Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers

by Beaton, M. C.

  The living room was dominated by a huge flat-screen television. In front of it slumped a young man with a shaved head. ‘This is my son Wayne. Get lost, Wayne.’

  Wayne shuffled off. Matilda clicked off the television. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered.

  Agatha sat gingerly on the edge of a stained brown corduroy sofa. Toni sat beside her.

  ‘Whaddayawantoknow?’ asked Matilda, running all her words together.

  ‘I wondered if George talked to you about anyone he was afraid of.’

  ‘No. We did have a laugh, though. Always joking and laughing, that was my George.’

  ‘Your George?’ Agatha’s eyes sharpened. ‘Were you close?’ Not her, surely, thought Agatha. The woman hasn’t even got her own teeth!

  ‘Bit of a kiss and a cuddle,’ said Matilda complacently. ‘But that’s fellows for you. Had to fight ’em off all my life.’

  My self-worth is lower than whale shit, thought Agatha bitterly. All the trouble and expense I went to to try to lure him.

  ‘Did he say anything about snakes?’ asked Agatha. ‘I believe he had a phobia about them.’

  ‘Didn’t say nothing to me. I found one of the bastards in my garden the other week. Took its head off with the spade. Nasty, crawly things.’

  ‘Did you tell the police?’

  ‘Had enough o’ them. Anyway, a garden’s always crawling with nasties. Like to see it?’

  ‘Just have a look,’ said Agatha.

  The garden had obviously been neglected since the death of George and was in need of watering. Flowers hung limply in the hot, still air.

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Toni.

  ‘What’s odd?’ demanded Matilda.

  ‘That rockery in the middle of the lawn. I mean, it spoils the look of the garden. And half the plants are dead.’

  ‘If you’ve had enough of poking around,’ said Matilda harshly, ‘you’d better go. I got things to do.’

  * * *

  As they got in Agatha’s car, Agatha could feel excitement emanating from Toni. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘That rockery is all wrong,’ said Toni. ‘George Marston, by all accounts, was an expert gardener. He would never have allowed a thing like that.’

  ‘So she’s got bad taste. So what?’

  ‘No one ever found the missing Tim Fraser. With him out of the way, Matilda could claim to be a bullied wife, not responsible for the cannabis farm.’

  ‘Now there’s a flight of fancy,’ commented Agatha. ‘How are you going to prove it?’

  ‘She got upset when I asked about the rockery. If Tim is under there, then she’ll think about moving him. I’ll stake the place out after dark.’

  Agatha felt tired and demoralized. But if there was a faint chance that Toni was right, she did not want to be upstaged by her beautiful sidekick.

  ‘Let’s drive up round the back,’ said Agatha. ‘I noticed the back garden bordered on to a field. We could wait there.’

  Toni repressed a sigh. It had been her idea. Probably nothing in it. But if it came off, she did not relish the idea of Agatha muscling in.

  As they settled down that evening at the edge of the field bordering the back of Matilda’s garden, Agatha found herself thinking about Simon’s listening device. It was awfully tempting. But, she decided firmly, it must not be used. It was illegal, and the thought that, were it not, anyone could easily spy on their neighbours.

  The air was close and sticky. Agatha felt hot because she was wearing high boots as a protection against any possible lurking adders. Toni was sitting on the grass at the edge of the field. Agatha was weary. She was tired of standing.

  ‘Aren’t you frightened of being bitten?’ she whispered crossly.

  ‘By adders? No, not at this time of night. Besides, standing up there, you must be silhouetted against the moon.’

  Agatha sat down quickly.

  ‘Where’s Charles these days?’ muttered Toni.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t tried to phone. You know Charles, he comes and goes.’

  ‘And James?’

  ‘Somewhere on his travels.’

  Toni clutched Agatha’s arm. ‘Shh! A light’s gone on in the kitchen at the back. We should try to get nearer.’

  ‘We’re near enough to hear any digging,’ whispered Agatha. ‘It’s so quiet. Any movement and she might hear us.’

  ‘What! The whole bleeding thing?’ came a masculine voice.

