by M C Beaton
‘Maybe she’s just putting a brave face on it,’ said Toni. ‘Actually, she does look as if she’s full of some sort of pills. She’s probably on a heavy dose of antidepressants. No one’s supposed to grieve these days. Let’s find this Sean.’
After asking in Hewes for directions to the marina, they found it at the foot of a long winding cobbled street. Various expensive-looking yachts bobbed at anchor along with smaller craft. There was a small stone jetty and on the shore were several trendy boutiques and cafés with tables outside where a few brave people crouched over cups of coffee in a blustery wind.
‘There’s an office on that jetty,’ said Agatha as they both got out of the car. ‘We’ll try there.’
In the office, a man who looked as if he were dressed for the part of a nautical extra in a film sat behind a desk. He wore what Agatha had seen advertised as ‘a genuine Greek fisherman’s hat’ on his head and a white Aran sweater over a tattersall shirt with a silk cravat tucked into the neckline. Although surely aware of them standing in front of him, he continued to write something on a pad.
Agatha waited a few minutes and then said crossly, ‘Okay, you’ve impressed us with the fact that you are a busy man. We’ve got it. We’re suitably impressed. We want to ask you a few questions.’
He looked up, feigning tolerant amusement, and tipped his chair back. He had a craggy face with deep pouches under his eyes. ‘Want a boat?’
‘No,’ said Agatha. ‘Or rather, a particular boat. Sean Fitzpatrick’s.’
‘What’s he been up to now? Seduced your daughter?’
‘We are private detectives. I am Agatha Raisin and this is Toni Gilmour. We have been hired by Mrs Bross-Tilkington to investigate the murder of her daughter. Now, where do we find him?’
‘Walk along to your left when you leave here. It’s a cruiser called Helena.’
And I wonder who Helena was or is,’ said Agatha when they left the office.
‘There it is,’ cried Toni, pointing. ‘That’s one really powerful boat. Must have cost a fortune.’
‘Mr Fitzpatrick!’ called Agatha.
There was no movement from the boat.
‘Aren’t we supposed to shout “ahoy”?’ asked Toni.
‘Can’t do that. I’d feel like a prat. Mr Fitzpatrick!’
‘The wind’s carrying your voice away,’ said Toni. ‘Why don’t I nip on board? He might be asleep or something.’
Agatha wanted to say that she was quite capable of nipping on board herself but her hip gave that awful twinge – the twinge that kept crying out for a hip-replacement operation.
‘Go ahead,’ she said gruffly.
She watched enviously as Toni leapt on to the deck. Toni called loudly but the only thing that met her ears was the hum of the traffic from the town above the river and the screech of seagulls overhead.
Toni looked across at Agatha, who made impatient well-go-ahead signs. Toni tried the door of the cabin and found it unlocked. She made her way down the companionway past the head, past a table in an alcove with a marine chart spread on it and then into the cabin. It was empty. Toni was about to retreat when she realized a cruiser this size must have a bedroom.
She opened a door at the end of the cabin. Lying on the bed was the prone figure of a man, fully dressed. A hole, like a third eye, was in the middle of his forehead. The exit wound had soaked the pillow in blood.
Toni slowly backed away, her face white. Then she turned and ran up on deck, calling wildly to Agatha, ‘Call the police. Murder!’
A combination of the wind and a mocking seagull’s cry drowned out Toni’s words, but Agatha saw the girl’s white face and picked her way gingerly along a narrow gangplank which Toni had ignored.
‘He’s dead. Shot. Get the police,’ panted Toni. Agatha took out her mobile and began to dial.
‘What are you ladies doing on Sean’s boat?’ a voice called.
Toni heard the voice but not the words. She looked across at the jetty and saw Sylvan Dubois. She started to call to him, but he jumped on the deck. ‘It’s Sean Fitzpatrick, I think,’ said Toni. ‘He’s dead. Shot.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Sylvan, making his way to the companionway
‘Don’t go down there!’ shouted Toni. ‘It’s a crime scene.’
