Maybe John Armitage had paid for a face-lift. As he rang the bell, she studied around his ears for any tell-tale signs until he turned and looked at her curiously with that green gaze of his that gave so little away.
The door opened. A tired, flustered woman faced them. From behind her came the wail of a baby. ‘We’re from television,’ said Agatha. ‘Is Mary Webster at home?’
The woman turned and called, ‘Mary!’ in a high shrill voice. Then, facing them again, she said, ‘I’m ever so sorry, I can’t ask you in. Mary’ll need to take you somewhere.’
She stood aside as Mary appeared, pulling on a raincoat. ‘Still wet, is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s stopped now,’ said John.
‘Take them somewhere for a coffee,’ pleaded her mother. ‘Bunty needs her feed.’ Another angry wail from somewhere inside the house bore out what she said.
‘’S awful,’ grumbled Mary over her shoulder as she preceded them down the short garden path. ‘Mum’s too old to have more babies, but she would go and do it.’
‘There’s a Little Chef round the corner,’ said Agatha to John. ‘Let’s take her there.’
Mary was a very small girl wearing very high heels. She had perky features and an upturned nose. She reminded John of illustrations of Piglet in Winnie the Pooh . Her eyes were small and close together and those eyes surveyed them curiously as some five minutes later they sat over cups of coffee in the Little Chef.
Feeling weary, Agatha introduced John and then asked the same questions about the amusements of the youth of Evesham before turning to Kylie’s murder. ‘What we really want to know at the moment,’ said Agatha, ‘is whether you think Kylie was taking drugs or not.’
‘I know she did, just the once, like.’
‘Tell us about it.’
She looked suddenly alarmed. ‘This won’t go out on the telly, will it? My ma would kill me.’
‘No, I promise you,’ said Agatha. ‘Look, no tape recorder, no camera.’
‘I went into the Ladies at Barrington’s one day and Kylie was smoking. I said, “That cigarette smells funny.” She giggled and said it was grass and would I like a puff. So we shared the joint and we was laughing all over the place. She made me promise not to tell anyone.’
‘When was this?’ asked John.
‘Oh, would be last year.’
‘Was she with Zak then?’
‘No, she was engaged to Harry – Harry McCoy.’
‘Did she ever tell you where she got the joint from?’
Mary shook her head. ‘All I knew is that she and Harry had been clubbing in Birmingham. Probably bought some there.’
‘What about heroin?’ asked Agatha.
‘Naw. Never a sign of the stuff. What’ll I have to wear for the telly?’
‘We’ll be filming most of it in the disco. So whatever clothes you normally wear to that.’
‘You going to give us a dress allowance?’
‘I don’t even get one myself.’
‘I can see that,’ said Mary with all the brutality of the young to the middle-aged and surveying Agatha’s plain skirt, blouse and jacket. ‘You should get yourself something more trendy. Make you look younger.’
‘I am not in front of the cameras. I merely do the research.’
‘But maybe if you did something with your appearance and got a face-lift, you could make it big-time,’ went on Mary with a patronizing kindness. ‘Look at Joan Collins.’
‘Look at her yourself,’ snarled Agatha. ‘Now let’s get on with this interview.’
Mary shrugged. ‘You don’t seem much interested in me. Only Kylie. And she’s dead.’
John took over and returned to questioning Mary about her life while Agatha stifled a yawn and gazed out of the window at the passing traffic.
At last, to Agatha’s relief John smiled at Mary and said, ‘That will do splendidly for the moment. Coming, Pippa?’
Agatha hurriedly remembered that was supposed to be her name. ‘You’d best run me home,’ Mary was saying.
They dropped her off.
‘Back to the village,’ said John, ‘and
The door opened. A tired, flustered woman faced them. From behind her came the wail of a baby. ‘We’re from television,’ said Agatha. ‘Is Mary Webster at home?’
The woman turned and called, ‘Mary!’ in a high shrill voice. Then, facing them again, she said, ‘I’m ever so sorry, I can’t ask you in. Mary’ll need to take you somewhere.’
She stood aside as Mary appeared, pulling on a raincoat. ‘Still wet, is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s stopped now,’ said John.
‘Take them somewhere for a coffee,’ pleaded her mother. ‘Bunty needs her feed.’ Another angry wail from somewhere inside the house bore out what she said.
‘’S awful,’ grumbled Mary over her shoulder as she preceded them down the short garden path. ‘Mum’s too old to have more babies, but she would go and do it.’
‘There’s a Little Chef round the corner,’ said Agatha to John. ‘Let’s take her there.’
Mary was a very small girl wearing very high heels. She had perky features and an upturned nose. She reminded John of illustrations of Piglet in Winnie the Pooh . Her eyes were small and close together and those eyes surveyed them curiously as some five minutes later they sat over cups of coffee in the Little Chef.
Feeling weary, Agatha introduced John and then asked the same questions about the amusements of the youth of Evesham before turning to Kylie’s murder. ‘What we really want to know at the moment,’ said Agatha, ‘is whether you think Kylie was taking drugs or not.’
‘I know she did, just the once, like.’
‘Tell us about it.’
She looked suddenly alarmed. ‘This won’t go out on the telly, will it? My ma would kill me.’
‘No, I promise you,’ said Agatha. ‘Look, no tape recorder, no camera.’
‘I went into the Ladies at Barrington’s one day and Kylie was smoking. I said, “That cigarette smells funny.” She giggled and said it was grass and would I like a puff. So we shared the joint and we was laughing all over the place. She made me promise not to tell anyone.’
‘When was this?’ asked John.
‘Oh, would be last year.’
‘Was she with Zak then?’
‘No, she was engaged to Harry – Harry McCoy.’
‘Did she ever tell you where she got the joint from?’
Mary shook her head. ‘All I knew is that she and Harry had been clubbing in Birmingham. Probably bought some there.’
‘What about heroin?’ asked Agatha.
‘Naw. Never a sign of the stuff. What’ll I have to wear for the telly?’
‘We’ll be filming most of it in the disco. So whatever clothes you normally wear to that.’
‘You going to give us a dress allowance?’
‘I don’t even get one myself.’
‘I can see that,’ said Mary with all the brutality of the young to the middle-aged and surveying Agatha’s plain skirt, blouse and jacket. ‘You should get yourself something more trendy. Make you look younger.’
‘I am not in front of the cameras. I merely do the research.’
‘But maybe if you did something with your appearance and got a face-lift, you could make it big-time,’ went on Mary with a patronizing kindness. ‘Look at Joan Collins.’
‘Look at her yourself,’ snarled Agatha. ‘Now let’s get on with this interview.’
Mary shrugged. ‘You don’t seem much interested in me. Only Kylie. And she’s dead.’
John took over and returned to questioning Mary about her life while Agatha stifled a yawn and gazed out of the window at the passing traffic.
At last, to Agatha’s relief John smiled at Mary and said, ‘That will do splendidly for the moment. Coming, Pippa?’
Agatha hurriedly remembered that was supposed to be her name. ‘You’d best run me home,’ Mary was saying.
They dropped her off.
‘Back to the village,’ said John, ‘and
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