The traffic was snarled up along Wilmslow Road. The delay gave me plenty of opportunity to worry. Goulden must have got Agnes’ address from the phone book, or maybe it was in Lily’s notes at Homelea. Presumably he had heard from the police. I wished I’d been able to talk to DS Wignall before I’d set out. Had they actually interviewed Goulden yet? Why did he want to talk to Agnes and me? More threats?
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. It was freezing. The heater in the car worked but gave out an ominous stench of burning rubber that caught at the back of my throat. I turned it off. Gazed out at the people walking by: clusters of students in a range of clothing styles – grunge, Joe Bloggs, mod, high street – making their way back from the universities; a large party of women and children in saris and shalwar-kameez, the vivid-coloured, silky material flapping in the wind; an old woman bundled in layers of faded dark clothes peering in a litter bin; a man teetering on the kerb edge, arms wheeling, shouting at the sky.
‘Come on,’ I muttered. I inched forwards till we reached the junction. The lights were out. A traffic cop was just arriving. Two drivers had managed to collide and were out of their cars, one red-faced, screeching at the other. At last I wheeled right and drove on to Agnes’ house. There were no lights on even though the day was fading. There was a Volvo parked directly outside which I assumed was Dr Goulden’s. I rang the bell.
He opened the door. Why not Agnes? Half-smile. ‘Miss Kilkenny.’
Ms actually.
‘Do come in.’
I stepped into the hall, gloomy without the lights on. His bulk made me feel small and vulnerable.
‘Where’s Agnes?’ I demanded.
‘We’re in the back,’ he said.
I headed along to the back room.
‘Jesus Christ!’
Agnes sat in her armchair by the gas fire. Her wrists were bound in front of her, her mouth taped up. The creel with its washing lay broken in the corner.
‘I had to restrain her.’ He spoke calmly. ‘She became distressed. I could have used a sedative,’ he patted his pocket, ‘but she’d have been out for the count. She had the carpet tape out when I arrived.’ He motioned to the table where the roll of heavy-duty tape lay.
Agnes’ eyes glittered furiously. I was appalled. I turned on him. ‘Untie her, now. What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is assault. Are you mad? Untie her.’
He made no move. ‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you both to the hospital. We need to see Mr Simcock, the consultant. I realise you’ve had some concerns about Mrs Palmer.’ The man was cracked, going on about the need to clear things up while he’d bound and gagged Agnes.