‘I need to make sure he is dead. Did you touch the body?’
Toni gave a shudder. ‘No.’
‘I’ll just check.’
Agatha rang off and asked angrily, ‘Where’s he gone?’
‘To look at the body.’
‘I’d better go and see what he’s up to,’ said Agatha.
‘The police have arrived,’ said Toni, waving frantically as two squad cars came racing along.
Sylvan reappeared and helped them back on to the jetty. ‘You shouldn’t have gone in there,’ raged Agatha. ‘It’s a crime scene.’
‘I know that now,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I had to make sure.’
Police poured out of their cars, headed by Detective Inspector Boase. Agatha explained quickly what they had found and why they had been looking for Sean. Boase barked out orders. Agatha, Toni and Sylvan were to be taken to the police station and held for interrogation. Their fingerprints were to be taken and their hands checked for gun residue. Agatha was furious.
They sat and waited in Hewes police station after their fingerprints had been taken and their hands checked for what seemed ages.
At last the detective inspector returned with Detective Sergeant Falcon. ‘You first, Mrs Raisin.’
Agatha had a sudden sharp longing for James or Charles or even Roy. Charles had said he would follow her down, but in his usual cavalier way, he had not put in an appearance. She belonged to a generation when men were supposed to handle difficult situations. She was surprised at herself. Had she not built up two successful businesses? She squared her tired shoulders and sat down in the interrogation room.
‘Coffee?’ asked Boase.
‘Police coffee?’
‘There’s a Starbucks next door.’
‘Great. Black. May I smoke?’
‘If you must.’
Agatha lit up a cigarette and thanked the gods that this nanny state had seen fit to leave the prisoners or about-to-be prisoners with some indulgences.
A policewoman came in shortly carrying a tray of cardboard containers of coffee. It would have to be a policewoman who was sent for coffee, thought Agatha. In fact, did one still call them policewomen, or was it policepersons or -
‘Mrs Raisin! If you have quite finished daydreaming,’ said Boase. ‘Interview with Mrs Agatha Raisin in the presence of Detective Sergeant Falcon and Police Constable Hathey. Time fifteen-hundred and thirty. Begin at the beginning and tell us why you went in search of Mr Sean Fitzpatrick.’
Agatha explained again that Olivia had asked her to investigate the murder. She had learned that Sean Fitzpatrick had taken over guarding the house and grounds while the Bross-Tilkingtons and their man, Jerry, were abroad. They were told he had a boat. On locating the boat and getting no reply to their shouts, Toni Gilmour went on board and returned shortly to say Sean had been murdered. Mr Sylvan Dubois had come along and gone aboard to check that Sean was really dead. ‘And that’s all,’ she ended defiantly.
But that was far from all. She was asked to explain all her movements from the time she got up in the morning to what she had been doing before she had called at the boat. She reluctantly gave up details of her interview with Bert Trymp and how Toni had found out from the cleaners about Sean. Then she had to go over it all again from the beginning until she snapped, ‘Am I being charged with anything?’
‘No,’ said Boase. ‘You are simply helping us with our inquiries.’
‘Then I’m out of here.’
‘Do not leave the area. We will probably wish to speak to you again.’
Agatha sat down in the reception area to wait for Toni. How on earth could James detach himself from a murder case which involved him so closely? She must
see him again. He surely must have heard something or other. ‘What are you dreaming about?’ asked Sylvan, joining her.
‘I am not dreaming, I am thinking hard. You know the family. You’re friends with them. Surely you’ve got some idea.’
He spread his hands. ‘They seemed a nice English family. Very hospitable. I don’t think George Bross liked Felicity much.’
‘What! His own daughter?’
Ah, you see, Felicity wasn’t his daughter. He got drunk one night and told me. Olivia had an affair once. He loves his wife. Strange, hein? That dumpy little woman with the iron hair? They could not have children so he elected to bring her up as their own. He was desperate to get her married off and out of his life.’
‘Had she done something so terrible?’
‘Who knows? But she did try to please him and when she turned herself into a raving beauty, that seemed to work for a while.’
