sure it’s not from the supplier. They’re a big company, and they’ve always had the most exacting hygiene standards.’
‘Then how come you got a dodgy delivery from them?’
‘I can’t work it out,’ Ted Crisp replied wearily. ‘I’ve been through all the possibilities and …’ he sighed ‘… I don’t know what to think.’
‘It’s incredibly bad luck.’
‘You can say that again. And I just don’t know how much more bad luck the Crown and Anchor can take.’
‘How do you mean?’
He let out another deep sigh. ‘Licensed Victuallers’ trade’s always been an up-and-down business. Every week you hear of more pubs closing – or being bought up by the big boys, the chains. Gets increasingly difficult to make a profit – particularly if you borrowed as much as I did to get the Crown and Anchor in the first place. And there are constantly new problems. Another government clampdown on drink-driving and your trade drops off. Then the smoking ban didn’t help. Been a long time since you could make a living just by pulling pints, so you have to organize other attractions to get people through the doors. Darts, quiz nights, wall-to-wall football – though I don’t want to go down that route myself. Just like I don’t want to have that CCTV so many pubs have these days – looks like you don’t trust your customers. Then of course I used sometimes to get the punters in with live music, though that’s got hideously more expensive with the new entertainment licences the government saw fit to bring in a few years back. I tell you, Jude, it’s a bloody nightmare.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ She was good at supplying sympathy. ‘And you’ve got this Dan Poke comedy night coming up. That should bring them in, shouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, assuming I’m open by then. But that’s a one-off. Dan’s just doing it as a favour, only charging expenses, because he’s a mate from the days when I was on the stand-up circuit. Yeah, I’m sure – if I’m allowed to open by then – Sunday’ll be fine. Dan says I’ll be able to judge from how it goes whether it’s worth having a regular comedy night, but that’s going to cost. No other comedians are going to do it for free, are they?
‘So what you come back to is the food. You got to do food that’s better than the local competition. Which means you need a good chef … and they’re like gold dust round here. And you have to pay them as much as if they were bloody gold dust.’
‘But I thought your new chef was very good. Word of mouth about the Crown and Anchor’s food has been great.’
‘Yes,’ Ted Crisp agreed gloomily. ‘I thought I’d turned the corner with him. And I had until those bloody scallops came in.’
‘Who is the chef? I haven’t met him.’
‘Boy called Ed Pollack. Trained at catering college in Chichester. Used to moonlight here a bit while he was finishing his course.’
Jude vaguely remembered Ted mentioning the young chef before, while she had Carole had been enquiring into an unexplained death at Hopwicke Country House Hotel. ‘But he’s fully trained now?’
‘You bet. Been working in a very snazzy restaurant up in Soho, but his mum’s got ill, so he wanted some work down here to keep an eye on her. Sounds to me like the old girl’s on the way out, so I doubt if I’ll keep him long.’ He sighed. At that moment every trouble in his life seemed insuperable. ‘Which means I’ll have to start looking for another chef … God, and what a nightmare that can be.’
‘You don’t think Ed Pollack could have had anything to do with the dodgy scallops?’
‘No, that generation are really picky about hygiene stuff.’
‘How often do you have seafood deliveries?’
‘Every day. Has to be every day, if you say you’ve got “fresh seafood” on the menu.’
‘And do you check in the deliveries yourself, Ted?’
‘Depends what I’m doing. They deliver round the back. If I’m in the kitchen when they come, I’ll sign for the stuff. If someone else is there, they’ll do it. Not a big deal, happens so often.’
‘And did you sign for the delivery this morning?’
‘No, and obviously I’ve checked out who did. It was Ed. Van arrived just after ten. I was out front fixing a duff light switch in the bar.’
‘And Ed didn’t notice anything odd about the scallops?’
Ted Crisp shook his head wearily. ‘If he’d thought there was anything odd with them, he wouldn’t have cooked them. Like I said, he knows his hygiene regulations inside out.’
‘And the scallops would be delivered frozen?’
‘No, Jude,’ he replied patiently. ‘“Fresh seafood” means “fresh seafood”. They’re chilled for transportation, but not frozen.’
‘So what did Ed do with them after they’d been delivered?’
‘Put them in the fridge in a tray with a light lemon-juice-and-soy-sauce marinade. That’s what he always does for that recipe.’
‘And was there anyone else around the kitchen that morning?’
‘Well, Zosia would have been there …’ Jude looked at Ted quizzically. She knew he had been less than welcoming when the Polish girl had started working for him. The landlord had a rather unappealing thread of xenophobia in his make-up. But now he could find nothing in his bar manager to criticize. ‘Mind you, she’s about the most trustworthy staff member I’ve ever had.’ He still couldn’t quite make the compliment sound whole-hearted.
‘No waitresses around at the time of the delivery?’
‘No, they don’t come on duty till twelve.’
‘And Ed does all the cooking?’
‘Yes. Zosia and one of the girls might help him plating up if he’s really pushed, but he does virtually everything himself. Bloody genius, he is. That’s why it’s going to be such a bugger when he goes back up to London.’
‘So would Ed have stayed in the kitchen all morning?’
‘Most of it. But he would nip out every hour or so.’
‘Oh?’
‘Boy’s a smoker. Knew he couldn’t smoke in his kitchen, even before the ban came in. So he nips out to the car park or round the back for a drag every now and then.’
‘For how long?’
Ted Crisp shrugged. ‘How long does it take to smoke a cigarette? Such a long time since I’ve touched one of the things, I’ve forgotten.’
‘And is there anyone else who might have been in the kitchen that morning?’
‘No.’ Ted seemed uncertain, then said, ‘Well …’
‘There was someone else?’
‘Only
