Blood at the Bookies. Simon Brett

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СКАЧАТЬ got worse. In fact, that must have been the case, because there was no trail of blood leading towards the betting shop, only away from it.’

      Jude found his use of the personal pronoun interesting. ‘They’ would get the post-mortem report, not ‘we’. The main part of the investigation was going on elsewhere. Baines and Yelland were juniors, minor players in the game. Realizing this encouraged her to ask more questions.

      ‘I just heard the man’s name on the television. And they said he was Polish. Have you been able to find out much more about him?’

      Baines showed no reticence in answering. ‘He was from Warsaw. Finished at university there last year. Been doing casual bar work over here.’

      ‘Do you know where he lived?’

      ‘Rented room in Littlehampton.’

      ‘Not far away …’ Jude looked thoughtful. ‘Have his family in Poland been contacted?’

      Detective Sergeant Yelland seemed suddenly aware of the incongruity of the situation. ‘Just a minute. Aren’t we the ones who’re meant to be asking you the questions?’ But he sounded amused rather than resentful.

      ‘I agree that’s traditional,’ said Jude with a winning smile. ‘But you haven’t asked many, and we don’t want to sit here in silence, do we?’

      Both men grinned. ‘Yes, his family have been told,’ Baines replied. ‘And there’s been contact with the Polish police authorities.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Well, makes sense. Most likely the reason he was attacked is something to do with his own community. Probably goes back to some rivalry back home.’

      ‘Can you be sure of that?’

      ‘Can’t be sure of much in our business,’ said Yelland.

      Jude now understood the explanation for their relaxed demeanour. Neither Baines nor Yelland was particularly interested in the case. They were underlings who did as they were told. They had been told to interview her and they were following their instructions. But they had no expectations that anything she might say would be useful to the investigation. They regarded the murder as a foreign case, which just happened to have taken place on their patch.

      Jude decided to test the limits of their goodwill and persist in her questioning. ‘I just wondered … whether it might be more local …?’ Remembering Ewan Urquhart’s pontificating in the Crown and Anchor the previous week, she went on, ‘There does seem to be quite a lot of resentment of immigrants round here.’

      ‘Not that much,’ said Baines. ‘In some of the inner city areas, yes, there are problems. But down here, it’s not as if they’re taking people’s jobs or anything like that. Maybe a bit of trouble in the bigger cities … Brighton, Portsmouth, Southampton. Get a bit of racial conflict at chucking-out time, you know, the odd fight. But not somewhere as small as Fethering. We don’t get called out much on disputes with immigrants, do we?’

      Yelland agreed that they didn’t.

      ‘I would just have thought—’

      ‘I can assure you that they are investigating every possibility.’ Again Baines’s tell-tale use of ‘they’. ‘And if there is someone local involved, I’m sure they’ll find out about it. But the initial enquiries will be focusing on the Polish community.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘So …’ asked Yelland ironically, ‘is there anything else you want to ask us?’

      ‘Not at the moment. But if there are any further questions, I’ll be in touch.’

      Yelland grinned at his colleague. ‘Stealing all our lines, isn’t she?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Baines. ‘And if you remember anything else you might think is relevant, you be in touch too.’

      ‘Will do.’

      ‘Or if there’s anything you want to add to the statement you made on Thursday …?’

      ‘I can’t think of anything at the moment.’

      ‘Fine. Well, if there’s an arrest, you’ll hear about it on the telly.’

      But Detective Sergeant Baines didn’t sound optimistic. Jude got the firm impression that neither he nor Yelland expected an early solution to the case. And that they weren’t that bothered.

      FIVE

      After the murder the betting shop had been closed while the police made their forensic examination of the premises, but it was allowed to reopen on the Monday. Which, Jude extrapolated, meant that they had been expecting to receive little information there. It wasn’t exactly a crime scene; the crime had happened elsewhere. Apparently detectives had made enquiries at other premises along the parade, but did not seem to have identified where the stabbing had taken place. Or if they had, they were keeping quiet about it.

      No unsuspecting punter entering the betting shop on the Monday would have been aware that anything untoward had taken place there. But when she arrived that afternoon, Jude noticed that new, brighter blue carpet tiles had replaced the ones on to which the dying man’s blood had dripped. The originals were presumably under scrutiny in a police laboratory.

      She had come in again to place Harold Peskett’s bets. The old man’s flu seemed to be hanging on. He felt lousy, but he still wanted to keep up with what he insisted on calling his ‘investments’. This had obviously been a problem over the weekend, with the betting shop closed, but Jude had found a solution. Using a laptop which she had inherited from a deceased lover, Laurence Hawker, she had opened up an online account.

      The process had been so seductively easy that it gave her something of a shock. She had discovered that in a matter of moments anyone, armed only with an internet connection and a credit card, could have the capacity to lose money at will in the privacy of their own home. Jude was glad she didn’t have an addictive personality. Bankruptcy had never been so readily available.

      But she only used her new account to put on Harold Peskett’s bets that weekend. Once the betting shop reopened, she thought it quite possible that she’d never log on again. She felt comforted to have the account, though. It was a convenience. If she fancied the name of a horse she saw in the paper or suddenly wanted to have a punt on the Grand National … well, the facility was there.

      The regulars were in their allotted places when she arrived that Monday afternoon shortly before one. And they greeted her as one of their own. Nor was there any tasteful reticence about bringing up the subject uppermost in all their minds.

      ‘So, who’re you going to murder this afternoon, Jude?’ asked Wes.

      ‘Surprised they’ve allowed you out,’ said Vic. ‘On bail, are you?’

      Sonny Frank came to her rescue. ‘Leave the lady alone. She might still be in a state of shock.’

      ‘I’m not, actually. But thanks for the thought, Sonny.’

      ‘Well, from what I see on telly, with all those Poirots СКАЧАТЬ