‘Or one of those videos they show in taxis,’ she cackled, ‘or a bulletin on the Internet.’
‘You need a computer first,’ I replied, ‘and seeing as neither of us has one…’
‘I’m going to get one.’
I stared at her.
‘Yep, CD ROM, colour printer, the lot, fax as well.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘My own personal technological revolution. You ought to think about it, Sal, you’ll get left behind.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Besides, I have thought about it, like window shopping. I just can’t afford it.’
‘When you win the Lottery…’
‘Hah!’ I sneered. ‘You have to play to win. I never play, thought you knew that. Even if I did I’ve more chance of flying to outer space than winning that.’
‘But just think, all the things you could do with a good system, with so much less effort.’
‘I know. I know, technology’s a wonderful thing. Take my answerphone…’
‘Sal!’ she complained.
‘Listen. My answerphone got someone off a murder charge.’ I told her about Jimmy Achebe’s alibi, how it fixed him in time and place.
‘But how did they know he wasn’t ringing from home,’ she asked, ‘pretending he was at work?’
‘Ah! Because you could hear the yard in the back ground, all these vans and a Tannoy, really clear. It was brilliant. It proved he was at work, miles away at about the time of the murder. And now it looks like they’re on to the right suspect.’
We nattered on some more about what we liked and didn’t about the new technology.
‘Promise me,’ said Diane, ‘if I ever get obsessive about it, you’ll tell me.’
‘Promise.’
‘Hey, maybe you could be the first virtual private eye, shadowing people down the Information Superhighway, uncovering virtual crime.’
‘What, for virtual money? Give over.’
I slept late on the Saturday morning. My cold was receding and I’d enough energy to make a start on planting up the cold frame. Maddie and I made a trip to the local garden centre and bought a selection of packets of seeds. I limited myself to petunias and lobelia for tubs and baskets, I could supplement them with cuttings I’d taken from ivy and pansies. I got some asters for the border and Maddie chose lettuce and candytuft for herself and Tom.
On the way back I called at the office to check my mail. There was a handwritten envelope. I didn’t recognise the writing. I opened it eagerly though I should have realised that no friend would write to me at my work address. Inside was a cheque, drawn on the account of Mr J. W. Achebe. Jimmy, paying off his debt. The fact he’d bothered to sort it out in the midst of what he must be going through brought a lump to my throat. There was a small note with it; it just read ‘Thank you.’ I sighed, put it in my drawer to deal with on Monday. Poor Jimmy. Now he was free to start grieving for the loss of Tina. There’d be all the arrangements to make for her funeral once they released the body. He’d been transformed from murderer to widower. Had friends and family believed him guilty, how would they ever face him again?