  ‘I think that’s Wayne, the son,’ said Toni.

  There came the sounds of digging. Then Wayne’s voice. ‘I’ve loaded up the first wheelbarrow lot. Where are we going to put the stuff?’

  ‘Take it through the gate at the end of the garden,’ ordered Matilda.

  ‘The farmer’ll find it.’

  ‘He’s letting that field lie fallow. He won’t notice.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Agatha hurriedly. ‘I’ll phone Bill.’

  Once they were both back in Agatha’s cottage, Agatha phoned Bill’s mobile phone number, hoping he would answer it before his mother rushed into his bedroom and got hold of his phone.

  When his sleepy voice came on the line, Agatha began to talk urgently.

  ‘We haven’t got a search warrant,’ said Bill, ‘and we won’t be able to get one until tomorrow.’

  ‘Lie,’ urged Agatha. ‘Say we think Tim Fraser is there. Don’t say we think he’s under the rockery or they won’t bother. He’s a fugitive. You don’t need a search warrant.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Bill, and rang off.

  ‘We’ll wait outside the estate,’ said Agatha, ‘and when the police arrive, we’ll follow them up to the house.’

  Agatha fretted that the police were not going to come until, up on the hill above Carsely, she saw the first flickering blue light of a police car.

  ‘The cavalry’s arrived,’ she said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed.’

  ‘I really hope there isn’t going to be another dead body. If there is, the village is going to be swamped by the world’s press.’

  Three police cars drove up. Agatha followed them. The advance guard rang the doorbell, while another four policemen went round the back of the house. Then a policeman took a battering ram and crashed open the door.

  As Agatha and Toni stood outside the house, an unmarked car bearing Bill and Wilkes arrived, Wilkes looking rumpled and bad-tempered.

  Wilkes glared at Agatha. ‘This had better not be a wild goose chase.’

  He and Bill walked up to Matilda’s house and entered.

  Agatha could hear shouts and then she heard Matilda scream.

  Then a long silence.

  People began to emerge from their houses. Matilda’s home was taped off and Agatha and Toni were curtly ordered back behind the tape.

  Forensics arrived and a photographer.

  ‘No pathologist,’ said Toni.

  Agatha could feel her ankles beginning to swell inside her boots and wished she had changed into sandals.

  Just when she was beginning to contemplate a retreat to her car, Wilkes and Bill emerged. Behind them came policemen escorting three people in handcuffs: Wayne, Matilda and a tall, thin man. ‘Tell them, Dad, we didn’t do nothing,’ said Wayne.

  ‘That must be the missing Tim. Rats!’ said Agatha.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Toni. ‘The police must have found something sinister or they wouldn’t be arresting all of them.’

  Agatha ducked under the police tape and approached Wilkes. ‘What have you found?’ she asked.

  ‘Follow us to Mircester,’ said Wilkes curtly. ‘You’ll need to make a statement.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Just do as you’re told for once in your life, Mrs Raisin,’ snapped Wilkes. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to my car.’

  More police emerged from Matilda’s house, carrying a large metal box.

  ‘Let’s go, Toni,’ said Agatha, returning to join her young detective. ‘We’ve got to go to police h
eadquarters.’

  I’m sick and tired of being questioned, thought Agatha while she waited in the reception of police headquarters for Toni to emerge. She had not been able to claim that the idea that something was hidden in the rockery was her own, much as she had wanted to, because she knew Toni was being interviewed separately.

  She took a little mirror out of her handbag and scrutinized her face. Any make-up she had put on earlier seemed to have melted in the heat.

  Toni emerged, looking young and fresh and beautiful. ‘Did they tell you anything?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Not really, not about what they had found, but at the end of the interview, a Detective Sergeant Briggs said, “Thank goodness these murders have been solved.”

  ‘I said, “Do you mean the Frasers did it?” and he clammed up. They kept taking me over and over the reason I had guessed there was something odd about that rockery, so much I began to feel guilty.’

