by M C Beaton
We were right, Agatha congratulated herself. They are shipping drugs into the country in those batteries! She felt a strange vibration tingling her right buttock. What’s that? she wondered. Not entirely unpleasant, but … SNAKES AND BASTARDS! My phone! She scrabbled to retrieve it from her back pocket just as the first shrill ring filled the air. She stabbed at the screen to answer the call and cut off the sound.
“Not now, Toni!” she hissed, quickly ending the call, but she had not been quick enough.
“What was that?” Morrison looked up from the workbench. “There’s someone in here! Get them!”
Bream and Dunster were already heading towards her. Agatha dashed back to the ladies’ lavatory, closing the door behind her. It was dark. She fumbled for the key to unlock her escape route, but it slipped through her fingers and she heard the metallic clink as it hit the floor and bounced. Risking a quick flash of her penlight, she immediately spotted it under the door into one of the cubicles. She dodged inside to retrieve it at the very moment that the lights were suddenly turned on.
“Who’s in here?”
It was Dunster. A chill of dread shot down Agatha’s spine. She stood absolutely still, not even daring to breathe. There was the crash of a cubicle door being flung open, followed by another, followed by another, followed by … hers.
“Caught short, were we, Mrs. Raisin?”
Dunster reached in and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her out of the cubicle. She screamed, punched, slapped, and clawed at his face, but he flung her to the floor.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Bream had entered the room. He lifted Agatha to her feet and twisted her right arm behind her back.
“That hurts, you bastard!”
“It’s meant to—now move!”
Bream marched Agatha back along the corridor to the dispatch department with Dunster following on behind. Albert Morrison was pacing the floor when they entered. He had removed his mask, and Agatha watched his lips tighten into an ugly snarl when he saw her.
“You!” he roared. “I might have known. Well, this is the last time you’ll be sticking your nose into my business, you infuriating woman. I can guarantee that!”
“And what a sordid business it is,” said Agatha. “Drugs? Murder? You were supposed to be on the verge of a major breakthrough with that new battery pack. You might actually have achieved something remarkable. Instead, you have become nothing better than a gangster with a bunch of hired thugs working for you.”
Bream shoved her forward, letting go of her arm. Free of his grasp, she spun round, ready to make a break for the door, but Dunster stood in her way, an ugly little automatic pistol in his hand, pointed straight at her. She looked at his face. A livid red weal had erupted from his cheekbone to his chin where she had gouged him with her nails. He touched it tenderly with the fingertips of his free hand.
“A bit sore, is it?” Agatha asked. “Give me a chance and I’ll do you one to match on the other side.”
“That’s really not going to happen,” he said, aiming the pistol at her head. “You’re dead meat.”
“Not here,” barked Morrison, “and not now. We have work to do.”
“Arms out,” ordered Sayer, grabbing Agatha’s wrist and yanking one arm out level with her shoulder. He ran his hands over her arms and down her back, searching her. He lingered a little on her breasts, giving her a nod of approval.
“Teach you that in officer training, did they, Lieutenant Webster?” Agatha goaded him.
He frowned at her.
“Oh, we know all about you,” she continued. “The police do too. They’ll be here any second,” she lied, trying to think of anything that would save her skin. “That was what the phone call was about. You don’t stand a chance.”
Sayer had found the phone in her back pocket and was flicking the buttons.
“One-two-three-four-five? Not a very secure password.” He smiled, then turned to Morrison. “That was an incoming call from her sidekick. Lasted less than two seconds. She didn’t have time to tell her anything. There’s no one coming.”
Morrison picked up a roll of packing tape and threw it to Trotter. “Make sure she can’t move,” he said, “and start with her mouth. I don’t want to hear another word out of her. Bream, Dunster, search the whole area. Check that she didn’t bring any of her friends with her. Then get back in here. Once we’re finished with the shipment, you can do what you like with her. Trotter, use that old Land Rover and take her out into the woods somewhere. Somewhere miles from here. Make sure the body is never found.”
