The Killing in the Café

TWENTY-NINE

Jude rang Kent from the Renault on the way back from Brighton. The rain had eased off but it was still a truculent-looking day. Dark clouds augured more bad weather to come.

Maybe Kent had been anticipating a call. He certainly seemed to recognize the seriousness of what they wanted to talk to him about. He was at home. Sara was out doing a major shop at Sainsbury’s. Carole and Jude were welcome to drop by for ‘a drink and a chat’.

As they approached the house, they were aware again of how close it was to the Fethering Yacht Club. The two buildings stood either side of the Fether estuary, both with large windows facing out to sea and smaller ones looking directly at each other.

Kent led them up to his magnificent sitting room and again made the offer of ‘coffee or’ – gesturing to a drinks cupboard – ‘something stronger; it’s certainly time for a Sunday lunchtime drink.’ But both women refused. They wanted to get on with the conversation that was no longer avoidable.

‘It goes back to the night of the third of October,’ said Carole.

‘And it also goes back a lot further,’ Jude added. ‘To the time when you had an architectural company in the Kingston area.’

‘Ah yes. Rather a messy period of my professional life. And presumably it also goes back to any dealings I might have had with Amos Green?’

‘Yes,’ said Carole, in stern, avenging angel mode.

‘Right.’ He looked across towards the drinks cupboard. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink. Are you sure you …?’

Both women shook their heads. Kent Warboys sighed and went to pour himself a large scotch. Then he turned to face them, his back to the picture window and the turbulent sea. ‘I don’t know how much you know already.’

‘We know that you used to have a company called “Fit The Build” in the Kingston area,’ said Carole.

He winced. ‘I’ll never get over what a terrible name it was.’

‘And at that stage you had some dealings with Amos Green, who was on the planning committee.’

‘And who subsequently had to resign from the planning committee,’ Jude pointed out.

‘Yes, okay. Well, it was the usual thing. Shabby, small-town corruption. Amos Green was found to have been guilty of taking bribes to ease through planning applications. We’re not talking big sums of money here, just the occasional small incentive. Often it wasn’t even money. Tickets for Wimbledon, major golf events, expensive meals out, cases of vintage wine delivered. Where is the point when backscratching becomes bribery?’

‘And Fit The Build was involved in this?’ asked Carole implacably.

‘Yes, most of the companies round there were. It was a more relaxed time. You’d find the same sort of stuff going on in most local planning authorities. Fit The Build was wound up very soon after all this happened. I needed to start out again with a clean slate.’

‘But,’ asked Jude, ‘did Amos Green have information about his dealings with Fit The Build that you would rather never came out into the open?’

‘Well, I suppose there was some stuff that could have been harmful to the company’s image at the time but, as I said, Fit The Build was very quickly wound up.’

Carole’s eyes were still fixed on his face. ‘So did Amos Green have information about the running of Fit The Build that could still cause you trouble if he spilled the beans?’

‘I’m sure if he ever did want to make the information public, my lawyers could have sorted out some deal agreeable to both parties.’

‘Paid him off, you mean?’

Kent Warboys shrugged. ‘I don’t like the expression, but yes, I’m sure something could have been sorted out.’

‘But the question is,’ said Jude, ‘did Amos Green ever threaten to blackmail you?’

‘Never.’

‘He didn’t approach you recently?’

‘No.’

‘Not at any time round the third of October last year?’

‘Absolutely not. I haven’t seen anything of Amos Green from the time he resigned from the Kingston planning committee. Hadn’t thought about him, either, until I saw his photo on the television news and heard his body had been found here in Fethering.’

He sounded convincing, but then again, whatever his agenda, Kent Warboys was the kind of man who would always make himself sound convincing.

‘Going back to that third of October weekend …’ said Carole.

‘Yes?’

She gestured towards the garden. ‘Your boat down there, the rubber dinghy, was used on the evening of that Saturday.’

‘Huh,’ he said bitterly. ‘You can’t do anything unseen in a place like Fethering. Always some old biddy watching out.’

Neither Carole nor Jude chose to identify the ‘old biddy’ in question.

‘There is not definite proof,’ Carole went on, ‘but it seems quite likely that your rubber dinghy was used to dispose of Amos Green’s body at sea.’

Now their words were getting too close to accusation. ‘I have no idea if that’s what happened or not. She just asked if she could borrow the dinghy and I said yes. She didn’t tell me what she wanted it for.’

‘So you didn’t help. You didn’t row the boat out or—?’

‘I didn’t touch the dinghy that evening. I just gave her permission to use it. I knew she was in a terrible state emotionally, and when it’s someone to whom you’ve been really close, well …’

There was a sound from downstairs of the front door opening and Sara’s voice called out, ‘Car’s absolutely filled to the gunwales, Kent. Could you come and give me a hand unloading it?’

The architect put his finger to his lips. ‘Don’t mention anything we’ve talked about to Sara.’

‘I think perhaps we should,’ said Carole.