Poisoning in the Pub, The. Simon Brett

      Copsedown Hall, however, looked smarter than the old council housing that surrounded it. The small block of flats had probably been built in the thirties, but recently modernized. Paint still gleamed on door and window frames. Except for a disabled ramp overriding the front steps, there was nothing to suggest anything unusual about the residents.

      The double glass doors were locked when Jude pushed against them. On the wall was an intercom. She was beginning to wish she had got more information about the place from Sally Monks. Presumably there would be some kind of warden monitoring the activities of the house. It might have helped if she had a name to ask for. Still, too late. She’d have to trust to her instincts and natural charm.

      She pressed the intercom button. After a longish pause, a crackly young female voice answered, ‘Yes?’

      ‘It’s Jude.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

      But the voice at the other end didn’t seem to require more. ‘I’ll come and let you in,’ it said. ‘The buzzer button’s broken.’

      Again there was a pause. Then, through the glass, Jude saw someone coming down the stairs. A short chubby girl with a slight limp moved slowly towards her. Dealing with the latch seemed to require a lot of concentration, but when the door was flung open the girl beamed with satisfaction at her achievement.

      She had the flattened face characteristic of Down’s Syndrome. Her hair was reddish-brown. Through her thick glasses blue eyes were set in distinctive rounded lids. She transferred her beam to the visitor and announced, ‘I’m Kelly-Marie.’ Her speech was a little hesitant and childlike. It was hard to assess her precise age, though Jude, who had encountered other people with the same condition, would have said late twenties.

      ‘As I say, I’m Jude.’

      There was a comfortable silence as they both beamed at each other. Then the girl said, ‘Ken’s not here. He’s never here at weekends.’

      Jude assumed she was referring to the social worker who was responsible for keeping an eye on Copsedown Hall. ‘It’s not Ken I’ve come to see. I’m looking for Ray.’

      ‘Oh, Ray.’ The girl’s smile grew bigger. She certainly recognized the name, but she didn’t volunteer any other information.

      ‘Is Ray here?’ Jude prompted.

      ‘Yes. He came back.’

      ‘Could I see him?’

      Kelly-Marie hesitated. ‘He’s in his flat.’

      ‘Could you show me where it is?’

      The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly, ‘Ray doesn’t like … people in his flat.’

      ‘Ah.’ Jude tried another big smile. Kelly-Marie smiled back. But she didn’t move. She was still inside the door, and Jude outside.

      ‘Do you think Ray might see me in one of the communal rooms?’

      Kelly-Marie considered the proposition. At length she conceded that he might.

      ‘Well, would you mind asking him if he’d come down to see me?’ Jude was assuming that all the flats were up the stairs down which Kelly-Marie had come.

      After further deliberation, the decision was made. ‘Yes.’ She drew back to let Jude into the hall and turned towards the stairs.

      ‘Where shall I go?’

      This answer again required thought. ‘Do you want to see Ray on his own?’

      ‘It would be better, yes.’

      ‘Well, there’ll be people in the television room.’ Kelly-Marie giggled and said in a child’s version of a woman-of-the-world manner, ‘Men and their sport.’ She limped across to open a door. ‘Be better in the kitchen.’

      As Jude walked past her, the girl giggled again and asked, rather daringly, ‘Are you Ray’s girlfriend?’

      ‘Just a friend.’ It was a lie, but a fairly white one.

      ‘I’ll see if he’ll come down.’ And Kelly-Marie crossed slowly towards the stairs.

      The kitchen in which Jude found herself was large. The size of the range, the number of fridges and the extent of the cupboard space suggested that this was where all the cooking in Copsedown Hall was done. The residents did not have their own kitchens in their flats. Whether this was because they could not be trusted to cook unsupervised Jude did not know, but she suspected that it might be the case.

      Stuck on the fridge doors were handwritten names on green fluorescent labels. Four fridges, two names on each, suggesting that Copsedown Hall contained eight residents, presumably each in a different self-contained flat. Kelly-Marie shared her fridge with another girl. Ray shared his with someone called ‘Viggo’.

      Whoever did the cooking, there was clearly a strict tidiness regime enforced. The draining boards were bare, and every surface gleamed. There were two large bins, sternly marked FOR RECYCLING and NOT FOR RECYCLING. The functional, institutional space gave Jude the feeling of an army kitchen. Not that she’d ever seen an army kitchen except on film or television.

      The table at which she sat was surrounded by eight chairs, suggesting that at least sometimes the residents ate communally. She waited nearly five minutes before Ray appeared in the doorway.