“She must have come here by car,” said Sayer. “Find it. We’ll have to dispose of that, too.”
“You won’t get away with this, Morrison!” Agatha yelled. “You’re nothing but a—” And then Trotter clamped a strip of packing tape over her mouth, winding the roll around her head to silence her. Bream held her arms while Trotter bound her wrists. They shoved her onto the floor in the corner of the room and Trotter stooped to bind her ankles. She aimed a kick at his head, but he dodged back and Bream slapped her hard across the face.
“Just behave,” he warned, “or this will get really nasty.”
Trussed and gagged, barely able to breathe, Agatha slumped in the corner. Hot tears of anger and fear welled in her eyes. Was this it? Was this how she was to spend the last moments of her life? Why, oh why had she thought she could spy on these monsters and get away with it? But most of all, she thought, over and over, she did not want to die.
Morrison and Trotter replaced their masks and went back to work. Sayer issued Bream and Dunster with a few more instructions, then he also returned to the workbench. The two security guards were gone for almost an hour. Agatha watched as the pile of fresh packages at the end of the bench continued to grow. Every battery that was sliced open, every bag that was added to the pile marked one more pendulum swing on the clock counting down to the end of her life.
Eventually Bream and Dunster returned, and Trotter brought in a collection of large black holdalls and began filling them with the packages. The mangled battery carcasses were swept into sacks for disposal. Morrison removed his mask and motioned Trotter to stop.
“Leave that,” he said. “Sayer and I will sort it out. You three deal with her.”
“I’ll get her car,” said Bream, struggling out of his white overalls and stuffing them into one of the sacks. “I’ll follow on behind you.”
“What we gonna do with the tart?” said Trotter.
“We’ll have to carry her,” said Dunster.
“Well I ain’t carryin’ her,” Trotter snorted, bending down and cutting the tape around Agatha’s ankles. “She can bloody well walk, and if she tries anythin’, she’ll get some of this!” He prodded his fist into her forehead, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to knock her senseless.
Dunster and Trotter forced her out into the night. She could feel Dunster’s steely grip around her upper arm, alternately shoving and hauling her towards the stable yard. Trotter held a powerful flashlight that lit their way and, when they reached the stables, illuminated the battered old Land Rover.
“We’re gonna have some fun in the back there.” He grinned. “How about that, eh? Mrs. Agatha Raisin, the great detective, and little Peter Trotter havin’ a grand old time in the back of my Land Rover! How does that grab you?”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed and she howled at him through the packing tape gag.
“What was that?” Trotter laughed. “I couldn’t quite hear you there.” He ripped the tape roughly from her face.
“NEVER!” she screamed. “NEVER!!”
Suddenly there came a low growl, rumbling out of the darkness. Trotter spun round and his flashlight beam picked up two glowing red eyes. There was a deafening “Hee-haw!” and Wizz-Wazz charged. She butted the surprised Dunster in the chest, sending him sprawling across the yard, and flicked a vicious kick into Trotter’s stomach that left him doubled over in agony. Agatha bolted into the darkness. She crashed int
o the door of Wizz-Wazz’s loose box and stumbled through, her hands still taped firmly behind her back.
“Where the hell did she go?” yelled Dunster.
Agatha cowered in the darkness.
“Get me that flashlight!” he ordered.
“I … can’t move,” groaned Trotter. There was another raucous “Hee-haw!” and a squeal of pain.
From her hiding place, Agatha could see the flashlight beam sweeping the stable yard.
“Come out now, you stupid bitch,” Dunster shouted, “or it will be worse for you in the end.”
There was a clattering of hooves on the cobbles, a thumping sound, and a groan from Dunster.
“Damn that animal,” he cursed, and a shot rang out.
