The Shooting in the Shop (31 page)

‘Thank you very much,’ said Carole to the landlady
and then, uncharacteristically assertive, she
stepped into the room, quickly followed by Jude.
Blackie, barking suspiciously, came towards them,
but a sniff at their ankles seemed to reassure him and
he moved back to his basket.

The room’s furnishings were minimal – a single
bed, a dressing table, an armchair and an upright
chair, all probably salvaged from the second-hand
stores of Worthing. Clearly Anna Carter’s reinvention
of herself had been minimally funded.

The glass of water and box of tissues on the table
beside the armchair showed where she had been
sitting and when she gestured her visitors to sit down,
Carole took the hard chair and Jude sat on the edge of
the bed.

‘What’s all this about?’ asked Anna feebly.

Carole didn’t have anything prepared, but she
improvised, saying she’d heard about Ricky’s death
and knew that Anna would be devastated, and had
come along to see if there was anything she could do
to help. She explained Jude’s presence by saying she
was ‘a friend and a professional counsellor, used to
dealing with bereavement’.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t think
anyone can do anything at the moment. I’ve just got
to get through this on my own . . . though God knows
how long that’s going to take.’ The thought brought on
a new outburst of crying. She rubbed savagely at her
eyes with a tissue, careless of the discomfort it might
cause.

‘When did you last see Ricky?’ Jude spoke very
gently.

‘You mean when did I last see him to talk to?’
Anna asked through receding sobs.

‘If you like.’

‘Well, the time I told you about, Carole. That
Sunday just before Christmas.’

‘You didn’t see him yesterday?’ Anna bowed her
head, but didn’t answer Carole’s question. ‘Did you
have a call from him yesterday?’ Still silence. ‘Anna,
Ricky was going to come and see Jude and me yesterday
afternoon. He said he had to see someone else in
Fethering first. Was that someone you?’ Nothing. ‘I
ask you again, did you have a call from Ricky yesterday?’

The lack of response continued, so Jude tried
another tack. ‘Old Garge – you know, the one who
lives in a beach hut, has a Jack Russell – he overheard
a conversation between Ricky and you that Sunday
before Christmas, the night of the fire. He said Ricky
was threatening to end your relationship, and you
threatened to kill him if he did.’

This did finally have an effect. Anna Carter
looked up from the tissue in which she had been
hiding her face and said, ‘Oh, so that’s it, is it? I’m
now a suspect in some game of murder investigation
you’re playing?’

‘You can’t blame us for being intrigued,’ said Jude.

‘I suppose not,’ Anna said bitterly. ‘Nobody has
any secrets any more, do they? Everyone’s common
property. All right, I’ll tell you what happened – if only to stop you from adding more lies and insinuations
to the Fethering grapevine. I told you about
when my affair with Ricky started, Carole, and I’m
sure you passed it all on to Jude, didn’t you? And yes,
as Old Garge overheard, that Sunday before Christmas
Ricky did talk about breaking it off. It was just as
we were leaving Gallimaufry. Normally, we’d leave
separately to avoid being seen together. That night,
just as I’d gone out of the back door, Ricky came after
me and we had the conversation Old Garge described
to you. I was pretty furious, nearly hysterical, which
was why Ricky suggested we talked in the car. I think
he was worried about someone hearing the commotion.
That was why I was in the Mercedes with him
that evening. We never had been at any other time.
Anyway, we sat in the car and talked and it seemed to
be OK. We kind of realized how much we did mean to
each other. Ricky said he’d ring me over the Christmas
period, but he never . . .’ Her lower lip wobbled.

‘Had he talked about leaving you before?’ Jude
used the soft voice of a therapist.

‘No. Well, only in the way lovers do. He’d say,
“You know, we shouldn’t be doing this”, but that was
more as a come-on than an expression of guilt. It
added to the excitement of the times when we were
together.’

‘And was there anything different about him
that Sunday evening? Was he particularly tense or
nervous?’

‘Yes, he was. He tried to hide it – Ricky never
liked showing any weakness – but I could tell he was strung up. And it seemed worse after he had the
phone call.’

‘Phone call?’ Carole repeated, instantly alert. ‘Did
he have his mobile with him?’

