The Body on the Beach

Twenty-Four

“Well, behaviour of that kind,” concluded Carole, sitting back on her barstool in disgust, “is all too typical of the youth of today.”

“That’s a very Fethering thing to say,” said Jude.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the kind of remark I’d have expected from some old codger whose skin’s already turned to tweed. Not from someone your age.”

“I’m not young,” Carole protested. But she was flattered by the implication.

“You’re too young to start sounding off about ‘the youth of today’.”

“But what Nick Kent and the others did was appalling.” She lowered her voice as she catalogued: “Illegal drinking, taking drugs, breaking and entering – probably with intent to burgle – and then mutilating a corpse.”

“He wasn’t involved in that.”

“No, but he was in everything else. Really, Jude, am I supposed to condone that kind of behaviour?”

“No, of course you’re not. But you didn’t see the boy. You didn’t see how much he was suffering.”

“From what you’ve told me, he deserves to suffer. You’re not making excuses for him, are you?”

“No, no. I’m just saying that Nick Kent has had a rough deal. And, OK, he drank and smoked dope, and OK, he gave in to peer pressure and behaved disgustingly, but at least you can understand why. Seeing his father fall apart before his eyes can’t have been easy.”

“Huh,” Carole snorted. “I’m sorry. If you’re trying to win me round to some woolly liberal idea that there’s a psychological explanation for everything, and criminals should take their shrinks to court with them to ensure that they get off with light sentences…well, you’re not going to convince me. If there’s one thing I learned from all my years in the Home Office, it’s that there is such a thing as evil within man. And that every criminal who is not technically insane has to take responsibility for his or her own actions.”

Jude took a long swallow from her wine glass before replying. This was the nearest during their brief acquaintance that she and Carole had come to a row. It demonstrated how little they knew of each other’s attitudes and politics. “I’m not excusing the boy’s behaviour,” she said calmly. “I’m just saying, from the pain in his eyes, he’d hurt himself by what he’d done much more than he’d hurt anyone else. Now let me get you another drink.”

She waved at the unfamiliar girl behind the counter, who came to sort out their needs. There were only the three of them in the bar. “Two large white wines, please. Ted not in tonight?”

“He’s in the office out the back, talking to some people who came round.”

“Ah.”

“Well, I say ‘people’,” the girl insinuated. “In fact it’s the police.”

“Really? What’ve they come for?”

“I’ve no idea. I’m not one to pry,” the girl replied righteously, as though it were Jude who’d initiated the speculation.

“Some problem with the licence?” suggested Carole, though that wasn’t what she was thinking.

The pub door clattered behind them and they turned to see an agitated Denis Woodville approaching the bar.

“Evening, Vice-Commodore.”

“Oh, hello, ladies. Is Ted in?” he asked the barmaid.

“He’s out the back, talking to some people.”

“The police, actually,” said Jude, upstaging any second attempt from the barmaid to cast aspersions on her boss.

“Is that so?” The news seemed to be of significance to Denis Woodville.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“Oh yes, all right. A large brandy, please.”

“Soda or anything with that?”

“Just on its own, thanks.”

“No more break-ins at the club?” asked Carole.

“What?” He seemed distracted. “No, no, I don’t think so. Though in fact it does seem that we have been the victim of criminal activity.”

He might have elaborated on this portentously delivered hint had not Ted Crisp at that moment appeared through the door behind the bar. He looked as scruffy as ever, but unflustered. If the police presence had had anything to do with his own illegal activities, he wasn’t going to let it get to him.

“Evening, Jude…Carole…Denis…” His eyes moved along from face to face. “What’re you all looking at me like that for?”

Denis Woodville voiced what the two women would have been too polite to raise. “I gather you’ve had the police with you…”

“Yes. But don’t get the wrong impression. I haven’t done anything they could touch me for. My record is as driven snow-like as any of Cliff Richard’s.”

“I wonder if they came to see you for the same reason they came to see me.”

The landlord cocked an interrogative eye at the Vice-Commodore. “Missing person, was it?”

“Yes.”

The barmaid hovered, all ears. “Oh, love,” said Ted, “could you go and get us some tomato and orange juices from round the back? I noticed we was getting low.”

With very bad grace, the girl slunk out of the bar. She needn’t have worried, though. It was only a temporary delay. She’d hear all the dirt soon enough. The Fethering grapevine was extremely efficient.

“Look, if you both know, you might as well tell us,” said Jude impatiently. “Come on, what’s it all about?”

Ted Crisp saw no point in secrecy. “The police came in asking if I’d seen Rory Turnbull recently. Same with you, Denis?”

“Yes.”

“But we only saw him this morning,” Carole protested. “Up at his house.”

“Well, maybe you’d better tell the police that,” said Ted. “Though in fact they do know he was still at home at twelve, because he paid the cleaning lady when she left.”

So the police must already have been out to Spindrift Lane to talk to Maggie. Jude wondered what effect their arrival must have had on the terrified Nick Kent.

“Sometime after twelve, however,” the landlord went on, “our Rory buggered off in the BMW. His wife got home round two and immediately raised the alarm.”

“What? Was she afraid he’d run off with another woman?” suggested Jude.

Denis Woodville’s bald head was firmly shaken. “Can’t think so. There’s never been any talk of that kind of thing with Rory.”

“It’s always the quiet ones. These things happen.”

“Not in Fethering they don’t,” said Carole tartly, before continuing, “But why did Barbara raise the alarm? Surely there’s no harm in a grown man going off for a drive in his own car when he feels like it?”

“Not usually, I agree, there isn’t,” said Ted. “But there is when he leaves a suicide note.”