The Body on the Beach (25 page)

‘Which explains why she came to your house, Carole.’

‘It must do, yes.’

‘But, Jude, you said she
used
to come and see me. Is she not coming again?’

‘I hope she is, Gordon. But she’s not well at the moment. Did you hear, her son died? She’s taken it very badly and she’s in hospital.’

‘Ah.’ The news seemed to bring him deep sadness. ‘I hope she’ll be all right. She’s had a lot to cope with, that girl.’

‘Yes.’

‘Anyway,’ Carole broke in briskly, ‘we must be on our way. Can’t thank you enough for—’

‘Carole, there’s something we’re forgetting!’

‘What, Jude?’ She spoke testily. She wanted to be on her way. Gulliver had been left tied up in the garden for far too long.

‘The person you saw on the beach before you found the body.’

‘Oh, my goodness, yes.’

‘Ah,’ said Gordon Lithgoe, ‘I wondered if you’d ask about that.’ He referred again to his ledger. ‘That’d be the one who saw the body at
6.57.’

‘Around then it must have been, yes.’

‘In a shiny green anorak.’

‘Yes. Who was he?’

‘Wa sn’t a “he”. It was a “she”.’

‘Really?’

‘Young girl. It was hardly light, so I couldn’t see when she actually came on to the beach, but she was running down from the direction of the Yacht Club. Seemed to be in a panic,
until she found the body.’

‘What did she look like?’ asked Jude.

‘Couldn’t see the colour of her hair, because she had her anorak hood done up tight. Large young woman, though. And I could see one thing . . . She had a silver stud in her
nose.’

When they got out of the building, Gulliver provided an excellent illustration for the meaning of the word ‘hangdog’. He was very reproachful.

‘I’ll have to take him home before we do anything else,’ said Carole. ‘Anyway, I don’t want him present if there is going to be an exhumation.’

‘No.’

They set out back towards the High Street, keeping on Seaview Road, which was firmer underfoot than the beach.

‘We’ve got to talk to Tanya,’ said Jude.

‘She’s not the only young woman in the world with a silver nose-stud.’

‘No, but she’s the only one who has a connection to Fethering Yacht Club. If only we could also find a connection between her and Rory Turnbull . . .’

‘Well, he was Treasurer of the club, so she must’ve met him there.’

‘Ye-es. Have we got anything else, though?’

‘Hm . . . Ooh, just a minute, we might have. What about the girl your dental hygienist mentioned?’

‘Well done, Carole. How stupid of me! I should’ve remembered that. Of course! Denis Woodville said she lived in Brighton, so if she was coming to do an evening shift at the club bar,
then the timing would be absolutely right for Rory to give her the occasional lift to work when he’d finished at the surgery.’

The two women exchanged looks as they strode along. Carole’s pale eyes sparkled behind their glasses. ‘Then we definitely need to talk to Tanya.’

‘Before we go into the exhumation business?’

‘Yes.’ Carole shuddered. ‘And I certainly don’t think we should do the exhumation bit alone.’

‘You’re not suggesting calling in the police, are you?’

‘Certainly not! Not till we’ve confirmed that the body’s there. I can just imagine the expression on Detective Inspector Brayfield’s face if we got him to help us
burglarize one of those fishermen’s chests and found nothing in it except for boathooks and rotting bait. No, I think we should ask Ted Crisp to help us.’

‘Oh?’

‘You sound surprised, Jude. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?’

‘I think it’s a very good idea. My only surprise is that you were the one who suggested it.’

And it was surprising, when she came to think about it. The Carole of a week before would never have dreamed of making the suggestion.

As they took the left turn into the High Street, Jude went on, ‘I’ll give Ted a call. I’m sure he can slip away from the pub for half an hour.’

‘It’s got to be this evening.’

‘Hm?’

‘When we look for the body.’ Carole went through the logic. ‘If Gordon Lithgoe’s idea is correct and the body was moved as a temporary measure, then tonight’s the
first opportunity whoever moved it will have to retrieve it. The building workers have been there all the time since Wednesday.’

Jude nodded, then stopped. They were outside Denis Woodville’s cottage. Its paintwork and paths were immaculately clean. The dinghy on its trailer was still in front of the garage. On his
gatepost a new, meticulously hand-printed felt-tip notice read, ‘
BEWARE! WEEKEND SAILORS IN VICINITY! NEXT DOOR!
’ And a large arrow pointed towards the
Chilcotts’ house.

