by Simon Brett
Again, Jude let the silence run its course, before saying, ‘Roddy shouted at you, you said.’
‘Mm.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said it was all Mum’s fault. He said that she was frigid, and the way she brought me up had made me frigid too. He said he’d had enough of her interfering in every aspect of our lives. He said he was going to sort her out, once and for all.’
The two women looked at each other bleakly. They didn’t need to voice the identical thoughts which were going through both of their minds.
EIGHTEEN
It had stopped raining by the time Jude left Sorrento for the walk back to Woodside Cottage. The capricious May weather had decided it was summer, after all. The sun was hot enough to raise steam from the wet paving. Fethering Beach looked breathtakingly beautiful, but Jude’s mood was far from sunny. Alice’s words echoed and re-echoed around her head. What she had heard had not surprised her, but it was chilling to have her worst conjectures confirmed.
As she walked along the promenade, lost in gloomy speculation, Jude became aware of a couple coming towards her. From a distance, she thought she knew who they were; the wheelchair was a giveaway. And as they got closer, she waved at Jonny Virgo and his mother. The old lady was again immaculately turned out, in her camel coat with the brown handbag clutched on her lap.
She showed no signs of recognizing Jude, but smiled benignly as Jonny greeted her.
‘Weather’s picked up a bit,’ he began, uncontroversially.
‘Certainly has.’
‘An hour or so back, I didn’t think we’d be able to go out all day. And Mother does so like her “turn along the prom”. But …’ He spread his hands wide ‘… lo and behold – sun!’
Though Mrs Virgo was probably not taking anything in, Jude still felt she had to move circumspectly towards the subject that was uppermost in her mind. ‘I thought the music at the wedding was wonderful, Jonny,’ she said. ‘You really were playing out of your skin.’
‘Thank you.’ He spoke modestly but was clearly delighted by the compliment.
‘Terrible,’ said Jude, edging towards her goal, ‘that such a joyous occasion should have such a tragic outcome.’
‘Yes.’ Jonny Virgo looked appropriately sobered by the reminder.
‘It just seems awful. Heather had come so far.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The way she reinvented herself after her husband’s death.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, I suppose people react to bereavement in different ways. Heather was perhaps the resilient type. She recognized that one chapter of her life had closed and was moving quickly on to the next one.’
He spoke as if unaware that there had been anything wrong in the Malletts’ marriage. If that’s what he thought, Jude wasn’t about to disillusion him. There was no reason why he should know, after all. ‘You’re probably right. Anyway, you won’t be surprised to know that everyone in Fethering has a different theory as to the identity of Heather’s murderer.’
‘Oh, really? Yes, I suppose they would. I don’t hear much local chat, I’m afraid. Except for these “turns along the prom”, and of course my church choir commitments, Mother and I don’t leave the house much.’
‘Well, believe me, the Fethering gossip machine has been going into overdrive.’
‘I suppose that’s no surprise. Well …’ he started the sentence as if he was about to say goodbye, but his curiosity proved too strong. ‘So, who’s the smart money on for the role of murderer?’
‘Oh, the usual Fethering mix. Everyone who ever had any contact with Heather, even down to the milkman. Along with the customary identity parade of Russian assassins, jihadists and illegal immigrants.’
‘Ah. And do you yourself have a theory, Jude?’
‘Nothing worth mentioning. What about you, Jonny? If you were asked the same question, where would your finger be pointing?’
‘I could only base a theory on events concerning Heather which I have personally witnessed. Which means, basically, things that I have observed during rehearsals for the church choir.’
‘And …?’
‘Well, you may remember the difficult task I had early on, when I was sorting out who would actually be singing at the wedding …?’
Jude caught on quickly. ‘And you told Ruskin Dewitt he couldn’t be part of the choir on the big day.’
‘Exactly. Then, when he appealed to the rest of the choir to make me change my mind, who was it who backed me up strongly, and said she didn’t think he was good enough to sing at the wedding?’
