by M C Beaton
Betty swung open the cabin door, a welcoming smile on her face which slowly faded. The captain stood there. Behind him stood two police officers, and behind the police officers, two men, one of whom she recognized as Charles Fraith. When Toni had thrown an opening party at the agency, Charles had escorted Agatha to it. She also recognized James Lacey because James had invited Toni and the other members of the agency to his engagement party, although Betty had not been invited to the wedding. If only I had stolen someone’s passport, Betty thought wildly.
As the captain confirmed her name, a policeman charged her with theft. All her sunny dreams came crashing down about her ears.
It was left to Charles to phone Agatha with the good news. She asked to speak to James, but when Charles held his mobile out, James muttered, ‘Talk to her later.’
‘What’s up with you?’ asked Charles. ‘You might have had a word with her.’
‘I don’t know,’ said James. ‘I just wish they’d find the murderer. I’ve an awful feeling the police suspect me. I was going to go away on my travels again but when I called in at Mircester police headquarters, they called Hewes police, who said I was not to leave the country until they contacted me and gave me permission.’
Charles thought briefly of Tessa. Should he pursue his courtship? But the fact that he had doubts about it made him hesitant. ‘Look, you and I could go to Hewes and do a bit of detecting, couldn’t we? Better than sitting on our bums and waiting forever.’
‘I don’t see what we can find out that the police cannot,’ said James.
‘Oh, really? Well, we just found Betty. If they’d gone through her rubbish, they’d have found the same clue. And another thing – I don’t think the police had even been around to her flat or the Pakistanis wouldn’t have been so surprised. They’ve got so many government targets to meet, they might drop this case and go on to arresting something easier, like a speeding motorist.’
Bill Wong joined Agatha and Toni that evening shortly after they had received the good news. They had left a message for him that they were having dinner in The George, the pub across the square from police headquarters. But they had finished their meal by the time Bill arrived.
‘That was good work finding Betty,’ he said. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get away earlier. Of course everyone is blaming everyone else for not having checked the girl’s rubbish. Detective Sergeant Collins was supposed to be on it, but she hates you both so, she probably did the minimum. The latest is that the captain is going to refund the money Betty paid for her cruise, and just over one hundred and fifty thousand pounds was found in her luggage, along with the missing cameras.’ He smiled at Toni. ‘So it looks as if you can get your detective agency back again.’
‘’Fraid not,’ said Toni. ‘I phoned Harry as soon as I got the news but he says he’s decided to go back to university even if the money is recovered. I don’t want to run it on my own. I’m only sorry that my friend, Sharon Gold, is out of a job.’
‘Is that the one who changes hair colour every week, and has a pierced navel always on display?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Toni.
‘Oh, she’ll do,’ said Agatha, feeling magnanimous. ‘I need someone who can go round the clubs and pubs and not look like a detective.’ Agatha was delighted to have Toni back again.
While Toni phoned Sharon with the good news, Agatha asked Bill, ‘Anything from Hewes?’
‘They wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I’ll phone Patrick. Maybe he’s dug up something.’
Agatha phoned Patrick and listened hard. When she had rung off, she said, ‘Sean Fitzpatrick’s real name was Jimmy Donnell, once IRA, but became an informer for British Intelligence for a couple of years. So the Hewes police think his murder was nothing to do with Felicity’s.’
Agatha scowled horribly. ‘It all doesn’t add up. Boats! Felicity was smuggled into Britain as a baby. I wonder if they’ve charged George Bross with that?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Bill. ‘George is a Freemason and a generous contributor to police charities.’
‘But think! All that security around the house! Maybe they were smuggling something like drugs or arms in.’
She phoned Patrick again. They all fell silent until Agatha had finished her call.
‘Evidently both Sean or whatever his name was and George both had their boats practically taken apart. Nothing there. And that Jerry dog minder hasn’t even got a criminal record.’
‘Someone told me that you’ve been saying to the press that you are offering a reward.’
