‘Hm. Earlier, Vix, you talked about the “murderer”. Has anyone actually said that Burton St Clair’s death was murder?’
‘Well, everyone in Fethering says it was.’
‘But you haven’t heard the word used by the police?’
‘Like I said, I only had a brief chat on the phone with them.’
‘Of course. When Burton St Clair did his talk, I understand he had a bottle of mineral water with him …’
‘Oh, are you going down the poisoning route? Yeah, a lot of people have been talking about that. And before you ask: no, the bottle of water had not been opened before it was set up for him. I know that, because I took it out of the staff room fridge myself.’
This did of course raise the possibility that Vix herself might have had the opportunity to adulterate the contents, but Carole didn’t think that avenue was worth pursuing. She was coming round to Di Thompson’s view that planning a murder would have been too much like hard work for Vix Winter to have anything to do with it.
‘God, I feel better for that.’ Vix looked down at her empty glass. Carole took the hint. Though she was only halfway down her Sauvignon Blanc, she went to the bar to get another pint of Aspall’s. Zosia served her. The girl looked rather subdued and, Carole noticed, wore heavier eye make-up than usual. The whites of her eyes were pinkish, as though she’d been crying. Jude would instantly, without any awkwardness, have asked Zosia if everything was OK. But Carole wasn’t made like that. She just voiced her thanks and took Vix’s cider back to the table.
As the girl took another deep swallow, Carole asked, ‘Do you mind just going through what happened between Burton St Clair’s arrival at the library and the start of his talk?’
‘Not much did happen, really. I told you, I spent most of the time moving chairs.’ The resentment in her voice was strong. ‘Some volunteers were meant to come in at six thirty to help with that, but by the time they arrived I’d done it all,’ she concluded righteously.
‘And where was Burton during this time?’
‘He was in the staff room with Di. She’d got some M & S sandwiches. Not that I was allowed to have any. They were all for him. And she made him some coffee.’
‘Didn’t offer him anything stronger at that stage of the evening?’
‘No. She was worried about not having enough wine for later.’
Carole remembered Jude saying Burton had had a close relationship with alcohol. ‘Did he mind about that?’
Vix shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear him say anything.’
‘So, Di was in the staff room with him, what, talking about his books?’
‘I guess,’ said the girl without interest.
Carole changed direction. ‘Was Burton St Clair wearing an overcoat when he arrived at the library?’
‘No. He was parked directly outside. Maybe he’d got one in his car.’
‘I think Jude said he was wearing a black leather jacket.’
‘That’s right. But when he was chatting with Di, he took it off and hung it over the back of the chair.’
‘You don’t know how long it stayed there?’
‘I don’t think he picked it up again before he went through to the library for Di to introduce him, you know, at the beginning of his talk.’
‘So there might have been a moment when the jacket was left unattended in the staff room?’
Another shrug. ‘Might have been. Quite likely, I suppose.’
‘One other thing. While he was in the library on Tuesday, did Burton St Clair make a pass at you?’
‘“Make a pass”? What you mean, like, “come on to me”?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, he bloody didn’t!’ The girl looked disgusted to the depths of her dumpy soul. ‘He’s old.’
‘Were you aware that he had “come on” to Di Thompson?’
‘To Di?’ Her nose wrinkled with further distaste. ‘Oh my God, that must’ve made her day.’
‘I don’t think it did.’
‘Well, I think it’s a long time since she’s seen any action of that kind. I can’t imagine her ever doing it, actually.’ The pierced nose was wrinkled with disgust. ‘Her and Burton St Clair – yuk!’
‘Well, apparently he did grope her.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, they’re both so old!’
To Carole Seddon, who was probably exactly the same age as Di Thompson, this was less than amusing. ‘There was one other thing I wanted to ask you, Vix. About the timing of—’
She was interrupted by a pinging from the girl’s phone. Without a word of apology, it was picked up. A text was read, and a short reply sent off.
‘Sorry, gotta go. My mate Jools is outside in her car. We’re going on to meet some people in another pub.’
And, pausing only to down the remains of her cider, Vix Winter rushed out of the Crown & Anchor.
On her way to the door, Carole did the public-spirited thing of taking the two empty glasses up to the bar. Zosia was slumped forward against it, looking even more dejected.
‘Are you all right?’ Carole asked, knowing that Jude would have put the question less brusquely.
She was right. The Polish girl looked up. Tears started to sparkle on the heavy mascara of her eyelashes, and she went wordlessly out through the door that led to the kitchen.
‘Women’s moods, eh?’ It was the landlord, Ted Crisp, barrelling his way along the bar towards Carole. ‘Though presumably saying that would be sexist these days, wouldn’t it?’
‘Probably. Though I didn’t think political correctness had ever really been your thing, Ted.’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t so important when I was doing the stand-up circuit. Nowadays, almost any joke you make is going to offend some minority. No way round it, though, so far as I can see. Jokes have to be at someone’s expense, for heaven’s sake. Jokes have to have butts, otherwise they’re not jokes.’
‘Maybe.’ Carole found Ted’s company obscurely comforting. The fact that they had once had a brief affair was still a source of surprise to both of them. Though the differences in their personalities meant that a relationship of such closeness could never have lasted, it had remained a bond between them.
She moved on. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with Zosia?’
He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Moods?’
At least he hadn’t said ‘time of the month’, thought Carole, though she knew exactly what he meant. She was constantly amazed by how embarrassed men got about the subject of periods. And how they assumed that they must be the cause of all of women’s emotional upsets.
‘Let me fill your glass up.’
‘No, Ted, I should really be—’
‘On the house.’
She didn’t argue.
He poured out the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and pulled himself half a pint of Sussex Gold. This was unusual. Though Ted Crisp liked to build up the image of himself as a hard drinker, it was increasingly rare for him to sample his own wares. He had seen too many pub landlords ruin themselves and their businesses by sliding down the easy slope to alcoholism.
Anyway, trade was slack. Even though it was a Saturday, pubs across the country were still suffering from the post-Christmas slump. He raised his glass to his guest.
After they had toasted each other, Carole suddenly remembered that Jude had entrusted her with a murder investigation, and one in which Ted might be able to provide more information. ‘People still talking about that business with Burton St Clair in the library?’
‘Of course they are. It only happened on Tuesday and, in case you’ve forgotten, we do live in Fethering, a village where a dog fouling the dunes can fuel six months’ worth of gossip. No way they’re going to stop talking about a murder in four days, is there?’