“Come for the delivery,” said Matt.
“Yes, I know why you’ve come.” He turned to Carole. “But what the hell are you doing here?”
Ted Crisp stared at her. His look was upsetting. It was entirely without affection. He stood beside Matt, the two of them in some way complicit, united against her.
Awkwardly, making some feeble excuse for her presence, Carole beat a retreat to the Renault. And for the first time she entertained the awful possibility that Ted Crisp himself might have something to do with the series of disasters at the Crown and Anchor.
Twenty-Two
She didn’t confide that last fear to Jude when she got back to Woodside Cottage, but told her neighbour everything else about her encounter with Matt. Except, of course, for the detail about how she’d used her old Home Office ID.
“So,” said Jude, her brown eyes sparkling, “we’ve got a nice paper trail.”
“How do you mean?”
“The docket, invoice, whatever, that had the pencil writing on it. That gave Matt the instructions to get the two trays of scallops swapped round.”
“Yes, and those instructions were obviously suspect, because the original scallops didn’t come from the KWS depot. They came from Ted’s usual supplier in Brighton.”
Jude unconsciously tapped at her chin as she tried to marshal her thoughts. “I wonder if the instructions also told Matt to get the beer barrels jammed, so that Ted, Ed and Zosia would have to go down to the cellar to sort them out…thus leaving Ray alone in the kitchen?”
“Sounds a lot to write down. I wouldn’t be surprised if Matt was given those instructions verbally.”
“By whom?”
“If we knew that,” said Carole tartly, “then we’d be well on the way to finding our murderer, wouldn’t we?”
“Either way,” said Jude, “it still means that Matt is not an innocent party in all of this. What we need to find out is the level of his involvement. Was he just obeying orders? And if so, who gave him those orders?”
“Having met him,” Carole observed sniffily, “I can’t really imagine him having worked this whole plan out on his own. Even though that’s what the lovely Sylvia seems to think he did. I don’t think Matt was at the front of the queue when the brains were handed out.”
“No.” Jude rubbed her hands, as if preparing for action. “Anyway, the first thing we do is track down the invoice with the instructions on it.”
“And how do we set about that?”
“We ring KWS.” Jude picked up her mobile. “I’ll get the number from directory enquiries.”
“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to use your landline?” Though she now had a mobile herself, such a frugal thought was a knee-jerk reaction for Carole.
“Mobile’s not so easy to trace – unless you happen to be the police,” said Jude as she pressed the keys.
“But even if you do get the number, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get anyone to talk to you.”
“It depends who they think they’re talking to.”
“What do you mean?”
“These days a call from Health and Safety has about the same effect as a knock on the door in the small hours from the Gestapo.”
Carole looked appalled. “You mean you’re planning to impersonate a government official?”
“Certainly am.”
Carole’s mouth opened to commence a lecture on morality and civic responsibility, but then swiftly closed, as she remembered the subterfuge she had so recently practised on Matt.
Jude dialled the number that she had been given. “Oh, hello,” she said, “could you put me through to whoever keeps your records of orders? Yes, my name is Judith Metarius.” It was what she had once described to Carole as ‘one’ of her married names, leaving Carole more confused about her neighbour’s past than ever. “From Health and Safety.”
The lie seemed to have worked. Jude grinned at Carole as she was put through. “Oh, good morning. Judith Metarius from Health and Safety,” she said breezily. “Just need to check some information about a delivery that was made Monday before last.” She gave the date. “Delivery to the Crown and Anchor public house in Fethering. Yes, I know you do regular deliveries there. One gone out this morning, is there? Well, well. Yes, if you wouldn’t mind…Who am I speaking to? Raylene? Well, Raylene…Oh, it’s just a complaint we’ve had, probably nothing in it, but we do have to follow up everything. Yes, conkers, I know, and pancake races. Hanging baskets, really?
I can assure you, Raylene, this is nothing of that kind. Just a little technical query, no one about to be put out of business. So I’d be obliged if you could check the paperwork for me. Yes, that was the date. And the Crown and Anchor, Fethering, yes. Raylene, all I need is for you to find the signed copy of the delivery form, the one that the driver brought back to the depot at the end of the day. I need to check the details of that order. Thank you, yes, I’ll wait.”
Jude put her hand over the receiver and mouthed at Carole. “Not enough work to do, I’d say. Bit of a chatterbox.” Then she was back into the conversation. “Are you sure? But what about the other paperwork from that day? Oh, is it? Very strange. Well, Raylene, thank you so much for your help. Oh, getting married, are you? I’d love to hear about the dress, but I’m afraid I do have other calls to make. Thank you again. Goodbye.”
Carole looked eagerly at Jude, as she announced with some satisfaction, “That delivery note has gone missing. It’s not there. Just that one. All the others for the day are in the file. Now isn’t that interesting?”
Twenty-Three
The Saturday morning was overcast, but no less hot. In fact the low ceiling of grey cloud seemed to press down on Fethering, making the air stale and stuffy. Kelly-Marie was waiting in the hallway of Copse-down Hall and opened the door before Jude had time to press the buzzer. After saying hello, Jude moved instinctively towards the communal kitchen, but Kelly-Marie gestured and limped towards the stairs. “My room’s a nicer place to talk.”
She was right. The studio flat was high enough for the view from its open windows to miss out the shabby street beneath and go over the roofs of Fethering to the dull silver gleam of the sea. Though the space was small, it had been decorated with intelligence and style. There were bright prints on the wall, mostly of dogs, and on the shelves a collection of canine figurines. Proud photographs in silver frames showed a beaming Kelly-Marie surrounded by what must have been her parents and brothers. One of the shots also featured two large long-haired spaniels. Jude wondered whether Kelly-Marie missed the family dogs now she was living on her own. And there must have been other sacrifices the girl had made to achieve her ambition of independent living.
Next to a radio⁄CD player on one shelf stood a vase of fresh summer flowers, whose perfume made the air feel less heavy. The sight immediately prompted Jude to ask whether Kelly-Marie had placed the flowers where Ray had died.
“Yes,” she replied simply. “He was my friend.”
In the corner of the room stood a small television with integral video recorder. Up here Kelly-Marie could escape the wall-to-wall Sky Sport and masculine backchat of the communal room below and watch the kind of programmes she enjoyed. Jude found herself conjecturing what those programmes might be.
Kelly-Marie also had her own kettle, which had just boiled in preparation for her visitor’s arrival. Of the options offered, Jude asked for a cup of black coffee.
The girl held up a jar of instant and announced with a big smile, “Fairtrade.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes. We have to look after the planet.” Once again she sounded as though she were parroting words she had been told by someone older. “Otherwise there will not be a planet to hand on to our children.”