Hospital in Redditch. Agatha was all for rushing there, but John said, “We should wait until the morning.”
“Did they say what was up with her?”
“No, just that she had been admitted.”
Agatha gave a click of annoyance and took the phone from him. She dialled the Alexandra Hospital, introduced herself as Joanna’s aunt and asked to be put through to the sister in charge of the ward where Joanna was.
She asked several sharp questions and then put the phone down. “She’s got a bad concussion and is not allowed visitors until further notice. Now what do we do?”
“There’s nothing we can do. In fact I think we’ve done enough. We should never have involved that poor girl.”
“And I can’t question the other girls now that I’ve given up my disguise. You’ll need to do that.”
“Agatha, one woman is dead and another concussed. All we seem to do is put innocent people in peril.”
“But will the police guess about checking Kylie’s e-mail?”
“We can hardly phone them up now. They told us to stay out of it.”
“And I can’t phone Bill Wong, you know, my detective friend. He would be very angry with us. I know, Freda Stokes. I told you we had been forgiven. She could suggest it to the police.”
Agatha went through to the living-room to phone. John sat in the kitchen and waited. Books were easier. You didn’t have a conscience about people who got hurt or killed in books.
He waited uneasily until Agatha came back. “Fine, I told her. She said she’d wait until it was on the news and phone them then. It all looks bad for Barrington. I wonder if that alibi of his is foolproof.”
“He could have killed Kylie, but why would he sneak out of a Birmingham hotel and go cruising the streets of Evesham in the hope of running you over?”
“True,” said Agatha moodily. “It all comes back to those girls. They must have known she was staying on in the office. One of them could have been suspicious, crept back, and hit her.”
“Oh, Lord. I just remembered, Agatha, there are security cameras at the entrance to Barrington’s. Not only will the police be able to check who came and who went but they will also have a clear picture of the crowd watching the ambulance. They might have a good shot of my face and come demanding to know why I was there.”
“You just stick to your guns and say that you were driving past to meet me at the Little Chef when you saw the crowd, the police cars and the ambulance and stopped and got out to have a look.”
“I hate this lying. Did you never think of joining the police force and being legit?”
“I’m too old.”
“So what now? I think we should just get on with our lives and leave the mess to the police.”
“I suppose so. I feel like phoning up my friend, Roy Silver, and seeing if there’s any work for me.”
“Like what?”
“Like in public relations. Get up to London and away from here for a bit. Then I won’t be tempted to meddle. Although I’ll feel I’m letting Freda down. She’s going to let me know how she gets on with the police. I won’t do anything until I hear from her.”
“I’ll get on with my writing then,” said John. “So much easier dealing with murder in fiction. I’m in control and nobody is in control in this real-life case except the murderer.”
And with that dismal thought, he took his leave.
¦
Freda phoned Agatha the next day to say she had told the police and was waiting to hear from them.
Agatha then phoned Roy Silver. “I was just about to phone you to hear what was happening.”
Agatha gave him all the details, ending up with “So you see, Roy, I can’t really go any further. I was wondering about work.”
“I’ll have a word with the boss. But Agatha, sweetie, it’s not like you to give up.”
“Oh, really, Sherlock? And what do you suggest?”
“The police have told you time and again in the past to bug out. Did you let it bother you? No. Tell you what. I’ll come down at the weekend, bring you another wig and glasses and we’ll damn well go round these office girls and see what we can find.”
“I’ll get in trouble if we’re caught.”
“By the weekend, the police will have interviewed all those office girls to death, and Barrington as well. We’ve really got to see Zak again. He’s the one missing out of all your reports.”
“I’d better not tell John.”
“You mean this writer? He sounds a bit of a stuffed shirt.”
“He’s not really. He’s just more law-abiding and sensitive than I am.” Agatha regretted her last remark as soon as it was out. She considered herself to be a very sensitive person.
“You mean a bore?”
“No, he’s very handsome. Turned out to be not what I thought. But when he’s not talking about the case, he is a bit robotic. Never
Agatha put down the phone feeling much better. There was something in John Armitage’s character that made her feel, somehow, diminished. She felt the old rebellious Agatha was back. She probably wouldn’t see much of John Armitage again. She and the murders had been a diversion.
¦
To her horror, Roy, descending from the London train on Friday evening, looked like a plucked chicken. He’d had a buzz-cut, which did nothing to enhance his small head and weak features. He was wearing a scarlet shirt with a psychedelic tie under a suede jacket. His thin legs were encased in tight blue jeans and his feet in high-heeled boots.
“Like it?” he said, pirouetting in front of her. “The latest in the media-chic look.”
“You look like an orphan,” said Agatha.
He put an arm around her. “You never did move with the times.” He popped on a pair of sun-glasses with wraparound shades. “There!”
“Oh, God,” said Agatha. “Never mind.”
¦
John Armitage had just completed the first chapter of his new book and was feeling dissatisfied with it. Somehow Agatha had made him feel that his books were not quite real. He might just pop over to her cottage and discuss it with her.
But as he opened his cottage door, he saw Agatha drive past with a young man in the passenger seat. He retreated indoors. Was that the young man who had stayed with Agatha before and had been described by Mrs. Anstruther-Jones as Mrs. Raisin’s toy-boy? Surely not. But he had not thought of Agatha in any sexual way. He went back to his desk and switched on the computer. He typed in ‘Chapter Two’ and then stared at the screen. Then he remembered Agatha saying something about asking someone for work. Roy Silver, that was it. So there was nothing to stop him from visiting her.
He switched off the computer and went to Agatha’s cottage. Roy answered the door to him.
“I’m John Armitage,” he said.
“And I’m Roy Silver. Agatha’s getting changed. We’re going out for dinner. Come in.”
John followed him into Agatha’s living-room. “Drink?” said Roy. He seemed very much at home.
“Whisky, thanks. Agatha said something about phoning you asking for work.”
“Oh, is that what she told you?”
“Well, yes. What other reason could there be?”
Roy gave him a salacious wink.
“Oh,” said John, feeling discomfited. What on earth could Agatha see in this weird creature?
He took a proffered glass of whisky from Roy. “Thanks. Known Agatha long?”
“Since I was sixteen. I started work in her business as an office boy. She trained me up to be a public relations officer. I owe her a lot.”
“Did she tell you about this murder we’d been working; on?”
“That? Yes, she said something about you wanting to drop the whole thing.”
“Not exactly. There’s still a lot to discuss.”
