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with a huge (and hugely sinful) éclair.

      ‘Nice place,’ said Pauline, looking around. ‘I used to be called Polly, you know.’

      ‘Oh yes?’

      ‘That’s what my old man used to call me. Kind of pet name, I suppose.’

      ‘How long ago did he …?’

      ‘Twelve years now. Women live longer, don’t they?’

      ‘But have you got used to—?’

      ‘You never get used to it. You just learn to live with it.’

      Anonymous in the betting shop, on her own Pauline seemed a much stronger personality. Her little-old-lady looks, white permed hair and heavily powdered pinkish face presented an image that was perhaps more benign than the reality. The grey coat she wore over a flowered print dress also fostered the ideal of a cosy little grandmother, but Jude was beginning to think that Pauline might have a bit of the wolf in her too.

      ‘Yes,’ she said sympathetically. ‘But you manage OK?’

      Pauline shrugged. ‘OK. Moved into a smaller place after he passed on. Got the pension and he left me a bit. Not much, considering how much’d been through his hands over the years, but … yes, I manage.’

      ‘And your husband … you didn’t say exactly what he did …?’

      ‘No, I didn’t.’ Pauline did another of her mischievous grins. ‘Let’s just say that what my old man earned … well, the taxman didn’t know much about it.’

      ‘Right. I think I get your message.’

      Jude might have asked more about the dubious past of Pauline’s late husband, but their teas were delivered then, and the moment passed.

      When the pouring was done and they’d both taken a comforting sip, Jude got straight to the point. ‘You said you’d seen Tadeusz Jankowski in the betting shop before.’

      The old woman looked her straight in the eye. ‘Before I answer your questions, there’s something I want to get clear.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Why you’re asking them.’

      ‘There’s been a murder. It’s natural to be curious, isn’t it?’

      ‘Is it? It’s natural to be curious if you’re a police officer, yes.’

      ‘I can assure you I’m not a police officer.’

      ‘No? Because they use the most unlikely people in plain clothes.’

      A beam spread across Jude’s chubby face. ‘Not as unlikely as me, I promise.’

      The moment of levity seemed to have allayed some of Pauline’s suspicion. ‘So what’s your interest in all this then? You another of Fethering’s self-appointed amateur detectives?’

      Jude found herself blushing as she admitted that she was.

      Pauline chuckled. ‘I don’t know, place like this, a bit of crime gets all the old biddies excited.’

      Jude wasn’t bothered about being categorized as an old biddy. So long as Pauline would talk to her. Which now the old woman seemed prepared to do. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘So yes, I had seen the Polish boy in the betting shop before.’

      ‘Often?’

      ‘Just the once.’

      ‘When was it?’

      ‘Last year. Late September, maybe early October, I’d say. He come in the shop in the middle of the afternoon.’

      ‘You have a very good memory.’

      The little old lady smiled complacently. ‘It’s a matter of training, you know. Everyone could have a good memory if they trained it. These old biddies who go senile … what do they call it now – Alzheimer’s? If they’d trained their memories when they was younger, they wouldn’t have no problems. My old man, he used to get me to train my memory. “Focus on things,” he used to say. “Concentrate. Every face you see, clock it. Use your mind like a camera, store the image.” And since he taught me how, that’s what I’ve always done.’

      ‘Why was he so keen for you to do that?’ asked Jude, knowing that the question was slightly mischievous.

      Pauline instantly picked up the nuance, and winked as she replied, ‘Let’s just say my old man had a well-developed sense of self-preservation. He was always watching his back, so he liked me to keep my eyes peeled in case there was anyone dodgy about.’

      ‘With faces then, for you it’s “once seen, never forgotten”.’

      ‘That is exactly right, Jude. For faces I got this photographic memory.’

      ‘So the minute that young man walked into the betting shop last Thursday, you knew who he was?’

      ‘Well, you’re overstating things a bit there. I never knew who he was … not till I heard on the telly like you did. But the minute he come in the betting shop on Thursday I knew I’d seen him before. Mind you, I didn’t know it was going to be important. I didn’t know he was just about to die, did I?’

      ‘Of course you didn’t.’ Jude took a huge bite of her éclair and felt the cream squirting. She wiped her mouth before asking, ‘You didn’t speak to him then?’

      ‘No. He was just another punter coming into the betting shop.’

      ‘You say a punter. The first time he came in, did you actually see him put on a bet?’

      ‘Oh, come on, Jude. We’re talking last October. I may have a photographic memory for faces. I can’t do an instant replay of my whole blooming life.’

      ‘Sorry. Thought it was worth asking. So, so far as you remember, you didn’t see him put on a bet?’

      ‘I don’t recall seeing him do that. But I’m not saying he didn’t.’

      ‘You didn’t hear him speak? You didn’t notice that he had an accent?’

      ‘I don’t recall hearing him speak either. I just remember that I seen him in the betting shop last October.’

      ‘Right. Thank you.’ Jude didn’t think she was going to get a lot more information out of the canny old woman, but it might be worth trying a slight change of direction. ‘It’s confusing, isn’t it, all the different ideas that are buzzing around the grapevine? So far as I can see, everyone in Fethering seems to have their own theory about the murder.’

      ‘Everyone in Fethering has their own theory about everything,’ said Pauline with some asperity. ‘People here have too much time on their hands, so they spend it snooping into other people’s business. Load of blabbermouths they are.’

      ‘But have you heard any of the blabbermouths saying anything that might have any relevance to the case?’

      ‘Some, maybe.’

      ‘So, what theories have you heard?’

      Pauline focused on another fairy cake and slowly bit the tiny slice of angelica off the top. ‘Well, I’ve heard theories ranging from Russian hit men to Mafia gang wars. The only sensible theory I’ve heard is that no one has a clue why the poor bugger was stabbed.’

      ‘And do you have any theories of your own?’

      Pauline looked at Jude shrewdly and said, ‘What my old man always used to say was, “If a crime of violence happens, the first question to ask is why the issue couldn’t have been sorted out without violence.” And the answer to that might be because the people you’re dealing with are psychopaths or people of a highly nervous temperament, or there could be any number of other reasons. Moving on to the matter of murder, my old man used to say, “The only reason for murdering someone is to keep them quiet. If you just want to put the frighteners

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