Death and the Decorator

FIFTEEN

Carole Seddon slept fitfully that Saturday night. She wasn’t quite sure what she felt. While cheered by her excellent idea of getting Malk Penberthy on board, she was less cheered by Jude’s demand for a delay in the investigation. Always potentially paranoid, Carole got the feeling that something was being kept from her. She decided that, when she and Malk Penberthy did finally get on to Glen Porter’s case, she might withhold some of their findings from Jude. Two could play at the secrecy game.

On the Sunday morning, after she’d taken Gulliver for his constitutional on an Antarctic Fethering Beach, as soon as they returned to High Tor, she rang through to Woodside Cottage. There was no reply.

Knowing – and disapproving – of Jude’s lax morning regime (particularly lax at weekends), she went round and knocked on the front door. No response. Where had Jude gone without telling her?

In a fit of pique, Carole rang Malk Penberthy. She wasn’t about to break the undertaking she’d given to Jude and give him Glen Porter’s name, but she reckoned there were other advances the two of them might make on the investigation.

By half past eleven, Starbucks was like the interior of a cocoon, toasty warm, with the outside world shut off by condensation on the windows.

Though forbidden from telling Malk about Fred Givens’s final revelation, Carole saw no reason why she shouldn’t share other details they had learned from the distraught husband. The old journalist was interested to hear about Lauren Givens’s affair with Glen Porter, but clearly couldn’t see what relevance it had to their investigation of Anita Garner’s disappearance. Carole felt very frustrated by not being able to explain the full situation to him, but she kept her word to Jude.

There were other areas she could go into, though. ‘One interesting thought that Fred Givens did plant in our minds, though, was how the sabotage on Harry’s Dream could have been effected.’

‘Oh?’

‘If we’re following the scenario that Harry Lasalle was murdered …’

‘Last time we discussed his death, I thought we were favouring the scenario of suicide.’

‘Yes, but murder is another possibility.’

‘I suppose so.’ He thought it through. ‘Someone other than its owner sabotaged the heater on Harry’s Dream?’

‘Exactly. And Jude and I were trying to think who might have sailed out to where Harry was anchored and—’

‘Why would they bother doing that? Be much simpler to sabotage the boat on land, while it was at Fethering Yacht Club.’

Carole felt suitably chastened. Both Fred Givens and now Malk Penberthy had reached the same obvious conclusion, the one that she and Jude hadn’t.

Malk went on, ‘But, following your scenario, who would want Harry Lasalle dead?’

‘Well, if the secret of his affair with Anita Garner was about to be revealed …’

‘Which was thought of as a motive for him to top himself …’

‘Yes, but it might as easily have been a motive for someone to kill him.’

‘Why?’

‘Revenge, maybe?’ She knew as she said the words how feeble they sounded.

‘Yes. I find a more plausible possibility – if we’re talking murder – is that someone set up the death deliberately to look like suicide …’

‘With a view to …?’

‘Silencing Harry? Stopping the truth coming out? Stopping him from incriminating someone else?’

‘The murderer?’

‘Quite possibly, Carole, yes.’ After his initial scepticism, Malk was now becoming enthused by the murder theory. ‘So, who would be our suspects? To have access to the hardstanding where Harry’s Dream was, they’d have to be members of Fethering Yacht Club.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Security’s tight there. Those boats are quite valuable. Not so much likelihood of their being stolen, but vandalism was always a worry at the yacht club. Way back in the day, when I was reporting for the Fethering Observer, I covered a good few break-ins there – some just to nick booze from the bar. Then I also reported on the new security system the yacht club brought in. CCTV and what-have-you. They were keen there should be lots of coverage for that in the Observer, a warning to any potential vandals about the risks they’d be taking. Later, they upgraded to a key-card system. Only someone with a card could get in.

‘So, what we have to ask ourselves is … which members of Fethering Yacht Club might have had a motive to kill Harry Lasalle?’

‘Apparently, somehow Harry knew about the affair between Glen Porter and Lauren Givens. Either of them might have wanted to silence him,’ suggested Carole, hoping Malk wasn’t about to go down the route of suspecting Glen.

To her relief, he replied, ‘She has more at stake than he does. Glen’s unmarried. Lauren has a marriage that is capable of being destroyed … which, from your account, is what has happened to it.’

‘And we know both Givenses are members of the yacht club.’

‘Yes, Fred and Lauren made a big fuss about some new boat they’d bought when they first came down here. So, who’re our other suspects?’

‘Apparently, Pete the decorator is a member of the yacht club.’

‘And what motive might he have for topping Harry Lasalle?’

‘No idea. Though it seems there’s bad blood between him and the old boy’s widow.’