  ‘I’m about to burst with curiosity,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m going straight to Bill’s home and I’m going to lurk outside until he gets back and demand an explanation. You can go home.’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ protested Toni. ‘The whole thing was my idea, remember?’

  ‘If you must,’ said Agatha sourly.

  Bill recognized Agatha’s car as he drove up the next morning. Agatha and Toni were asleep and he was tempted to escape into his home, but he knew that when Agatha woke up, she would come hammering on the door and upset his mother.

  He went and rapped on the window. Agatha awoke immediately and slid down the window. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you,’ said Bill. ‘I don’t want you in the house so let’s go somewhere for a coffee. There’s a Little Chef on the bypass.’

  ‘I know the one,’ said Agatha. ‘Wake up, Toni!’

  When they were seated over coffees, Bill asked Agatha, ‘Are you up to hearing all this now? You’re looking a bit haggard.’

  Agatha’s hands fluttered protectively up to her face, an oddly childlike gesture that made Toni say quickly, ‘She’s fine. Out with it.’

  ‘No dead body under that rockery,’ said Bill, ‘but a large metal box stuffed with money. Matilda claimed her husband had run off with the earnings they made from selling cannabis. But under the money were several books on adders: their habitats and how to handle them.’

  ‘And what have the Frasers to say about that?’

  ‘Matilda claims that, yes, they hid the money while Tim cleared off to Scotland, but she and her husband and Wayne swear blind that they know nothing about the books. Get this. They say someone must have put them there. Matilda says that she and Wayne recently went up to Scotland to see Tim, who was hiding out in Glasgow, and told him it might be safe to come back home for a bit, provided he kept out of sight.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Toni, ‘where are their other three children? And where’s the eldest, Wayne?’

  ‘In care. Social took them away when Matilda went on trial. She didn’t fight to get them back, either. We interviewed the three separately. Matilda said when she returned from Scotland, half the plants in the rockery were dead or dying. She put it down to the heat. Now, she says, someone must have dug it up, found the box, put the books in and built the rockery up again. There’s something else. We found it out when we first arrested her and were looking into their backgrounds. As a young man, Tim Fraser drifted from job to job and one of his jobs was on a snake farm in Southend.’

  Agatha clutched her temples. ‘I don’t get this. Why kill George?’

  ‘He was her gardener. He might have come across it when he was doing the garden. They may have buried the box there before the idea of the rockery.’

  ‘But what about Fiona Morton and the snakes sent to me? What about the adder dropped down Simon’s back?’

  ‘Maybe they feared George had told Fiona about the box.’

  ‘And Simon?’

  ‘Just a coincidental accident. He must have lain on an adder when he went to sleep.’

  ‘No, no, I can’t believe it,’ said Agatha. ‘I think the Frasers are petty criminals. Both murders were vicious. The type prompted by jealousy. I don’t believe the Frasers had anything to do with it. And what about Jessica Fordyce? Where was she when Simon was attacked?’

  ‘She left for London earlier that evening. Look, Agatha, case closed. Wilkes is making a statement to the press this morning. Now, I’m going to get some much-needed sleep.’

  When they had driven Bill home, Agatha said, ‘Do you think the Frasers did the murders?’

  ‘I can’t really believe it,’ said Toni. ‘I think Wilkes is being too premature. A defence lawyer can rip holes in the case. Unless their fingerprints were on the snake books, the rest is all just supposition.’

  ‘But the prosecutor can build up something. Tim Fraser did work, however briefly, on a snake farm. The books were hidden in their garden along with the profits from their illegal cannabis farm. I think if they wanted George out of the way, they’d simply have struck him down with a hammer or something. I don’t believe they have it in them to plan the elaborate murder of George.’

  ‘Do you think George’s sister, Janet, will consider the case closed?’ asked Toni.

  ‘I’m going to the office. I’ll phone her from there.’

  But when Agatha phoned Janet Ilston, it was to find that Wilkes had already informed her of the arrest. She listened to Agatha’s doubts, and then said crisply, ‘It is my opinion that the police solved the murder of my poor brother and not you. I am terminating my contract.’