On their gatepost was a new printed notice. In a choice selection of fonts, it read, ‘
DANGER! LITTLE HITLER NEXT DOOR! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
’ And an arrow
pointed back at Denis Woodville’s.

‘I’d have thought these two were getting a bit close to the libel laws,’ Jude observed.

‘Only if one of them chooses to sue. And I think, deep down, both of them enjoy the game so much that they’re not going to risk putting an end to it by court procedures.’

Jude chuckled. ‘You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m just going to see if Denis is in . . .’

‘To get a contact number for Tanya?’

‘That’s right. You take Gulliver back. I’ll be round in a minute.’

The Vice-Commodore was in, though on his home territory he seemed diminished, less assured than he had been in the surroundings of the Fethering Yacht Club. Jude sensed in him
a reluctance to invite her in, which was overcome only by ingrained good manners.

When he ushered her through to his sitting room, she could see why. In marked contrast to the neatness of its exterior, the house’s interior was distinctly shabby. Some months had elapsed
since the sitting room had experienced even the most cursory of cleaner’s attentions. In the air, as well as stale Gauloise smoke, hovered the sickly smell of rotting fruit.

Denis Woodville’s awareness of, and embarrassment about, the state of his home suggested he very rarely had visitors. ‘I’m sorry, bit of a tip,’ he barked, with an
attempt at bluffness. ‘Fact is, I was never up to much on the domestic front and, since my wife passed away, I . . . Not that I spend any longer here than I have to . . .
Busy at the club a lot of the time anyway . . .’

Escaping
to the club, Jude translated. The squalor of the room brought home to her the emptiness of the old man’s life.

‘Do take a seat.’ He gestured vaguely to a selection of subsiding armchairs, none of which looked particularly inviting.

‘No, I’m fine. If you could just find that number . . .’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Moving aside an ashtray and a couple of smeared beer mugs from a dresser, he riffled through a pile of dusty newspapers and unopened letters. ‘I’ve
got it here somewhere.’ He had shown no surprise at being asked for Tanya’s number and no curiosity as to why it might be wanted. ‘Tell the young lady when you do get through to
her that, if she’s changed her mind, she can have her job back. I haven’t found a replacement yet . . . that is, unless of course you were serious about wanting to do
it?’

Jude grimaced. ‘Still finding my feet round here, actually. Bit early for me to commit myself to anything.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Damn, it doesn’t seem to be here. Maybe it’s in this lot.’ He moved across to attack another pile of detritus on a coffee table.

‘Nice-looking dinghy you have in the front there,’ said Jude, to make conversation.

‘Yes, she’s a Mirror.’

‘Ah.’ This meant nothing to her. ‘I’m surprised you don’t keep it down at the Yacht Club.’

‘Well, I used to, but, erm . . . well, times change . . .’ Jude suddenly understood. Denis Woodville was saying that he could no longer afford to keep his dinghy
at the Yacht Club. ‘I probably won’t keep her that much longer. Dinghy like that’s a bit of a handful. I’m thinking of selling her . . . and getting something else
. . . more suitable for my advanced years,’ he added, with an unconvincing flourish of bravado.

‘Good idea,’ said Jude, not believing a word of it.

‘Damn, it’s not here. I know I’ve got the number down at the club.’ The very mention of the word seemed to raise his spirits. He looked at his watch. ‘Should be
opening up there soon anyway.’ The confidence in his voice mounted as the moment of leaving his squalid home drew closer. ‘Damned place can’t function without the Vice-Commodore,
you know. If you wouldn’t mind coming along with me . . .’

There was a little knot of elderly cronies already waiting for Denis Woodville to unlock the clubhouse. They called out raucous comments about his timekeeping and did not let the fact he had a
woman with him pass unremarked. The Vice-Commodore glowed in their attention.

Inside the bar-room, with the lights switched on, he whispered to Jude, ‘Have to get their drinks sorted out first or I’ll never hear the end of it. Can I get you a little
something?’

Jude refused, anxious to get away. She had a sense that the pace of the investigation was accelerating.

Denis Woodville lit up another Gauloise and then made a great meal of pouring the drinks, with constant comments about how unsuitable it was for the Vice-Commodore to be involved in such menial
tasks. Though it was clear he’d been doing it every night since Tanya left.