Agatha watched as the beam illuminated one area of the yard after another. Dunster was searching for her. Still unable to loosen her hands, she squirmed and wriggled in the straw at the back of the loose box, burrowing her way in. Finally convinced that she was completely covered, she peered out from under the straw, trembling, terrified. The flashlight lit up the loose box next to hers, then turned towards her.
“I know you’re in there,” Dunster shouted. “Don’t make me come in after you.”
Agatha closed her eyes and stayed as still as her shivers of fear would allow.
“Right,” spat Dunster, taking a step forward. “Now you’re for it.”
Suddenly the entire stable yard was flooded with bright white light, and a deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker: “Armed police! Put down your weapon! Armed police! On the ground, NOW!”
Dunster put his hands in the air. He dropped his pistol, backed out of the loose box and sank to his knees.
“Armed police! Stay where you are! Do NOT move!”
Two police officers carrying pistols swooped on Dunster. One of them kept him covered while the other retrieved his gun. Then the familiar figure of Bill Wong appeared, silhouetted in the bright light. He grabbed one of Dunster’s wrists and then the other, snapping handcuffs into place, then turned to the loose box.
“Are you in there, Agatha?” he called. “Are you okay?”
Agatha Raisin emerged from her hiding place, staggering towards the light, her hair, face, and clothes covered in damp straw and donkey shit.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Toni appeared from behind Bill Wong and threw her arms around her boss. Bill cut the tape on Agatha’s wrists.
“I’m okay,” Agatha whispered. “I’m alive…”
Then she felt the familiar coarse, spiky touch of donkey hair as Wizz-Wazz tucked her head under her arm and gave a soft whicker of affection.
Chapter Ten
“I really just want to go home and get cleaned up,” Agatha complained. She was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a red blanket draped over her shoulders. The paramedics had given her a thorough check and confirmed to Bill Wong that she was physically unharmed.
“Of course you do,” said Bill, with heartfelt sympathy, “and I will drive you home myself. We need you to stay here for a while longer, though, until we have cleared everything up.”
“I can stay with you tonight, if you like,” said Toni. “You shouldn’t be on your own after all this.”
“Or we can have an officer stay at your house,” said Bill. “I’m sure Alice would be only too happy to oblige.”
“No, we needn’t trouble Alice,” said Agatha. “Toni, if you would stay with me, that would be very kind.”
A uniformed officer appeared and spoke quietly to Bill, who nodded, then turned to Agatha.
“Okay,” he said. “The site is secure and our boys can carry on gathering evidence, but there’s no need for us to keep you here. Bream was collared trying to use your car to get away. He rammed a police vehicle. Your car is a bit of a mess.”
“I don’t much care about the car,” said Agatha. “As long as you got him.”
“He’s safely under lock and key,” Bill confirmed. “I can fill you in on the rest back at your place. Come on.” He offered Agatha his hand to support her as she stepped down from the back of the ambulance.
“Just a minute!” came the instantly recognisable bark of Chief Inspector Wilkes. “I want a word with you! I have warned you time and time again about interfering in police matters. Well, this time your meddling almost had dire consequences, didn’t it? This time, your amateur bungling nearly got you killed! If it were up to me—”
“Oh, shut your face, you stupid man!” Agatha looked on in surprise as Toni rounded on the chief inspector. “Fortunately, it’s not up to you, so why don’t you shove off back to whatever hole you crawl into at night? You wouldn’t know a criminal if you caught one pinching the boots off your feet. Agatha is responsible for catching an entire gang of them here tonight!”
“She’s right, sir,” said Bill. “Mrs. Raisin has exposed a major drug-smuggling operation and solved a murder that we were fooled into thinking was an accident. She deserves a great deal of credit for sticking to her guns and seeing this whole thing through.”
“You’d best be careful, Sergeant,” Wilkes said, waving a finger at him. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
“Don’t take this out on him.” Toni leapt to Bill’s defence. “You’re the one who was willing to let these thugs get away with murder!”