‘Do the police know this?’
‘I don’t think so, and don’t tell them.’
‘Who was the father?’
‘You’ll need to ask Olivia that. But do tell her you did not get the news from me. What about dinner tonight?’
Agatha would normally have leaped at the chance of dinner with this attractive Frenchman, despite the fact that she was still suspicious of him, had she not still been so shaken over this second murder. ‘Another time,’ she said gruffly.
Toni reappeared and Agatha got hurriedly to her feet. ‘Maybe see you later,’ she said to Sylvan. He rose to his feet to hold the police station door open for them.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, putting an arm around Agatha’s shoulders and pulling her against his body. ‘Soon this will all be forgotten.’
‘Unless these murders are solved, not by me,’ said Agatha, pulling away.
In the car, Agatha told Toni about Felicity not being George’s daughter. ‘But there’s something else,’ she added.
‘What’s that? I had the most awful grilling,’ said Toni. ‘I almost felt like confessing to the murders just to get it over with.’
‘You know Sylvan went on to the boat.’
‘Yes.’
‘When he hugged me there, I felt the crackle of papers from his inside pocket – a lot of papers. Now, our elegant friend would not go around distorting the line of his tailored jacket with a big bunch of papers. What if he took something from the boat?’
‘I couldn’t see any papers lying around,’ said Toni.
‘He might have known where to look,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll go out to the house now and ask Olivia about Felicity. Then maybe we could watch somewhere on the road afterwards to see if Sylvan leaves.’
‘But he’s already out of the house,’ said Toni.
‘I know. But he was wearing a light suit and the weather’s turning chilly. He may return to change. We wait until he leaves and then return to Olivia. You keep her talking while I say I’m going to the loo and I’ll have a quick look in his room.’
‘How will you know which one it is? It’s a big house.’
‘I’ll follow my nose. He smells of some sort of sandalwood scent.’
‘I wish we could hide somewhere in the house instead,’ said Toni.
‘Why?’
‘I would like to hear what Sylvan and Olivia have to talk about.’
‘Let’s ask her about Felicity before we do anything else.’
Olivia at first protested vehemently that Felicity was indeed their own daughter. Then she all at once broke down and sobbed out that Felicity had been adopted. George had always wanted children and it had been a great disappointment to him when she couldn’t have any. Then he went off on business to Spain one time on his own. A little while later, he confessed he’d had an affair and that the woman was pregnant. Olivia threatened a divorce, but he’d pleaded with her that this was the opportunity to have the child they’d always wanted. At last she agreed. He brought the baby home. Olivia had fallen in love with the little baby. George never told her the name of the mother and she didn’t want to know.
‘It’ll be on the adoption papers,’ said Agatha.
‘George said he hadn’t bothered about formalities, and for the last six months before the arrival of the baby, I agreed to appear pregnant.’
‘But how did he get the baby into the country?’ asked Toni.
‘He brought it by our boat.’
‘There are surely customs checks at the harbour?’ said Agatha.
‘Oh, he said, the men knew him. The baby was fast asleep in a locker and they never looked.’
Agatha stared at her open-mouthed. What else had George been bringing into the country under the noses of the customs men?
‘Do you happen to know if the mother was Spanish?’ asked Toni.
‘I suppose so.’
‘But she was very fair-skinned.’
‘Some Spaniards are. Oh, please, don’t tell the police. We would be arrested and I have had so much to bear.’
They waited until she had recovered. ‘All right,’ said Agatha reluctantly.
‘Who told you?’ demanded Olivia.
Agatha racked her brains. Someone in the village? Hardly. The police? No.
‘It was Sylvan,’ said Olivia bitterly. ‘I know it must have been. He never liked me.’
Agatha cleared her throat. ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news.’
‘Bad news? There can’t be anything worse than murder.’
‘Sean Fitzpatrick has been murdered.’
For one moment, Olivia looked as she were about to faint. Her bright red lipstick was the only colour on her white face. ‘Sean,’ she whispered at last. ‘Why Sean?’