‘I thought that might stir something up.’
‘Agatha,’ said Bill sternly, ‘I should think you’ve enough work on your hands at the moment. I assume you’ve got Toni’s cases to clear up as well as your own. Just let the police get on with their job.’
‘Ha, bloody ha.’
‘I’m serious. Leave it alone.’
Agatha did find that all her energy in the following six weeks had to be poured into the work of the agency. Sharon proved bright and willing, although Agatha felt she would never get used to the girl’s appearance. Although chubby, Sharon favoured very tight jeans and boob tubes. Her masses of hair had recently been dyed black with blonde streaks.
There was no James next door. He had received permission to go off on his travels. With James out of the picture, Charles was no longer interested in detecting anything, finally feeling, in his lazy way, he had done his bit finding Betty.
Agatha found she was not looking forward to a lonely weekend. Toni was going with Sharon to a rock concert. She did not want to impose her company on Mrs Bloxby, knowing that lady was overburdened with parish affairs. Even though she was sure of a great welcome at the pub, where the new smoking section had been set up outside, thanks to generous donations and to the free services offered by local builders and carpenters, she did not want to go on her own.
So she received with pleasure a phone call from Roy Silver, asking to visit for the weekend.
Roy was delighted with his welcome but surprised that nothing had been happening about Felicity’s murder. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this may be the very first time you’ve been unsuccessful.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Agatha. ‘If it were anywhere in the Cotswolds I might have better luck, but if I go back to Downboys, the Hewes police will resent the very sight of me.’
The phone rang. Agatha went to answer it. She hoped it might be Sylvan. She had forgotten he was a philanderer and at the back of her mind there was always the hope that he might ring her up.
But it was Bert Trymp on the phone. ‘Remember me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. You work at the garage in Downboys.’
‘There was something in the papers about a reward.’
‘Yes, there was,’ said Agatha cautiously.
‘How much?’
‘If the news is worth it, five thousand.’
There was a silence. Then Bert said, ‘You’d best meet me down here. On my boat. I live on it. It’s called the Southern Flyer. It’s an old fishing boat in the harbour at Hewes.’
‘Let me see,’ said Agatha. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I could get down there around lunchtime. How can I find your boat?’
‘You know the one where that fellow was murdered?’
‘Could never forget it.’
‘I’m five boats along to the right o’ that. It’s an old fishing boat,’ he repeated.
‘I’ll be there,’ said Agatha.
She told Roy. ‘I’m not going to bother Patrick or Phil,’ she said. ‘There might be nothing in it. But the weather’s lovely. Like to come?’
Roy looked anxious. ‘I haven’t anything nautical to wear.’
‘Don’t even think about it. Any clothes will do.’
Chapter Six
THEY LEFT THE Cotswolds in blazing sunshine with shafts of golden light shining through the green tunnels of trees covering the road out of Carsely.
But as they drove
steadily on, a bank of grey cloud rose up on the horizon and soon rain began to smear the windscreen. ‘I’m not really dressed for this,’ complained Roy, who had dug a striped French fisherman’s sweater out of his capacious luggage.
‘We brought our coats. They’re in the boot with the rest of the luggage,’ said Agatha reassuringly. ‘We won’t freeze.’
To Agatha’s relief, the skies began to clear as they drove down to the harbour at Hewes. ‘It’s a river!’ exclaimed Roy. ‘I thought we were going to the sea.’
‘It leads down to the sea,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s get out and look for Bert’s boat. It’s an old fishing boat.’
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Roy, getting a coat out of the car boot. ‘I never could tell one boat from another except the ones with sails are yachts. Anyway, he’s probably dead.’
‘What on earth makes you think that?’
‘Well, it’s like in books and movies. Someone says, “The name of the murderer is… aargh.” They always get bumped off
‘I don’t believe it. We’ll find him.’ How irritating not to be in the police but always poking around on the outside of any investigation.