‘What about her as a suspect? The stony-faced Veronica? Most murders seem to emerge from the cradle of family relationships.’

‘They certainly do, Malk. Which of course could bring Roland Lasalle into the equation. I don’t know whether he would still be a member of the yacht club. He used to be, in his teens, I think. Crewed for his father. But he’s hardly set foot in Fethering since then. Only come back now he’s masterminding the newest version of Fiasco House. He’s worth bearing in mind, though.’

‘Possibly, Carole. Though, if one were considering the immediate family, I wouldn’t look much further than Veronica.’

‘Oh?’

‘From all accounts, Harry led her a merry dance in their early years together. Constant infidelities. Jury’s still out on whether he actually had an affair with Anita Garner, but there were plenty of others there’s no doubt about. I think Veronica’s firmly in the frame. “Hell hath no fury …” and all that. What’s more, she’s definitely a member of the yacht club. Used to crew for her husband. And, of course, she provided his alibi for the time of Anita’s disappearance. Both of them in Harry’s Dream, sailing to France.’

‘But why, suddenly, should she turn on him? After, what, forty years of marriage? Possibly more. Why now?’

‘Perhaps,’ Malk Penberthy suggested, ‘the prospect of all the Anita Garner rumours being raked over again was more than she could face. Perhaps,’ he continued, entranced by the new thought, ‘she knew that her husband had killed Anita and she couldn’t face the prospect of the truth coming out …?’

‘I suppose it’s possible.’ But Carole didn’t sound convinced.

‘It’s more than possible,’ said a conspiratorial Malk Penberthy. ‘No question about it, for me the prime suspect is Veronica Lasalle.’

A new thought came to Carole Seddon. A rare beam expanded her thin lips.

‘Malk,’ she said, ‘would you allow me to buy you lunch at the Crown and Anchor?’

Sunday lunchtime was traditionally one of the pub’s busiest times, but that did not apply in a cold February. The villagers of Fethering were still in the post-Christmas social slump, when their own firesides and home-cooked meals held more appeal than going out.

Granted, it was only just after opening time when Carole and Malk arrived. The individual she was hoping to meet wasn’t yet there. In fact, the only person in the bar was Ted Crisp, lugubriously polishing glasses.

‘What can I get you to drink, Malk?’ Carole asked.

‘I apologize for letting down the image of the hard-drinking journalist for you, but I’ll just have a half of ginger beer shandy.’

‘Fine. Take a seat. I’ll get some menus.’

She crossed to the bar. Ted looked up from his polishing. She was shocked to observe that his hair and beard were neatly trimmed. Another manifestation of the Brandie Effect, she surmised. She gave Malk’s order.

‘And it’ll be a large New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc for you.’

‘Oh, I think just a small one.’

‘Large,’ said the landlord, proceeding to pour it.

She didn’t argue but asked for two menus.

Though unwilling to mention the name, she couldn’t help herself from asking, ‘And how’s your little friend?’

The look Ted flashed at her made her wish she hadn’t asked. He seemed to be raising the possibility that she might be jealous of Brandie. Carole and the landlord’s brief affair had been out of character for both of them and was almost never mentioned. Her question had clumsily resurrected it.

But Ted did not follow up on his look. He just answered evenly, ‘Brandie’s away for the weekend. In Wales, doing a course about Homeopathy.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Putting the menus under her arm, Carole picked up the drinks. ‘I’ll come back when we’ve decided what we’re going to eat.’

‘Fine.’

It was a new menu. Ed Pollack, the Crown and Anchor’s brilliant chef, changed it every couple of weeks, even during the winter off-season. Carole was unamused to see there was now a ‘Vegan Option’ of ‘Shepherdless Pie’. Brandie really had got her claws deep into Ted Crisp.

While they were deciding what to order, the pub door clattered open to admit Barney Poulton.

‘Hello, Barney,’ said Carole fulsomely.

He looked momentarily taken aback. She had never greeted him directly before and, from what he had observed of her, ‘fulsome’ was not her natural manner.

Quickly recovering, he returned her greeting. She made a fuss of introducing Malk Penberthy, still in fulsome mode. Then she astonished the new arrival even more by saying, ‘Won’t you join us? Can I get you a drink?’

The second question surprised him more than the first. During the winter, Barney Poulton generally had to buy his own drinks. In the summer months, day-trippers and tourists, fooled by his ‘local character’ pose, might offer him a pint in the hope of more authentic storytelling. But most Fethering villagers recognized him for the bore he was and curbed their generosity. Though he projected himself as not only ‘the eyes and ears of Fethering’, but also ‘the life and soul of the Crown and Anchor’, Barney Poulton in fact had few genuine friends in the village.

