The Killings at Badger's Drift by Caroline Graham

horror-movie script.
    Barnaby was getting to know the surgery rather well. He had visited it again the previous day to inform the doctor of the post-mortem findings. The news had not been well received. Trevor Lessiter had looked at him incredulously, saying, much as George Bullard had done, ‘ Hemlock? ’ and dropped like a stone into his chair. He then so far forgot himself as to indicate to Barnaby that he should also be seated. Even his fingers were temporarily stilled.
    ‘And what put you on to that if I’m not being too inquisitive?’ Already he was on the defensive.
    ‘We were asked to look into the matter.’
    ‘Who by? That loopy old hag down the lane, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He noticed Barnaby’s slight change of expression and made a visible effort to calm down. ‘It would have been courteous of you to let me know.’
    ‘We are letting you know, sir.’
    ‘I mean before this, as I’m sure you damn well realize.’
    Approaching footsteps recalled Barnaby to the present. A girl opened the door. Remembering Doctor Bullard’s description of a ‘not so scrumptious’ daughter, Barnaby immediately assumed that this must be she: short, not much over five feet, and dumpy. Her complexion had a thick, soupy texture and there was a fuzz of down on her top lip, her hair was coarse but full of vitality, springing up into a wiry halo around her head. She had large, rather beautiful hazel eyes which she blinked rapidly from time to time. This habit gave her a timorous yet slightly defiant demeanour: the sort of girl who made a career out of being insecure.
    Barnaby stated their business and was admitted. He followed Judy Lessiter across the hall. Her legs, emerging from a shapeless pinafore dress, were really remarkable: hugely wide at the knees then tapering off into sparrow-thin ankles, like upended skittles. She pushed at the sitting-room door and went in, Barnaby close behind.
    Doctor Lessiter looked up, then flung his Telegraph down with some annoyance. ‘Good grief - I thought I’d seen the last of you lot.’
    ‘Yes. I’m sorry, but this sort of inquiry is quite usual -’
    ‘Turning the whole village upside down.’
    ‘In the case of an unexplained death -’
    ‘The woman picked some hemlock by mistake. There’s a large field of it just beyond Church Lane. The seeds blow everywhere. Obviously some went into the garden and took root. I’ve never known such a palaver.’
    ‘We are asking everyone in the village to account for their movements on the day in question. That is last Friday the seventeenth of July, afternoon and evening.’
    The doctor gave an irritated little snort, threw his paper down and stood with his back to them, staring into the fireplace. ‘Well . . . if we must. On my rounds in the afternoons . . . then in the even—’
    ‘Your rounds are Tuesday and Thursday, Daddy.’ Judy’s tone was calm and reasonable but Barnaby thought he detected a rather unpleasant smile plucking the corners of her mouth.
    ‘What? Oh . . . yes . . . sorry.’ He picked up a magazine from the log basket and started to flick through it, illustrating his lack of concern. ‘I was here, of course. Bit of gardening but mainly watching the final Test. What a game that was . . . superb bowling . . .’
    ‘And the evening?’
    ‘Still there, I’m afraid. A dull day really.’
    ‘And your wife was with you on both of these occasions?’
    ‘Part of the evening. She was shopping in the afternoon.’
    ‘Thank you. Miss Lessiter?’
    ‘I was working during the day. I’m a librarian. At Pinner.’
    ‘And in the evening?’
    ‘. . . here . . .’
    Both policemen noticed the rather theatrical start of surprise the doctor gave at this remark, as no doubt they were meant to. Tit for tat, thought Barnaby.
    ‘Well . . .’ she elaborated, ‘I did go out for a bit of a walk . . . it was such lovely weather.’
    ‘Do you remember what time that was?’
    ‘Sorry, no. I wasn’t out long.’
    ‘Where did you