‘I think that must be it,’ she said. ‘It’s the shabbiest of the lot and it does look like a small fishing boat. Yes, I can make out the name. It’s the Southern Flyer.’
The deck and wheelhouse were deserted. ‘We’d best go aboard,’ said Agatha.
They climbed on to the deck, shouting loudly, ‘Bert! Bert!’ while the mocking seagulls sailed about overhead.
‘The wind’s whipping our voices away,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s try below.’
‘Must we?’ pleaded Roy. ‘I’m feeling seasick already.’
‘Then stay where you are. I’ll go down.’
But Agatha found the door to the cabin firmly locked.
She retreated back up on deck. ‘No one there. I just said we’d meet around lunchtime. It’s only noon. Let’s go back to the car and wait. He’ll have to pass us to get to his boat.’
They waited and waited while the rising wind rocked the car and the sky grew dark overhead. Suddenly the rain poured down in floods. Agatha switched on the windscreen wipers and continued to watch. At last, the shower passed and the sun shone out again.
‘You wait here,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll try the harbour office.’
But that office was closed. Agatha wandered up and down the row of moored boats until she saw a man working on his deck.
She called out, ‘Have you seen Bert Trymp?’
‘That’s his boat along there, the Southern Flyer,’ he called back.
‘He’s not on it.’
‘Then try his father’s garage in Downboys. Do you need directions?’
‘I know the way,’ said Agatha.
‘I’m hungry,’ complained Roy when Agatha got back into the car.
‘So am I,’ said Agatha. ‘Look, there’s a café over there. We can get some sandwiches and coffee and then get off to Downboys.’
‘What happened to nice vulgar white-bread sandwiches?’ mourned Roy after lunch as Agatha drove them to Downboys. ‘It’s always that nasty brown bread which tastes of bitter malt. And mayonnaise on everything. And all wrapped in plastic. No one makes a real sandwich any more. And that ham! It was so slippery and shiny, I could see my face in it.’
‘I’ll get you a good dinner this evening. Here is Downboys and here is the garage and… would you believe it? It’s closed for Saturday. Isn’t that so bloody British? No wonder half our businesses are being outsourced abroad.’
‘Calm down, sweetie,’ said Roy. ‘There’s a house next to it. Bet that’s where they live.’
Agatha marched up to the bungalow next to the garage and rang the bell.
‘I say, Aggie,’ said Roy, grabbing her arm. ‘I’ve just seen a faun.’
‘There might be deer round here.’
‘No, a man who looks like -’
He broke off as the door opened. A short thickset man stood there. He had a pugnacious face, small grey eyes and a thatch of unkempt grey hair.
‘Mr Trymp?’ ventured Agatha.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘My name is Agatha Raisin and this is Roy Silver. Your son wanted to see us on his boat at lunchtime today but we can’t find him.’
‘I don’t know where he is. He lives on that stupid wreck down in the harbour. Try there.’
‘We have but he’s not on board.’
‘Can’t help.’
‘Mr Trymp, may we come in?’
‘No.’
‘I am a private detective. I have offered a reward for any information about the death of the man who called himself Sean Fitzpatrick.’
‘I ’member you. You’re that bird what was married to the fellow who was going to marry Felicity. I think our Bert’s been playing games. He don’t know nothing.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘’Cos I know my son and he’s as thick as pig shit!’ Mr Trymp slammed the door in their faces.
‘Now what?’ asked Agatha gloomily. ‘Why are you staring about like that?’
‘I saw this chap watching us. He looked like a faun. No, well, maybe like one of those Pan creatures in the old paintings.’
‘Did he have grey hair, hooded eyes, slim figure?’
‘That’s him.’
‘That, if I am not mistaken, was Sylvan Dubois. You must have seen him at the wedding. Not like you to fail to notice someone like him. Why on earth did he not come over and speak to us? You know, Roy, much as I hate to do it, I’d better go to the police and tell them about Bert’s phone call. He may be lying dead in his boat.’
