about boots, but I've got a surprise for you. Not boots - trainers, or sneakers, as our American cousins call them. Like these.' She stuck out a foot. Agatha wondered why great white trainers on female feet should look so threatening. 'They'll set you back about forty pounds,' boomed Alice. 'But worth every penny. I can walk for miles and never get sore feet. Why did you want to join us?'
'Why do you think?' Agatha ruefully patted her waistline. 'I find jogging too energetic, and a walk in the country is just the thing for getting my weight down and seeing a bit of the scenery. The trouble with driving everywhere is that one might as well be in London. It's hard to appreciate the countryside when all you ever see of it is trees and fields whizzing past the car windows.'
'Not to mention adding to the pollution problem,' said Alice. 'Jessica always said...' Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned her head away and said gruffly, 'Sorry, I still miss her.'
'It must have been a great blow to you,' murmured Agatha.
'It's the guilt, you see.' Alice took out a man's handkerchief and gave her nose a vigorous blow. 'She came here looking for a bed and I threw her out. I thought she was after my Gemma. If only we had all stayed friends, we would have gone with her and this terrible murder would never have happened.'
'Who do you think did it?' asked Agatha.
'Oh, Sir Charles Fraith. But being who he is, we'll never see justice done. There's one law for the rich and another for the poor. He lied about being in London when she was killed. He was seen threatening her, but he'll pull all sorts of strings and we'll never hear another word about it.'
'Don't you think it might have been Jeffrey Benson?' ventured Agatha. 'He seems to have been her lover.'
'How did you know that?'
'Gossip at the walkers' meeting,' said Agatha.
'Humph. The bourgeois lack of loyalty among that lot sometimes amazes me. No, I don't think Jeffrey did it, but the police will want to pin it on him so that their dear Sir Charles will escape scot-free. Oh, here's Gemma.'
Gemma walked in. She gave Agatha a sidelong smile.
'What have you got there?' asked Agatha, looking at a couple of videos that Gemma was carrying.
'I thought we might watch these tonight,' said Gemma. 'I've got
Alice sighed. 'I'm not going to watch that American rubbish.'
'Suit yourself,' said Gemma. 'Any chocky biccies?'
'In the tin over there,' said Alice with a weak, indulgent smile. 'Such a child,' she whispered to Agatha.
Gemma caught Agatha's eye and winked. Agatha began to wonder about Gemma. Who exactly was this little shop-girl who went in for a lesbian affair and liked watching videos about serial killers? She remembered from the reviews that the two films Gemma had chosen to watch were particularly nasty.
But Alice had caught that wink and she suddenly stood up and loomed over Agatha. 'I don't want to hurry you off,' she said, 'but I've got a lot to do.'
'Of course.' Agatha got to her feet as well. 'See you Saturday.'
Agatha was glad to get out of there. On reflection, she decided that there was something quite frightening about Alice and Gemma.
Agatha and James were just having a cup of coffee and sharing notes when there was a ring at the doorbell. James went to open the door and found Bill Wong standing there. He came in and looked thoughtfully about him.
'What are you two up to?' he demanded. 'And don't tell me it's because you've decided to shack up together. You could have done that in Carsely.'
'Sit down, Bill,' said Agatha. 'We were going to phone you. I told you Deborah Camden had asked me to investigate the case on behalf of Sir Charles. Wait till you hear what we found out.'
He listened, his face growing grim as they reeled off the new evidence they had found: Kelvin had had a row with Jessica; Deborah had been seen driving out of Dembley on the Saturday afternoon in the direction of the Barfield estate; Peter and Terry never usually worked on Saturday afternoons and yet had opted to work the Saturday of the murder; and Jeffrey Benson appeared to be an IRA sympathizer.
'And how long were you going to sit on this evidence if I hadn't called round?' demanded Bill furiously. 'We'll need to pull Deborah and Kelvin in again. And what of this Irish business? There was a bomb went off in the High Street here two years ago and a child was killed. I thought I had heard Jeffrey's name before. Two Irishmen were reported to have been staying in his flat the night before the bombing. He denied the whole thing and we had no evidence to hold him. But this time he's really going to sweat.'
'We were going to phone you this evening,' said James. 'It's no use being angry with us, Bill, and telling us to keep out of it. You'd never have found all this out without our help. How did you find us?'
'Sir Charles told me where you were. He appeared to think that the hiring of you showed him to be innocent. I'd better get down to police headquarters right away, and you two are coming with me!'
Later that evening Jeffrey Benson was returning from the Grapes. As he turned the corner of the street where he lived, he saw two men standing and looking up at his block of flats. There was something familiar about them, about the grey suits and grey faces. He recognized one of them. It was the man who had questioned him after the bombing. The man from MI5. He walked quickly away and went to a phone box. He took a small notebook out of his pocket and found a number and dialled. When a voice answered, he said, 'Benson here, Dembley. They're waiting to question me again about that business two years ago.'
'Then do what you did two years ago and keep your mouth shut,' said the voice.
'But they'll keep me in for days and grill me,' said Jeffrey, his voice sounding weak and frightened and not at all like his usual robust tones.
'You know what to do.' The voice was cold. 'Keep your mouth shut or we'll shut it for you.'
'If that's all the help you are,' shouted Jeffrey, 'I've a good mind to tell them the lot and ask for protection.'
'Just remember, there's no protection from us,' said the voice.
Jeffrey walked out into a shifting world full of death and violence. For the first time in years, he thought of his mother. Like a lost child, he walked back to his street and approached the two men.
'Looking for me?' he said.
Deborah had all her clothes spread out on the bed when the police came for her. She had been trying to think what to wear on Saturday. She had studied society magazines, but all they showed were pictures of people at balls and parties. They did not show any pictures of people at a country-house dinner.
And when they started to question her about that Saturday, she was terrified that they might arrest her and that she might never get to Barfield House for dinner.
Bill Wong called on Agatha and James the following morning. He looked weary.
'We can't hold Deborah,' he said. 'She said she had started to drive out in the hope of stopping Jessica making a scene, but then had turned back to Dembley before she got to the estate. She's stuck to her story, although we questioned her over and over again. She said she turned back because she was frightened of Jessica, then she said she had lied to us because she was frightened of being accused of the murder.
'Kelvin has admitted to the row with Jessica. After intensive questioning it appears that he was so ashamed of his inability to lay her that he lied to us. Believe that if you want. Peter and Terry said they had volunteered for the extra work at the restaurant and changed shifts with two of the other waiters because no one was going out on that Saturday walk but Jessica. Now we get to Benson.
'He did house two Irishmen the night before the bombing. He swears blind he didn't know what they were going to do, that is if they did it. He's so terrified, he's told us all he knows and it's not much. We traced a phone number he gave us, but when we got there the four men who had been living in this house in Stratford had packed up and disappeared. They must have known he would sing. False names, rent paid cash, no contact with the neighbours. The usual dead end.'
'I suppose he's under protective custody,' said James.
'Not worth it. He's just one of those naive liberals who get sucked in. He'll never hear from them again, and more's the pity. But that's all MI5's pigeon. We're still working on the murder.'
'I suppose the walk on Saturday is off,' said Agatha.
