Agatha’s mobile phone rang. It was Patrick. “You’d better get back here fast, Agatha. Harry’s found something important.”
“We’ve got to go,” said Agatha. She turned in the doorway. “Is your name Burt Haviland? I mean, is that really your name?”
He turned red. “I changed it a few years ago.”
“From what?”
“Bert Smellie. I got sick of people making jokes about my name and my girlfriend at the time picked a new name for me out of a romance she was reading.”
Outside, Agatha said, “We’ve got to get back to the office, fast. Harry’s found something.”
“You mean the one you told me was a troglodyte with studs?”
“Yes, but he’s bright.”
Agatha burst into her office with Charles at her heels. “What is it?” she demanded. “What have you found?”
Harry went over to the computer. “I’ll show you. I was down at the cyber cafe to send an email and this schoolboy was staring at something on one of the screens. I glanced over his shoulder and this is what I saw.”
He clicked on to the Internet and typed in “hotsugarbabes. com.” A picture flashed up on the screen and Agatha bit back an exclamation. There was a photo of Jessica, Trixie and Fairy in their school uniforms. “Now, you want to see more, you click here and enter your credit card number. What’s yours?”
Agatha took out her card case and read him out her Visa number. Another picture came up.
It showed a film of Fairy, Trixie and Jessica lounging on a bed. They were all wearing lacy teddies and fishnet stockings. They giggled and pouted at the camera. Occasionally they kissed one another and fondled one another’s breasts. “You want me to go on?” asked Harry.
“No, that’s enough for now. Does it get worse?”
“Not really. There’s a lot of them in school uniform—you know, blouses open to the waist and stocking tops.”
“Goodbye, age of innocence,” said Charles.
“I don’t think any of them had the expertise to set up a Web site,” said Harry.
Agatha remembered the expensive equipment in Burt Haviland’s living room. “We’d better call the police on this one,” she said. “I’ll phone Bill.”
Bill said he would be around right away. Agatha turned to Harry. “How does this work?”
“There are men who like looking a pictures of sexy schoolgirls. They pay up. It’s usually safe enough for the girls because they never need to be in contact with their clients. Maybe one of them recognized Jessica at the roadside and got carried away.”
“But it wasn’t a sex crime,” Charles pointed out.
The door opened and Bill Wong came in. “I hope you’re not wasting police time. What have you got?”
Agatha silently pointed to the computer.
Harry flicked through the images for Bill. “Stop there!” said Bill suddenly. Agatha looked over Harry’s shoulder. The three girls were in bikinis, chasing one another around a garden. Jessica seemed to be protesting and the other two pulled her hair and then dragged her to the ground.
“How did you get on to this?” asked Bill.
How Agatha would have loved to take the credit. “Harry,” she said. ‘Tell Bill how you discovered this.”
Harry did while Bill listened intently. Then Agatha said, “Burt Haviland has a lot of expensive equipment in his home. His real name’s not Burt Haviland. It’s Bert Smellie.”
“We’ll run that name through the computer. I’d better get a search warrant for his flat.”
“Bill, remember we found this out for you and let us know how you get on.”
“I’ll try to get round tonight. You, Harry, come with me. I’ll need to take a statement from you.”
Bill and Harry left, and shortly afterwards Phil and Patrick came in. They told them about the computer video.
“Well,” said Phil, “I was wondering why a nice girl like Jessica could go and get herself murdered in such a horrible way. Now we know. Could have been anyone.”
“We’ll get back out there,” said Patrick. “We’ll see Trixie and Fairy and tell them they’ve been found out. If the police have pulled them in, we’ll try the parents.”
When they’d gone, Charles said, “I’m going off for the afternoon, Agatha. Got things to do at home. See you later.”
Agatha slumped down on the sofa. She felt tired and jaded. “Mrs. Freedman,” she said. “You don’t wear make-up? Does your husband ever ask you to?”
“No, m’dear. Doesn’t notice much.”
“Bill noticed when I wasn’t wearing make-up.”
“Could be a way of him saying you haven’t been your usual sparky self lately. Have you eaten anything?”
“Haven’t had time.”
“Go out and get something. I’ll look after things here.”
“You’re a treasure.”
Agatha went out and round to a cafe and ordered sausage and chips, which she doused liberally with ketchup. She wished she could shake off the heavy feeling of nothingness that was beginning to overtake her.
She did not realize that the root of the problem was that she was obsessive when it came to men. Agatha was addicted to falling in love. While she was obsessing about some man, she could dream. But now, with no obsession, when she lay down to sleep at night there seemed to be a black hole left in her head, around the edges of which swirled nagging, petty little worries.
Charles was sitting at his desk going through the farm accounts when his manservant, Gustav, announced, “Chap called Freddy Champion to see you.”
Charles’s face lit up. “Freddy! Haven’t seen him in ages. Show him in.”
A tall, lean, bronzed man with a shock of white hair and dark brown eyes came into the room.
“Out of Africa?” asked Charles.
“Thrown out of Zimbabwe.”
“What will you do now?”
“Nigeria’s offering us farmers land. Might try that.”
“You’re a devil for punishment.” They talked of old friends and old times and then Charles talked about Agatha and the murders.
“What an extraordinary woman she seems to be. I’d like to meet her.”
“If you’re not doing anything this evening, I’ll take you over. Where’s the missus?”
“Gone to South Africa for a break.”
Agatha tried to work in her office at home that evening, writing down everything she knew about the Smedley case. The evening was cold and damp and she wished she’d never gone to the expense of buying an air conditioner. She switched off the computer. She had changed into an old pair of trousers and a sweater. No need to dress up for Bill and Charles.
She fed the cats but was reluctant to prepare anything for herself. Perhaps she and Charles could go to the pub after Bill had left.
The doorbell rang. When Agatha answered it, she found not only Charles standing there but a tall, handsome man. Charles introduced Freddy. Agatha was suddenly acutely aware of her old sweater and trousers.
Any minute now, thought Charles cynically, Agatha’s going to say she’s nipping up to the bathroom and she’s going to come down with her face freshly made up. And that’s exactly what Agatha did.
Agatha began to ask Freddy about his life in Zimbabwe. Charles, watching her animated face and sparkling eyes, suppressed a groan. He was just about to drop some remark about Freddy’s wife when the doorbell rang announcing Bill’s arrival.
“Well?” demanded Agatha eagerly.
Bill sat down at the kitchen table. He looked enquiringly at Freddy and Agatha quickly introduced him.
“We ran the name Bert, or Albert, Smellie through the police computer. I’m amazed he gave you his real name. How did you get on to that?”
“Think of it,” said Agatha. “Burt Haviland is like one of those names in romance books.”
