‘I said do you want some more coffee?’
Judy looked blankly at her stepmother. ‘No thank you.’
‘Trevor?’
No reply. Barbara poured a second cup for herself, unrolled the latest edition of Country Life, then pushed it aside in disgust. Much more of that and she’d be into hairy stockings and lace-up walking drawers. No one read the thing anyway. It went straight into the waiting room. She decided to cancel it and place an order for something a bit more spicy. That’d gee up the golden oldies’ blood pressure. She nibbled a buttered soldier and glanced slyly at her husband’s tie. What with that and Judy looking like something out of a McDonald’s ad the day was off to a flying start. And there were only (eyes down to the diamond-studded wristwatch) six hours to go to nookie time. The doorbell rang.
‘Who the hell is that at this hour of the morning?’
‘I’ll go.’ Barbara sauntered out to return with Chief Inspector Barnaby.
‘What time of day do you call this?’ asked the doctor angrily.
‘Miss Lessiter?’
‘Yes?’ Judy scrambled to her feet like a schoolgirl. ‘What is it?’
‘Just one or two questions about yesterday afternoon if you would? Your whereabouts -’
‘We had someone here last night asking about all that,’ snapped Lessiter.
‘That’s all right,’ said Judy, ‘I don’t mind going through it again. I was here all the time. I had the afternoon off. And my friend Michael . . . Michael Lacey was here too. He was doing some preliminary sketches for a painting he’s hoping to start soon.’
‘Could you tell me when this was arranged?’
‘Well I rang him up . . .’ Barbara Lessiter covered a smile with her hand, but carelessly. ‘Although actually the first thing he said was “Oh - I was just going to ring you”.’ She stared at the two people sitting at the table. She looked defiant and vulnerable. ‘Why is it so important?’
‘Someone has stated that they saw Mr Lacey enter the Rainbird house around four p.m.’
‘No!’ Judy cried out in horror. ‘It isn’t true. It can’t be. He was with me. Why is everyone always picking on him? Trying to get him into trouble.’
This time Barbara did not even try to conceal her smile. Judy wheeled round and pointed at her stepmother. ‘It’s her you want to talk to! Why don’t you ask her a few questions?’
‘Me?’ Amused and amazed.
‘Ask her where her fur coat is. And why she’s trying to find five thousand pounds. Ask her why she’s being blackmailed!’
With a shout of rage Barbara Lessiter leapt up and flung her coffee in her stepdaughter’s face. Judy screamed, ‘My dress . . . my dress!’ Doctor Lessiter seized his wife, holding her arms by her sides. Judy ran from the room. Her father hurried after her. Barbara, suddenly released, flopped into the nearest chair. There was a long silence.
‘Well, Mrs Lessiter?’ asked Barnaby. ‘Why are you being blackmailed?’
‘It’s absolute nonsense. I don’t know where the silly cow even got such an idea.’
‘Perhaps I should tell you that we have removed a good many files, copies of letters and documents, from the dead woman’s house.’ This time the silence was even longer. ‘Would you prefer to come to the station -’
‘Christ, no. Hang on . . .’ She crossed to a Welsh dresser, shook out a cigarette with shaky fingers and lit up. ‘I had a letter from her about a week ago.’
‘Signed?’
‘That’s right. Your friend Iris Rainbird. On her horrible lilac writing paper that stinks of dead flowers. It just said that they knew what was going on and if I didn’t want my husband to hear all the juicy details it’d cost me five thousand quid. She’d give me a week to raise it then be in touch again.’
‘And what was going on?’
‘Me and David Whiteley.’
‘I see.’ Barnaby’s mind back-tracked. She could have been the woman in the woods (no checkable alibi). And David Whiteley the man (Ditto.) At the time Miss Simpson was killed she was vaguely driving round. And she could, just about, have squeezed through the larder window. He hesitated and was wondering how most delicately to phrase his next question when she answered it for him.
‘We used to use his car. The seats let down. He’d tell me where he was working. I’d drive there. Hide my car behind a hedge or some trees and we’d climb into the estate for half an hour.’
One up for Sergeant Troy, thought Barnaby. ‘And you think that one of the Rainbirds must have seen you?’