None of the others moved to help him. They just sat and pontificated on the appalling state of the world and how much better everything would be if they were in charge. One of them harked back
to when he’d been stationed out in Singapore and pretty well ran the show out there. If the half of what these elderly gentlemen said was true, Jude was privileged to be in the company of the
finest political and logistical brains in the entire world.

Eventually everyone was supplied with a drink. Denis Woodville took a long swig of his brandy and said, ‘Now, let’s find that phone number for you . . .’

He turned to a neat address book by the telephone. Whatever chaos might reign in his home, here at the Fethering Yacht Club the Vice-Commodore kept everything shipshape. As he picked up the
book, he noticed the message light flashing on the answering machine. ‘Excuse me. Better just check this. Might be the coastguard,’ he said importantly.

The message wasn’t from the coastguard. It was the voice of a bored young woman. ‘Vice-Commodore, it’s Tanya, calling on Monday afternoon. First, I wanted to say thanks for the
lunch last week . . .’

Though spoken with total lack of enthusiasm, this still prompted ribald comments from the cronies round the bar.

‘. . . and the other thing is, could you let me know whether those repairs on the sea wall have been finished yet? It’s just, um . . . well, I was thinking of
coming for a walk to Fethering and I didn’t want to if the building’s still going on, you know . . . Could you call me on . . .’

Jude scribbled the number down on the back of an envelope. ‘And could I have her address please?’

‘How very odd,’ said the Vice-Commodore, as he passed the address book across. ‘What on earth does the girl want to know about the sea wall for?’

Jude had a potential answer to that question. An answer that might make a connection she’d been seeking for some time. The girl’s reason for wanting the information had been so
clumsily fabricated that Jude felt a little charge of excitement.

‘It’s in code,’ one of the Fethering Yacht Club members announced. ‘It all has special meanings for the Vice-Commodore, eh? That’s how he and Tanya have managed to
keep their affair secret all these years.’

The remark was greeted by some token joshing, but soon the old men moved on to more serious matters. When Jude slipped away from the clubroom, Denis Woodville was launching into his views on how
the Northern Ireland problem should be solved. His recipe required rather lavish use of a reintroduced death penalty, but ‘in the long run, it would only be being cruel to be kind
. . .’

The Vice-Commodore was in his pomp. Jude felt sure none of his surrounding pontificators had ever seen him in the drabness of his home surroundings.

‘Have you talked to Ted Crisp?’

It was the first thing Jude asked when she arrived and Carole was proud to be able to say, ‘Yes. He’s game for a bit of body-hunting . . . round seven.’

‘Good.’ Jude pulled out her mobile phone. ‘I’ll see if Tanya’s there now.’

‘You can use my phone.’

‘Mm?’ She was already keying in the numbers. ‘Oh, it’s OK.’

‘But using a mobile is a lot more expensive.’

‘Is it?’ asked Jude, as though the idea had never occurred to her. ‘Ah, hello, is that Tanya? My name’s Jude. I don’t know if you remember, we met in the Crown and
Anchor at Fethering on Friday. Yes, that’s right. Well, I wanted to talk about a body that got washed up on the beach here last week . . .’

With a rueful expression, Jude turned to Carole. ‘Maybe the direct approach isn’t always the best one. She hung up on me.’

‘Ah. Still, wouldn’t you say that’s a sign of guilt or complicity or something? If she had no idea what you were talking about, she’d have said so, not hung
up.’

‘You could be right.’ Jude looked down at the envelope on which she’d written Tanya’s address and phone number. ‘I think I’d better go and see her.’

‘In Brighton?’

‘Yes. I know she’s at home, don’t I? At least at the moment.’

‘How will you get there? I’d offer to drive you over, but if I’m meeting Ted at seven, I—’

‘No, no, don’t worry. I’ll get a cab.’

‘A
cab
?’ Carole was shocked. ‘All the way to Brighton?’

‘It’s not far, is it?’

‘It may not be far, but it’ll certainly cost you. Depends what kind of budget you’re working to, of course.’

‘Budget?’ Jude savoured the unfamiliar word.

‘Yes, budget. You know what it means, don’t you?’

‘I know what it means, of course,’ said Jude mischievously, ‘but I’ve never really come to terms with the
concept
.’

Carole looked blank. But then everyone looks blank when they try to converse with someone who speaks a different language.