Breathlessly, she rattled off her story.
“Mind you, I’ve still got to find a way of proving it.”
There was a lengthy silence at the other end.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, I was just mourning my five pounds. I know you’re excited, darling, but you’ll have to sober up and give it a little more thought.
If this Edward chopped up Gwen and Amber before Robert went to work, wouldn’t Robert have stumbled across the bits in the kitchen?”
“Perhaps they did it together?”
“Then why didn’t they kill Olive as well? Not to mention the small matter of why on earth Olive would want to shield her father’s homosexual lover. It would make much more sense if Mrs. Clarke lied to give Robert an alibi.”
“Why?”
“They were having a raging affair,” declared Iris.
“Mrs. C. guessed Robert had done his wife in to give himself a free hand with her and lied through her teeth to protect him. You don’t know for sure he was a homosexual. The schoolfriend’s mother didn’t think he was. Is Mrs. C. attractive?”
“Not now. She was once.”
“There you are, then.”
“Why did Robert kill Amber?”
“Because she was there,” said Iris simply.
“I expect she woke up when she heard the fight and came downstairs.
Robert would have had no option but to kill her as well. Then he skedaddled and left poor old Olive, who slept through it all, to face the music.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Roz went to see Olive.
“I wasn’t expecting you, not after-‘ Olive left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
“Well, you know.” She smiled shyly.
They were back in their old room, unsupervised. The Governor’s qualms, it seemed, had been laid to rest along with Olive’s hostility. Really, thought Roz, the prison system never ceased to surprise her. She had foreseen enormous problems, particularly as it was a Wednesday and not her normal day, but there had been none. Access to Olive was once more unrestricted. She pushed forward the cigarette packet.
“You seem to be persona grata again,” she said.
Olive accepted a cigarette.
“With you, too?”
Roz arched an eyebrow.
“I felt better after my headache had gone.” She saw distress on the fat face.
“I’m teasing,” she said gently.
“And it was my fault anyway. I should have phoned.
Have you had all your privileges restored?”
“Yes. They’re pretty decent really, once you calm down.”
“Good.” Roz switched on her tape-recorder.
“I’ve been to see your nextdoor neighbours, the Clarkes.”
Olive studied her through the flame of the match, then tipped it thoughtfully towards her cigarette.
“And?”
“Mrs. Clarke lied about seeing your mother and sister on the morning of the murders.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me.” Olive wedged the cigarette firmly between her lips and drew in a lungful of smoke.
“Mrs. Clarke’s been senile for years,” she said bluntly.
“She had a thing about germs, used to rush about every morning scrubbing the furniture with Domestos and hoovering like mad. People who didn’t know them thought she was the char. She always called me Mary which was her mother’s name. I should imagine she’s completely loopy by now.”
Roz shook her head in frustration.
“She is, but I’ll swear she was lucid when she admitted lying. She’s frightened of her husband, though.”
Olive looked surprised.
“She was never frightened of him before. If anything, he was more frightened of her. What did he say when she told you she’d lied?”
