When they arrived at the pub, unsurprisingly, Barney Poulton was generating conversation … or no, ‘conversation’ implies a two-way process, and he didn’t go in for that. The fact that no one in the bar was taking any notice did not deter him one iota. While he pontificated, Jude went up to the bar and ordered two large New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs from Zosia, Ted Crisp’s Polish bar manager.
Of course, Barney was talking about the death of Harry Lasalle. Though he was not a member of Fethering Yacht Club, he had many golfing friends who were, so he felt confident of his facts. (When do the Barney Poultons of this life not feel confident of their facts?)
‘Obviously, it’s related to the Anita Garner case. From the moment that handbag was discovered at Fiasco House’ – Barney was very punctilious about using Fethering local patois – ‘he knew he was on borrowed time. The revived investigation into the girl’s disappearance was going to end up on his doorstep sooner or later.
‘Harry Lasalle’s suicide couldn’t be a clearer admission of guilt. Now it’s just a matter of the police tracking down where he hid the body. My instinct is still that it’s somewhere up on the South Downs … shallow grave, you know. I’ve known Anita Garner was murdered from the moment I first heard about the case.’
Though unwilling to get involved in conversation with Barney Poulton, Carole couldn’t help herself from asking, ‘And when was it you first heard about the case? We’re talking about events thirty years ago, and you’ve been in Fethering … what? Four years?’
‘Nearly five,’ he said, somewhat piqued. ‘And since I’ve been here, I have made it my business to find out everything I can about the village.’
Carole should have realized. Barney Poulton was like the Wobbly Man her son Stephen had played with as a child. However many times you pushed him down, he still sprang right back up again.
Returning with the drinks, Jude thought it worth seeing whether Barney might actually have some useful information. ‘Terribly sad about Harry,’ she said. ‘Have you heard any more details about it … you know, round the yacht club?’
She knew full well that Barney Poulton wasn’t a member and he was forced to admit as much. But he quickly bounced back. ‘A lot of my golfing friends are members there, though, so I have heard a bit of the inside stuff.’
Of course, thought Jude. It went against Barney’s principles ever to admit ignorance about anything.
‘It was Glen Porter who went out in search of Harry’s Dream, wasn’t it?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘You know him, don’t you?’ she asked casually.
‘Not well.’ For which, when it’s Barney Poulton talking, read: Hardly at all.
‘You said you played golf with him.’
‘Yes. Well, we’re members of the same golf club.’ Barney was backing off. The close relationship he’d earlier implied that he had with Glen Porter was perhaps not so close when it came under scrutiny. ‘He travels a lot. And keeps himself to himself when he’s here in Fethering. In fact, it’s interesting what happened to him. He unexpectedly came into a lot of money when—’
‘We know all about that,’ said Carole tartly.
‘Oh.’ But it was only a momentary diversion from the vertical as the Wobbly Man bounced back. ‘He doesn’t work at all, Glen Porter, you know.’
‘Yes, we do,’ said Carole in the same tone as before.
She could see that he was desperate to come up with something they hadn’t heard before. Anything. And, of course, according to Barney Poulton’s scale of values, it didn’t have to be something true.
‘It’s an open secret,’ he said confidentially, ‘that there was history between Glen and Anita Garner …’
‘Oh?’
‘They were at school together …’ Carole couldn’t be bothered to say that they knew that too. ‘And Glen was a bit of a Jack-the-Lad back then. Good-looking and he knew it. Worked his way through most of the girls in his year.’
‘Including Anita Garner?’ suggested Jude.
‘More than likely,’ said Barney Poulton sagely. ‘So, you see, when she started working at Fiasco House and Harry Lasalle came on to her … well, Glen’s nose might have been put out of joint …’
‘Are you implying,’ asked Carole sharply, ‘that Glen Porter might have killed Harry Lasalle?’
But that was a step too far for Barney. He didn’t mind insinuating, but he’d stop short of accusing. ‘I’m just saying that is a possible theory that’s going around among the more gossipy denizens of Fethering.’
Huh, thought Jude. Takes one to know one. Be hard pushed to find anyone more gossipy than you.
‘And there’s another theory that—’
His further theorizing was stopped by Ted Crisp, issuing out of the kitchen area into the bar. ‘You’ve come out without your phone again, Barney.’
‘What?’
‘Your wife just rang, wanting to know where the hell you are. Have you forgotten you’ve got – her words – “a bloody bridge game at seven”?’
‘Oh, damn. Yes, I must go.’
He scurried out of the bar, looking less like ‘the eyes and ears of Fethering’, more like an old-fashioned henpecked husband. And somehow his image of the horny-handed depository of village folklore was undermined by the fact that he played that most middle-class of games, bridge.
The landlord watched him go, then said to Carole and Jude, ‘I think I might use that one again.’
‘What?’ asked Jude.
‘Telling him the missus had been on the phone.’
‘What, wasn’t she?’ asked Carole. ‘Did you make it up?’
‘Not this time I didn’t, no. But seeing the speed with which he scarpered at the summons from home, I might resort to that tactic on one of the many occasions when I can’t stand listening to another bloody word from him.’
‘Certainly worth trying,’ said Jude.
‘Was he going on about Anita Garner again?’ asked Ted.
‘Barney? Oh yes.’
‘Him and his bloody theories.’
‘You got any new thoughts on it?’ asked Carole.
‘Why should I have? You know full well it all happened years before I took over the Crown and Anchor. Before I’d even heard of Fethering.’
‘Yes, I do know that. But, standing behind your bar, you do hear a lot of gossip.’
‘I hear it, but I don’t listen. Manage to tune it out mostly.’
‘So, no new theories?’
‘Nope. Plenty of rehashing of old ones.’
‘Hm.’
‘Actually, I wanted to have a word with you two …’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Ask your advice, as it were. Pick your brains.’
Jude grinned. ‘You’re welcome to anything you can find there.’
‘Right.’ Ted Crisp paused, rather more momentously than was his custom. Then he asked, ‘Do you think it’d be a good idea for me to have a vegan menu here at the Crown and Anchor?’
‘Ted Crisp talking about veganism? I didn’t think he even knew what veganism was. What on earth’s going on, Jude?’
They were walking back from the pub. It wasn’t actually raining but the air felt damp, clinging and icy.
‘I think it might be the company he’s been keeping,’ Jude suggested.
‘But Ted doesn’t keep any company. Just the staff at the pub.’
‘Ah. Well, he took someone out to lunch the other day. At a vegan restaurant in Brighton.’
‘Who? Who on earth would he be taking out to lunch?’
Jude told her. Carole was surprised how much it hurt. A long time ago, in a distant world of unlikely events, Carole Seddon and Ted Crisp had had a brief affair. It hadn’t lasted. Their expectations of what life might offer, their expectations of each other, were so different, it couldn’t have lasted.