“You can’t speak to me like that, you little—”
“I’ll talk to you any way I like, you miserable old pillock!”
Wilkes grunted with fury, his eyes darting from Toni to Agatha, who returned his stare impassively. Then he turned and marched off, muttering to himself.
“Not bad,” said Agatha, nodding to Toni, “for an apprentice donkey lady.”
* * *
Agatha could hear the crackle of the police radio from the car parked outside her cottage. She walked downstairs, having showered, slipped into a long bath robe and reapplied enough make-up to make herself look presentable. Even at this late hour, she knew that the presence of the police vehicle in Lilac Lane, parked just behind Toni’s little car, would be attracting attention. Carsely’s spy network would be on red alert. Before morning, the story of how Agatha Raisin was brought home in a police car would be all round the village. Yes, the curtains would certainly be twitching out there tonight. Not those at James Lacey’s windows, of course. There was still no sign of him. He was abroad somewhere, mixing travel writing with military history, probably on an ancient battlefield that no one had ever heard of. Apart from those who died there, of course—but they weren’t telling. She had tried ringing Charles, but there was no sign of him, either. Doubtless his ghastly fiancée had him on a tight leash. She would have him cornered in one of the many rooms in Barfield House, bombarding him with guest lists, seating plans, menu options, and colour swatches. Or maybe not. Maybe Charles had found somewhere to hide from her. Maybe he had burrowed into the straw as well.
The moment Agatha walked into the living room, Toni slotted a glass of brandy into her hand. Then she poured one for herself and they sat together on the sofa. Bill Wong settled into an armchair with a mug of tea.
“You have no idea how grateful I am to both of you,” Agatha said. “That was the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m sure it was,” said Toni gently. “But it’s over now.”
“How did you know where I was? I didn’t tell anyone I was going to the factory. I wouldn’t have gone in there at all if I hadn’t seen the lights on.”
“I heard Morrison’s voice before you rang off,” Toni explained. “I was still in the office, working my way through the last of the recordings, and I noticed that the key I stole wasn’t where you’d left it on your desk. Tonight of all nights, Morrison’s was the only place you could be.”
“But how did you manage to call in half the cops in the county?”
“It was pretty clear from what Toni let me hear that we needed a full team on this—including armed officers,” said Bill.
“Wow,” said Agatha. “Just what did you fin
d on those final recordings?”
“Everything that we’d been looking for,” said Toni, placing on the coffee table in front of them a small digital recorder similar to the one used by Clarissa Dinwiddy. “I copied the relevant files onto here. This is Morrison.”
“I heard on the news that the Americans have bombed another ten processing plants in Helmand. They’re going to blow this business to pieces!”
“And now Sayer,” she added.
“That will have practically no effect on production at all. The Afghans can set up a new lab within days. They already have hundreds of them. The heroin will keep on coming—as much of it as we can handle.”
“These recordings came later. First Sayer.”
“The big shipment is en route. It will be here on Thursday night.”
“Then Bream.”
“Shouldn’t we be cooling things down a bit? I mean, this Raisin woman is attracting far more attention over the fake leg than we thought. We should back off a bit.”
“Back off? Would you like to tell that to our friends in Afghanistan? Or Sekiliv? What do you think they would do if we told them we had to shut everything down because of some crazy woman?”
“That was Sayer.”
“They don’t know how things work here…”
“Bream, and then Sayer again.”
“And they don’t care! Any hint of us getting cold feet and one of their enforcers will show up here quicker than you can say Kalashnikov. He will get rid of Raisin and we’ll be next on his list. There is too much money at stake for us to let anything go wrong. If needs be, we will have to take care of Raisin ourselves. Make sure you, Dunster and Trotter are here on Thursday. Morrison will be here too. It will take all of us to clear the goods before morning.”
“That explains why Clarissa Dinwiddy was so frightened of Morrison’s thugs,” said Agatha. “She must have taken some serious risks to record that stuff.”