‘No, he’d forgotten it, left it at home. The call
came through on the landline at Gallimaufry. There
was a handset in the flat, not in the bedroom, in one
of the other rooms. When it rang, I told him to leave
it, that it would just be some customer checking our
opening hours running up to Christmas or something
like that, but he insisted on answering.’

‘Did you hear what he said?’

‘No. He was in the other room.’

‘Did he say who it was on the phone?’

‘No, but I would assume it was Lola. Who can’t
have been over the moon to find him answering
the phone in the shop at that time, anyway. The call
unsettled him, though, really put him off his stroke.
Straight afterwards he said we should get dressed and
get out. And I’m sure it was the phone call that made
him suggest we should split up.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, if Lola had tracked him down to Gallimaufry
on a Sunday evening, she must have been
suspicious of something, mustn’t she? Why else
would she have rung the shop?’

‘Maybe. And then yesterday . . .’ Jude prompted.
‘Tell us what happened yesterday.’

‘All right. I hadn’t heard from him since that
Sunday, and I was feeling pretty low about it and
thinking that he really had dumped me, but hadn’t got the guts to tell me so. And I thought I could see
him at their New Year’s Eve party, but when the time
came, I hadn’t the nerve to go. Then I had a call from
him early yesterday afternoon. He said he wanted to
meet. I felt so happy that I . . .’

The realization of her changed circumstances
threatened to overwhelm her again, but she bit her lip
and struggled on, her voice taut with the effort of will.
‘He said we’d meet down by the Fethering Yacht Club,
where he usually parked the car, where we’d been
when I last saw him. I got there at the time he’d said.
The car’s engine was switched off, but the headlights
were on. I looked inside. Ricky was dead.’

‘And you didn’t see anyone else around?’ asked
Carole, trying to work out the sequence of people
discovering the body, whether Kath had been there
before Anna.

‘No.’

‘So what did you do then?’

‘I came straight back here. I started crying, which
is more or less what I’ve been doing ever since.’

‘You didn’t think of reporting the death to the
police?’

‘No!’ replied Anna with a sudden, blazing bitterness.
‘His dead body’s nothing to do with me. That’s
something for his bloody family to sort out!’

She seemed exhausted by her narrative. There
was a long, long silence. The landlady, who couldn’t
have failed to hear Anna’s recent outburst from anywhere
in the house, must have wondered what was
happening.

It was Jude who finally broke the silence. Her
voice was softer and more soothing than ever. ‘Anna,
did Ricky say why he wanted to see you yesterday?
Did he say that he wanted your affair to continue?’

‘Not in so many words. But what he said implied
that we would have a future together, that we would
go on seeing each other. He said I was one of the few
people he could trust, and he wanted me to look after
something for him.’

‘Did he tell you what it was?’

‘He said it was a flash drive . . . you know, one of
those memory sticks. He said it was very precious to
him, and he didn’t want to leave it lying around at
home because he didn’t feel his home was secure.’

Jude had the passing thought that her finding
Polly’s mobile might have something to do with his
risk assessment.

‘Did you get the flash drive?’ asked Carole, trying
without great success to hide her urgency.

‘How could I have done?’

‘It was probably on his key-ring, or in his pocket.’

‘Look, I’d just come across the dead body of the
man I loved, possibly the only man I really loved. I
wasn’t about to start riffling through his pockets.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Carole, properly abashed
for her insensitivity.

Jude asked the important question. ‘Do you know
what was on the flash drive, Anna?’

‘Ricky said it was a copy of a book that his stepdaughter
Polly had written.’

‘The agent,’ said Jude, as soon as they got back into
the Renault. ‘We’ve got to get in touch with the agent
who read Polly’s book.’

‘The one who’d been at Cambridge with Lola and
Piers?’

‘That’s right. Serena Somebodyorother, if my
memory serves me right.’

‘I suppose we could try to contact Piers. If he’s still
at Fedingham Court House.’

‘We don’t need to do that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m pretty sure I’ll have Serena’s number at Woodside
Cottage.’

‘Oh?’ said Carole.

‘Because that’s where Polly’s mobile is.’

