The Liar in the Library

NINETEEN

Jude was getting sick of what felt to her like house arrest in Woodside Cottage, but at least Zosia had offered her a subject for investigation to which Detective Inspector Rollins could offer no objection. The disappearance of Uncle Pawel could not possibly have anything to do with the murder of Burton St Clair. After the confusions of the last few days, it would do Jude’s soul good to feel that she was helping one of her fellow creatures.

And she was not without ideas for ways of tracking down the old reprobate.

Though Zosia had not voiced the anxiety, it had been clear she was worried that her uncle might be dead. She knew how vulnerable he could be when drunk, and had mentioned the anti-immigrant feeling which seemed to be growing along the South Coast. Her fears had probably also been exacerbated by constant talk in the Crown & Anchor about the murder at the library.

But Jude was not ready to be so pessimistic. There were many other explanations apart from death for the disappearance of someone in Uncle Pawel’s condition. And through her work as a healer, there were plenty of avenues Jude could explore.

But before she could translate her intentions into action, the phone in Woodside Cottage rang. Part of her was relieved to hear the voice of Oliver Parsons.

‘Just calling to bring you up to date on the official investigation into Burton St Clair’s death,’ he said languidly.

‘I thought I told you I’d been warned off showing any interest in that subject.’

‘Yes, you did. But I don’t see why that stops me from ringing and giving you updates.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think it’s quite possible that my phone’s bugged.’

‘Oh, Jude, now you’re just being paranoid.’

‘Am I?’ She wished she felt as certain as Oliver sounded.

‘Well, even if you are being bugged, I’m at liberty to call you when I think fit. I haven’t been warned off the investigation, have I?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can assure you I haven’t. And I have the kind of personality for whom being warned off only makes me keener to do whatever I’ve been forbidden. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I have recently been interviewed by the police.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, I’ve now had my one-to-one – one-to-two, I should more accurately say – with Detective Inspector Rollins and Detective Sergeant Knight. Presumably they’re working through everyone who was in the audience on Tuesday night.’

His words gave Jude an absurd little flicker of encouragement. Maybe somebody who’d been at Fethering Library that evening would be able to produce some evidence that would point to the real murderer of Burton St Clair, and that might let her off the hook.

Oliver Parsons’ next words nurtured that hope. ‘Anyway, in the course of interrogating me, Rollins and Knight did let slip something I found of interest.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’d made it clear to them that I was up to speed with the background to the case.’

‘I doubt if they were very pleased to hear that.’

‘I got the impression they’d heard something similar from everyone they’d interviewed. As you know, everyone in Fethering has their own views about the murder.’

‘Yes.’

‘So I didn’t hold back on my own.’

‘I’m sure you didn’t.’

‘And I mentioned what seems to be common knowledge in the village …’ He speeded up as he went through the familiar rigmarole. ‘… that Burton St Clair is believed to have been poisoned by some walnut product infiltrated into the red wine bottle, which subsequently got broken.’ He slowed down again. ‘And that led to an interesting exchange between the two coppers.’ He paused for effect.

‘Oh, come on, Oliver, don’t keep me in suspense!’

‘Well, Detective Inspector Rollins then said, “That’s just speculation. We have no proof that’s how the murder happened.” And her sidekick chipped in, “In fact, we now have forensic proof that that isn’t how it happened.” Well, she nearly bit his head off when he said that. Clearly, he was giving away more information than she thought appropriate. I had the feeling there was already a bit of friction between them.’

‘Oh yes, there certainly was.’ Jude was excited now. ‘So you got the impression that forensic examination of the broken wine bottle had revealed no traces of walnut extract?’

‘That is exactly the impression I got,’ said Oliver.

‘That’s marvellous!’

‘I thought you’d be pleased to hear it.’

‘I am – ecstatic. Because if there was no trace of walnut in the bottle, then I couldn’t have put it there!’

‘Precisely. So, if it was the walnut allergy that killed Burton St Clair, then the offending nut extract must have been fed to him some other way.’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t have any idea what that other way might have been … do you, Jude?’

