Worse than Death (Anna Southwood Mysteries) Read Online Free

tell me — apart from the statement to the police, all the evidence was circumstantial. Mrs Channing hadn’t reported the child missing; she’d lied to the school and to Beth’s father; and someone had seen her loading a large canvas bag into the boot of her car the day after Beth had last been sighted. Without her so-called confession, none of it would have been enough to charge her, without a body.
    *
    “Graham,” I said the next morning, when he finally came into the office. “We’ve got a real case.”
    He looked uneasy and moved over to stroke Toby in his pool of sunlight.
    “Well?” I said. “Aren’t you even going to pretend to be interested?”
    “Anna,” he said, “I’ve… well actually I’ve got an audition this afternoon…”
    “You arsehole,” I said in a calm voice. “I’ve been paying you double Equity rates for the last six months to not be an actor, and now that I need you…”
    “It’s a really good part,” he said, turning on the boyish charm. “I’ll still be able to help in the hours around rehearsals and stuff…” He got enthusiastic. “It’s Mitch,” he said, “in Streetcar …”
    “Go,” I said. “Never darken these doors again. Anyway, you won’t get it — that part calls for a gentleman.”
    “Don’t be like that,” he said. “It’s a one-off. I still consider myself to be working here.”
    I looked at him thoughtfully. It was true that he’d lost his enthusiasm for the agency lately. None of the exciting, adventurous cases we’d hoped for had come our way. But I thought Lorna was right — it was time we stopped farting about, and I was pleased to find that I was serious about making the agency work. Even if Graham turned out to be dead wood, I still liked the idea of having a bloke around, at least nominally.
    I made us black coffees and persuaded him to at least talk to me about what Lorna had said.
    “But there’s nothing much we can really do,” Graham said. “No one has actually hired us — and I don’t think Paul Whitehouse will be too happy if we butt in on his client. Besides, from what you say, Leonie Channing doesn’t seem to want anyone to find out anything. She’s probably guilty.”
    “We can root about a bit,” I said. “Apparently Paul’s really worried about it. He thinks she’s innocent. But our hands aren’t tied the way his are, with professional ethics towards the client and stuff. Anyway,” I waved towards the in-tray full of bills and invitations to art openings and PR letters from investigatory technology firms, “we haven’t got anything better to do.”
    “There’s the Colonel…” he began and I quelled him with a look. “Oh, all right. But don’t blame me if Paul gets really pissed off.”
    “He needn’t know,” I said. “Not till we hand him the guilty party on a plate.” I rather fancied myself bursting into a crowded courtroom at the dramatic moment, and handing over a name scribbled on a scrap of paper to a background of hushed silence. I watched too many Perry Mason re-runs as a kid.
    “Well, where do we start then, Miss Marple?” he said, looking resigned, but with a bit more interest in his voice. “We obviously can’t talk to her .”
    “The neighbourhood,” I said. “According to Lorna, Mrs Channing and Beth had massive fights and the police were called to some of them. The neighbours might be happy to talk.”
    I argued down his grumbling about not being properly authorised and sent him out into the sunshine, heading for the outer west. I sat at my desk and typed up the notes of everything Lorna had said, and what I remembered from the paper. There was real pleasure in getting out a fresh pink manila folder and carefully labelling it ‘Channing’. The cryptic crossword only took me an hour. Then I sat twiddling my thumbs and wondering what to do next.
    *
    When I started the agency it was in some sort of belated backlash at the revelations about my husband’s dealings. I developed a