“Do you have my mobile number?”
“Of course I have,” said Zosia patiently.
The pictures arrived with a speed that made Jude again feel guilty for not having explored her mobile’s potential before. And though the screen on which they appeared was tiny, their quality and clarity-was remarkable.
The first one showed Ted Crisp introducing his so-called friend Dan Poke. The landlord’s expression of pained bafflement brought back to Jude the sympathy she had felt at the time for his humiliation. More interesting, though, than Ted were the other people who were in shot. Sylvia, near the ‘stage’ area, her arms draped round Matt.
The second picture was Dan Poke beginning his act.
Jude looked at the third photograph. This time Zosia had focused on the audience rather than the star. Amongst the busy crowd Jude saw herself and Carole, both caught at those mouth-opening, eyelid-drooping moments which are such a feature of most amateur photography. Standing just behind them, with his pre-makeover leather jacket, long hair and beard look, was Viggo. Nearest to the camera, poignantly, sat Ray, his eyes alight at the prospect of seeing ‘someone from off the television’. Little more than an hour later his difficult bewildered life would have ended.
The fourth photograph was of the bikers. Jude didn’t know why Zosia had taken it. Maybe for identification, a rogue’s gallery, in case of further rowdiness at the Crown and Anchor. This idea immediately made her think of the police. Given Ted Crisp’s resistance to the idea of having CCTV at the Crown and Anchor, surely the official investigation must have sought out any photographs taken on mobiles that Sunday night? She’d have to check that with Zosia.
In the crowd of bikers a figure stood out. Though clearly one of them – and in fact from his body language he looked to be one of their leaders – he wasn’t in their livery of leather. He was the man with whom Jude had nearly had an altercation at the bar, the man with a scarred face and two and a half missing fingers. She remembered the rank body odour that came off him.
The photograph also provided the missing connection that had been troubling her all day. The man was wearing combat trousers and a sleeveless T-shirt with a camouflage design. As if to reinforce the point, on the edge of the frame Viggo was visible, looking at the scarred man with an expression that verged on the idolatrous.
Jude rang Zosia back straight away. First she asked if the police had seen the photographs.
“No. They didn’t ask me for them. And, anyway, until you asked just now, I had completely forgotten about them. The police do not talk to me for very long. They just ask me what I am doing in the pub till the fight starts. I tell them that I am serving behind the bar all the time. I had forgotten I went to do the lights and took the photographs. Do you think I should ring the police and tell them?”
Jude was faced by a dilemma that had occurred more than once during her amateur investigations.
The correct answer to Zosia’s question was yes. If not necessarily a crime, it was certainly unethical to withhold evidence from the police. On the other hand, Jude desperately wanted to follow up the new information herself.
Without too much of a pang in her conscience, she replied airily, “Oh, I don’t think you have to, Zosia. I’m sure the police are busy with their investigation and have got lots of leads to follow up. I mean, if they get back to you and actually ask whether you took any photographs, then obviously you must tell the truth. Otherwise, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother them.”
Zosia seemed quite content to accept this advice. “Was there anything else, Jude? Because this project I’m working on has to be delivered by the end of next week and – ”
“Yes, there is something else, actually. I know I sound like a complete Luddite, but could you explain to me how I can send the photographs you sent me on to someone else?”
With great forbearance – and not a little amusement – Zosia spelled out the procedure, which was second nature to her generation.
Jude followed the instructions to the letter and sent all four photographs to Kelly-Marie’s mobile. The accompanying text read: “DID ANY OF THESE PEOPLE COME TO SEE RAY IN THE LAST FEW WEEKS?” Jude was glad there was no one watching as she composed the message. She didn’t do much texting, and it was a laborious process for her.
Then, because she was rather impressed by her new skill, she also sent the photographs to Carole’s mobile.
Only ten minutes later Kelly-Marie rang back. “I’m sorry. I’m clumsy with text.”
Join the club, thought Jude. “But do you recognize any of the people? Have you see any of them at Copsedown Hall?”
“Yes, I have seen one,” Kelly-Marie replied carefully.
“Which one?”
“The one with the bad face.”
“You mean the scarred face?”
“Yes.”
“And are you saying he came to Copsedown Hall to see Ray?”
“No,” said Kelly-Marie. “He came here to see Viggo.”
Twenty-Five
When she went round to coffee at High Tor on the Sunday morning, Jude could see that her neighbour’s time with her granddaughter had gone well. There exuded from Carole an air of satisfaction, the feeling of a job well done. And when asked about her babysitting, she couldn’t restrain herself from enthusing about Lily’s charms. “She really responds to me, you know – she definitely knows who I am.”
Jude was always pleased to witness another step in what she had come to regard as the ‘thawing’ of Carole Seddon. But the proud grandmother’s anec-dotage would have to wait for another occasion; there were more urgent things for them to talk about. Quickly Jude brought Carole up to date with the progress she had made the previous day.
“Yes, I got the photographs you sent to my mobile.”
“Lucky Zosia had taken those, wasn’t it, Carole?”
“A very useful record. And you think Viggo’s modelled himself on that man with the scarred face, that that’s his latest incarnation?”
“Yes. It fits with everything that Sally Monks said about his personality.”
“Does that mean you think he killed Ray?”
“I’m not sure. But I am sure that Viggo and the scarred man have information that’ll help us get closer to a solution.”
Carole nodded. “Now I come to think of it, I didn’t see either of them that night at the Crown and Anchor after the fight had started.” Jude looked at her curiously. “I remember looking out for them.”
“So either of them could be in the frame for stabbing Ray?”
“Perhaps. Mind you, in all that chaos it was fairly difficult to see anyone.” Carole shook her head in frustration, then said, “So all we have to do is to find out who the man with the scarred face is.”
“Yes, that’s all we have to do. And I’ve a feeling it may not be easy.”
“Well, come on, what do we know about him?”
“Beyond his physical description – the scarred face, the missing fingers – not a lot.”
“We also know that he’s one of the bikers – or at least he knows the bikers. In fact, from the way he was behaving he seemed like the ringleader of the bikers.”
“Yes, OK, I’ll go along with that. But where did he arrive from? Come to that, where did the rest of the bikers arrive from? Just suddenly they were in Fethering, at the Crown and Anchor, in something that almost felt like an orchestrated plan of sabotage, whose sole purpose was to destroy Ted Crisp’s business. Where did they come from?”
Carole smiled triumphantly as she announced, “Portsmouth.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“You were there at the same time. You should be able to work it out too.”
“Oh, stop being infuriating, Carole. Tell me what you’re talking about.”