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time.’
    ‘He was genuinely in love with her, was he?’
    Mrs Lister nodded several times. ‘He was like his father. Fell with a bang. Very like his father, was Johnny.’
    ‘Did you approve of Betty Turner?’
    ‘I didn’t disapprove,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have picked her, she’s a sad little trollop. But I thought she was a healthier influence than Dicky. If she’d loved Johnny too.’
    ‘She didn’t love him?’ Gently said.
    ‘No,’ said Mrs Lister, ‘she didn’t. It was just a crush on her side.’
    Setters shifted in his chair. ‘They were engaged, weren’t they?’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They were engaged. But it wasn’t serious with Betty. If you want my frank opinion they wouldn’t have lasted for much longer. She was very pettish just lately. Johnny was much concerned, poor child.’
    ‘Was Elton the trouble?’ Gently asked.
    ‘He may have been,’ said Mrs Lister. ‘I know she used to be fond of Elton and sometimes she teased Johnny about him. I’m not sure. She was pettish and listless. She’d just grown tired of Johnny, I think.’
    Gently sat silent for some moments. Mrs Lister was biting her lip. The wing of the armchair shaded her face, her eyes were hooded but staring fixedly. Now the sun had gone in. The light in the room was greyer.
    ‘I’ve seen your statement,’ Gently said, ‘about what happened last Tuesday. But I’d like you to go through it again, just in case there’s anything you forgot.’
    She shuddered. ‘I’ve told you everything,’ she said.
    ‘I’d be grateful,’ he said, ‘if you’d face it.’
    She nodded weakly. ‘I know I must. You’re very kind. I’ll try.’
    ‘First,’ he said, ‘did it differ in any way from your usual Tuesday programme?’
    She thought a little. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember anything different.’
    ‘You got your youngsters up, did you, got the breakfast and so forth?’
    ‘Mrs Jillings got the breakfast,’ she said. ‘Mrs Jillings is my daily.’
    ‘Then did you all have breakfast together?’
    She shook her head. ‘Johnny had his first. He had to be at the site at eight. He was working on the Ford Road project.’
    ‘Did Johnny seem much as usual?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘What I saw of him. Except perhaps he was a little short with me. But I’d been used to that, lately. He rang Betty.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘I don’t know. I didn’t listen,’ she said. ‘I thought he was arranging about the evening, you know, the jazz thing in Castlebridge. He used to go there every Tuesday.’
    ‘Did he usually ring her about it?’
    ‘I don’t remember,’ she said. ‘He used to ring Betty a lot.’
    ‘So then you saw him off, did you?’
    ‘I saw him get his bike out,’ she said. ‘I was dressing Jean in the kiddies’ bedroom. I gave him a wave but he didn’t see me. Then, well, it was much as always. I drove the kiddies to school. Mrs Jillings did the ironing while I prepared the things for lunch. Then I drove down to town, did some shopping, went to Leonard’s for coffee. It can’t be of importance. Only to me, that is.’
    ‘Johnny came home to lunch, did he?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘at about twenty to one.’
    ‘Was that his usual time for lunch?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘They leave off at twelve-thirty.’
    ‘Was there anything you noticed at lunch?’
    ‘He was quiet,’ she said. ‘He had nothing to say. And usually he read the lunchtime paper. I thought he was brooding about Betty. I tried to talk to him about it. I could have helped him, I know. I’d give anything now.’ She stopped. ‘He snapped at me,’ she said.
    ‘What made you think he was brooding over Betty?’
    She paused. ‘Woman’s intuition,’ she said. ‘But no, that’s not quite true, really. I’d seen him worrying over her before. I watched him the more because he’d gone so far from me. I sometimes knew what he was thinking. Poor Johnny. Poor Johnny. But all