‘Heather.’
‘Yes. And she expressed her views quite forcibly. Listen, Russ and I go back a long way. I’ve known him on and off for years. Apart from anything else, we taught at the same school, Ravenhall, for more than a decade. So, I know his character pretty well.’
‘And …?’ Jude repeated.
‘And … beneath his surface bonhomie, Russ has a very violent streak.’
‘Oh?’
‘He keeps it under control most of the time, but occasionally it just bursts out. He’s capable of turning very nasty. At the school where we both taught, he nearly lost his job once for assaulting a pupil.’
‘When you say, “assaulting”, do you mean “sexually assaulting”?’
‘Oh, good heavens, no!’ Jonny coloured. ‘Nothing like that ever happened at Ravenhall. And I can’t imagine Russ being involved in that kind of disgusting stuff. No, he just lost his rag with the kid and lashed out. He does have a ferocious temper on him, and he’s also the kind of person who holds grudges for a very long time.’
‘But do you mean that he’d been nursing a grievance about what Heather said to—?’
‘Better be off now, Jude.’ He unclicked the brakes on the wheelchair. ‘As it is, I’ve probably said more than I should. See you soon. Say goodbye, Mother.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Mrs Virgo obediently and serenely. Though who she was saying it to, she had no idea.
Jude was frustrated when she got back to Woodside Cottage. Jonny Virgo’s suspicion of Ruskin Dewitt was just a diversion. The main track of guilt she was following led directly to Roddy Skelton. And to no one else.
Her frustration arose from her inability to progress in finding the missing bridegroom. Still, there was one thing she could try. And any action was better than none. She picked up the local telephone directory. Nothing wrong with going for the obvious first.
The copy of the telephone directory she had was an old one. She knew that a lot of such listings were now done online. But at least the phonebook she had would list people who’d been at their addresses for some time.
There were only two Skeltons listed. ‘Skelton, A. W.’ and ‘Skelton, P.’, one in Angmering, one in Smalting. She rang the latter and was excited by the voice which spelled out his number at the other end. The elderly voice of a man who had been to the right schools, but who was now in a state of high tension. She felt sure it was the tall man she’d seen in All Saints for the wedding.
‘Good morning. Is that Mr Skelton?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you the father of Roddy Skelton?’
‘Yes. Why, do you know where he is?’ The patrician voice dropped to a tone of agonized pleading.
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’
‘Ah.’ The pain was now of disappointment.
‘Listen, my name’s Jude.’
‘Are you the Jude who lives in Fethering and works as a healer?’
‘Yes, I am. Why, have we met?’
‘No. No, we haven’t. It’s just that a very good friend of mine took advantage of your services when he developed a back problem immediately after he retired. He spoke very highly of you. You got him back on the golf course, where he has developed an unfortunate habit of beating me on a weekly basis.’
‘Are we talking about …?’ and she mentioned a name.
‘That’s the fellow. He said you were very good. It had never occu
rred to him that the pain was in his mind. And I must say the idea sounds pretty fanciful to me. Any pain I’ve ever felt has been in my body. But my pal’s a hundred per cent better, so I guess the proof of the pudding …’
‘The mind and the body are inseparable. It’s inevitable that a major trauma like retirement is going to have some effect on a person. It’s just a question of what form that effect takes.’
‘Yes.’ The sharpness of the response did not suggest Mr Skelton was convinced by such views. ‘Anyway, he’s extremely grateful to you. Said he’d recommend you to anyone who’s got problems in the … you know, in the mind department.’ For a moment, he sounded exactly like his son. He spoke with the bluff certainty of someone who would never himself admit to having ‘problems in the mind department’.
‘The reason I’m ringing,’ said Jude, ‘is that I’m a friend of Alice Mallett.’ She didn’t think that was overstating the case.
‘Ah. Needless to say, she’s rung me many times since Roddy disappeared. But neither of us is any closer to finding out what’s happened to him.’
‘Presumably the police have been in touch with you?’
