Murder Killing
9. The Barnards
ORangtUa Elizabeth Barnard lives in a small bungalow, one of about fifty similar bungalows run by a speculative contractor, in the suburbs. Name's Llandudno.
Mr. Barnard, a burly man with a steady face and about 55 years old, saw our arrival and stood waiting in the doorway.
”Please come in, Gentlemen,”. Inspector Kelsey came in ahead of us.
”This is Inspector Crome from Scotland Yard, Sir,” he said. ”She came to help us settle this affair.”
”Scotland Yard?” said Mr. Barnard is hopeful. ”Very good. That bastard killer must be beaten to the ground. My poor daughter” Her face turned stiff from sadness and anger.
”And this is Mr. Hercule Poirot, also from London, and hm”
”Captain Hastings,” says Poirot.
”It's nice to meet you, Gentlemen,” Mr. Barnard's like a machine. ”Let's go to the family room. I don't know if my wife is ready to see you. He was devastated.”
However, as soon as we sat in the living room, Mrs. Barnard. It was clear that she had just been crying bitterly, her eyes were red and she was walking with shaky steps. Clearly his soul was shaken violently.
”Ah you, Ma,” said Mr. Barnards. ”You're okay, right?”
He patted his wife on the shoulder and helped her sit on the chair.
”The police inspector was very good,” said Mr. Barnards. ”After reporting the incident to us, he said he will ask the necessary questions, later after we calm down.”
”Too cruel. Really very cruel,” said Mrs. Barnard shed tears. ”The cruelest thing I've ever experienced.”
His voice rhymed a little so much that for a moment I thought he was a stranger, until I remembered the name at the gate I realized he was speaking with a Welsh accent, where he came from.
”It hurts, Mistress, I know,” Inspector Crome said. ”We are very sympathetic to you, but we want to know all the facts so that we can work as fast as possible.”
”Betul,” said Mr. Barnard, nodding in agreement. ”If not wrong, your daughter is 23 years old.
She lives with you here and works in Ginger Cat Cafeteria, is that right?”
”Betul.”
”This is a new place, isn't it? Where did you stay before this?”
”I used to work in a metal goods sales company, in Kennington. I retired two years ago. I always dreamed of living near the sea.”
”You have two daughters?”
”Yes. My older daughter works in an office in London, in the city.”
”Are you not worried when your daughter doesn't come home last night?”
”We don't know if he doesn't come home,” said Mrs. Barnard in the middle of his cry. ”My husband and I always go to bed early. Nine o'clock at the latest. We didn't know that Betty didn't come home until the police officer came and reported and reported”
He cannot continue his words. ”Is your daughter regular hm home late at night?”
”You know the girls of today, Inspector,” Barnard said. ”Free, that's how they are. During the summer nights they will not be home soon. So did Betty. But usually he comes home before eleven.”
”How did he get into the house? Is the door open?”
”We keep the key under the foot fastener usually so.”
”There is wind news that your daughter is engaged and is actually getting married.”
”Now they are not using the sereffici way,” said Mr. Barnards.
”The name is Donald Fraser, and I love it. I like it a lot,” said Mrs. Barnards. ”What a shame this news must have surprised him. Does he know?”
”I heard he works at Court & Brunskill?” ”Betul, a housing agent.”
”Did he often meet your daughter after work at night?”
”Not every night. Average one or two times a week.”
”Do you know if your daughter will meet her yesterday?”
”He didn't say it. Betty never said what she was going to do or where she was going. However, she's a good girl. Oh, I don't trust him”
Mrs. Barnard is back.
”Hold yourself, Mom. Try to calm down, Mom,” urges her husband. ”We have to settle this affair..”
Barnard turned towards the two inspectors. ”For God's sake, I want to help you, however
in fact I know nothing. Absolutely nothing can help you catch the cowardly bastard who did it. Betty's a jolly girl
and happy, and already had a boyfriend of a nice young boy, with whom he was, well, we called it a way together, in my youth. Why anyone had the intention of killing him I was struck senseless.”
”You're almost at the core of the problem, Mr. Barnard,” Crome said. ”I need to check something Miss Barnard's bedroom. Maybe there's something letters, or a diary.”
”Please check it out,” said Mr. Barnard got up.
He walked in front. Crome followed him, then Poirot, Kelsey, and me in the back.
I stopped for a moment to tie my shoelaces back together. At that moment a taxi stopped outside and a girl jumped down while carrying a small suitcase. At the moment of entering the door, he looked at me and stopped suddenly.
There was something in his style that was interesting, that aroused my curiosity.
”Who are you?” askah.
I took a few steps forward. I'm ashamed how I answered. Should I mention my name? Or declare that I came with the police? However, the girl did not give me a chance to think further.
”Yah,” said, ”I can expect it.”
He took off his tiny white wool hat and threw it on the floor. I could see it more clearly now, after she turned her head slightly and the light of the lamp illuminated her.
The first impression, reflected in my eyes the Dutch dolls my sisters' toys in childhood. Her hair was black and straight styled in a bob model, with bangs covering her forehead. His cheekbones are tall and overall his body shape is strange, memorable modern, but somehow, no less interesting. She is not beautiful even ordinary but there is something special in her, an attraction that makes people unable to ignore her.
”You Miss Barnard?” my word.
”I Megan Barnard. I think you're from the police?”
”Hm,” said, ”not exactly be” He cut my words.
”I guess there's nothing I want to talk about with you. My sister is a sweet and smart girl, no boy friend. Good morning.”
While talking he laughed short and looked at me in a defiant manner.
”I think that's the right expression, don't you?” said.
”I'm not a journalist, if that's your guess.” ”So who are you?” He looks around. ”Where
Father and Mother?”
”Your father is driving the police to check on your sister's bedroom. Your mother was there. He was devastated.”
The girl seemed to make up her mind. ”Mari in,” said.
He opened a door and entered. I followed him inside, and we entered a neat little kitchen.
I was just about to close the door behind me, but unexpectedly something was holding me back. Then Poirot slipped in and closed the door.
”This Mr. Hercule Poirot,”.
Megan Barnard looked at him for a moment, full of admiration.
”I've heard about you,” he said. ”You're a private detective who likes to follow fashion, right?”
”Not a sweet depiction, but suffice,” said Poirot.
The girl sat on the edge of the kitchen table. He fumbled in his bag, looking for a cigarette, slipped it on his lips, lit it, then after two puffs he said, ”I don't quite understand what Mr. Hercule Poirot in this trivial criminal case.”
”Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, ”what you do not know and what I do not know may be something important. But it's all unimportant and impractical. And the important thing is precisely something that we will not easily get.”
”What do you mean?”
”Mademoiselle, unfortunately death always raises suspicion. Suspicion for the sake of the dead. I heard what you just said to my friend. ’A sweet and smart girl, without boy friends’. You said things
it was a mockery of the newspaper that carried the news. And it's true that if a young girl dies, those kind of phrases are what people will say. He's wily. She's happy. Sweet attitude. He has no problems in this world. Have no enemies. It's always good things to talk about the dead. Do you know what I want now? To meet someone who knew Elizabeth Barnard and who didn't know that she was dead! That way maybe I will get useful information truth.”
Megan Barnard looked at Poirot for a few minutes while smoking her cigarette. And then, finally, he spoke. His words surprised me.
Said, ”I consider Betty a really dumb girl!”
