by M C Beaton
“She left a message on my Call Minder.”
“Saying what?”
“Just that she wanted to see me. She sounded as bad-tempered and bitchy as usual.”
“Wait here.”
Bill left. Agatha sat hugging herself. A stiff wind had risen and moaned in the thatch.
The door opened and Charles came in. She rose and threw herself into his arms. “It’s horrible, Charles. Let’s leave it to the police. Let’s forget about the whole thing.”
“There, now. Brace up. They’ll all be along in a minute. I gather you told Bill Wong about Shawpart attempting to blackmail Mrs. Dairy. You didn’t tell him about the others?”
“No.”
“Neither did I. So we wait. We’ll not only have Gloucester police grilling us but Worcester as well because of the Shawpart connection. It’s going to be a long day, Aggie.”
And it was. They were both driven to police headquarters in Worcester and grilled again.
Agatha felt shaky and sick. Finally, they were released with a stern warning not to interfere in police business.
“Drink?” said Charles.
Agatha shivered. “I just want to go home.”
“Hey, we came here in a police car. How do the rats expect us to get back? Let’s go and ask them for a car.”
“We’ll get a taxi. I’m not going back in there.”
“Aggie, this is Worcester. It’ll cost us a lot. Let them do it.”
“I’ll pay.”
They sat silently side by side in the cab going home. Then Agatha broke the silence as they were nearing Carsely by asking, “Do you feel anything about all this, Charles? I mean, you seem very cool.”
“It was nasty, but I just put it out of my head.”
“I wish I could be like you,” mourned Agatha. “I think I’ll see poor Mrs. Dairy lying there until the day I die.”
“Come on. You didn’t even like her.”
“It doesn’t mitigate the horror.”
“Does for me,” remarked Charles with what Agatha thought was truly heartless indifference.
Indoors, he poured drinks for both of them and lit the fire, which had fortunately been cleaned out by Agatha’s help, Doris Simpson, who was once more back on the job.
Charles settled down to read the newspapers which had been delivered that morning.
“Listen to this, Aggie,” he said, rustling the paper. “It says in this report, ‘A fleck of dandruff, a licked stamp or a smudged fingerprint on a car key could soon be used by scientists to catch and convict criminals. Researchers have developed a method of DNA fingerprinting which will work with a single human cell.’ Didn’t shed any dandruff around Shawpart’s house, did you?”
“I don’t have dandruff,” said Agatha crossly, “and anyway, the police know I visited him although I didn’t tell them I was there when the fire started. So what?”
“Let’s eat.”
“I couldn’t.”
Charles threw down the paper. “I’ll make us something. Got to keep your strength up.”
After fifteen minutes, he called Agatha into the kitchen. “Cup of soup and cheese omelette. Get it down you.”
Agatha found to her surprise that she was hungry.
They tried to watch television after dinner, but Agatha finally said, “I think I’ll have an early night.” “Good idea.”
Agatha found she could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mrs. Dairy and the dog lying in their own blood.
She got out of bed and went to Charles’s room. He was lying awake, reading.
“I can’t sleep,” said Agatha. “I’ve got the horrors.”
“Come and join me and cuddle up.”
She climbed into bed next to him. He held her close and then began to kiss her hair.
“Charles,” protested Agatha, “I didn’t come for…
SIX
AGATHA awoke in the morning to find Charles gone. She stretched and yawned and then remembered the night’s love-making as if it had all happened in a dream. But the sun was shining outside and the horrors had gone.
She went down to the kitchen. Charles had left a note: “Just remembered I’ve got guests arriving. Phone you later, Charles.”
It wouldn’t have hurt him to have said something affectionate, thought Agatha. She went back upstairs and washed and dressed and came down just as the doorbell rang. For the first time, she did not hope it was James. It must be Charles. With a glad smile, she flung open the door.
Mrs. Bloxby stood there. Agatha’s face fell. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.”
