Agatha Raisin The Perfect Paragon ar-16

by M C Beaton

They reached the factory and parked and then began to walk around the perimeter fence. Agatha would have walked right pass the spot because she was dreaming about Freddy, but Phil suddenly cried, “Here it is. Look down. You can see where the grass has been flattened.” He bent down and tugged hard at the bottom of the fence and bent the chain link upwards. “There! That’s how it could have been done. Let’s go inside and have a look.”

  “Must we?” pleaded Agatha. She was wearing a yellow linen suit and the grass was wet.

  “We’ve come this far. I would like a look at the office door to see if it’s got the sort of lock that could be easily picked.”

  He got down on the ground and rolled through to the other side. “Come on, Agatha. It’s easy.”

  Agatha tried but got stuck halfway and Phil had to force the fence up even higher.

  She stood up and tried to brush herself down. Her suit was wet and smeared with green grass stains.

  They had just got halfway towards the buildings when an alarm went off and two security men with Alsatian dogs straining at the leash came running towards them.

  “Stop!” called one. “Or we’ll let the dogs loose.”

  They both stood frozen to the spot.

  “You will come with us,” said one of them, “while we phone the police.”

  “We’re employed by Mrs. Smedley to investigate the murder of her husband,” said Agatha. She fished in her handbag and brought out her business card. “Phone her.”

  He studied the card and then took out a mobile phone. He was wearing a black uniform with a badge on the front which said “Mircester Security.”

  While the other man stood guard, he walked a little away and began to talk into the phone.

  At last he came back to join them. “Mrs. Smedley agrees she employed you, but says you had no right to break into the factory. You can go. Back the way you came and let me see how you got in.”

  They led the guards to the vulnerable bit of the fence. “We’ll get that nailed down. Off you go.”

  “Can’t you let us out the front gate?”

  “Just go.”

  They rolled through one after the other. Phil helped Agatha up. Her hip gave a ferocious twinge and she let out a gasp.

  “Are you all right?” asked Phil. “Got rheumatism?”

  “No, just a cramp,” said Agatha. “We’d better go and see Mabel Smedley and find out why she laid off Berry. Maybe she suspects him. I’ll drop off at home first and change my clothes.”

  Mabel received them graciously and offered them tea. Agatha looked around the living room for clues but all she could see was a pleasant room with tasteful furniture and some very good paintings on the walls.

  When Mabel had poured them excellent cups of coffee and offered home-made biscuits, she said, “All you had to do was tell me you were going to the factory.”

  “We found there was a way of getting through the fence. Burt Haviland told us. We wanted to see if the lock on the office door would be easy to pick. Because you had laid your security man off, we didn’t expect anyone to be there.”

  “I hired a private security firm.”

  “Why?”

  “I never quite trusted Berry. I think he drinks. I thought it safer to suspend everyone and if the new owners want to keep them on, that’s their business.”

  “Have you found a buyer?”

  “My lawyers are working on it. It’s only a small factory, but profitable. It should not be on the market for long. I shall of course tell the new owners about Burt Haviland and those schoolgirls. The police told me about that. I was shocked. Pity*. Burt was a very good salesman.”

  “I’m sure you won’t be giving Joyce Wilson a reference.”

  “I find it hard to believe that Robert should have had an affair with that silly girl. The police told me about it. More coffee?”

  “It must make you very angry.”

  “Robert is dead,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am grieving. Getting angry doesn’t help.”

  “Of course,” said Phil with quick sympathy. “These biscuits are amazingly good.”

  “Have some more, do.”

  “Would you say the office lock could have been easily picked?” asked Agatha.

  “It’s just a Yale. The bit with all the electronic components was always securely locked.”

  “Maybe nobody needed to break into the factory,” said Agatha. “Mr. Smedley had a meeting on the Friday. There was just enough milk left over for the Monday. But he wouldn’t have coffee first thing because that was the morning you both came to see me.”

