Fethering 09 (2008) - Blood at the Bookies (25 page)

Carole glowed in the beam of the compliment, which also, as Jude had intended, took the focus off her own discomfiture. “Oh, it was Gerald Hume who gave me the lead. Once I’d got the photo from him, the rest was straightforward.”

“I’m still impressed.”

“Well, thank you.” Now it was Carole’s turn to blush.

“So I don’t think it would be too great a leap of logic to conclude that the girl from the University of Clincham with whom Tadek fell in love was the one who had taken the guitar from his room. And who then handed it over when Andy Constant asked them to bring instruments.”

“So who would that be? One of his Drama set, obviously. And the only one we know about of those is Sophia Urquhart.”

There’s also the mysterious Joan. The one I said he was having an affair with?

“I thought you said he denied having an affair with her.”

“Yes, but Andy Constant is not the kind of man whose truthfulness I’d trust very far in matters of relationships. He’s a born liar.”

“So you haven’t even met this Joan?”

“Well, I wonder…You remember that day when we went to see Andy up at the college, and he took us for coffee?”

“Yes.”

“The girl who came to fetch him…do you remember her?”

“Dark-haired? Looked a bit Spanish?”

Jude nodded. “I saw her with him again just before that show I went to see. And she was in the pub afterwards, but then I didn’t notice her there when Sophia gave Andy the message about Joan not being able to make it. I reckon there’s a strong chance she’s the one.”

“So how do we contact her?”

“Through the college—or university or whatever it wants to call itself.”

“We didn’t have much luck there when we were trying to find out about Tadek.”

“No, but he’d never been enrolled. We’ve got more to go on with this girl. We know what she looks like, we know she’s studying Drama with Andy Constant and we know her first name’s Joan.”

“Any idea of her second name?”

“No…” Jude suddenly remembered. “But I’ve got the programme for
Rumours of Wars
upstairs. I know she wasn’t performing in the show, but I’ll bet her name’s there in the backstage crew!”

She rose excitedly from her sofa, but in the hall met an equally excited Zofia running downstairs, clutching Jude’s laptop. “I’ve heard from Pavel!” the girl shouted.

“What, about the songs?”

“Yes. He’s back from—Krakow, he reply to my email. And we were correct. Tadek did write a song to his English girl. He sent a copy to Pavel.”

“Do you have the lyrics for it?”

“Better. I have a recording.” Zofia bustled into the sitting room and, after a quick greeting to Carole, placed the laptop on a pile of books on one of Jude’s cluttered coffee tables. “You are ready to hear it?”

“Yes, please,” said both women eagerly.

Zofia pressed a key and from the laptop’s tiny speakers came the strumming of an acoustic guitar. Then followed a voice, an innocent light tenor, singing in heavily accented English.

You’re my love and I love you like hell
,

Though I don’t speak your language so well
.

You’re the best in all the whole world
,

You are all that I want in a girl
.

I love you in good or bad weather
,

I love things that we do together
—

Sing, make love, talk on the phone
.

All the time you’re just like Joan
.

Carole and Jude exchanged satisfied looks as their suspicions were confirmed. Tadek’s song went into its chorus.

Just like Joan
,

I’m overthrown

By the power of your love
.

Just like Joan
,

You’re in my zone
,

Like an angel from above
.

Oh, how big my love has grown
.

It’s because you’re…just like Joan
.

There was a silence as the song ended. Tears glinted in Zofia’s eyes. Hearing her brother’s voice sounding so close and real brought home to her once again the hard fact of her loss. To fight off sentiment, she said in matter-of-fact tones, “I think that is Tadek’s first attempt to write a song in English.”

“Then it’s pretty good,” Jude assured her.

“And,” said Carole, “it also confirms the suspicion we’ve had about who his mystery woman is.” They quickly brought the girl up to speed with their thinking, and told her about the pretty dark-haired girl they had seen at the University of Clincham.