She felt really energized by Oliver’s phone call. It offered the first hint of solid proof that she had no connection with Burton St Clair’s murder. Her first instinct was to ring Detective Inspector Rollins immediately and challenge her adversary with the new information.

But it was an instinct she curbed. She’d no wish to antagonize the police any more than she had already. Wait till they came back to her, that was the way to play it. Leave the Fethering Library investigation to Carole for the time being. And concentrate on the case where her involvement wouldn’t upset anyone – the disappearance of Zosia’s Uncle Pawel.

There have always been many secrets hidden behind the placid exteriors of English country villages. Long before Agatha Christie popularized the crimes of the locations, there had been an undertow of drunkenness, debauchery, domestic violence and murder. And such antisocial tendencies had not diminished in the twenty-first century, even in a place as outwardly genteel as Fethering.

Through her work as a healer, Jude encountered much evidence of the darker side of village life. It was rarely that clients came to Woodside Cottage with ailments that were purely physical. (Indeed, Jude doubted whether any human ailments were purely physical.) The tension in a woman’s back could arise from her husband’s bullying. A schoolgirl’s anorexia could be triggered by her parents’ divorce. Depression could be exacerbated by a drug or alcohol problem. Jude always had to find the root cause of her client’s suffering before she could begin the process of healing.

And it might have surprised an outsider to find out how many nice middle-class façades in Fethering masked serious problems with drugs and alcohol. Though Jude’s ministrations in these cases could make some initial headway, often to achieve long-term benefits the sufferer would need to be referred for specialist treatment. As a result, Jude had contacts in all of the local organizations which dealt with the problems of substance abuse and alcohol dependency.

Her first call was to Karla. Of mountainous proportions and multiple tattoos, this woman had survived two decades of using drugs and abusing booze, with all the concomitant baggage of domestic violence, unwanted pregnancies, children being taken into care and prison sentences. Her shattered life turned around by courses run by a local charity, Karla had then decided to devote her remaining years to helping others out of the hell from which she had emerged. Nothing could shock her, she was unflappable, and every day for her was still a battle against the temptations offered by her former chemical supports.

That Sunday afternoon, Jude could tell as soon as Karla spoke that something had upset her. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Just a boy, someone I’d been working with, topped himself.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes. Really thought we were getting somewhere with him. He’d come to a lot of meetings, been clean for nearly three months. Then fell in with some of his old crowd, they offered him some stuff. He jumped off the top of a car park in Worthing.’

‘It must be hard for you.’

‘He was getting somewhere and …’ A deep, throaty sigh sounded from the other end of the line. ‘Anyway, what can I do, Jude? Someone else needs referring?’

‘No, it’s not that this time. I’m trying to track down a guy who’s in with a bunch of drinkers.’

‘Living on the street?’

‘Well, he has got somewhere to live, but I gather he spends a lot of time on the streets drinking.’

‘Where?’

‘Fethering, Littlehampton, gone as far as Brighton sometimes, I gather.’

‘What’s your contact with him?’

‘I know his niece, works in our local pub.’

‘Is that the old Crown & Anchor?’

‘Yes. You know it?’

‘Know it, yes. Never been in it. A bit upmarket for me back in my drinking days. Anyway, didn’t do pubs when I was really drinking. Been barred from most of them in Littlehampton, apart from anything else. I was more cans of supermarket lager in a seafront shelter.’

‘This bloke who’s disappeared did that too.’

‘Right, let’s get a few basics. What’s his name?’

‘Pawel.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s Polish.’

‘Right. There are a few of them around. Surname?’

‘Haven’t got one for him. I’ll find out from his niece.’

‘It’s not that important. Most of them just use first names.’

‘His niece, who’s called Zosia, is putting him up in her flat, but she hasn’t seen him since last Tuesday.’

‘I’ll ask around and get back to you,’ said Karla.

Which was very comforting to hear. The investigation into Uncle Pawel’s disappearance could not have been in better hands.