‘And how? Though they haven’t put it into words, it’s pretty clear that they think he was responsible for Heather Mallett’s death. Which I just cannot believe. I know he suffered a lot of stress when he was out in Afghanistan, and it sometimes makes him do irrational things, but I really cannot think of my son as a murderer.’
‘I fully understand that. And, having met him, I can’t think of Roddy as a murderer either. I’m sure soon the police will find out who did actually kill Heather.’
‘But will they find Roddy?’ There was despair in the voice now. ‘I’m so worried about him.’
‘You’ve presumably checked with his friends? The best man, for instance? He’s not holing up with any of them?’
‘No, I’ve checked. So have the police. There’s no sign of him anywhere.’
‘Well, look, if I hear anything, I’ll get back to you.’
‘Thank you.’ Fortunately, the old man was so concerned to hear news of his son that he didn’t think to ask what possible reason Jude had for being part of the hunt.
‘And, Mr Skelton, if you could let me know if you hear anything …?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She gave him her mobile number. ‘I’m sure you’ll hear good news about Roddy soon.’
‘Yes. Thank you. I’m sure I will.’ But the old voice didn’t sound optimistic.
Jude bit the bullet and went round to High Tor. She knew that, when Carole sensed some estrangement between them, Jude would always have to be the one who set about mending the fences. She also knew that keeping the identity of Leonard Mallett’s murderer from her neighbour wasn’t going to get any easier.
It was characteristic of Carole that she made no mention of their latest brief estrangement, but immediately invited her friend in for a cup of coffee. And, rather than voicing suspicions of Alice, she went straight into a re-creation of her encounter with KK Rosser. Jude listened with interest but made no comment when told about Heather Mallett’s recoil from the guitarist’s touch. That was moving too close to the subject of Leonard Mallett’s abusive habits.
She then gave Carole an edited version of her own investigative achievements over the last few days. She didn’t pass on Alice’s account of their wedding night, but did tell of Roddy’s disappearance and the telephone conversation she had had with his father.
‘Where do you think he’s gone?’ asked Carole.
‘No idea. But nothing’s really going to happen on the case until he’s found.’
‘He’s presumably the police’s Number One Suspect?’
‘He may be. They have kept their customary discreet silence on the matter. They’re certainly not about to share their thinking with us. But the coincidence of Heather’s death and Roddy’s disappearance does look at least suspicious.’
‘Yes. And do we have any other suspects?’
‘The usual Fethering line-up. Oh, and another one we can add to the list, as of this morning.’
‘Who’s that?’
And Jude told Carole what Jonny Virgo had said to her on the promenade only a few hours before.
‘Ruskin Dewitt? Really? Well, that is interesting. I did see him lose his temper quite dramatically at one of the Preservation of Fethering’s Seafront committee meetings.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I’m aware that he didn’t recognize me last time we met, but, you know, I think I might have a word with Ruskin Dewitt.’
That was fine by Jude. She did not for a moment believe that the retired schoolteacher had anything to do with Heather Mallett’s death. But if Carole concentrated on him, it would at least prevent her from poking her nose into other, more sensitive areas of the investigation.
NINETEEN
Carole also tried the direct approach. She rang Ruskin Dewitt and said she wanted to talk to him about Heather Mallett’s death. He welcomed the idea enthusiastically. ‘I have felt rather out of the loop up here in Fedborough, and then I’ve been away,’ he said, ‘missing all the gossip which I am sure is swamping Fethering like a tsunami.’
Carole confirmed that the village had indeed been full of criminal conjecture.
His house was one of those neat little Victorian cottages by what used to be the Fedborough Wharf on the River Fether. They were still sometimes referred to as ‘workmen’s cottages’, which was rather ridiculous, given the amount of renovation they had undergone, and the prices they now commanded.