“Then I must see her,” said Zofia immediately. “I must go to the university and talk to her.”

“Exactly what we were thinking.”

“But we must be careful,” Carole cautioned. “If she has something to hide, she’s going to be on the lookout.”

“Yes, she doesn’t want anyone to make the connection between her and your brother,” said Jude. “I think she has already gone some way to cover her tracks.”

The girl looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

“Look, you say your brother was devoted to his guitar?”

“Yes.”

“So, however much he loved a girl, he’d never give it to her, would he?”

“No.”

“Which means that if—as seems likely—this Joan was the one who gave the guitar to Andy Constant, she must have got it without your brother’s knowledge. Marek said, when he waited in Tadek’s room on the day he died there were no signs of his music, no guitar, no CDs, no tapes. I think Joan must have gone into the room and cleared it all out.”

“Because it would link him to her?” Carole nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. And if she did do that, it means she must have known that he was dead…or about to die. So she either killed him herself or at least knows who did.”

“I think, Zosia,” said Jude, “that you should get back to your brother’s friend Pavel again. He might know more about this Joan. After all, if, as we think, they got together at the music festival in Leipzig, then Pavel might well have met her.”

“Yes, that is good idea. But we must see her as soon as possible,” said Zofla urgently. “We know she is called Joan. Do we have her other name?”

“Actually I was just on my way to check that when you came downstairs. I think her full name is likely to be in the programme for the show I saw at Clincham College.”

Jude hurried back up to her bedroom to fetch the printed sheet she had been given at the university theatre, but she came down more slowly, studying the text.

Back in the sitting room, the two women looked up at her expectantly.

“Well, that’s very odd,” said Jude. “There’s no one on this programme whose first name’s Joan.”

“Y
ou’re the expert in surveillance work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jude.”

“Come on, who was it who did that very successful stake-out to find Melanie Newton?”

“Well…” Carole couldn’t help being flattered.

“And what we’re trying to do here is much easier.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. We know the girl is a student at the University of Clincham, we know she’s doing Drama, and we know her name’s Joan. Much more information than you had when you tracked down Melanie.”

“Yes, but we didn’t get much cooperation when we went to the university reception asking about Tadek, did we?”

“No. That’s why I’m talking about surveillance. Look, there’s only one entrance to the university. Which means all the students have to go through it every day.”

“Don’t they have halls of residence? For the minority of students who don’t live at home? If they do, a student could stay inside on the campus as long as he or she wanted to.”

“They do have halls of residence, but they’re not right on the campus. Andy Constant told me. So all the students do have to go in and out through the main gates.”

“So, Jude, are you suggesting I spend the next few days sitting in the Renault outside the university’s main gates until I get a sighting of this Joan?”

“No. I’m suggesting we go and have a drink in the Bull. It’s right opposite those gates.”

“You mean now?”

“Yes.”

“But Zofia wanted to come too. And she’s gone down to do another shift at the Crown and Anchor.”

“Carole, I don’t think she’ll mind, so long as we actually track the girl down.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So off to the Bull, in we go. And you never know, we might get lucky.”

They did get lucky. Luckier than they had any right to expect. It was about five when they reached Clincham and the Bull was empty enough for them to get a table in the bay window, which commanded a perfect view of the university’s main entrance. Darkness had fallen during their drive from Fethering but the area was well lit and they could see the comings and goings of the students.

Mostly goings. Clearly many lectures or classes or seminars finished at five and a lot of the students were on their way home. They gathered in little knots, draped round each other, looking even younger in their muffled anoraks and hoodies. As always, they gestured flamboyantly, as though they were taking part in some adult performance of a play to which they did not quite yet know the words. Some were busy texting on mobile phones, some waving elaborately dramatic farewells to friends they would undoubtedly see the next day.