“Who were you expecting?”
“Charles. You’ve heard about the murder? Of course you have. It was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. Did she have any family?”
“She has a daughter and son,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “They are with the police at the moment.”
Agatha told her all about Mrs. Dairy, about the attempted blackmail, and how Mrs. Dairy had said she was going to play detective herself.
“But she couldn’t have got very far,” exclaimed the vicar’s wife. “Unless, of course, she had known John Shaw-part somewhere before. Where was he before he came to Evesham?”
“Portsmouth. He said Portsmouth. I might drive there today and see what I can find out.”
“So who are your suspects?”
“I don’t think we have any except perhaps either Mrs. Friendly’s husband or Maggie Henderson’s husband. There is a certain Jessie Lang who works at a dentist’s in Evesham who knew him and was seen at his house. Oh, and John told me he had been married once. Damn, the police probably know who to and where but they won’t tell me.”
“And where is Charles today?” asked Mrs. Bloxby brightly-too brightly, thought Agatha as those mild eyes studied her face.
“Oh, he’s got guests. He’ll probably be back later.” Did he pack? wondered Agatha suddenly.
“Of course, I don’t think it can be a man,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“Why?”
“Just a feeling.”
“I don’t know. Of course poisoning is traditionally a woman’s weapon.”
“In history, a lot of the famous poisoners were actually men-Neill Cream, Carlyle Harris, Roland B. Molineux, Henri Landru, and so on.”
Agatha sighed. “I keep forgetting that fire. Whoever set that fire killed John; I’m sure of it. Where was Mrs. Dairy living before she came here?”
Mrs. Bloxby frowned in concentration. Then she shook her head. “She told me, but I can’t remember at the moment. It’ll come back to me. I think perhaps you should leave this to the police. That killing of Mrs. Dairy was savage. Perhaps it might be wise if you went away for a bit. If the murderer is one of the people you’ve already talked to, they might come after you.”
“I’ll try just a little bit longer. In villages, people are supposed to know everyone else’s comings and goings. It’s a wonder no one was seen going to Mrs. Dairy’s cottage.”
“Ah, but our local bobby, Fred, told me the police think whoever it was entered from the back. If someone went round by the back lane, they wouldn’t be seen. No other cottages overlook the back.”
“Someone broke in?”
Mrs. Bloxby shook her head. “They think she knew her caller. She had already served tea before she was struck down. Didn’t you notice that? But she always left her doors unlocked when she was at home.”
“All I saw was her shattered head and that poor dog.” Agatha shivered. Why hadn’t Charles phoned?
“Please don’t do anything more about it.” The vicar’s wife looked worried. “I really do believe it will put you in danger.”
“I’ll just ask around a bit.” And maybe it was a good idea to get away from Carsely, thought Agatha. Serve Charles right if he called and found her gone.
…
After lunch, a restless Agatha decided to drive to Worcester and present herelf at police headquarters to see if they might tell her how far they had got.
She drove into Eve
sham and turned onto the Pershore Road just before the bridge. She glanced across the road at the river. People were fishing and other people were watching them. Then she jammed on the brakes and pulled into the side of the road. An infuriated truck driver roared past, flashing his lights.
Agatha peered across the road, but her view was blocked by traffic. She eased out, drove on, found a convenient place to turn and headed back. For she had seen a blonde, rabbity-looking girl watching the fishing and all at once she was sure that girl was Jessie Lang.
By the time she had parked in the meadows and set out on foot, she had begun to think that Evesham was probably full of blonde, rabbity-looking girls. Still, it was worth a try.
She approached the place where she thought she had seen the girl who looked like Jessie. No sign of her. No sign of any blonde. Men fished. People watched them. Children ran around screaming. Children always screamed these days, thought Agatha sourly.
And then, farther along the tow-path, she saw a blonde head bobbing along. She hurried and when she was nearly up to her, she called, “Jessie!”
