette she would cook when she got back. But on arrival, she found that the High Tor larder was devoid of ham.
Carole fed Gulliver, and checked out the dressing on his injured foot, but the image of what she wanted to eat wouldn’t go away. From what she had in the fridge she could have made a cheese omelette, or a tomato omelette, but by now the image of ham in her head was so strong that she had no alternative but to make a beeline to Allinstore for the missing ingredient.
The supermarket, legendary for its lack of stock and the pillars customers had to negotiate in approaching the till, was not full at that time on a summer Sunday evening, and Carole found only one other customer ahead of her in the queue for the only till that was operating. Idly she thought that the Black Watch tartan suit was vaguely familiar, and when the woman turned back with her purchases, Carole recognized the most avid of Greyille Til- brook’s acolytes from his anti-Dan-Poke crusade.
“Oh, hello,” she said instinctively. “I saw you last Sunday.”
“Did you?” asked the woman, a little alarmed.
“Yes. You were with Greville Tilbrook, in the Crown and Anchor car park.”
“Oh,” said the woman, now very alarmed, and she scuttled out of the supermarket.
Carole followed the woman’s departure through Allinstore’s front windows. And she saw the panic-stricken woman get into a silver Smart car.
¦
Back at High Tor, her mind was seething with speculation. She was hardly aware of eating her omelette (which was just as well because Allinstore’s ham was notoriously tasteless).
She had no proof that the Smart car owned by the woman in Black Watch tartan was the same one she and Jude had seen careering over the dunes on the night of Ray Witchett’s death, but it was at the very least a coincidence. And if the car did belong to the woman, who appeared to be the acme of respectability, then why hadn’t she wanted to face the police and made such a hasty getaway? Why, come to that, had she stayed in the car park until after Dan Poke’s act had finished? Had Greville Tilbrook been with her? Were he and his acolytes planning to confront the departing crowd with their anti-blasphemy banners?
The other memory that kept recurring in Carole’s mind was the one that had struck Jude – Greville Tilbrook’s tirade against the wearers of ‘Fancy a Poke?’ T-shirts. Together with that came a vivid image of one such T-shirt, stained by Ray’s lifeblood. Surely Greville Tilbrook’s passionate views couldn’t be so strong that he might have…?
Her conjectures were interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She answered it and felt a sudden chill when the speaker identified himself as Greville Tilbrook. “I gather you spoke to Beryl.” Carole now had a name for the lady in Black Watch tartan. “Are you in?” he asked urgently.
“Given the fact that I’ve just answered my phone, I must be, mustn’t I?” She spoke with an uppity confidence she did not feel.
“Yes, but will you be there in a quarter of an hour?”
“Well, I was thinking of taking my dog out for a – ”
“Don’t leave till I arrive,” said Greville Tilbrook. He sounded very masterful. And even threatening.
Carole reached for the phone to ring Jude, but then remembered that her neighbour was going to see a healer friend that evening. For a moment there was a temptation to drive away somewhere, to let Greville Tilbrook find the house empty. But curiosity overcame Carole’s fear, and she stayed put.
¦
Her work at the Home Office had taught her that the most unlikely people turn out to be murderers. A few are monsters, but most are meek and ordinary. That evening in her sitting room at High Tor Greville Tilbrook looked very ordinary. But not meek. His face was again suffused with the kind of fury that Carole and Jude had witnessed in the Crown and Anchor car park.
“You have made me very angry, Mrs Seddon,” he announced through clenched teeth.
“I regret that, Mr Tilbrook,” she said, trying to sound cool, “but since I don’t know why I’ve made you angry, I’m not in a position to apologize.”
“You know things about me which I have worked very hard to keep secret.” Hardly surprising, thought Carole, if you did actually murder Ray. “Mrs Seddon, you’ve been spying on me. And you know what happens to spies when they’re caught, don’t you?”
Carole couldn’t fully understand her reactions. At one level, she could observe the scene and see what a ridiculous pompous little man Greville Tilbrook was. But another part of her was all too aware of the manic light in his eye, and the danger that lay within his anger.
“Are you threatening me, Mr Tilbrook?”
“It rather depends on what you do, Mrs Seddon. How you plan to use the information you have about me.”
“You’ll have to explain what you mean.”
“I mean – are you proposing to blackmail me?”
“Certainly not! I might consider passing on the information that I have about you to the police.”
“The police?” He looked almost relieved at the idea. “But this is not a police matter. I meant – are you proposing to pass the information on to my wife?”
“Your wife?” Carole hadn’t the beginning of an idea of what he was talking about. “Perhaps I should explain…?”
“I think perhaps you should, Mr Tilbrook.” So he did. And, needless to say, given who was talking, the explanation was not a short one. “The fact is that, without wishing in any way to mislead or give a false impression, I do find myself in a slightly delicate situation vis-a-vis the situation in which I find myself…if you get my drift…?”
Carole didn’t get his drift at all, but somehow there was no longer any menace in his manner, just acute embarrassment. And she found that watching Greville Tilbrook squirm was a most enjoyable spectator sport.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Mrs Seddon, and without wishing to cause any hurt to any individual – most particularly not to my lady wife, a very fine woman who has been more than a helpmeet to me in the many and varied guises – or, if you will, hats – under which I conduct my life, the main inspiration of which, I may say without fear of contradiction, has always been a sense of civic responsibility, I would be very unwilling to have jeopardized a more than satisfactory status quo by any negative or counterproductive dissemination of information into the wrong ears. Fethering, by its nature, being, as it is, a village – a fact wherein, for many people, lies much of its charm – can at times, however, suffer from that natural propensity within village communities – and indeed many other small, tight-knit communities – for the business of any one individual to be regarded as the business of everyone. I refer, of course, to the proclivity amongst the mature citizens of an environment – ”
“Mr Tilbrook,” said Carole patiently, “what on earth are you talking about?”
He looked aggrieved to be interrupted. “I am talking about, as it were, what happened at the Crown and Anchor a week ago today.”
“Yes, it was very regrettable.”
“It certainly was. And I really do feel, without putting too fine a point on it, that the best solution, from the point of view of all concerned, would be that the whole incident should be forgotten.”
“You’ve rather changed your tune.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“On Sunday you were carrying placards saying Dan Poke shouldn’t be allowed to perform. Now you’re saying
