‘That’s exactly what I mean. We’d be very unlikely to find it there.’
‘So, what you are saying basically, Detective Inspector Rollins, is that I am still on your list of suspects?’
‘Yes, and I’m afraid you will remain there until we find some actual proof of your innocence.’
‘I see,’ said Jude.
But her mood was no longer feeble and paranoid. Now she was just furiously angry.
TWENTY-ONE
‘I feel better,’ said Jude, ‘now I’m sharing what I know about the case with you.’
Carole tried not to show how much these words meant to her as she mumbled some platitude about two heads being better than one. They were in front of the open fire in the sitting room of Woodside Cottage. It was early for Jude to have opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, but Carole had only raised a token objection.
‘Anyway, the important thing,’ she went on, ‘is where we take our investigation on from here.’
‘Since, according to Rollins, I had the opportunity to filch Burton’s car keys from his leather jacket and put walnut oil into his hipflask, maybe we should be asking ourselves who else had that opportunity.’
‘You know the list of suspects better than I do. Who’ve we got?’
‘OK. The two members of the library staff, Di Thompson and Vix Winter. Then there’s your friend Nessa Perks.’
Carole wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d hardly call her my friend.’
‘You know who I mean, anyway. Then there’s Oliver Parsons …’
‘Your friend.’
‘Maybe,’ Jude quickly dismissed the thought. ‘And there’s shelf-stacker and science-fiction writer manqué, Steve Chasen.’
‘He’s the one who verbally attacked Burton St Clair?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which is suspicious behaviour by any standards.’
‘Mm. I was just thinking – there’s a connection between Oliver and Steve that might be worth following up.’
‘Oh?’
‘They were both members of a Writers’ Group that used to run at Fethering Library.’
‘Ah well, there’s another connection there.’
‘Oh?’
‘The woman you describe as my friend. Nessa Perks. She was involved in a few sessions with that set-up.’ In response to Jude’s look of puzzlement, Carole explained, ‘I heard that from Di Thompson when I talked to her on Saturday.’
‘That’s interesting. Might be worth talking further to her, find out a bit more about the group.’
‘Well, you could—’
Carole was interrupted by the phone ringing.
Jude answered it. ‘Ah, Karla, thanks for getting back to me.’
She knew Carole was disappointed not to be included in the visit, but it wouldn’t have been right for her to come. Though it didn’t actually involve any of Jude’s clients, she felt any dealings she had with Karla had to be confidential.
She had not been surprised when told to bring a bottle of vodka. Though Karla’s long-term aim was to cure people, she knew that on occasions their addictions had to be fed. And that was certainly the case when information was required. There was a going rate for everything.
The rendezvous was between two beach huts on the seashore at Littlehampton. In daylight – and certainly in the summer tourist season – a drunkard would have been moved on from there, but on a dark late Monday afternoon in January, nobody was around to care.
Jude had got a cab and met Karla on the promenade that ran along the landward side of the rows of beach huts. She looked huge and more shapeless than ever, shrouded in a tent-like anorak with a fur-trimmed hood. ‘His name’s Lennie,’ she said. ‘He knows Pawel.’
Jude was aware of the smell before she saw the man. Urine, sweat and something else more noxious than either. Maybe the beach huts provided a degree of protection from the bitter wind that scoured the shingle, but it was still a miserable place to be. She didn’t like to think where Lennie might be spending the night.
He was only an outline in the fading light, a dark coat tied round with a belt from a lighter garment. A woollen hat was pulled down over greasy hair. His glazed eyes were unfocused. His whole body trembled.
‘Lennie,’ said Karla, ‘this is Jude, the woman I told you about.’
‘And did she bring what you promised?’ he asked.
His voice was a shock to Jude. Through the slurring and the hiss of missing teeth, it was educated, even public school educated.
‘Yes,’ said Karla.
‘Hello, Lennie,’ said Jude, and she handed across the vodka bottle.
He unscrewed it with a practised flick, and swigged down perhaps a quarter of the contents.
The effect was instantaneous. The trembling of his body ceased, and when he looked at her he seemed to take in her presence. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘There was something you wanted to ask me about, I believe.’
‘A Polish man called Pawel?’
‘Ah, yes, of course.’
‘You do know him?’
‘Yes. We have drunk together.’ He made it sound as if they had shared the occasional vintage bottle in a London gentleman’s club.
‘And talked together?’
‘A little. He does not have much English.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Ah.’ Lennie looked at her regretfully. ‘I am not very good about time.’
‘Recently?’ He shrugged. ‘In the last week?’ He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.
‘Come on, Lennie,’ said Karla gently. ‘Try to remember.’
‘I am trying, but … nothing comes.’
‘Can you remember,’ asked Jude, ‘not when you last saw him, but what happened when you last saw him?’
Lennie gave the question due consideration, but then slowly shook his head.
‘Where you last saw him?’
‘Who are we talking about?’
‘Pawel.’
‘Oh yes, Pawel.’ His brow wrinkled with the effort of memory. ‘Pawel? No, I didn’t see Pawel here in Littlehampton.’
‘Where then?’
‘Is it in …?’ But a look froze the words on Karla’s lips. Jude did not want ideas to be planted in Lennie’s mind. She waited for him to come up with the recollection himself.
After a long silence, she was rewarded. ‘In Fethering,’ he said slowly. ‘I saw Pawel in Fethering.’
‘Whereabouts in Fethering?’
‘In the shelter by the beach.’
‘When did you last see him there?’
But Jude’s question was too insistent for him. He shook his head slowly and, as his eyes once again glazed over, he put the bottle to his lips and took another long pull of vodka.
There was another long silence. Then he spoke again. ‘Last time I saw Pawel, he wanted some of my drink. I let him have a little. Not much. I needed it. He didn’t have drink of his own.’
‘Ah,’ said Jude, not sure whether prompting him further was going to help.
‘He didn’t have drink of his own, but he had something he wanted to sell to buy drink.’
‘What was that?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Silver,’ he said.
‘Money?’
‘No, made of silver. He said he knew someone who would buy it from him. A Polish person he knew. Some funny name; they all have funny names. Milo, perhaps …?’
‘Lennie,’ Jude repeated, ‘what was it? What was the thing Pawel was going to sell?’
‘A … what’s it called? For drink.’ He searched the fuddled recesses of his memory, and finally the word came to him. ‘A hipflask.’
TWENTY-TWO
‘What’s his story? I mean, that is, if you can tell me without breaching client confidentiality.’
Karla had offered to drive Jude back to Fethering in her battered Nissan Micra. They had left Lennie between the beach huts.