‘Was he a close friend of your husband?’ asked Agatha.
She put out a trembling hand as if to ward off any more questions. ‘Enough. I can’t take any more. I am going to take a sedative and go to bed. If the police call, tell them I am indisposed and will answer any questions tomorrow.’
‘Do you want us to help you?’ asked Agatha.
‘Just leave me alone!’ Olivia rose and stumbled from the room.
Toni and Agatha waited in silence and then Agatha whispered, ‘I forgot to ask her where her husband was and when he’s expected back. That boat of George’s. All this security.’
‘I wonder if he was smuggling in anything more than just one baby,’ said Toni.
‘Could be. It would explain a lot. But not much about Felicity’s death. If we wait until Olivia settles down, I could have a look in Sylvan’s room.’
‘But he’ll still have the papers on him,’ Toni pointed out.
‘There might be something else there. Look, Toni, why don’t you go back to the harbour and find out what you can about Sean.’
‘How will you get back?’
‘I’ll phone for a cab.’
Agatha waited and waited in the silent house. At last she rose and made her way up the thickly carpeted stairs. Most of the bedroom doors stood open. Even Olivia had left her door open and Agatha could see that she was fast asleep.
She made her way along a corridor, peering into rooms until she came to a closed door at the end. She tried the handle but the door was locked.
Agatha fished out a credit card she rarely used and inserted it in the lock.
‘It helps if you have a key,’ said an amused French voice behind her. Agatha turned round, her face flaming.
‘I was just taking a look around,’ she said defiantly. ‘I am supposed to be detecting.’
‘The police are downstairs,’ said Sylvan. ‘Where is Olivia?’
‘Taken a sedative and gone to bed.’
‘Then you had better go down there and tell them that.’
Agatha had a few brief words with the police downstairs. Boase said he would call again in the morning. Agatha hesitated. Sylvan had not followed her down.
She felt suddenly weary and rather frightened. She longed to be back in Carsely. Agatha did not know that her wish was soon to be granted.
; Chapter Five
TONI AND AGATHA had breakfast the next morning. Toni had found out very little about Fitzpatrick. He had ‘kept himself to himself’, according to the locals.
Their breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of Detective Sergeant Falcon. ‘Mrs Bross-Tilkington does not require your services any more and she demands that you leave her alone. You may submit a bill for the days you have worked for her. We, the police, suggest you both return to your homes, leaving us your addresses. All you are doing is muddying a police investigation.’
Agatha’s protests were weaker than they might have been. Home! Back to her cottage and cats.
At last she asked, ‘Has Mr Bross arrived back?’
‘Yes, last night. He also wants you to leave.’
‘You seem almost relieved,’ accused Toni when the detective had left.
‘Well, I am. I can’t seem to concentrate here. I’d like to get back to my usual surroundings and have a good hard think. Maybe I’ll just phone Olivia and make sure she doesn’t want us,’ said Agatha, taking out her mobile.
Olivia herself answered and began to cry as soon as she heard Agatha’s voice. The phone was seized from her and George’s voice, truculent with rage, came on the line. ‘Get the hell out of here, you old bat,’ he roared, ‘or I’ll make you wish you’d -’
Agatha hung up on him.
‘It seems that George is the one who doesn’t want us. Let’s pay our bills, Toni, and get out of here.’
Toni drove to Mircester and then Agatha said goodbye to her and drove herself home. How friendly the Cotswolds did seem after the bleakness of Downboys. It was a brisk windy day and the trees lining the steep road down to Carsely seemed to bow down in welcome as Agatha sped past.
Doris Simpson, Agatha’s cleaner, was working when Agatha let herself in. She was one of the few people in Carsely who called Agatha by her first name. ‘You look as if you could do with a nice cup of tea,’ said Doris, switching off the vacuum.
‘I could do with a stiff gin and tonic. I’ll get it. Where are my cats?’
‘They’re over at my place, playing with my cat, Scrabble. I’ll bring them over after I’ve finished here. Will you be going to the meeting in the village hall tomorrow night?’