The girl stopped and turned around. Yes, there were the rabbity teeth and skinny legs.
Agatha smiled and held out her hand. “Jessie Lang? I’m Agatha Raisin.”
The girl touched Agatha’s hand with her own skeletal one. “Who are you? I don’t know you. Are you one of the patients?”
“No, I’m investigating the murder of John Shawpart,” Agatha blurted out.
Jessie backed away, fear darting into her eyes. “Are you the police?”
Agatha knew in that moment that if she said she was a private individual, the girl would run away from her.
She took out her credit-card case and snapped it quickly open and shut. “Detective Constable Raisin,” said Agatha. “Shall we sit over there and have a few words?”
She led the way to a bench. The girl followed her, stumbling as her high heels spiked into the grass.
They sat down side by side.
“We know,” said Agatha, “that you were seen visiting John Shawpart at his house.”
Jessie began to cry. “My m-mum’ll kill me,” she sobbed.
“We do not need to bring your mother or any of your family into this,” said Agatha. “Just tell the truth and you’ve got nothing to fear. Here.” She opened her capacious handbag and drew out a packet of tissues.
Jessie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Sure Mum won’t get to know?”
“I see no reason why she should.”
Jessie took a deep breath. “Mum doesn’t like me, see. She’s always been picking on me. My sister Rachel’s the favourite. If Mum knew, she’d tell my boyfriend, Wayne. She’s like that, Mum is.”
“So what happened?”
“He come on to me, John did.”
“When? Where? In the salon?”
“No, at the disco off Bridge Street.”
“A disco? I thought he would have been a bit old for a disco.”
She hiccuped and gave a pathetic little sniff. “That’s what my pals thought. Wayne was away. He’s a long-distance driver, so I was there with the girls and they was giggling about him. But I thought he looked like a film star. He saw me clocking him and he come over and offered to buy me a drink. We got talking. He was flash, y’know. He asked me if I’d like to meet him for dinner the following night and Wayne was still away and I thought then it was a bit of a giggle, so I said yes.”
She fell silent. Children played, mothers gossiped, the river Avon chuckled past between its grassy banks. A pleasure boat like the one Agatha and Charles had sailed on cruised past. Charles, why didn’t you phone?
“So then what happened?”
“It was ever such a posh restaurant and we drank a lot and one thing led to another.”
“You slept with him?” What a euphemism, thought Agatha bleakly, remembering the previous night.
“Yes,” she whispered. “And I was a virgin. I was saving meself for Wayne.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
Oh, God, I could kill him myself were the bastard still alive, thought Agatha fiercely.
Aloud she asked, “How long did the affair go on?”
Her thin hands twisted together. “That was it. He never took me out again. I called at his house. He said it was a one-night stand. I should have known that. I told him he had taken my virginity and he said, ‘So what? You’re old enough to lose it.’ I could’ve killed him.” Her eyes dilated. “But I didn’t!”
“Are you sure Wayne doesn’t know about this?”
She shook her head. “My pals teased him about some fellow at the disco buying me a drink, but they said he was old.”
“Did you know we believe John Shawpart to have been a blackmailer?”
She shook her head.
Agatha patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m amazed that a girl of your age these days should still be a virgin.”
Jessie gave a wry smile. “You oldies all think we’re at it like rabbits, but I was saving myself for Wayne, just like in those Barbara Cartland books. I’ll need to tell Wayne.”
“Is he very experienced?”
“He’s a virgin like I was before that sodding hairdresser got me.”
Well, well, God bless Evesham, the last home of innocence, thought Agatha.
She said aloud, “Look, I don’t think you’ve given us anything we can use. We’re only interested in the people he was blackmailing. As one woman to another, I’ll do this for you; I won’t tell my bosses I’ve met you.”
“Oh, thank you. What was your name again?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Agatha, a small feeling of panic beginning to enter her brain. What if the police did catch up with this girl and learned she had been impersonating a police officer!