‘Well, thank you very much, Carole,’ he said. ‘Just ask Ted for “Barney’s usual”.’

The landlord had started pulling the predictable pint before she reached the bar. She gave the food order. Fish and chips for her, and for Malk just ‘Soup of the Day (Tomato and Coriander) with Crusty Bread’. ‘I don’t have a big appetite these days,’ he’d said, once again prompting the question about how old he actually was.

Carole was working on the assumption that once their food arrived, Barney Poulton would take up his usual post at the bar, so she wanted to plant ideas in his head as soon as possible.

It wasn’t difficult to get him on to the subject of Harry Lasalle’s death. Once they were there, she asked if he’d heard any new theories about what had caused it. As ever, he had a stock of dodgy insider knowledge to impart.

‘The Fethering consensus seems to be moving towards suicide, but of course the interesting question that raises is what caused him to take his own life. And the general view seems to be that he couldn’t face the shame of having his affair with Anita Garner exposed.’

‘Oh?’ asked Malk Penberthy. ‘I followed the case at the time. As Carole just said, I was a journalist on the Fethering Observer. I heard lots of rumours about Anita Garner and Harry Lasalle but could never get any of them substantiated. You have proof, do you, that they definitely did have an affair?’

‘Not proof as such,’ Barney replied evasively, ‘but I’m pretty sure it happened.’

Carole didn’t ask on what assumption this was based. He was moving very satisfactorily in the direction she wanted him to go and she had no wish to divert him.

‘So, Barney,’ she asked, ‘do you think it was just the revelation of the affair that Harry was worried about?’

‘No, obviously there was more to it than that.’

‘What more?’

Barney Poulton looked cautiously around the nearly empty pub before replying. And then it was in a whisper. ‘Obviously, the fact that he had done away with Anita Garner.’

‘Oh, you have proof he did that, do you?’ asked Malk.

‘Again, not actual proof, but I’ve no doubt that’s what happened.’

‘Right.’ The old journalist sounded less than convinced. He didn’t point out that, having spent a lot of professional time reporting on the disappearance when it happened, he might know more about the subject than someone who’d only lived in Fethering for the past four years.

‘Hm,’ said Carole. ‘You’re probably right, Barney.’ Something that she didn’t for a minute believe. ‘And that might tie in with another rumour I heard recently.’

‘Oh?’ He was all ears. ‘What was that?’

‘Well … if Harry Lasalle did murder Anita Garner …’

‘Which I’m damned sure he did. Her body’ll be out on the South Downs somewhere. In a shallow grave. If the police only took their job seriously, they’d realize …’

A look from Carole dried up his words, as she went on, ‘If he did, then he might not be the only one afraid of the truth getting out.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Members of his family,’ she explained, ‘might also want to keep it quiet. They wouldn’t want all that adverse publicity. And the police tend to lose interest in cases where their chief suspect is dead.’

‘Ah.’ Enlightenment dawned on Barney Poulton. ‘You mean his wife might have got him out of the way?’

‘I was thinking more of the son,’ Carole lied. ‘Roland Lasalle has a reputation to maintain, as an internationally known architect. He wouldn’t want his image sullied by sordid revelations about his father.’

She watched the idea take root in Barney Poulton’s mind. ‘No, you’re right, he wouldn’t,’ he said slowly.

Just at that moment, their food arrived, delivered by Zosia, the bar manager. During the chat with her, Barney saw some acquaintances arrive and, with thanks to Carole for the drink, went across to take his customary pontificating chair by the bar.

While she addressed her fish and chips, and Malk Penberthy addressed his ‘Soup of the Day (Tomato and Coriander) with Crusty Bread’, Carole kept an eye on Barney Poulton, as ever chatting away to anyone who would listen (and a good few who’d rather not). She felt confident that her little plan would work.

It was some years since Jude had been on a long train journey. As she watched the flat landscape slide past the window, she felt a familiar restlessness. She didn’t get out of Fethering enough. Maybe it was time for a new challenge in her life. Time to move on yet again.

And her restlessness was compounded by the thought of the challenge that lay ahead of her that day.

Carole’s little plan was based on her knowledge of the way Fethering worked. Particularly on the way the village grapevine worked. It was still a constant source of wonder to her, the speed with which a rumour could travel round the entire population.

And she reckoned, when it came to the dissemination of rumours, Barney Poulton definitely qualified as the Fethering champion.

Back at High Tor from the Crown and Anchor, she had misgivings, though. Her confidence, always fragile, began to wobble. She wondered whether her little plan had been so clever, after all. It had been purely speculative, there was no guarantee that it would work.

But, just before three thirty, it happened. There was a furious thumping on the front door.

Carole opened it. On her doorstep, as anticipated, stood a very angry Veronica Lasalle.