  “I went home and he went straight back to the office. He would automatically ask Joyce to fetch him a cup of coffee.”

  “Do you suspect Joyce Wilson?”

  “Not for a minute. She’s too spineless. Not the type.”

  When they had left, Phil said, “If you don’t mind, I think perhaps we should be trying harder to find out who murdered Jessica. She didn’t deserve to die. But Smedley did. You said he beat his wife.”

  “I think he did. I really could do with something to eat. Those biscuits gave me indigestion.” Agatha was lying. She had only eaten one delicious biscuit, but she was tired of the fact that all the men around her seemed to dote on Mabel Smedley.

  EIGHT

  FOR the next two days, Agatha worked hard interviewing as many of Smedley’s staff as she could find while Patrick and Phil worked on Jessica’s murder. She was glad she had employed Harry, who seemed to be coping well with two divorce cases. Agatha was beginning to wonder if she could tempt him to forget about university and work for her full-time.

  Charles was still absent. She had put him to the back of her mind because she wanted to have dinner alone with Freddy. But as she was driving home on Wednesday, she suddenly remembered with horror that at Mrs. Bloxby’s she had said something about Bill being her only best friend. Charles had accused her before of having a selfish, cavalier attitude to her friends. She would phone him and make amends. But not until the next day.

  Agatha, dressed in a very short skirt and a black jersey top and high heels, began to feel excited as she waited for Freddy to arrive. Just as he was ringing the doorbell, her telephone rang. She decided to ignore it.

  Freddy planted a warm kiss on her cheek. “You look great,” he said.

  He took her to the same restaurant as before and asked her all about the case. Agatha launched into a description of all she had found out, quite forgetting she had meant to ask him all about Zimbabwe.

  When she had finished, he gazed into her eyes and said, “You really are amazing, you know.”

  Agatha dropped her eyes, the lashes heavy with black mascara, in mock modesty and murmured, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “But you are! All this murder and mayhem. You must be very courageous.”

  Agatha remembered that she should be asking him about Zimbabwe, and asked, “Did you have an awful time in Africa?”

  “It was pretty grim. A gang charged the farmhouse. They’d already killed most of my workers. We got out the back way just in the nick of time with only what we were wearing.”

  “We?” asked Agatha.

  “I mean, me and my houseboy. It’s a terrible situation. Because Mugabe has driven off all the farmers, the harvests are rotting in the fields and the country is starving. Oh, that reminds me. I’m leaving tomorrow for a short break.”

  Agatha’s face fell. “For how long?”

  “Just a couple of weeks.”

  “Let’s hope I have these cases cleared up before you get back. Where are you going? Not back to Zimbabwe, I hope.”

  “No, I’m going to see, er, friends in South Africa. But I’ll see you as soon as I get back. Anyway, let’s make the most of our evening together.” His eyes looked long and steadily into hers and Agatha got the unsaid message—the night as well.

  That was when a little twinge of panic assailed Agatha. She had shaved her legs the day before, but she really should have gone for a wax.
The evening was humid and she nervously imagined she could feel hair sprouting through the sheerness of her black stockings. It was a while since she had found the courage to look at her naked body in a full-length mirror. Then, what if he didn’t have a condom? She didn’t have any.

  But she fought down her worries. Here was the most attractive man she had come across in ages. Maybe they would get married. But if they got married and he went out to Nigeria to farm, she would need to go with him.

  So she drank more than she should to drown the worries and was feeling muzzy and relaxed when she got in the car for the drive to her home.

  If I’m not meant to do this, she told herself, something will happen.

  “Coming in for a nightcap?” asked Agatha.

  “Of course.”

  He went round and opened the car door for her and helped her out. Agatha opened the door and reset the burglar alarm.

  “I’ll just let my cats in from the garden,” said Agatha, suddenly nervous again. “Help yourself to a drink and make me a gin and tonic.”

  Agatha let her cats in and patted them.

