And it was a name he had mentioned that offered her a new line of enquiry. Shona Nuttall. Carole and Jude had first met her when she was landlady of the Cat and Fiddle, a Country & Western-themed pub on the River Fether, north of Fedborough. They had been investigating the death of Tadeusz Jankowski, brother of the Zosia who became Ted Crisp’s bar manager.
Shona, who made her bar staff dress in gingham shirts and dungarees, had then been a tightly corseted, flamboyant figure, favouring shimmery tops, fake tan and too much jewellery. The wall behind the Cat and Fiddle bar was peppered with photographs of her embracing the pub’s embarrassed regulars. She lived up almost too accurately to the stereotype of the big-hearted and big-bosomed landlady.
When Carole and Jude next met her, Shona had been considerably diminished, in personality if not in bulk. By then she’d been forced to sell the pub at far too low a price and lived behind closed curtains in a bungalow in Southwick, on the outskirts of Brighton. She shuffled round in jogging bottoms, appearing to spend her days smoking and drinking vodka.
Given these habits, and the number of years since they last met, Carole wondered whether Shona Nuttall was still in the land of the living. But she still had the woman’s mobile number and it was worth trying.
To her surprise, it was quickly answered. ‘Hallo?’
The voice had neither the brashness of Shona in full landlady mode, nor the whine of self-pity they’d encountered on their second meeting. It sounded certainly older, but alert and purposeful.
Carole identified herself. ‘I don’t know if you remember me.’
‘I certainly do. You came to see me with your friend Jude, in connection with that Polish boy I employed at the Cat and Fiddle.’
Full marks for total recall, thought Carole. ‘It’s actually in connection with another of your employees at the pub that I’m calling.’
‘Oh?’
‘Anita Garner.’
‘Oh, that poor, poor girl,’ said Shona Nuttall. ‘God rest her soul.’
It was still the same bungalow in Southwick, but its interior was totally transformed. Carole’s recollection had been predominantly of velvet. Bottle-green velvet curtains, pink Dralon armchairs, cuddling photographs from the Cat and Fiddle in velvet-covered frames.
No sign of any of that. The curtains were now organic linen, the furniture plain wood, and there wasn’t a photograph in sight. The effect was minimalist, almost Spartan.
Shona herself had become more minimalist too. In her corseted or uncorseted form, there had always been a lot of her, but since they last met, she must have shed at least four stone. Her body was now almost stringy. She wore a plain black dress and no jewellery.
Carole had not taken off her coat. There was no heating on in the bungalow. Shona did not offer her any refreshment. Instead, she sat down opposite and said, ‘Anita Garner.’
‘Yes.’
‘Poor, deluded girl.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because she was born and grew up as a Catholic.’
‘And you regard Catholicism as a delusion?’
‘Yes. Don’t you?’
Carole didn’t have much in the way of religion (except for writing ‘C of E’ on forms that asked the question). But she was of the view that it was a private matter. If people managed to have a faith, good for them. Lucky for them, perhaps. But she wouldn’t get into arguments about the relative merits of individual faiths.
So, she answered Shona’s question with an equivocating, ‘It’s not something I feel strongly about.’
‘Oh, but you should feel strongly about it. Faith is too important not to have strong feelings about it.’
‘Right,’ said Carole cautiously.
‘Have you invited Jesus into your life?’ asked Shona.
‘No. Not specifically.’
‘Then I feel sorry for you, Carole.’
‘Well, thank you for the kind thought. But I really wanted to talk about Anita Garner.’
‘Catholics are not Christians,’ Shona Nuttall announced.
‘That’s a point of view, certainly,’ said Carole. ‘But, again, it’s not something I feel strongly about.’
Shona shook her head sadly. ‘As I say, I feel sorry for you, Carole.’
‘Thanks again. So, when Anita was on your staff at the Cat and Fiddle, I’m sure her Catholicism didn’t affect her work, did it?’
‘I don’t know. Back then, I hadn’t invited Jesus into my life.’
‘Ah. Right.’
‘I was entrapped in the toils of wickedness. I was encouraging evil, telling people to drink. I was a sinner, but now Jesus has cleansed me of my sins.’
‘Oh. Good.’
‘I used to drink myself, until Jesus told me not too. I was a bride of wickedness. Now I am a bride of Jesus.’
Carole couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that, so she asked, ‘Do you mind just thinking back to when Anita Garner worked for you at the Cat and Fiddle?’
‘No. That’s what you want to know about.’
‘Yes.’
‘It was an unhappy time of my life.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘All of my life was unhappy, until I invited Jesus into it.’
‘Obviously a sensible thing to do then.’
‘Yes. The best thing I ever did. That is how I found happiness. More than happiness. That is how I found bliss. When I invited Jesus into my life.’
Carole was beginning to get a little frustrated by the way her enquiries were constantly being deflected by Jesus. Raising her voice, she said, ‘I also understand there was a young Spanish man called Pablo who worked for you at the Cat and Fiddle.’
‘Yes. He was also a Catholic. Also deluded.’
‘Maybe. But I’ve heard that Pablo and Anita … got close to each other.’
‘They were in love,’ said Shona. ‘Though, of course, human love bears no comparison to the love of Jesus.’
‘No. But,’ Carole insisted, ‘do you know how close to each other they were?’
‘Do you mean: were they sleeping together?’
Relieved to get an answer that didn’t involve Jesus, Carole said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Did you have staff accommodation at the Cat and Fiddle?’
‘I did.’
‘So, the young couple could have been sleeping together at—’
‘No,’ said Shona firmly. ‘I wouldn’t have allowed that. I did have moral standards, even before I invited Jesus into my life.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘Anyway, Anita never stayed overnight at the pub. Pablo did, but she always went home to her parents’ house.’
‘And then she stopped working for you and went to work at Footscrow House, when it was a care home. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you know if she and Pablo stayed in touch?’
‘I’m pretty sure they did. They both seemed to be very keen.’
‘And then he left the Cat and Fiddle?’
‘Yes. Very suddenly. It was extremely inconvenient for me. Losing staff at short notice always is. But Pablo got a message that his mother was seriously ill. The family was from Cádiz and he rushed out there.’
‘And did you ever hear from him again?’
‘No.’
‘And what about Anita? Did you see her after she left the pub?’
‘I did, actually, yes. Bumped into her in Fedborough one day. About a week before she disappeared. I asked if she’d heard from Pablo.’
‘And had she?’
‘Yes. She said he’d rung her lots of times from Cádiz. His mother was still ill, so he was stuck out there. And then Anita told me what she was going to do.’
‘Oh?’
‘She said she was going out to Spain to see Pablo. She’d ordered a passport specially, so that she could make the trip out there.’