The interior was tiny. The book-lined study into which he ushered her had an attractive view, through small wood-framed panes, on to the river. Carole didn’t know whether Ruskin had ever been married, or was a widower, but she thought the place lacked a woman’s touch. She respected tidiness, but she didn’t feel even High Tor boasted this same level of military precision in the way the bookshelves were stacked and the furniture aligned. On one table, she noticed, was a regimented pile of guidebooks to the Holy Land.
She accepted his offer of coffee, and the efficiency with which he produced it also suggested someone who was used to fending for himself. While occupied in the adjacent tiny kitchen, he kept up a monologue, describing his life in Fedborough. She hadn’t asked for the information, but she got the impression that anyone who visited him would be subjected to the same litany.
‘I’m very involved locally,’ he said. ‘On the committee of the Fedborough Museum; was very instrumental in all of the fundraising when we moved it from the High Street premises to the riverside. And I’m getting increasingly busy doing stuff for the church. All Souls it is – not to be confused with All Saints in Fethering. As you know, I used to go there, but I find the Fedborough set-up more congenial. More High Church, apart from anything else, and I’ve always had a natural tendency in that direction. Even considered converting to Catholicism at one point, but decided against. Found transubstantiation a bit of a stumbling block. Anyway, I’m involved at All Souls as a sidesman – and in the choir, of course, and in the Friends of All Souls’ fundraising activities. Then, there’s the Local History Society …’
As he went on, Carole recognized, from her own experience, what Ruskin Dewitt’s secret was. He was lonely, desperately lonely. That was why he had so avidly to fill his time. He didn’t dare to be alone for a moment. That was, without doubt, why he had agreed so readily to see her. Any human contact was preferable to being on his own.
When they were settled with their coffees in a pair of chintz-covered campaign chairs either side of the window, Carole used the opportunity of Ruskin Dewitt taking a breath to interpolate, ‘As we discussed on the phone, Fethering is a hotbed of gossip about Heather Mallett’s death.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, give me all the dirt.’
‘I’m not sure there is much real dirt. Plenty of speculation, of course.’
‘Yes.’
‘But I was just wondering whether you
had seen Heather Mallett, you know, since that last choir rehearsal you went to?’
‘Oh, I know when you mean. It was just round that time that I was deciding I really did prefer the All Souls style of worship to that of All Saints. So, it did turn out to be my last rehearsal in Fethering, as it happened. And, of course, resigning from the All Saints choir did cut down on the driving, particularly at night. I’m afraid the old eyesight isn’t so good after dark these days; the oncoming headlights are so bright. Do you find that?’
‘Not yet,’ said Carole with some asperity. She didn’t like being bracketed in the same age group as him. He had a good twenty years on her.
At the same time, she was mildly amused by the narrative that Ruskin Dewitt had created to explain his leaving the All Saints choir. Now it was being presented as a considered decision, nothing to do with his being banned from singing at Alice Mallett’s wedding. From the confident way he spoke of it, Carole felt sure he now regarded his version of events as the truth.
‘But had you seen Heather since that rehearsal?’ she asked.
‘No. No reason why I should. I didn’t know her outside the choir.’
‘Of course not.’ Carole trod delicately. ‘I wasn’t at that rehearsal …’
‘You wouldn’t have been.’
‘No, I regret that choirs are not for me. Tone deaf, I’m afraid.’ She could never resist saying that when the subject came up.
‘Your loss, Carole. I don’t know where I’d be without my choral singing. Been doing it all my adult life. I find singing with other people is a wonderful emotional release.’
Even if you’re always out of tune, thought Carole uncharitably. ‘And do you find you have a lot of emotion to release?’
‘What do you mean?’ His affronted response made her realize how clumsy her change of direction had been. Jude, she felt sure, would have done it better.
She tried to lighten the atmosphere by saying, ‘I just meant, we’re all up against the frustrations of daily life, aren’t we? The continual stresses of disturbing news bulletins, the general state of chaos that seems to be everywhere in today’s world. I’m sure we all need some means of, I don’t know … counteracting that stress. You’re lucky that choral singing does it for you.’