The Killer in the Choir - Simon Brett Fethering Village Mysteries

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was here?’ asked Carole, surprised.

      Ruskin Dewitt nodded vigorously, setting a ripple through the foliage of his beard. ‘Yes. As I was leaving the church hall, I said, sort of casually, that some of the choir were going to the Crown & Anchor for a drink, and Heather said, to my amazement, “See you there!” She only left half an hour ago.’

      ‘Goodness.’ Carole and Jude exchanged a look, both regretting that they hadn’t joined the party earlier. Carole looked at her watch. Nearly six. Say formalities in the church hall had finished round two thirty, the session in the pub had been going on for a good three hours. And, until recently, the bereaved widow had been part of it.

      ‘Incidentally,’ said Carole, drawing Ruskin Dewitt back to his earlier conversation, ‘did Heather say anything to you in the car on the way to rehearsal, you know, that day, after her husband had been so rude to her?’

      ‘I didn’t think she was going to. And I didn’t really think it was my place to make any comment, but after a long silence, when we were nearly at the church, Heather did apologize for her husband’s behaviour. She said, “He gets like that. I’m afraid Leonard hasn’t taken very well to retirement.” Something of an understatement, I thought, but I just mumbled a few words about it being very difficult for her. And she said – and goodness, I don’t think I’ll ever forget her words …’

      On this occasion, Carole did not allow him to indulge in his full dramatic pause. ‘What did she say?’ she asked testily.

      ‘Heather said,’ Ruskin replied, ‘“Oh, he’ll get his comeuppance. There’s nothing so deadly as a worm that’s turned.”’

      FOUR

      The other drinkers melted away into the late afternoon. Carole and Jude found themselves alone with Bet Harrison. They noticed, when Jude went to get more Sauvignon Blanc, that she was only drinking mineral water (so it hadn’t been alcohol that made her so forthcoming, it was her normal manner). ‘And thanks,’ she said, when offered a top-up, ‘but I don’t need any more.’

      ‘Bit of a bugger,’ she went on to Carole while Jude was at the bar, ‘not drinking on an occasion like this, but Rory needs ferrying somewhere this evening. I’m stuck in the driving years, which seem to be going on for ever, and without having a partner to share the burden, I daren’t risk losing my licence, particularly living down here and … well … Do you have children?’

      Though this was, by her standards, a rather over-direct question, Carole could not deny that she had a son Stephen, who was married with two daughters. It was not in her nature to mention to a new acquaintance how much joy her grandchildren had brought into her life.

      ‘Ah, well, you must have done the driving years bit, too.’

      ‘Yes, but we were living in London back then, so it probably wasn’t so bad. Stephen could go most places on public transport.’

      ‘Right. What does your husband do?’

      ‘I’m divorced,’ said Carole, in a tone which she hoped would deter further enquiry.

      It failed. ‘Join the club,’ said Bet. ‘Though if I was still married, I wouldn’t be getting much help with ferrying Rory around. Waste of space, my husband was, when it came to anything practical. Great skill men have, avoiding responsibility, don’t they? Even in this day and age—’

      Fortunately, the arrival of Jude with two large Sauvignon Blancs stemmed the feminist flow. ‘Just talking about children,’ said Bet.

      ‘Ah. I don’t have any.’ Jude was always very easy about getting that bit of information into a conversation. When they first met, Carole thought her neighbour must feel some level of sadness about her childlessness, but now she had come round to the view that it genuinely didn’t worry her. Jude had always been better than Carole at accepting the hand life had dealt her. And, perhaps as a result, in Carole’s view her neighbour always seemed to have better cards.

      ‘Well,’ said Bet, ‘that means you’re missing out on the dubious pleasure of being a glorified taxi service.’ She looked suddenly at Jude. ‘Incidentally, I know you weren’t at the funeral – or the church hall – but do you know Heather Mallett?’ A shake of the head by way of response. ‘I was just interested in what Russ was saying, you know, about when he gave her the lift. Sounds like she was stuck in a really abusive marriage.’

      ‘Hard to be sure without knowing more detail,’ said Jude diplomatically. ‘Verbal abuse doesn’t definitely mean there’s also physical abuse. Some couples just are combative. They seem to get off on it.’

      ‘Well, he was combative, we know that. Doesn’t sound like Heather did much in the way of getting back at him.’

      ‘Who can say?’

      ‘Unless, of course, she actually did help him on his way down those stairs.’

      ‘We have no means of knowing—’

      ‘If she did,’ Bet interrupted, ‘I’d say good for her. Women have been victims of male aggression for far too long. Do you know, it wasn’t until the 1878 Matrimonial Causes Act that women in this country could seek legal separation from an abusive husband. Up until then they were just chattels. It’s amazing how today’s women suffer from that legacy of discrimination. And there are still …’

      Maybe it was Carole’s discreet throat-clearing that got her down off her soapbox, or just a glance at her watch. ‘God! I must go. Get back to Rory. I’ve left him on his own for quite long enough.’

      ‘He’s not at school?’ asked Jude.

      ‘No, I got him out for the funeral.’

      ‘But surely he didn’t know Leonard Mallett?’

      ‘No, no, of course he didn’t. Oh, you weren’t there, so you wouldn’t have seen him. Rory sings in the church choir with me, and I thought it was better for him to miss a day’s school and get some social interaction locally.’ She giggled guiltily. ‘I just said to the school that he had to go to a funeral, and they assumed it must’ve been someone close, so there were no problems about it. I took the day off, too.’ She took another look at her watch. ‘And now my small window of freedom is about to close again.’

      ‘Where do you work?’ asked Carole.

      The thin face grimaced. ‘Starbucks on the Parade.’

      ‘Oh?’ This was another of Carole’s deeply layered monosyllables. She didn’t approve of Starbucks, or any other international chain. She had preferred it when the café on the Parade had been Polly’s Cake Shop. She was generally suspicious of change.

      Possibly prompted by Carole’s disapproval, Bet felt the need to apologize for her job. ‘It’s only temporary, until I get something better, but it’s difficult in a place like this. The trouble is, I got married too young, you know, before I had any qualifications. It didn’t seem important at the time, but back then, of course, I thought the marriage was going to be for life. It didn’t occur to me that my bastard husband …’

      Maybe she caught the exasperated look that Carole flicked at Jude, or maybe she just recollected that she was up against time, but Bet Harrison stopped herself there. She made a big deal of saying how much she’d enjoyed meeting them, and how much she looked forward to seeing them again.

      ‘Huh,’ said Carole, when the woman was out of earshot. ‘I do resent people who feel that they have to spill out their entire life history the moment you meet them.’

      Jude knew this was just one of many things her neighbour resented, but all she said, very casually, was, ‘She’s just lonely. Coming to a new place, not knowing anyone, she’s only trying to make contact.’

      ‘Well,’ said Carole beadily, ‘you’ve always had a more generous view of humanity than I have.’

      This

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