‘What kind of connection?’
‘That we don’t know. Maybe there is no connection. Maybe his murderer just chose to dump the body – at least temporarily – in the store room of Polly’s Cake Shop for reasons of his own. But I think the starting point of our investigation has to be looking for the connection.’
‘So how do we start?’
‘We start at the scene of the crime – or, if not that, the scene of the first discovery of the body.’
‘Polly’s Cake Shop?’
‘Precisely. Someone there might know something.’
‘Well, good luck trying to get anything out of Josie Achter. She is not the most sympathetic of interviewees. And she said she would never see me again.’
‘She might see me.’
‘I suppose everything’s possible, but I’d be surprised if she did.’
‘Worth asking.’
‘Maybe. And under what pretext would you be wanting to see her?’
‘As one of the people who found the body on Fethering Beach.’
‘She will deny having any connection with the body on Fethering Beach. In fact, I’m pretty sure she does have no connection with the body on Fethering Beach.’
‘I’ll think of something, Jude.’
‘Well, good luck.’
The number of the flat over Polly’s was in the phone book, so Carole rang it as soon as Jude had gone back to Woodside Cottage to deal with a client.
The phone was answered by a young female voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Oh, good morning. My name is Carole Seddon. Is that Josie Achter?’
‘No, it’s her daughter Rosalie.’
‘Is your mother there?’
‘No, she’s moved to a rented flat in Hove … just till the purchase of her own flat there goes through.’
‘Ah, do you have a number for her there?’
‘No.’
‘A mobile?’
‘No. My mother doesn’t give out her mobile number.’ Carole was meeting the level of co-operation Jude had warned her to expect.
‘Could I leave a message for her?’
‘What’s it about?’ the girl asked suspiciously.
‘Well, I’m one of the people who found the man’s body on Fethering Beach Thursday before last.’
‘Oh, are you?’ The tone of voice had changed to a mixture of caution and curiosity.
‘Yes.’
‘And why did you want to talk to my mother about that?’
‘I’m talking to lots of people,’ Carole lied. ‘Trying to find out whether the dead man had any connection with Fethering.’
‘Ah.’ There was a silence. Then the girl said, ‘I don’t mind talking to you.’
Because it was lunchtime, Carole had intended only to have a small glass of Sauvignon Blanc, but Ted had already poured a large one before she could give her order. Rosalie asked for a vodka and tonic.
They sat opposite each other in one of the Crown and Anchor’s alcoves. The pub’s doors facing the sea, open all summer, had now been closed against the busy wind roaring up Fethering Beach. It was only just after twelve and they had the place more or less to themselves.
‘Well, thank you for agreeing to talk to me,’ said Carole once they’d clinked glasses.
‘Not a problem.’
Like her mother, Rosalie Achter was one of the many people Carole knew by sight. She also knew their names, their employment and family circumstances, but she’d never actually spoken to them. She suspected that Rosalie Achter probably knew roughly the same amount about her. It was how things worked in Fethering.
‘I wondered,’ Rosalie went on, ‘why you thought my mother might have anything to do with the body you discovered.’
‘No particular reason. As I said, I’m talking to a lot of people.’
‘Why?’
It was a good question, and one to which Carole had to scrabble around to find a good answer. To her annoyance, the only one she could come up with was rather flimsy and feminine. ‘Well, I think it must be that actually finding that body was rather a shock. It’s upset me more than I expected it to. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen a dead body before. But this one was in rather a horrible state and, I don’t know, I just thought maybe finding out more about who he was might sort of humanize him, make him not so much a spook as a human being.’
The words didn’t convince their speaker, but Rosalie Achter appeared not to hear anything odd in them. ‘Well, presumably you’ve heard the news and seen the local paper?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you do actually know who he was?’
‘Someone called Amos Green, yes.’
‘And what makes you think he might have had something to do with my mother?’
The girl looked at her earnestly. Her hair was a brown so dark as to be nearly black. Though neatly shaped, it sprang out of her head in wiry profusion. Her features were sharp, eyes very black and skin dark. There was an almost manic quality to her body language and the way she spoke.
‘As I say,’ said Carole reassuringly, ‘I’m just talking to people.’
Another limp answer, but fortunately Rosalie didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, I’d never seen him before. I suppose it’s possible my mother knew him before I was born, but I’ve never heard her mention anyone called Amos Green.’
‘Have you spoken to her since he was formally identified?’
‘Yes. She rang me yesterday.’
‘And did she make any comment about the body?’
‘She just repeated some of the things she’s said before about Fethering.’
‘Not enthusiastic?’ asked Carole, remembering the report Jude had given of her encounter with Josie Achter.
‘She loathes the place. She said that the finding of dead bodies on the beach could not make her hate Fethering more than she already does.’
‘Quite extreme views.’
‘My mother is a creature of extremes … as I have learned, spending the last eleven years living alone with her.’
‘So you mean it’s eleven years since your parents divorced?’
‘Yes. Nearly twelve. Getting away to university was quite a relief, let me tell you. Even if I only went as far as Brighton. Getting away from all that Jewish crap my mother force-fed me with. I don’t believe a word of it – don’t think I ever did – but my mother kept on and on about it. At uni, though, I started for the first time in my life to be my own person. And there was no way I was going to live back here after I graduated.’
‘So where are you living?’
‘Still in Brighton. Got a very manky flat there, not in what the good people of Fethering would regard as a nice area, but at least it’s my own.’
‘You’ve bought it?’
‘I wish. No, it’s rented. When I say it’s “my own”, I mean that it’s my own space, a space on which my mother can’t encroach.’
‘Ah. Brighton of course is not that far from Hove, where your mother is going to be in her new—’
‘It’s quite far enough away, thank you. And I’ve got a network of friends there – people my mother and the nice people of Hove wouldn’t want to mix with. Given a bit of luck, I’ll never have to see her again.’
‘Ah. Local Fethering gossip used to say—’
‘Carole, I’ve already stopped listening. I stop listening every time someone mentions “local Fethering gossip”. It almost always means uninformed lies.’
‘You may have a point. Anyway, one of the “uninformed lies” which had been going round Fethering was that you were going to take over the running of Polly’s Cake Shop when your mother retired.’
‘She may have had that idea. I never did.’