Mandarin.
Half an hour later, Cyril decided it was time to let Lin out. He would caress her and apologize as he had done so many times before.
He had just risen to his feet when he heard the doorbell ring. The door had thick stained-glass panels and all he could see was a shadowy figure through them.
He opened the door on the chain. He recognized Lin’s brother, Chang.
“I’ve come to see my sister,” said Chang politely.
“What a pity. She’s gone out.”
“Let me in.”
“It’s not convenient.”
“Very well. I will return another time.”
Cyril closed the door with a sigh of relief.
He was just walking away when he heard a loud crack. He swung round in alarm. Chang stood there, the crow bar he had used to lever the door open in one hand. Crowding behind him came six Chinese men.
“Lin!” called Chang.
She screamed something in Mandarin. While his Chinese followers held Cyril, Chang ran up to the bedroom and cracked the door open.
Lin flung herself into his arms. Then she stood back and solemnly lifted her T-shirt, showing black, blue and yellow bruises.
Chang ordered her to wait in the bedroom and went downstairs. On his orders, the Chinese dragged Cyril, crying and howling, into the sitting room.
“You,” said Chang in English, “are going to get a taste of what you did to my sister.”
Three weekends later, Agatha decided to brave the roundabouts of Swindon on her own and offer Dawn the services of a lawyer. After about five wrong turns, she eventually found the block of flats.
But there was no reply when she knocked at the door. A neighbour came out.
“You looking for Dawn?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“She’s gone back to her husband.”
“What!”
“You heard me.”
Agatha still had Harry’s
The door was opened by Dawn, a Dawn in expensive clothes and with her face heavily made up.
“How could you go back?” asked Agatha. “I came down to offer you the services of a lawyer. He’ll just hurt you again.”
“He won’t be hurting anyone. He’s just out of the hospital. Come in and see for yourself.”
Wondering, Agatha followed her into the sitting room. Cyril was sitting in a wheelchair by the window, his head bandaged and both legs and arms in plaster.
“What happened?” asked Agatha as Cyril stared at her dully.
“Come through to the kitchen and I’ll tell you.”
In the kitchen, Dawn poured herself a stiff measure of Southern Comfort. “Not for me,” said Agatha, waving away the offered bottle. “I’m driving.”
So Dawn told her between sips of Southern Comfort what had happened to Cyril. “I’ve got a nurse to look after him,” she said, “and a personal therapist comes every day.”
“Didn’t he report them to the police?”
“The brother, Chang, said if he did they would kill him next time.”
“So how did you get back with him?”
“He phoned me from the hospital. He said he should never have left me.”
“Dawn, when he’s all mended up, he might start beating you again.”
She grinned. “I made friends with Lin and she told me to phone her if he ever laid a finger on me again. Oh, it’s great to have all this money.”
Agatha returned home to find Charles waiting for her. “When did you get here?” she asked.
“Early this morning.” Charles still had a set of keys to Agatha’s cottage. “I picked up your mail and put it on the kitchen table. Then I cruised around and had some lunch in Moreton.”
“So what brings you?”
“Just felt restless. Also, I was wondering about the murder of Geraldine Jankers.”
“Her husband did it.”
“Nothing in the papers.”
“The police are keeping quiet about it. He committed suicide.”
“So were you the one that found out?”
Agatha told him about that confession and how Harry had taped it.
“But how did you suddenly decide to accuse him of the murder?”
Agatha said, “I could have been wrong. But it was when he admitted that he thought Geraldine had money, and he seemed so viciously furious with her, that it all seemed to click into place. It was bright of Harry. Once I got a confession out of Fred and he said I could never prove it, that’s when Harry told me he had taped the whole thing. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. The university term will be starting soon.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Cambridge. I had hoped he would go to Oxford and then at least I could have dropped in to see him.”
“He can always work for you in the holidays. How’s James?”
“Gone off abroad.”
“Without a fond goodbye?”
“He tried. But I don’t want to go back through all that misery again.”
Charles stretched and yawned. “Don’t know why I’m so tired. I’m off to Cheltenham to do some shopping. Like to come?”
“I’d better get into the office.”
“Then I’ll see you this evening. We’ll go out for dinner. Pick you up at eight.”
When he had left, Agatha went through to the kitchen and flipped through the post which had arrived that morning. She found herself staring down at a letter with a Turkish stamp.
She ripped it open. It was from James.
“Dear Agatha,” she read. “I am sorry I could not get a chance to speak to you before I left. I wanted to ask you to come with me. I thought we might have fun touring the southern Turkish holiday resorts together. But I am enclosing my itinerary and the dates when I will be in each place in the hope that you might like to fly out and join me. Love, James.”
Agatha sat down slowly. She read the letter over and over again. She looked at the attached itinerary. The longing to get the next plane out was fierce. This must be what a drug addict feels, she thought sadly, when she’s craving her next fix.
Then she carried the letter through to the sitting room and put it in the fireplace and struck a match. She sat back on her heels and watched the letter burn.
One tear rolled down her cheek.
She felt she was attending the cremation of a dearly loved friend.
* * *
James Lacey sat on the balcony of his hotel in Izmir. He could see the hotel entrance below. Taxis came and went. People got out with luggage. He found himself hoping against hope that a familiar stocky figure would get out of one of those cabs.
He was due to move on the next day. Would she come? But he felt he no longer knew Agatha.
He had always been self-sufficient, enjoying his own company. But for the first time in his life, as another taxi drew up and a family got out, he felt lonely.
Agatha settled into the daily grind of work at the detective agency. There were no dramatic cases; most were from people hoping for a divorce and looking for proof of adultery. But the agency was paying its way at
