know most of the pubs and bars around, Ted. You haven’t heard where he was working, have you?’
‘No. I could ask around, though.’
‘Be grateful if you did.’
‘All right,’ said the landlord. ‘But we’re rather starved of information, aren’t we? Nobody really knows anything about the bloke, what he was like, what he wanted from life. Those are the kind of things you want to know if you’re going to find out why someone was murdered.’
Carole and Jude were already far too aware of the truth in Ted’s words. After a little more desultory banter, they adjourned to one of the pub’s alcoves with their drinks.
‘What about the girl?’ Carole asked suddenly.
‘What girl?’
‘You said there’s also a girl who works regularly in the betting shop.’
‘Oh yes, Nikki.’
‘Well, maybe she’s seen the mysterious woman Tadeusz Jankowski spoke to. Maybe she knows who it is.’
‘Possible. Nikki doesn’t come across as the most observant of people – or indeed the most intelligent – but I suppose it’s worth asking her. She can’t be as dim as she appears.’
The Local Game Pie lived up to Ted Crisp’s recommendation. And the Special Gravy was delicious. In spite of her prognostications, Carole finished every last morsel, but the food – and a second glass of wine – left her feeling very sleepy. ‘But I can’t sleep during the daytime,’ she told Jude. Sleeping in the daytime – like watching daytime television – was a slippery slope for retired people, so far as Carole was concerned. Go too far down that route and you’ll stop bothering to get up or get dressed in the morning. Then you’ll start to smell and ‘become a burden’. Carole’s mind was full of imagined slippery slopes to cause her anxiety.
‘You go straight back to bed,’ said Jude, ‘and have a nice long sleep. You’re still washed out. Sleep’s nature’s way of making you better.’
Carole didn’t argue any more. Sleeping during the day for health reasons was quite acceptable. But such indulgence must stop the minute she was fully fit again.
Before she took to her bed, she felt sufficiently buoyed up by the Chilean Chardonnay to ring Gaby. And, to her delight, her daughter-in-law suggested coming down to Fethering that Friday. Just her and Lily. The perfect configuration, and no mention of David. Exactly what Carole would have wished for. Heartened by the conversation, she was quickly nestled under her duvet and asleep.
Jude felt restless when she returned from the pub. Although she had a presence that spread serenity, inside her mind all was not always serene. She had had a varied life in many different places. Sometimes the quietness of Fethering soothed her, but at others it rankled and she felt a surge of wanderlust. There was so much world out there, so much yet to be seen. Maybe it was time that her wings were once again spread.
Normally she would ease such moods by yoga. The familiarity of the movements, the relinquishing of her thoughts to a stronger imperative, could usually be relied on to settle her. But that afternoon she’d had two large glasses of wine and she knew her concentration would not be adequate to the demands of yoga.
So she lit a fire and then sat down to read the manuscript of a book written by one of her healer friends. It was about control, not controlling others, but taking control of one’s own life, developing one’s own potentialities. Jude, who had read and been disappointed by more than her fair share of self-help books, thought this one was rather good.
But her mind kept straying. The pale image of the dying Tadeusz Jankowski recurred like an old reproach. What had happened to him? Why did he have to die? She hoped she would soon have answers to those questions.
The phone rang. Jude answered it.
‘Hello. Is this, Jude, please?’ The voice was female, young, heavily accented.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘It was you who found the body of Tadeusz Jankowski?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, I like to meet you.’
‘I’m sorry, who am I talking to?’
‘My name is Zofia Jankowska. I am the sister of Tadeusz.’
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