‘Ah,’ said Carole.

Sure enough, in the Contacts list on dead girl’s phone,
there was an entry for ‘Serena’. On the assumption
that the name was unusual and this must be Serena
Fincham, Jude rang the number straight away. As soon as she said she was calling about Polly Le
Bonnier, the rather Sloaney voice at the other end
became very concerned.

‘That was terrible. I only got the news from a
chum a couple of days ago. I’d been away skiing over
Christmas. What a disaster – poor Polly. Do you know
anything about exactly what happened?’

‘I know quite a bit, and I’m trying to work out the
rest. I wonder, would it be possible for us to meet?’

‘Sure. When?’

‘Sooner the better. Is tomorrow possible for you?’

‘No, I’m staying with my parents in Gloucestershire.
Back to work on Monday, though. Could do
after work, sixish. My office is in Earls Court.’

‘Would it be possible to make it a bit earlier?’

‘Not sure. There’s bound to be a log-jam of manuscripts.
Aspiring writers don’t seem to observe public
holidays.’

‘It is rather urgent.’

‘Oh. Well, I suppose I could nip out for a coffee
sometime in the morning. Since it’s about Polly. I
mean, I really am devastated.’

They fixed to meet in a coffee shop near Serena’s
office at eleven o’clock on the Monday morning.
Anticipating the reaction when she relayed this to
Carole, Jude said, ‘And you’ll be there too.’

She was on her own in Woodside Cottage at about half
past nine on the Sunday evening when the phone
rang. It was a very weary-sounding Lola.

‘How’re you holding up?’

‘Pretty grim. But it helps having to do stuff with
the children. Though I’m still no nearer breaking the
news to Mabel. I fobbed her off this evening with
something about Daddy being away, which has been
the case often enough so she didn’t suspect anything.
But there’s only so long I can keep doing that.’

‘You’ll find a way to tell her.’

Lola sighed deeply. ‘I’m sure I will, though I can’t
for the life of me imagine what it’ll be.’

‘Is Piers still with you?’

‘Yes, and getting to be a bloody nuisance. Emoting
all over the place. It’s quite honestly the last thing I
need at the moment.’

‘He’s a sensitive soul.’

‘Huh. Is that what you call it? A self-appointed
“sensitive soul”. His only real concern is his own
emotions, he never considers anyone else’s. Anyway,
Jude, reason I rang . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to say thank you for being such a
support over the last few days. I don’t know how I’m
going to get through what lies ahead, but at least
I’ve got friends like you to help me through.’

‘Of course you have,’ said Jude. ‘If there’s anything
I can do, just ask.’

And she felt very guilty that Lola Le Bonnier was
still on her list of suspects.

They’d travelled up from Fethering to Victoria on
the first cheap train, and were in Earls Court well
before eleven. From the wide array offered by the
coffee shop, Carole asked frostily for ‘an ordinary
black, please’. Jude opted for a cappuccino, and also
had a sticky
pain aux raisins
. Serena Fincham was
late. It was after twenty past eleven and they were
beginning to think she might have ducked the
encounter when a red-haired girl in her thirties came
rushing in through the door, clutching a battered
leather briefcase overflowing with papers. She identified
the only two women sitting together and came
bustling across to them.

‘So sorry. All hell breaking loose at the office. Now
which one of you is Jude?’

Introductions sorted and a ‘tall skinny latte’
ordered, Serena Fincham sat down at their table. She
was glowing with health from her skiing. The sun had
brought out the freckles on her nose, and her brown
skin made the other customers in the coffee shop
look pale and wintry. ‘I’m still reeling from the news
about Polly’ she said. ‘Are you two relatives of hers?’

‘No,’ Jude replied. ‘Just people who want to find
out how she died.’

‘Yes, well, it seems to get ghastlier the more
details I find out. Shot dead before the shop was burnt
down around her – horrible.’

‘How did you find out about it?’

‘Oh, the Cambridge Mafia. I deliberately refrained
from checking any emails while I was in Davos,
because I knew they’d just be from needy paranoid
authors, so I didn’t get the news till Saturday.’

‘You haven’t spoken to Lola, have you?’