“You’re ever so kind,” said Jessie, her face now radiant with relief.
Agatha walked quickly away. But what, niggled a voice in her brain, just what if Wayne knew about it and took revenge? I should have asked for Wayne’s address, but then I can’t ask now. I’ve done enough damage by pretending to be a detective. I hope to God I never run into her in Evesham. I hope she never learns that I’ve got nothing to do with the police.
She felt a weariness when she walked back to her car. How pleasant it would be to forget about the whole thing and sit in the meadows and watch the placid river flowing past. Evesham people did not seemed to be plagued with ambition. Yes, that’s it, Agatha Raisin! It’s just ambition. You want to prove to the police you can do better.
Then she thought, what about that woman who was complaining about her daughter, Betty, pushing drugs? Her husband was called Jim. How to find out? Not from Josie. Damn Charles, he should have asked her about it. There was Garry, however. If she made an appointment with Garry, she could maybe get something out of him.
She had not tipped him that time he had done her hair, she had been so cross with the result. She could go in and, if he was free, start off my apologizing for her previous lapse and tip him generously. Agatha decided to forget about going to Worcester.
She drove to the Merstow Green car-park and then walked along the High Street to Eve’s. Eve was perming a woman’s hair. Apart from that, there were no other customers in the shop.
Josie looked at Agatha with barely concealed animosity. “Is Garry free?” asked Agatha.
“I’ll get him,” said Josie ungraciously.
She disappeared into the back premises and then came back followed by Garry.
“I just happen to have a cancellation,” said Garry brightly. He swirled a gown around Agatha and led her through to the wash-basins. No juniors, Agatha noticed. Had they been sacked due to lack of business? She fumbled under her gown and drew a fiver out of the pocket of her jacket. “Here, I forgot to tip you last time.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Garry, visibly brightening.
“Very quiet today,” said Agatha. “I just want a blow-dry, please.”
Garry looked
around and then bent over her. “Don’t know what’s happening. All Mr. John’s customers came here at first.”
“Are they going somewhere else?”
“I think they’re going to Thomas Oliver down the street.”
“Got a good reputation, have they?”
“Never been in there.”
Agatha waited until her hair was washed and she was led through into the salon. Eve was heading out of the door. “Won’t be long, Garry,” she said curtly. “Mind the store.”
“There she goes,” he said. “You’d think she might wait around a bit. Sometimes customers walk in off the street.”
“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself much here,” said Agatha sympathetically.
“It’s dead boring. Too quiet.” He raised the blow-drier.
“Mr. John’s always seemed to be full of people and gossip,” Agatha said. “And the things they said! I remember hearing a woman talking about her husband, Jim, and her daughter Betty. She even said that she thought her daughter might be pushing drugs.”
“Oh, that’d be Mavis Burke. You have to take everything she says with a pinch of salt.”
“Local woman?”
“Yes, lives in one of those new houses on the Four Pools Estate.” He switched on the drier and began to work busily.
I can’t ask him if he knows the address, thought Agatha. That would be pushing it. I’ll go to the post office and check the phone book for Burkes.
She suffered dismally under the ministrations of the energetic Garry. He had been bad enough before, but now he was worse. She looked sadly at her bouffant hair-style.
“Very nice,” she said bleakly. She tipped him again, paid Josie and went out into the High Street.
She went into a phone-box at the post office and checked her Call Minder. “No messages,” said the tinny, elocuted voice, with what Agatha felt was smug satisfaction. So face up to it. Charles had laid her and now he was gone and she was on her own.
She asked at the counter for the Worcestershire phone book and ran her finger down the Burkes. There was one Burke on the Four Pools Estate, and J. Burke at that.
I’ll show Charles, I’ll show the police, I’ll show everybody I can do it on my own. Agatha strode along the High Street to the car-park. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a shop window and shuddered. The things I suffer in the name of detection!
