“Oh, you’re back,” he said in a lack-lustre way. “Thought you’d forgotten about us.”
“It all takes ever so much time,” said Roy brightly. “Just want a few more words.”
“Can’t you wait till Dad gets here? He won’t be long.”
“It’s just a chat,” urged Agatha.
“Okay. Come in.”
He led them through the stale-smelling disco where the staff were busy clearing up, and up to the office. “Drink?”
“Too early,” said Agatha. She lit up a cigarette. God, it tasted awful. She stubbed it out.
“I’ll have one,” said Zak. He poured himself a large glass of vodka and gulped it down, neat.
Roy waited until he had finished and then began questioning him about the disco. How many did they get? Had there ever been any trouble?
Zak slumped down in a chair and answered in a dull voice that they had nearly eighty people on a Saturday night, and, no, they’d never had any trouble – a few scuffles, that was all.
“You must feel you cannot settle to anything, get back to normal, until Kylie’s killer is found,” said Agatha.
“If I ever get my hands on the bastard, I’ll kill him,” said Zak fiercely. “She was lovely, my Kylie…lovely. And to be snuffed out like that when she was still so young. It don’t bear thinking off.” His hands shook and tears spilled down his cheeks. “The strain of wondering and wondering who did it is wearing me down.”
The office door opened and his father, Terry, came in. His eyes darted from Agatha to Roy and then to his son.
“Look here,” he said truculently, “Zak’s had enough to bear. I don’t mind you filming the club, but if you’ve got any questions about Kylie Stokes, you’d better ask me in future. Go downstairs, Zak, and make sure they’re not pinching any booze.”
Zak left. He looked glad to escape.
¦
Agatha was glad of Roy’s support. Roy proceeded to question Terry about the club, about the young people, about his life in general, until Agatha could see Terry visibly relax, and even become excited again at the prospect of his club and himself appearing on television.
At last, Roy said he had enough. They were just about to leave when Terry said, “Wait a minute. Give me your card. If I think of anything, I’ll phone you.”
To Agatha’s surprise, Roy took out a card case, selected a card and gave it to him. Terry studied it, gave a satisfied grunt, and put it in the pocket of his shirt.
“What number did you give him?” asked Agatha when they were outside on the street.
“My private line at the office. I thought someone would ask us for a card, so I got some printed on one of those machines at the railway station.” He held one out. It said, in neat script, “Roy Silver, Executive, Pelman Television,” and then the number. “But what if you’re not in your office and the secretary answers?” asked Agatha.
“I primed her. I told her just to say, “Mr. Silver’s secretary,” and then, if someone started asking about television, to field the query.”
“Clever you.”
“Before we try anyone else here, shouldn’t we go up to Redditch and see if that girl’s regained consciousness?”
“We could phone first. And what if there’s a policeman on duty outside her room?”
“So what? We’ll say we’re relatives.”
? The Day the Floods Came ?
8
Agatha was silent on the road to Redditch. Her conscience, never usually very active, was beginning to bother her. She felt responsible for the death of Mrs. Ansruther-Jones and for the attack on Joanna. When they were clear of Evesham, she took off the wig and threw it on the back seat and put the glasses in the glove box.
Should there be a policeman on duty outside Joanna’s room, then she did not want any report of a woman in a blond wig getting back to headquarters.
“A lot of hospitals don’t bother much about visiting hours,” said Roy. “Let’s hope this is one, or that we arrive at the right time.”
“Do we ask at the desk? Or do we just walk in and try to find the right ward?” asked Agatha.
“We’ll suss it out when we get there,” he replied.
“Well, well, well,” remarked Roy, as they drove into the car-park.
“What?”
“Over there. Just getting out of that BMW. That’s John Armitage and carrying a huge bouquet of flowers.”
“Let’s join him,” said Agatha.
“No, let’s follow him. I bet he knows where to go.”
They scrambled out of the car and set off in pursuit of John. The hospital was busy with visitors arriving and leaving. They followed him along corridors until he stopped at a door and spoke to a policeman sitting outside. The policeman went into the room. Agatha and Roy hid behind a trolley full of laundry. The policeman came out again and said something to John. He went in.
“Let’s go,” urged Roy.
Agatha pulled him back. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll ask our names. If we give our real names, he’ll make a note of it and I might get a rocket from Brudge. If I say I’m Joanna’s aunt, she might start screaming that she hasn’t got an aunt.”
“Everyone’s got an aunt.”
“Her parents are dead. She may not have been in touch with her relatives. No, let’s retreat to the car-park and question John when he comes out.”
As they stood waiting beside John’s car, Roy asked, “Is he keen on her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”
“Makes no difference. That was an awfully big bunch of flowers.”
The inside of Agatha’s head felt like a mess. Guilt was swirling around in there, mixed with apprehension, mixed with jealousy that John Armitage, so indifferent to her, should be presenting Joanna with an expensive bunch of flowers.
They waited a full hour before John emerged. “Come to see Joanna?” he asked, walking up to them.
“We decided it would be better to get a report from you. I’m not a favourite with the police at the moment,” said Agatha. “And come to think of it, neither are you.”
“Oh, I’m all right. Joanna asked to see me.”
“Why?” demanded Agatha sharply. “Did she remember anything?”
“Not a thing. The last she knew was a hard blow on the head.”
“This turns out to have been one wasted journey. What about going back to Evesham, Agatha sweetie, and question some of the others?” said Roy.
“She can’t do that,” said John. “She’d need to wear her disguise, and apart from the fact that the police have got it, she’s been warned off.”
“I’ll sit in the car and let Roy do the questioning,” said Agatha quickly. “You were in there for an hour. What did you talk about?”
“Books, films, things like that.”
“Come along, Roy. You can drive.” Agatha turned on her heel and headed for her own car without so much as a goodbye.
John followed them down the road to Evesham. He noticed, as they were approaching the town, that Agatha