  He appeared behind her, making her jump. “Do we really need a drink?” he asked.

  Agatha turned to face him. He cradled her face in his hands and bent his head to kiss her.

  And at that very moment, sharp and shrill, the doorbell rang.

  “Don’t answer it,” he murmured.

  The doorbell rang again. “Police! Open up!” cried a voice.

  Freddy drew back, looking alarmed.

  Agatha rushed to the door and opened it. Detective Inspector Wilkes stood there, flanked by Bill Wong and a policewoman.

  “Come in,” said Agatha. “What’s up? Is this going to take long?”

  “All night if necessary.”

  Freddy, who had followed Agatha to the door, said quickly, “I’d better take myself off.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Wilkes.

  “A friend of Agatha’s. We’ve just had dinner. I’ll be on my way.”

  “No, you don’t. You’ll stay until we get your address and what you were doing today.”

  “What’s all this about?” asked Agatha as they all sat round the kitchen table.

  “All in good time,” said Wilkes ponderously.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” snapped Agatha. “You’ve been watching too many cop movies. What’s happened?”

  “Burt Haviland has been found murdered.”

  “What! How?”

  “Stabbed to death in his flat. A vicious assault. We’ll start with your friend here. Have you been helping Mrs. Raisin on her cases?”

  “No,” said Freddy. “I’m just a casual friend.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “I’ve just come over from Zimbabwe. I’m staying with a friend in Chipping Norton at the moment.”

  “Name and address?”

  “Captain John Harvey, Orchard Farm. It’s on the Oxford side of Chipping Norton.”

  “Married?”

  “No,” said Freddy.

  “And were you with Mrs. Raisin earlier today?”

  “No. I picked her up for dinner at eight o’clock. We went to the Feathers restaurant in Broadway. We’d just got back when you arrived. May I go now?”

  “Yes, that’ll be all right.”

  Freddy threw Agatha a guilty look and hurried out.

  “When was he found?” asked Agatha.

  “At six o’clock.”

  “And who found him?”

  “We did. He dialled 999 before he died. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I was out. I wanted a quiet evening, so I switched off my mobile as well.”

  “When did you last see Burt Haviland?”

  “Monday.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I asked him if there was any way anyone could sneak through the fence and into the factory. He said there was a loose bit in the chain-link fence. So me and Mr. Witherspoon found it and slid through. We were heading for the office to study the lock and see if it was an easy one to pick. Mrs. Smedley had hired a firm of security guards and we were caught and sent off. That was the last time I talked to Burt and it was about the fence. You don’t suspect me, surely? I was still in the office at six o’clock, finishing up business.”

  “I suspect you of withholding information.”

  “That’s not true,” said Agatha hotly. “I was the one who told you about the girls’ Web site. Didn’t the neighbours see or hear anything?”

  “It’s a small block of flats. They were all still out, apart from an old lady on the top floor flat who’s stone-deaf.”

  “Well, I’m not withholding a damned thing and you’ve buggered up my date.”

  “Not a very gallant date,” murmured Bill Wong. “Rushing off like that and leaving you to face the music.”

  “Right,” said Wilkes. “We want you to report to police headquarters tomorrow at ten in the morning and we’ll take a statement. You will tell us everything you know about Burt Haviland.”

  “But I already have!”

  “Don’t argue. Be there.”

  “When he was phoning for help, didn’t Burt say who had stabbed him?”

  “No. He said, ‘I’m stabbed. Burt Haviland. Send help,’ and then the phone went dead.”

  After they had left, Agatha sat feeling miserable. Another murder. She was useless as a detective and useless as a woman. Then she remembered Charles.

  She phoned his number. Gustav answered the phone. Agatha asked for Charles. “He’s busy,” said Gustav rudely and put down the phone.

  Agatha glanced at her watch. It was only eleven o’clock. She locked up again and got into her car. Driving carefully and hoping she would not be stopped and breathalysed, she arrived at Charles’s mansion and knocked on the door.