After a long wait at the police station, they were ushered in to face Detective Sergeant Falcon.
He listened carefully while Agatha told him about Bert’s phone call. When she had finished, he said, ‘You can now leave matters with us, Mrs Raisin.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ said Agatha. ‘You’d never have heard about it if it hadn’t been for me. I’m coming with you.’
Back to the harbour under a squally sky. Boats and yachts were bobbing at anchor. ‘You two wait here,’ commanded Falcon. He and a policeman went on board. Falcon eventually emerged. ‘I’ll get the boy’s father down here and tell him to bring any keys.’
The man from the harbour office came strolling along. ‘What’s up?’
‘We think something may have happened to Bert Trymp, Mr Judson,’ said Falcon. ‘Did he leave keys with you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. They’re on a nail in the office.’
‘Where anyone might have got hold of them while that lazy sod is in the pub,’ muttered Falcon.
They waited impatiently. Judson came back with a ring of keys. Falcon took them, and accompanied again by the policeman, went back on board. Agatha pulled her coat more tightly around her.
‘Here comes Sylvan,’ said Roy.
Agatha looked along the quay and saw Sylvan strolling towards them. He came up to Agatha and kissed her on both cheeks and then asked cheerfully, ‘Any more bodies?’
‘Do you know where Bert is?’ asked Agatha.
He shrugged and spread his hands.
‘We were up at the garage,’ pursued Agatha. ‘Why didn’t you speak to us?’
‘Things to do,’ he said lazily. ‘Places to go. Why are you looking for Bert? I assume that is why the police are here.’
‘He said he had information about Sean’s murder.’
‘But it has been established that Sean or whatever he was really called was killed by the IRA.’
‘And where’s the proof of that?’ demanded Agatha angrily. She was angry because those kisses had given her a flutter.
‘I don’t know,’ said Sylvan, ‘but the police seem sure of it.’ He raised his expressive eyebrows in the direction of Roy.
‘This is a friend of mine, Roy Silver. Roy, Sylvan Dubois.’
‘Charmed,’ tittered Roy.
‘Why don’t you both join me fo
r dinner tonight?’ asked Sylvan.
‘We didn’t really mean to stay…’ began Agatha, but Roy chipped in with ‘That would be lovely. I mean, Aggie, we can hardly leave without finding out what happened to Bert.’
‘All right,’ said Agatha. ‘Where?’
‘There’s a very good Cantonese restaurant called China Dreams on the main street,’ said Sylvan. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock?’
He turned to leave. ‘Aren’t you going to wait and see if the police find anything?’ asked Agatha.
‘If they had, they’d be leaping about by now. À bientôt!’
Falcon eventually reappeared. ‘No sign of him,’ he called to Agatha. ‘He probably was playing a trick on you. But we’ll keep looking.’
‘Now what?’ asked Roy.
‘I want to find a Marks and Spencer,’ said Agatha, ‘and buy some clean underwear and a nightie. We may as well stay the night.’
After they had booked rooms in The Jolly Farmer and done their shopping, Agatha said, ‘We’ve still got time until this evening. I’d like to have a look at the bottom of the Brosses’ property. Bert might be working on a boat there.’
‘We could go back to the harbour and see if anyone will take us down the river,’ suggested Roy.
‘Good idea.’
But Judson said he didn’t know of anyone available. They did not say where they wanted to go, only that they wanted to sail down the river for a bit. ‘I’ve a dinghy you can rent,’ said Judson, ‘but I don’t think you’d know how to handle one of those.’
Roy looked out over the water. The sun was shining and the wind had dropped. He had only ever had one lesson, but he knew Agatha often thought he was a wimp and wanted to impress her. ‘I can handle a dinghy,’ he said eagerly.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Agatha nervously.
‘Oh, sure as sure.’
Agatha was impressed when Roy got the sail up and the dinghy began to move swiftly down the river. Roy was proud of himself as he tacked backwards and forwards down the river.
