was kind of out of my life. Anyway, I’m not going to go on beating myself up about stuff like that. Life’s too short, you have to move on, you have to get over things. So, in answer to your question, no, I didn’t notice anything particularly different about Polly last week. But, you know, I was busy, and I’ve often been told I’m not very sensitive to other people’s feelings.”
He announced this more as if it were a badge of honour than a criticism. “I mean, I’m not proud of it,” he lied, “but sometimes going into things with hobnail boots flying can have its advantages. Like when dealing with hypersensitive artistes…either you accept their egos at their own evaluation, you know, a lot of people kind of bend over backwards trying to answer their every whim, whereas with me, I’m the original WYSIWYG…‘What you see is what you get’. I don’t act differently with different people, whatever size stars they may be. I’m just Ricky Le Bonnier – take it or leave it. And a lot of supposedly difficult artistes were prepared to take it. I mean, when Elton John was upset, it was always me they used to send in to sort him out. And, though I say it myself, it usually worked out pretty well…”
And he was off on another of his name-dropping recollections. Jude asked herself why she didn’t find him repellent. However great his egocentricity and habit of blowing his own trumpet, he never quite lost touch with his charm. And he was annoyingly well aware of that fact.
Towards the end of his monologue, when he spoke of Polly, he got a little tearful, and again Jude suspected artifice. But there was no doubting his sincerity when he turned to Carole and asked, “Was there anything in what she said to you at the party that gave a hint of what she was planning to do?”
In spite of her own doubts, Carole decided this was not the moment to question whether the girl had suicidal intentions, so all she said by way of reply was, “Nothing specific, no. She seemed a bit cynical about life in general, but I think a lot of young people are. And she seemed quite excited about this book she was writing.”
“Ah.” Ricky nodded. “The book. Maybe it was something to do with that.”
“In what way, something to do with that?”
“As you say, she was excited about it. I think maybe she’d been investing too much hope in…” His fingers mimed quotation marks “‘the book’. She thought that it would be the cure-all, the thing that would set her on a level with Piers in terms of success, that would make her enough money so that she didn’t have to continue traipsing around auditioning for parts she very rarely got.”
“And you think, maybe,” Jude suggested, “that she just had some bad news on the book…that a publisher had turned it down, perhaps? And that was what prompted her to take her own life?”
“It could have been that.” He seemed glad to seize on the idea. “Yes, that might make sense. I’ll check with Piers whether she’d had any news on that front.”
“You know that Piers came to see us?” asked Carole.
“I heard that, yes. I think Lola was quite glad to get him out of the house. She’d got enough on her plate, what with Mum in the state she’s in and everything else that was going on.”
“Piers told us that he was about to break up with Polly, that he’d found someone else. Did you know that, Ricky?”
He nodded. “I’d suspected things weren’t too rosy between them for some time.”
“Do you think Polly knew she was about to be dumped?”
“She must’ve done. She must’ve known it was only a matter of time. Another reason for her to think life wasn’t worth living.” His voice broke again, and again Jude couldn’t be sure how genuine the emotion was. “Poor kid.”
“Yes, poor kid,” she echoed.
“Ricky,” said Carole briskly, “you keep talking about Polly’s suicide. Has the possibility occurred to you that she might have been murdered?” Good old Carole, thought Jude, getting straight to the point.
He looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “But why would anyone want to murder her?”
Carole shrugged. “Why does anyone want to murder anyone? There is a fairly well-known list of traditional motives.”
“Well, I can’t think any of them would have been applicable to my stepdaughter!” There was a new harshness in his tone as he said this. “And, whatever you do, if the police want to talk to you, don’t start planting ideas of murder in their minds.”
“Of course we wouldn’t,” said Jude at her most palliative.
“Incidentally,” Ricky went on, “there is quite a strong likelihood that the police will be in touch with you. Lola and I have been interviewed, and, as I told you, Jude, I’ll be talking to them again shortly. From what I can work out, they’re trying to reconstruct the hours before Polly’s…death.” He didn’t like using the word, but his momentary lapse into grief was quickly replaced by a more businesslike tone. “Anyway, if they do get in touch, I’d be grateful if you could let me know. We’ve got each other’s mobile and landline numbers, so you can get through to me wherever I am. And please remember – if you do have to say anything to the investigating officers, what we’re talking about here is a suicide.”
Ricky Le Bonnier didn’t stay much longer. With a look at his watch, he announced that he must get to his own meeting with the police.
From the front door the women watched him stride to his large black Mercedes 4?4. “Would you have described Polly as a lifelong depressive, Jude?”
“No. And Piers told us how she went on about what a happy childhood she had had.”
As Ricky clicked his key fob to open the car, a figure who must have been waiting for him by the gate stepped into view. She looked very small beside Ricky’s bulk. Seeing her, his body language changed. He snapped some apparently dismissive remark, got into his car and drove off.
Carole and Jude both recognized the woman as the superannuated hippy they had seen in the Crown and Anchor, and again in the crowd outside the ruins of Gallimaufry. They wanted to talk to her, but by the time they reached the end of the garden path, she had got into an ancient, matt-orange-painted Volkswagen Camper, and was driving away.
? The Shooting in the Shop ?
Sixteen
“Yes, I know who you mean,” said Ted Crisp when Jude rang him. “She’s quite often in the pub. Always has a pint of Guinness.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Not her proper name, no. The Crown and Anchor regulars always refer to her as ‘the Dippy Hippy’.”
“That figures.”
“Of course, that’s when they’re not calling you the same thing, Jude.”
“Oh, very funny.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“I will retain my dignity and not answer that.”
“Please yourself.”
“Anyway, next time the Dippy Hippy’s in, Ted, could you give me a call?”
“All right. It’s likely to be a lunchtime.” He sounded a bit bewildered at the request, but then went on, “Oh, I get it. You and Carole are off on another of your little investigations, aren’t you?”
“Well…”
“Might have known it. Mysterious death in a shop on the Parade, and Fethering’s two favourite sleuths are instantly on the case. Well, I wish you luck if you think the Dippy Hippy’s going to be any help to you.”
“Why shouldn’t she be?”
“There’s the small matter of understanding what she says. They don’t give her that nickname for nothing, you know. The lady, I’m afraid, is definitely one chocolate truffle short of the full selection box.”
“Are you saying she won’t talk to us?”
“No, she’ll do that all right. It’s trying to stop her talking that may be a bit of a problem.”
Jude reckoned they had got as far as they could at that moment in investigating the death of Polly Le Bonnier. And since it was Boxing Day, she went to bed for the afternoon and caught up on the sleep she’d missed the night before.
