The Corpse on the Court by Simon Brett Page B

by the wall of the tennis court, a little bit further along.’
    â€˜But Piers didn’t refer to it before he went into the court?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You said they were great friends, though, didn’t you?’ Jude nodded. ‘So Piers would have recognized Reggie’s car?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Jude agreed unwillingly.
    â€˜Which must mean that Piers knew Reggie was at the court before you found his body.’ There was a silence. ‘Mustn’t it?’
    Jude felt very wretched.

ELEVEN
    W hen Carole Seddon got back to High Tor, her Labrador, Gulliver, looked extremely reproachful. She hadn’t been out long, but his expression was that of a child whose mother had abandoned him at birth. Though he’d had his normal early-morning walk, Carole couldn’t resist the baleful pressure to take him out for another blow on Fethering Beach.
    So it was only after she’d done that that she checked her emails on the laptop incarcerated in her spare bedroom. And found one from the Susan Holland she had contacted about the Lady in the Lake case.
    Yes, the woman would be happy to meet. She lived in Brighton, had a part-time job and no car, so it would be easier if they could meet there. She worked afternoon and evening shifts at a nursing home, but was free most mornings. There was a coffee shop in Brighton called Bean in Love that would be a good place to meet.
    The email gave no impression of the kind of woman Susan Holland was. It was properly spelled and punctuated, but offered no indication of age, social standing or any other details of her life.
    Seizing the moment before her mind started to dither and equivocate, Carole sent back an email wondering whether Susan Holland might be free to meet at Bean in Love the following morning at, say, eleven o’clock . . .?
    She was gratified to receive a reply within minutes, assenting to the rendezvous. It had been sent from a Blackberry. For a moment Carole considered the possibility that this meant Susan Holland was rich. But only for a moment. Everybody has Blackberries these days.
    Having set up the meeting gave her a warm glow. This was an investigation she was doing without Jude. And though she had been included in the request for help from Oenone Playfair, Carole was still feeling a little resentful towards her neighbour. Not only was Jude getting into far too serious a relationship with Piers Targett, she was also bound to be the major player in any investigation into Reggie Playfair’s last hours. It was Jude, after all, who had found the body, Jude who had the contacts at Lockleigh House tennis court.
    All in all, Carole Seddon was quite glad she had a case of her own to investigate.
    It was the following morning, the Friday, that a call came through to Woodside Cottage.
    â€˜Hello, it that Jude?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜It’s Oenone Playfair.’
    â€˜Oh, how good to hear you. How are you bearing up?’
    â€˜I’m fine. The only possible thing to be said in favour of organizing a funeral is that at least it keeps you so busy that you can’t think about other things. No time to brood.’ She was in a more forceful, less twittery mood that morning, though Jude rather doubted whether she was feeling any better deep down.
    â€˜Also I’ve had so many letters and cards and what-have-you. I had no idea what a lot of people were fond of the old bugger.’
    â€˜Well, on very brief acquaintance, I can see why everyone would have like Reggie. He seemed very straight, very honest.’
    â€˜Yes.’ Was there a slight hesitation in the monosyllable? Had ‘honest’ not been the right word to use in the circumstances? Whether it was or not, Oenone did not allow anything to stop her flow for long. ‘Anyway, in the middle of the night I suddenly remembered.’
    â€˜Remembered what?’
    â€˜What we talked about yesterday morning. You know, your friend Carole asked if there