Poisoning in the Pub, The. Simon Brett

that generation are really picky about hygiene stuff.’

      ‘How often do you have seafood deliveries?’

      ‘Every day. Has to be every day, if you say you’ve got “fresh seafood” on the menu.’

      ‘And do you check in the deliveries yourself, Ted?’

      ‘Depends what I’m doing. They deliver round the back. If I’m in the kitchen when they come, I’ll sign for the stuff. If someone else is there, they’ll do it. Not a big deal, happens so often.’

      ‘And did you sign for the delivery this morning?’

      ‘No, and obviously I’ve checked out who did. It was Ed. Van arrived just after ten. I was out front fixing a duff light switch in the bar.’

      ‘And Ed didn’t notice anything odd about the scallops?’

      Ted Crisp shook his head wearily. ‘If he’d thought there was anything odd with them, he wouldn’t have cooked them. Like I said, he knows his hygiene regulations inside out.’

      ‘And the scallops would be delivered frozen?’

      ‘No, Jude,’ he replied patiently. ‘“Fresh seafood” means “fresh seafood”. They’re chilled for transportation, but not frozen.’

      ‘So what did Ed do with them after they’d been delivered?’

      ‘Put them in the fridge in a tray with a light lemon-juice-and-soy-sauce marinade. That’s what he always does for that recipe.’

      ‘And was there anyone else around the kitchen that morning?’

      ‘Well, Zosia would have been there …’ Jude looked at Ted quizzically. She knew he had been less than welcoming when the Polish girl had started working for him. The landlord had a rather unappealing thread of xenophobia in his make-up. But now he could find nothing in his bar manager to criticize. ‘Mind you, she’s about the most trustworthy staff member I’ve ever had.’ He still couldn’t quite make the compliment sound whole-hearted.

      ‘No waitresses around at the time of the delivery?’

      ‘No, they don’t come on duty till twelve.’

      ‘And Ed does all the cooking?’

      ‘Yes. Zosia and one of the girls might help him plating up if he’s really pushed, but he does virtually everything himself. Bloody genius, he is. That’s why it’s going to be such a bugger when he goes back up to London.’

      ‘So would Ed have stayed in the kitchen all morning?’

      ‘Most of it. But he would nip out every hour or so.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Boy’s a smoker. Knew he couldn’t smoke in his kitchen, even before the ban came in. So he nips out to the car park or round the back for a drag every now and then.’

      ‘For how long?’

      Ted Crisp shrugged. ‘How long does it take to smoke a cigarette? Such a long time since I’ve touched one of the things, I’ve forgotten.’

      ‘And is there anyone else who might have been in the kitchen that morning?’

      ‘No.’ Ted seemed uncertain, then said, ‘Well …’

      ‘There was someone else?’

      ‘Only Ray,’ Ted replied reluctantly. Jude raised an interrogative eyebrow. ‘Ray. You may have seen him around. Short bloke in his forties, looks a bit vacant, walks a bit funny.’

      ‘Oh, I think I’ve seen him, yes. Does he work for you?’

      ‘Well, not on an official basis. But I give him the odd fiver for sweeping the place out, doing the odd bit of washing up, you know. Ray’s, you know … he’s … don’t know what the politically correct acceptable phrase is these days? “Simple”? “Differently abled”? You know what I mean, anyway.’

      ‘Sure. So you give him odd jobs to help him out?’

      The landlord looked uncomfortable at this exposure of his philanthropy. ‘Well, yes, a bit. He is quite useful round the place, though,’ he added defensively. ‘Moving heavy stuff, you know …’

      ‘And Ray’s entirely trustworthy, is he?’

      Again Ted looked embarrassed. ‘Yeah. Not bright enough to do anything crooked.’

      ‘Was he likely to have touched the scallops?’

      ‘No, no chance,’ came the brusque reply. ‘Thing with Ray is he’ll do anything you tell him to, but nothing off his own initiative. He wouldn’t have touched the scallops unless someone had told him to.’ The landlord looked anxiously at his watch. ‘I wonder what’s happening with that old girl at the hospital …?’

      ‘Bettina Smiley.’

      ‘Right. If she pegs out … God, that’ll be all I need.’

      ‘She looked terribly frail. If she does peg out, I’m sure it won’t be simply because of the scallops.’

      ‘No, but it doesn’t look good, does it? Local paper with a headline reading: “Old lady dies after eating meal in the Crown and Anchor.” Not exactly the sort of headline I’ve been looking for all my life.’

      Jude was silent for a moment, then asked, ‘Ted, do you think the scallops were tampered with?’

      ‘I don’t know. That’s the only explanation I can find that fits the facts. Though how it happened or who …’ His words petered out in incomprehension.

      ‘Have you got any enemies?’

      He reached for the whisky bottle and recharged his glass. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

      THREE

      Jude woke feeling better the next morning and, after a breakfast of toast and honey, thought normal life might be once again a possibility. It was another beautiful day, the July sun already high in a cloudless sky. Her instinct was to go round and knock on the door of High Tor, but then, thinking that Carole might still be bedridden, she used the phone.

      ‘I just wondered if you were feeling any better?’

      ‘No,’ Carole’s strained voice replied.

      ‘Have you been sick?’

      This received another appalled ‘No!’

      ‘Well, if there’s anything I can get you from the shops …’

      ‘No, thank you. I don’t feel like eating.’

      ‘Any medicines you need?’

      ‘I don’t need any. I’ll just drink water to flush it out of my system.’

      ‘Oh. And you’re sure you don’t feel any better?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Ah.’ There was one test Jude knew she could use to find out if her neighbour really was as ill as she claimed. ‘Ted came round for a drink last night …’

      ‘Really?’ Carole was instantly alert. Rather surprisingly, she had once had a brief affair with the landlord of the Crown and Anchor. It had long ago fizzled down into friendship, and they could meet without awkwardness in the public territory of the pub. But the idea of Ted Crisp paying a social visit to Woodside Cottage … well, that did challenge Carole Seddon’s proprietorial instincts.

      ‘He was very miserable. He’s been closed down pending a Health and Safety inspection.’

      ‘Well, he can’t complain,’ said Carole rather prissily. ‘If his kitchen is careless enough to serve dodgy shellfish …’

      ‘I agree. If that was what