When Laura drove into the White Hart’s car park, she emitted a low whistle.
‘Talk about making hay…’ Kyle said beside her.
‘No kidding.’
Six new circular wooden tables with matching chairs now occupied the four parking bays under the pub’s front windows, each with a bright red and white parasol fluttering in the breeze and shading the drinkers from the early afternoon sunshine.
The door to the pub was wide open and as Laura pulled the keys from the ignition and walked towards it, a steady stream of patrons moved back and forth to the bar, glasses refreshed and various bags of snack food tucked under their arms.
‘He might even afford a cleaner at this rate,’ she murmured.
‘I reckon he’s too tight for that.’ Kyle peered at the walls on each side of the door frame. ‘He’s put hanging baskets up, though – look.’
Entering the pub, Laura blinked to counteract the sudden gloom that enveloped her, and spotted Len Simpson polishing a table off to her right, his back turned to her.
Lydia Terry was standing behind the bar, her face flushed while she pulled pints and lined them up in front of four customers, all holding cash in the air in an attempt to be served first.
Her eyes widened when she saw the two police officers hovering at the threshold, and called out to Simpson.
‘Someone here to see you, Len.’
He scowled when he turned, said nothing, and jerked his chin towards a table near the back of the pub before traipsing after them.
‘Busy day, Mr Simpson,’ said Laura cheerfully. ‘It looks completely different out there.’
‘It took me all day Thursday to hose the blood off the car park,’ he said, his lower lip sticking out. ‘And you can’t be here – you’ll scare off the clientele.’
‘Oh, I think you’re quite capable of doing that yourself, Mr Simpson – especially once they see what comes out of that kitchen of yours.’
He glared at her in response.
Kyle pulled his phone from his utility vest and held it out. ‘Recognise him?’
Simpson squinted at the screen, then reached into the top pocket of his shirt and put on a pair of grimy reading glasses and tried again.
‘Sort of. Who is he?’
‘The man who was shot in your car park on Wednesday night.’
The landlord held up his hands and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Keep your voice down, all right?’
‘Mr Simpson, I think you realise these people are only here because of what happened on Wednesday night, don’t you?’ said Laura. ‘Does this man look familiar?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’ He shrugged. ‘Like I said to your lot that night, I only noticed them when they got up to leave, and I only saw the back of him.’
‘Fine. We’ll ask Lydia.’ Laura pushed back her chair, then looked down as Simpson grabbed her arm.
‘Wait here. I’ll get her.’
He waddled over to the bar, elbowed Lydia away from the beer pumps and pointed towards Laura.
The woman wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and hurried over.
‘I don’t know what you want, but you’d better make it quick – he’s in one hell of a mood.’
Kyle peered over Lydia’s head as she pulled out a seat. ‘What for? This is probably the busiest this place has been in years, right?’
‘It is, but Len likes to know who’s drinking in here. He doesn’t like strangers turning up, even if they are thrusting money at him. Especially after what happened last week.’
‘Interesting.’ Laura watched while the landlord finished serving.
He glared at the backs of the drinkers as they walked outside, and then she spotted the “reserved” signs placed in the middle of the tables scattered around the bar.
‘Are you expecting a party in here or something?’ she said.
Lydia snorted under her breath. ‘He doesn’t want any of them in here. Says those tables are for regulars.’
‘Right. Lots of those in at the moment, aren’t there?’
‘Look, what do you want? I told you – he’s in a foul mood.’
‘Do you recognise this man?’ Kyle asked, tapping his phone screen to waken it, then turning it to face Lydia.
‘Yeah, I do actually. That’s one of the blokes who was here on Wednesday night, isn’t it? Is he the one who was shot?’
‘His name’s Dale Thorngrove. Does that sound familiar?’ said Laura.
‘No. Is he local?’
‘Walderslade.’
‘Not too far away, then.’ Lydia frowned. ‘But that doesn’t explain why he’d come here, does it? Plenty of other pubs between here and Snodland. Or north of there.’
‘Have you ever seen him in here before Wednesday night?’
‘No.’ The woman’s mouth quirked. ‘It’s not the sort of place you visit twice unless you’re local.’
Laura sighed.
She couldn’t fault Lydia’s logic.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Len watching them, and stood. ‘Okay, thanks – we’ll leave you to it. Here’s my card. If you think of anything that might help us, my direct number’s on there.’
As they walked towards the car, she could feel the stares from the people gathered around the tables. No doubt there would be more gossip posted to social media within seconds of them leaving.
‘Don’t turn around,’ she hissed to Kyle. ‘Last thing we need is our faces plastered all over the internet.’
He scowled. ‘I’m glad the only parking space left was at the far end. What do you want to do next?’
Laura waited until they were in the car, checked her phone for any missed calls and then pointed down the lane.
‘Let’s go and see Geoff Abbott. He doesn’t live too far away, and I want to find out if he knows Dale Thorngrove.’