He had looked pretty rough when he finally emerged into the dispiriting foyer. He said he didn’t want to go out anywhere, but was in such a diminished state that he put up no resistance when Carole virtually frogmarched him out to her neat little Renault. And he raised only token resistance when she said she was going to take him to the Seaview Café.
Once they were settled down with cups of black coffee, Carole’s first question was: “Presumably you’ve talked to the police?”
“And how. Talked to them into the small hours of Monday morning.”
“At the station?”
“No, in the pub. Then about four in the morning they told me to leave. I asked if I could go up to the flat and get some clothes and stuff, but they said no, the whole place was a crime scene. They wouldn’t even let me go up and get my mobile.”
“So where did you go?”
“Well, they asked if I had any friends I could stay with, but I said no and – ”
“Ted, you could have stayed with me.” Carole was embarrassed by this possible reference to their shortlived relationship. “Or Jude.”
“No, I don’t want to dump on my friends. This is my mess, and it’s down to me to find a way out of it.” Though he didn’t sound optimistic about his chances.
“So where did you go?”
“The police booked me into the Travelodge – though with no mention of who was going to pick up the tab.”
“And have they given any indication of when you’re likely to be allowed back in the pub?”
Ted Crisp shrugged with weary resignation. “Not a thing. They came to talk to me at the Travelodge yesterday and I asked them again and again. Nothing. Wouldn’t even give me a clue when they’re likely to leave, so what with last week’s closure and the loss of goodwill from everything that’s been happening…my whole business is going down the toilet.”
Carole didn’t want to get sidetracked by Ted’s financial problems. She had more urgent matters on her mind. “Presumably the police also asked you if you’d seen anything round the back of the pub…you know, where Ray’s body…?”
“Yes.” He was about to continue, but then almost seemed to choke. He converted the sound into a cough, but Carole could tell he had really been affected by the reminder of his protege’s death. Ted cleared his throat and went on with increased aggression to cover up his lapse into sentiment. “Anyway, if I had seen anything, I’d have told the bloody police, wouldn’t I? But I was out the front, dealing with those bastards who were smashing up the place. God knows what all that’s going to cost to put right.”
“Aren’t you insured?”
“Oh yes, I’m insured. Everyone’s insured until the moment they make a claim. Then suddenly, miraculously, there turns out to be something in the bloody small print of your contract that says your coverage sadly doesn’t include the one thing you’re claiming for.”
“You don’t know that for a fact, Ted. I’m certain your insurance will cover the damage.”
“I doubt it…given the way my luck’s going at the moment. And will the insurance cover damage done during a fight? I’ll bet there’s some clause in there that says they won’t pay up if I’ve been found to have been keeping a ‘rowdy house’ or…Oh, God knows…” He spiralled further down into despair.
“And what about Ed?”
“What about Ed?”
“Well…” Carole had to phrase her words carefully. The last time she and Jude had seen the chef on the Sunday night he had looked extremely guilty. In fact, he had looked like Ray’s murderer. But she didn’t know how much Ted Crisp already knew about that, and she didn’t want to plant potentially slanderous ideas in his head. “I just wondered if the police had talked to him?”
“Yes. They did take Ed down to the station. Which is where he may still be, for all I know.”
“So he’s under suspicion?”
“I think everyone’s under bloody suspicion,” Ted replied apathetically.
Now she could risk a direct question. “Do you think he killed Ray?”
“No!” It was the most animated response she’d had from him all morning. “No. Look, I’ve known that boy since he helped me out when he was a student. He’s one of the most honest kids I’ve ever known. He’s as harmless as that poor bugger Ray was, hasn’t got a violent bone in his body. He’s almost too much of a gentleman – certainly lives up to his posh accent. And he’d certainly never hurt Ray, of all people. He was very kind with that guy, really patient. You know, Ray was slow on the uptake and could sometimes get in the way when the kitchen was busy, but I never once heard Ed mouth off at him. No, whoever did kill Ray, I’d swear on…on anything you like, that it wasn’t Ed Pollack.”
“Then why did the police take him down to the station?”
“God knows.”
“Did you see Ed that evening, you know, after the fight?”
“Of course I bloody did.”
“When Jude and I saw him, he had blood all over the front of his jacket. He looked as if he had just been where Ray was and he was moving back into the kitchen.”
“Ed had got blood all over his whites because he’d been punched in the face by one of those sodding bikers. I don’t think his nose was actually broken, but there was blood pouring out of it.”
Carole was surprised at the depth of her relief at this news. She too had warmed to Ed Pollack, and the thought that he might have been responsible for Ray’s death had clouded her mind for the past couple of days.
“And you say you don’t know whether Ed’s still with the police or not?”
“No. I haven’t been in touch with anyone since I went to that Travelodge place. I said, the police wouldn’t let me take my mobile and…anyway, I…well, I didn’t feel like talking to anyone…” Carole got an inkling of the depths of his depression. She had a mental image of him just sitting in the anonymous space of his tiny Iravelodge room, contemplating the collapse of everything he’d worked for. Not wanting to make any communication – except with a bottle of Famous Grouse.
He seemed to intuit what she was thinking, and made an effort to shift himself out of his mood. “I must ring Ed. And Zosia. Find out what’s happened. This has got to be as tough for them as it is for me.” He groaned. “And if the Crown and Anchor’s closed for any length of time, I’m going to have to lay them off. God, I hate doing that.”
“The police can’t be there that much longer.”
“Don’t you believe it. They can stay as long as they like. They’ll probably start digging into the foundations to see if any bodies were cemented in there when the bloody place was built.”
“Oh, now you’re just being paranoid.”
“And do you blame me for being paranoid?” This was spoken with such vehemence that a few nearby tourists looked up from their burgers and ice cream. In a lower, but no less impassioned voice, Ted Crisp went on, “Look at what’s happened to me in the last ten days. First, the food poisoning – closed down by Health and Safety. Damaging headlines in the Fethering Observer. Then when I do reopen, the pub’s suddenly full of bikers who alienate the whole bloody village – and of course I get blamed for it. Then we have a full-scale riot and, to top it all, a murder. Call it paranoia if you like, but I reckon I’m justified in thinking there’s some kind of campaign against me!”
“Yes, yes,” said Carole soothingly. She wanted to reach across to stroke his hand, but that seemed to her too intimate a gesture for a public place. “Well, Ted, if that is the case – and I can see why you might think so – who do you think’s behind it?”
“Someone who wants me to sell up the Crown and Anchor and get the hell out of Fethering.”