Carole and Jude had only been in their surveillance point for about twenty minutes when their luck kicked in. A bunch of students emerged from the campus, behaving even more flamboyantly than the others, and Jude was quick to recognize some of them from the cast of
Rumours of Wars
. She couldn’t see Sophia Urquhart amongst them, but it was definitely the Drama set. Even better, it included the girl whose pretty dark face was framed by long black hair. Better still, she was one of the group who decided to have a drink to start off whatever entertainment the evening might hold.

The Bull’s ‘Happy Hour’ seemed more or less permanent. The management recognized the value of their location and used low prices to encourage the students’ alcoholic consumption (not that many of them needed much encouragement). The Drama lot equipped themselves with pints of lager for both genders and commandeered a large table over the other side of the bar. Their presence doubled the decibel level in the pub.

“Well, there she is,” said Carole. “How do you propose that we start talking to her?”

“Not a problem,” said Jude, rising to her feet. “If you want to start a conversation with anyone involved in the theatre, all you have to do is to tell them how good their last show was. And fortunately I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing this lot’s last show.”

Carole, as someone who hadn’t seen
Rumours of Wars
, thought she should stay put, while her friend sashayed across the bar towards the loud assemblage of students.

Two of the boys were just coming to the end of some routine in cod French accents and Jude timed her entrance so that she rode in on a wave of laughter. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but you lot were in
Rumours of Wars
, weren’t you?”

Their attention was duly grabbed. Someone actually wanted to talk to them about their work. They confirmed that they had been in the show. One or two of them put on the faces they had practised in their mirrors for the moment when they would be interviewed on television about their professional lives.

Time for the tactical half-truth. “I thought the show was terrific. Saw it on Friday. Really packed a punch.”

A couple of the girls agreed that it was powerful stuff. “We felt, like, absolutely drained at the end of it,” said one.

“Yeah, like, the director really made us get into our parts. Even if it’s only a couple of lines, he said, I want to feel, like, the energy you’re transmitting to that person.”

Yes, I bet he said that, thought Jude. And a lot more garbage along the same lines.

Their eyes were gleaming, pathetically hungry for praise. “Well, I thought you were all terrific. I mean, I used to act and I do know what I’m talking about,” They lapped it up. “And the staging, too. It was a real ensemble piece.”

“Yeah, that’s what Andy—he’s, like, the director—he said he wanted us to be an ensemble.”

“Yeah, he said we should be like the…Berlin Ensemble…?” the girl hazarded.

“Berliner Ensemble.”

“Right, whatever.”

“A lot of backstage effort went into that show too.” She looked at the dark-haired girl. “I didn’t see you in it. Were you part of the stage management?”

“No,” the girl said, in an accent that sounded very slightly Spanish. “I was the assistant director.”

“Ooh yes. Like, working very closely with the director,” insinuated one of the boys.

“Shut up!”

But he’d got the others going. “You sound guilty to me,” said one.

“Teacher’s pet,” crowed another. “Or teacher’s heavy petting, maybe?”

“Just shut up!” the girl said again. But there was no vindictiveness in their banter.

“I wonder, actually,” said Jude to the girl, “if I could just have a quick word with you…” Time for another tactical lie “…I’d love to ask you about how the improvisation element worked out.”

“Sure.” The girl seemed quite ready to detach herself from the teasing boys around her. Picking up her pint, she sidled out of her seat.

“Let’s go and join my friend.”

“Is she interested in the theatre too?”

“Oh yes. Very,” Jude lied. Then, as they approached Carole, she continued, “I was just saying how interested you are in the theatre.”

“Really?” Carole’s pale blue eyes looked daggers at her neighbour.

“What was it you wanted to ask about?” said the girl as she sat down easily between them.

“Well, I know Andy Constant, and I just wondered how closely you worked with him on the production? You know, as his assistant?”

She grimaced. “Not very closely at all, really. I mean, like, I had this title of assistant director, but really Andy did everything himself. I don’t think he’s very good at delegating.” No, I can believe that, thought Jude. “Andy had all the ideas, he wasn’t really interested in what I had to say.”

“But did you work with him on the improvisations?”