  ‘And that’s that,’ said Agatha gloomily when Janet had rung off. ‘Can’t afford to work for nothing in the middle of a recession. Let’s start clearing up some of the other cases.’

  Agatha watched Wilkes on television that evening. She had hoped he might say the police were holding three people for further enquiries, but Wilkes said clearly that Timothy Fraser, his wife, Matilda, and his son Wayne had been charged with murder.

  The doorbell rang. Agatha opened the door and found Charles standing there.

  ‘Come in,’ she said glumly.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Charles. ‘I thought you would be pleased the whole thing was over.’

  ‘Pour yourself a drink, sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.’

  Charles listened carefully. When Agatha had finished, he said, ‘I don’t see that you have a case, Agatha. It’s too far-fetched to suggest that some mysterious killer decided to frame them by burying the snake books in their stash. Why would someone ever imagine that the police would look there?’

  ‘Maybe it was a sort of insurance,’ said Agatha stubbornly. ‘Maybe whoever thought that if there was any sign the police were getting close, then an anonymous call would tip the police off. And what about the snakes sent to me? I wasn’t anywhere near the Frasers.’

  ‘But surely it was all round the village that you were detecting. Maybe the Frasers just wanted you out of the way.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Agatha, ‘what have you been doing with yourself?’

  ‘Thinking of getting married.’

  ‘You! Who to?’

  ‘Petronella Harvey-Booth.’

  ‘Who’s she?’ asked Agatha jealously.

  ‘Young, pretty and rich. If she says yes, I’ll consider myself a very lucky man.’

  ‘Got a photo?’

  Charles fished out his wallet and took out a photograph. ‘You must admit, Pet’s quite attractive.’

  ‘You call her Pet?’

  ‘Well, Petronella’s quite a mouthful.’

  The photograph showed a tall, slim girl with long brown hair, a long face, long nose and a small mouth.

  ‘And what has Gustav to say to your proposed marriage?’

  Gustav was Charles’s valet-cum-butler. ‘He thinks it’s highly suitable.’

  ‘At least I won’t have you dropping in here unexpectedly,’ said Agatha.

  Charles smiled. ‘Will you miss me?’
r />   Like hell, thought Agatha, feeling bereft.

  ‘I’ll get used to it,’ she said airily.

  ‘About these murders, have you talked to Mrs Bloxby lately?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Some little thing might have been happening in this village. What about Mr Freemantle, for example? A wife beater, and he might have dropped that adder down Simon’s neck. Let’s go and visit her anyway.’

  ‘Don’t you want to rush back to Pet?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘She’s visiting her family in Devon at the moment.’

  ‘If she lives in Devon, how did you meet her?’

  ‘She was staying with friends in Warwickshire. I met her at a party. I felt as though I had known her for ages.’

  Nobody wants me, thought Agatha. Men want frumpy women or girls who look like stick insects. I bet Pet’s got hair extensions. I hope she has. People are warning against them, saying they cause baldness.

  ‘I suppose we’d better call at the vicarage and find out if Mrs Bloxby has heard anything.’

  * * *

  The vicar answered the door to them, and, to Agatha’s amazement, gave her a warm welcome.

  ‘Come in, Mrs Raisin,’ he said with a beaming smile. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you.’

  Agatha was not to know that the vicar was plagued with memories of that voice calling him arrogant. He had even preached a sermon on Sunday warning against the dangers of false pride. He could not quite believe his wife’s explanation that someone was probably hiding behind a tombstone. The voice had seemed to come up from the grave.

  Mrs Bloxby met them in the sitting room and suggested they should sit in the garden while her husband went off to his study.

  ‘We were wondering whether you had heard anything,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, perhaps one of the Freemantles’ neighbours saw Simon under that tree.’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything,’ said Mrs Bloxby, ‘except that Fred Glossop has left again.’

  ‘I wonder why he came back,’ said Agatha. ‘They are separated, aren’t they?’

  ‘I believe Mrs Glossop was frightened by the murders and sent for him.’

  ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘He’s a computer engineer, working for some Oxford-shire firm.’

  ‘Why did they never get a divorce?’