The Liar in the Library

THIRTEEN

‘It’s the huile de noix I bought when I was in Périgord last summer,’ said Jude. ‘I’d forgotten I’d got it.’

‘“Forgotten I’d got it”?’ Detective Inspector Rollins echoed sceptically.

‘Yes, I was doing a week’s Mindfulness Workshop.’ Rollins’s expression suggested that Mindfulness Workshops weren’t high on her list of priorities. ‘There were a lot of other healers of various disciplines there, and there was one who was raving on about the health benefits of huile de noix. I mean, it’s full of Omega-3 fatty acids, supposed to be good for lowering blood pressure and reversing the hardening of blood vessels. Some people also use it in the treatment of eczema.’

Detective Sergeant Knight looked down at the bottle he was holding. ‘This is only about half full. Some of it’s been used.’

‘I wanted to test whether it did have any beneficial effects, so I tried it out on some of my clients. I’m always open to testing different kinds of therapy.’

‘Good,’ said Detective Inspector Rollins drily.

From somewhere the Sergeant had produced an evidence bag, into which he placed the bottle of oil.

His superior rose from her seat. ‘I don’t think we need trouble you any further this evening, Jude.’ And though she didn’t actually emphasize the words ‘this evening’, the implication was clear that there would be further ‘troubling’ at some future date. ‘But I would just like to reiterate that your continuing to contact people who might have relevant information about Burton St Clair’s death will not help your cause.’

‘“Cause”,’ Jude repeated. ‘Are you sure you don’t mean “case”?’

‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘What I am saying, Inspector, is that you seem to be building up such a strong case against me as the murderer of Burton St Clair, I’m surprised you don’t arrest me right now and get it over with.’

‘We don’t have enough evidence to make any arrest at this point,’ Rollins replied primly. ‘Good night. We can see ourselves out.’

Carole Seddon was not used to hearing her doorbell ring after eight o’clock at night. In common with most of the residents of Fethering, unless she had planned to go out for an evening or, much more rarely, invited someone to visit her, the drawbridge of High Tor was firmly up as soon as Gulliver had had his final walk.

So that Friday evening she approached the front door with some trepidation. The sensor light over the porch had come on, but she had no idea who her visitor was. She unlocked the door, but kept the chain in place, and squinted through the narrow aperture. ‘Who is it?’ she asked, in a voice which sounded much bolder than she felt.

‘It’s me, Jude, for heaven’s sake!’

Even though they were neighbours, such unannounced visitations between them were rare. As she unhooked the chain, Carole asked, ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’

‘No,’ said Jude. ‘Open a bottle of wine.’

They drank in the kitchen, as usual. Carole’s front room was rarely used. Though it contained its share of padded upholstery, there was an antiseptic chill about the place. The kitchen, though kept as scrupulously clean as an operating theatre, did at least have the Aga to generate some level of cosiness. In front of it, Gulliver sighed and grunted, deep into some dream of chasing seagulls on Fethering Beach.

‘So,’ said Carole, when they were settled with their glasses of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, ‘you seriously think you are the police’s prime suspect?’

‘Increasingly, that’s the way it looks.’

‘Walnut oil seems a strange thing to have in one’s kitchen.’

‘Carole, for heaven’s sake! You remember when I went on that course last summer …’

‘Oh yes, the mindlessness thing …’ This was as near as Carole Seddon ever got to making a joke. She was always having a go at her neighbour’s beliefs in alternative medicine, and it was not the first time she had made this particular gibe.

‘Mindfulness, as you know full well,’ said Jude wearily. ‘Anyway, that was in Périgord, which is the walnut centre of the universe. Every shop sells the stuff, and it does have medicinal properties, so I thought I’d try it.’

‘Hm. Still seems a strange thing to have in one’s kitchen.’

‘Well, it was there, and I’d used some a few months back for a client with serious eczema.’

‘And did it work?’

‘No, it didn’t seem to improve her condition.’

Carole sniffed, as only she could sniff. ‘There are, of course, treatments for eczema available in conventional medicine.’

‘I know that,’ said Jude, unwilling to re-engage with Carole’s scepticism about her profession. ‘But listen, the most important thing is that Detective Inspector Rollins has warned me off doing any further investigation of the case.’

‘Well, you can see her point,’ said Carole, going all stuffy and Home Office.

‘But the situation’s changed. The case needs investigating more than ever – simply to prove that I didn’t murder Al.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ asked Carole, deliberately obtuse.

‘Because if I’m not being allowed to find evidence which proves that I didn’t commit the murder, someone else is going to have to find it!’

There was a silence. Then, as if she’d just been jolted awake, Carole said, ‘Oh, you mean me?’

‘Yes, of course I mean you!’

Carole was secretly delighted. One of her favourite dreams was coming true. The idea that Jude, habitually so serene and in control, should be asking for her help was a very attractive proposition. But it wasn’t in Carole’s nature to express her delight outwardly.

‘Oh,’ she said, as if dubious. ‘Well, you’ll have to give me all the background …’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘… but then I might be prepared to bring my mind to bear upon the problem.’

‘If you would,’ Jude pleaded.

Carole glowed inwardly. Always worried about being marginalized in the investigations she and Jude had undertaken, here she was being offered the starring role. But she didn’t want to show how much the situation appealed to her, so all she said was a gruff, ‘All right, I’ll give it a go.’

‘Thank you so much. And, Carole, as I mentioned, I’ve been talking to Oliver Parsons about the case. He was there on Tuesday night, and he has lots of good ideas. I’ll give you his mobile number.’

‘Do, by all means.’ Not that Carole had any intention of ever ringing it. The only person she conducted investigations with was Jude. And since Jude was going to be unavailable for this one, Carole Seddon was determined to solve it on her own.