  Agatha was prepared to battle her way past Gustav, but it was Charles himself who answered the door.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m so sorry, Charles,” said Agatha. “When I said that tactless thing about Bill being my best friend, I meant he was my first friend.”

  “You mean you didn’t have any friends when you were working in London?”

  “No,” lied Agatha. “I meant he was my first friend when I moved to the Cotswolds. I’m sorry.”

  “Come in. Gosh, we do behave like kids sometimes. But you have been pretty offhand with your friends in the past. Come through to the study.”

  “Burt Haviland’s been murdered, stabbed to death.”

  “When?”

  “Late afternoon. Six o’clock.”

  “How can the police be so precise?”

  “He dialled 999 just before he died.”

  “Found the weapon?”

  “I was so shocked I didn’t ask.”

  “Drink?”

  “No, I’ve had enough already. I shouldn’t really be driving. The police called on me when I got home.”

  “So you’ve been drinking and you’re all glammed up. What have you been up to?”

  Agatha did not want to tell him about Freddy because she might lose Freddy, and that meant losing a dream and she was short on dreams.

  “The ladies’ society meeting.”

  Charles looked cynical. “All that for a bunch of women?”

  “You’re behind the times. Women dress up for other women. Anyway, I’m feeling pretty rotten. Three murders and I still haven’t a clue about any of them. I’m due at police headquarters in the morning.”

  Agatha stifled a yawn.

  “You’d better go home,” said Charles. “I’ll call for you at police headquarters. What time do you think they’ll let you out?”

  “Knowing the way they go on, I should think about noon. I’m due there at ten and they’ll probably keep me waiting and then grill me over and over again.”

  “They can’t force you to. You’re not under arrest.”

  “I’d better do it. Can’t start getting
on the wrong side of the police.”

  “Right,” said Charles. “I’ll be waiting for you in reception.”

  Agatha drove steadily and carefully home. When she got out of the car and stood fishing her house keys out of her handbag, she suddenly stiffened. She had a feeling of being watched. She slowly turned round.

  The cobbled lane was deserted. The lilac trees from which it took its name rustled in the lightest of winds.

  I’m tired, that’s all, she told herself firmly. She let herself in and went up to bed. The cats followed her upstairs and stretched out on the bed. I really should stop them doing that, thought Agatha. She experienced a feeling of unease when she remembered how Freddy had cleared off. Charles would never have done that. But she needed her dreams, and by the time she fell asleep Freddy had once more been restored in her mind to the status of future husband.

  The questioning was every bit as wearying as Agatha had expected it to be. Unlike previous cases, she held nothing back, feeling there was nothing to hold back, although at one point she guiltily remembered those letters Burt had written to Jessica.

  It was with a feeling of relief that she found Charles waiting for her. Dear Charles. Always so loyal, thought Agatha, quite forgetting that Charles had happily dropped her in the past whenever a pretty girl came into his life.

  “I’ll phone everyone and get them all into the office,” said Agatha. She took out her phone and while Charles waited, told everyone to head for the office. She rang off after the last call and said, “We need to plan some sort of strategy. Where’s your car?”

  “Off to the garage with Gustav. Something up with it. I’ve been thinking of something,” said Charles.

  “What?”

  “Phil, despite his age, is a likeable and attractive man.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” said Agatha huffily, wondering if Charles was trying to set her up with this geriatric.

  “Well, he is. And has Joyce Wilson ever met young Harry?”

  “No, where’s this going?”

  “Mabel knows Phil’s on the case, so it would be natural for him to call on her, maybe get close to her. She may know more about her husband’s enemies than she’s told us. Joyce hasn’t met Harry, has she?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “If he could shed some of his studs and smarten up a bit, he could maybe ask her out. Now that one, I am sure, knows something. You told me about the missing milk bottle. Before the forensic team arrived, it would be easy for Joyce to hide it somewhere and dump it afterwards.”