The Killings at Badger's Drift(4)

Barnaby, who had thought the elderly man might have been Terry, nodded. ‘That’s right. We talked on Friday.’

‘And you are . . . ?’ He was turning back the pages of a log book.

‘I’d rather not give my name,’ said Barnaby truthfully.

The phone rang again, and almost simultaneously a middle-aged woman and a young girl came out of a room nearby. The couple shook hands. Barnaby turned to the woman who murmured ‘Good evening’ and left. The girl waited expectantly. The man at the desk smiled and made a sign bringing her and Barnaby together.

She was slim and pretty, with a fall of shiny, fair hair. She had on a neat checked dress and a necklace of little silver beads. Barnaby compared her to his own daughter who, on her last visit home, had been wearing shredded jeans, an old leather breastplate and her hair in a sequinned crest.

‘We can talk in here.’ The girl led him back into the room. There was a comfortable armchair, a banquette against the wall and a pine table with a jar of marguerites. Barnaby took the banquette. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘No thank you.’ He had entered the building with no plan, prepared to play it as it came. For all he knew Terry might have been a tough old pro like himself. Blessing his good fortune, he smiled gravely at her and produced his warrant card.

‘Oh! But we’re . . . I can’t . . . what do you want?’

‘I understand you were the person who spoke to Emily Simpson last Friday evening?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She sounded a bit firmer this time. ‘But we never discuss clients with anyone. Our service is completely confidential.’

‘I appreciate that of course,’ replied Barnaby, ‘but in the case of a death -’

‘A death! How dreadful . . . I’d no idea she was suicidal. I’ve only been a volunteer for a few weeks . . . I’m still training, you see . . .’ The words tumbled out. ‘If only I’d known . . . but the other two Sams were interviewing and on the other line and I thought I could handle it . . . Miss Simpson I mean -’

‘Hold on, hold on.’ She looked younger by the minute and on the verge of tears. ‘As far as we know there’s no question of suicide. But there may be suspicious circumstances.’

‘Oh? What sort of circumstances?’

‘So I would like you to tell me, if you would, what you remember of the call.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do that. I’d have to check -’

‘I’ve spoken to your director Mr Wainwright and I can assure you that in this case the rules can be waived.’ He gave her a fatherly smile.

‘Well . . . I don’t know . . .’

‘You wouldn’t wish to obstruct a police inquiry?’ A hint of sternness entered the smile.

‘Of course not.’ She glanced at the slightly open door. Barnaby sat patiently, guessing that in a moment she would recall the helpful gesture with which the Samaritan at the desk had introduced them. Her face cleared. She said, ‘I do remember Miss Simpson’s call. We only had about three that evening . . . but not word for word.’

‘That’s all right. As much as you can. Take your time.’

‘Well, she said something like “I’ve got to talk to someone. I don’t know what to do.” Of course an awful lot of people start off like that . . . then I asked her if she’d like to give her name because you don’t have to and some clients would rather not, but she did. And I encouraged her, you know . . . and waited.’ She added with rather touching self-importance, ‘A lot of our work is just sitting and waiting.’

‘I understand.’

‘Then she said, “I’ve seen something. I feel I’ve got to tell someone about it.”’

Barnaby felt his concentration tighten. ‘And did she say what it was?’

Terry Bazely shook her head. ‘She did say it was unbelievable.’

Barnaby thought that didn’t signify. Elderly spinsters of both sexes were inclined to think the mildest spot of chicanery unbelievable if letters to the local press were anything to go by. They nearly always started: ‘I was absolutely amazed to see/hear/observe/experience . . .’

‘But then someone came.’

‘What?’ He leaned forward.

‘She said she had to go - there was a knock at the door and I said we’d be here all night if she wanted to ring back, but she didn’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I checked in the book when I arrived.’

‘And she hung up before she answered the door?’

‘Yes.’

‘She didn’t say which door?’

‘No.’