Freda, after another doubtful look at them, went out. They heard her mounting the stairs.
‘Nice woman,’ said John. ‘Do you know, for her sake, I hope there’s nothing of interest in those statements.’
They waited patiently. The room grew dark, and outside, it started to rain. Rain smeared the windowpanes and a gust of wind soughed down the street outside.
At last, Freda returned with a sheaf of bank statements. Her eyes were red with fresh weeping. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. It fair upset me going through her things.’
John separated the bank statements. ‘Here. You take this lot and I’ll look through these.’
They studied the statements. At first it appeared that Kylie’s wage, each week, was spent soon after it had been deposited in the bank. Then John gave an exclamation and passed a statement to Agatha. ‘Look at that. Fifteen thousand pounds deposited the week before her death!’
‘It may not be Barrington,’ said Agatha. ‘Maybe it was from Zak’s father to buy a trousseau or something.’
Freda came back in. ‘I’ll get you some tea now.’
‘There’s something here we should discuss first,’ said Agatha. ‘Fifteen thousand pounds was deposited in your daughter’s account the week before her death.’
‘That’s not possible. Let me see it!’
Agatha held out the relevant bank statement, which Freda snatched from her.
‘I don’t understand,’ Freda said piteously. ‘She was always broke. Always asking me for money. The bank must have made a mistake.’
Agatha took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry to have to tell you this, Freda, but your daughter, Kylie, was having an affair with her boss, Mr Barrington. We fear she might even have been blackmailing him.’
Freda’s face was mottled with red. ‘I won’t listen to this filth. I’ll show you. That money probably came from Terry Jensen.’ She walked to the phone and dialled a number. They heard her saying hello and then asking Terry whether he had given Kylie a present of fifteen thousand pounds. The answer was obviously in the negative, for she put the phone down, shaking her head in bewilderment. Then she swung round on Agatha, her eyes glittering with rage. ‘Get out of here and don’t come back!’
‘But, Freda –’
‘Don’t you Freda me. You’re nothing but an interfering old busybody. I should have listened to that Anstruther-Jones woman in your village. She stopped me after I’d called on you, saying I looked distressed and could she help. I told her why I had visited you and she said I was to be careful. That she had heard you hadn’t really solved any crimes at all. It was the police that did it every time. All you ever do is just ask silly questions or dig up dirt. Well, you’re not going to ruin my daughter’s good name. I’m finished with you.’
Agatha backed towards the door where John was already waiting, holding it open for her. She tried to protest. ‘Don’t you want to know who killed your daughter?’
‘OUT!’ shouted Freda.
And so they left. As they walked to the car, Agatha said in a small voice. ‘What now?’
‘We’ll see Barrington another time. Let’s try Mary Webster again.’
They drove to the Four Pools Estate, off the Cheltenham Road, past Evesham College where Kylie used to meet Arthur Barrington and turned right into the housing estate opposite Safeways supermarket. ‘Just there,’ said Agatha, pointing to a house at the end of a row. ‘Yes, that’s it.’
Agatha still felt shaken after the confrontation with Freda. While she had been investigating on Freda’s behalf, she had felt like a real detective. Now she felt diminished. She longed to go home and forget about the whole thing. John wasn’t much company, handsome though he was. There was something almost robotic about his good looks, surely too smooth and unmarked for a man of his age. James Lacey was handsome, but in a high-nosed, rangy sort of way, and Charles was chatty.
‘Nice woman,’ said John. ‘Do you know, for her sake, I hope there’s nothing of interest in those statements.’
They waited patiently. The room grew dark, and outside, it started to rain. Rain smeared the windowpanes and a gust of wind soughed down the street outside.
At last, Freda returned with a sheaf of bank statements. Her eyes were red with fresh weeping. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. It fair upset me going through her things.’
John separated the bank statements. ‘Here. You take this lot and I’ll look through these.’
They studied the statements. At first it appeared that Kylie’s wage, each week, was spent soon after it had been deposited in the bank. Then John gave an exclamation and passed a statement to Agatha. ‘Look at that. Fifteen thousand pounds deposited the week before her death!’
‘It may not be Barrington,’ said Agatha. ‘Maybe it was from Zak’s father to buy a trousseau or something.’
Freda came back in. ‘I’ll get you some tea now.’
‘There’s something here we should discuss first,’ said Agatha. ‘Fifteen thousand pounds was deposited in your daughter’s account the week before her death.’
‘That’s not possible. Let me see it!’
Agatha held out the relevant bank statement, which Freda snatched from her.
‘I don’t understand,’ Freda said piteously. ‘She was always broke. Always asking me for money. The bank must have made a mistake.’
Agatha took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry to have to tell you this, Freda, but your daughter, Kylie, was having an affair with her boss, Mr Barrington. We fear she might even have been blackmailing him.’
Freda’s face was mottled with red. ‘I won’t listen to this filth. I’ll show you. That money probably came from Terry Jensen.’ She walked to the phone and dialled a number. They heard her saying hello and then asking Terry whether he had given Kylie a present of fifteen thousand pounds. The answer was obviously in the negative, for she put the phone down, shaking her head in bewilderment. Then she swung round on Agatha, her eyes glittering with rage. ‘Get out of here and don’t come back!’
‘But, Freda –’
‘Don’t you Freda me. You’re nothing but an interfering old busybody. I should have listened to that Anstruther-Jones woman in your village. She stopped me after I’d called on you, saying I looked distressed and could she help. I told her why I had visited you and she said I was to be careful. That she had heard you hadn’t really solved any crimes at all. It was the police that did it every time. All you ever do is just ask silly questions or dig up dirt. Well, you’re not going to ruin my daughter’s good name. I’m finished with you.’
Agatha backed towards the door where John was already waiting, holding it open for her. She tried to protest. ‘Don’t you want to know who killed your daughter?’
‘OUT!’ shouted Freda.
And so they left. As they walked to the car, Agatha said in a small voice. ‘What now?’
‘We’ll see Barrington another time. Let’s try Mary Webster again.’
They drove to the Four Pools Estate, off the Cheltenham Road, past Evesham College where Kylie used to meet Arthur Barrington and turned right into the housing estate opposite Safeways supermarket. ‘Just there,’ said Agatha, pointing to a house at the end of a row. ‘Yes, that’s it.’
Agatha still felt shaken after the confrontation with Freda. While she had been investigating on Freda’s behalf, she had felt like a real detective. Now she felt diminished. She longed to go home and forget about the whole thing. John wasn’t much company, handsome though he was. There was something almost robotic about his good looks, surely too smooth and unmarked for a man of his age. James Lacey was handsome, but in a high-nosed, rangy sort of way, and Charles was chatty.
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