by M C Beaton
‘I think he’s probably long gone,’ said Charles, stifling a yawn.
‘I should call the hospital,’ said Agatha, ‘and find out how Simon is getting on. I wonder if I should reemploy him.’
‘What! You must be mad. He was spying for Mixden.’
‘I know, I know. But look at it this way. Us amateurs have none of the resources of the police. What policeman would have the imagination to figure out what a man with a lot of money he had to keep hidden would do? Who else would think about his longing for a posh car?’
‘See what Toni thinks of the idea,’ said Charles.
‘I’m not going to do anything about it now. I’ve got to phone my car insurance and get a courtesy car. Shall we ask the coppers to drive us back?’
‘I’m sick of them,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s take a taxi.’
At Agatha’s cottage, Charles said he would go home and maybe see her later. As she watched him drive away, Agatha felt strangely bereft and then gave herself a mental shake. Charles was like a will-o’-the-wisp, coming and going, never dependable.
Her cleaner arrived with Agatha’s cats, who studiously ignored her and waited by the garden door to be let out. ‘You should get a cat flap,’ said Doris.
‘What if some intruder uses it to crawl in?’
‘Nobody would be that skinny enough.’
‘Well, they could shove a petrol bomb through it.’
‘They could do that through the letterbox.’
‘You’re a barrel of laughs this morning,’ said Agatha, and burst into tears.
Doris looked at her in shock and then hugged her. ‘I’m getting Mrs Bloxby here right now.’
Mrs Bloxby was shocked at Agatha’s appearance. Usually Agatha was an advertisement for the saying that the fifties were the new forties, but she was white-faced and haggard.
After a cup of hot sweet tea laced with brandy, and two cigarettes, Agatha began to recover. ‘I’ve never seen you wearing a tracksuit before,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
‘Police supply from their safe house in Dover.’
‘I heard about it on the morning news. Of course, not much came out because of the impending court case. Tell me about it.’
Mrs Bloxby listened in horror to Agatha’s tale.
‘Where is Toni?’ she asked.
‘Back at her flat.’
‘And this Tulloch is still at liberty! I’m going to Mircester to get her right away.’
Charles arrived home to be told by his man Gustav that Penny Dunstable was in the sitting room. Penny was one of Charles’s old flames. Gustav privately thought that if he did not get Charles married off to someone suitable, then one day that Raisin female might be in residence.
Penny rose to meet him. She was tall and rangy, with square hunting shoulders, thick brown hair and a long face. Charles remembered she had been an enthusiastic lover.
‘I’m done in,’ said Charles. ‘Darling Penny. Wrong day for a visit. I’m going to bed.’
‘Good idea,’ said Penny huskily.
Sex, thought Charles. Lots of it. Just what the doctor ordered. Then a vision of Agatha’s sad white face watching him as he left rose before his eyes. Damn Agatha.
‘Sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m knackered. Another time.’
He walked away quickly. Gustav started to follow him up the stairs. Charles swung round. ‘I can put myself to bed, thank you. You invited her, didn’t you?’
‘I met Miss Dunstable at the farmer’s market and thought you would be glad to see her.’
‘Not now,’ said Charles. ‘Give her a drink and get rid of her.’
Toni answered the door to Mrs Bloxby and meekly accepted an invitation to stay at the rectory. Mrs Bloxby helped her pack. ‘I’m supposed to get a call from Victim Support,’ said Toni.
‘Did you give the police your mobile phone number as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then they’ll be able to find you. Before you leave, wouldn’t you much rather be with your mother?’
‘She did call, but she’s just got a new job. I told her I would be all right and that I might see her at the weekend.’
When they got into Mrs Bloxby’s ancient Morris Minor, the vicar’s wife looked in the rearview mirror before she drove off. If only the police would come through with the news that Tulloch had been found.
She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally turned down into the tree-lined road leading to Carsely. There were no cars behind her.
Once at the vicarage, she told Toni to go and find a seat in the garden. Toni stretched out in a deck chair and felt the warm sun on her face. The peace of the vicarage garden enclosed her.
Soon she was asleep.
That evening, Agatha sealed her letterbox shut with super-glue, knowing the postman would leave any letters for her at the village store. She tried to phone Charles, but Gustav told her he wasn’t available; but then that was what Gustav always said.
She went up to the landing and looked longingly at James’s cottage, but no light showed and his car was not parked outside.
The doorbell rang, making her jump nervously. She went down the stairs and looked through the spy hole. Bill Wong’s face stared back. Agatha opened the door.
‘Come in. Has he been caught?’
‘Who?’
‘Tulloch, of course.’
‘We’re working on that. We might get one of the gang to talk soon. One of them seems weaker than the others. We’re hoping to hear that Richards got rid of him. We’re winding up the whole business. Imagine having a successful chain of supermarkets and that not being enough. The drug lab was to be a new venture, all set up to make crystal meth, as far as forensics could gather from the burnt-out remains. Where is Toni?’
‘Staying with Mrs Bloxby.’
‘The best thing she could do.’
‘She would have been quite safe with me,’ said Agatha huffily.
‘Let’s hope you’re not in any danger,’ said Bill, looking at the bars on the kitchen window.
Agatha followed his gaze and said bitterly, ‘I’m in a sort of prison when Tulloch may be out there, roaming free. Hey, what about Fiona Richards? Did she know anything about all this?’
‘She denies it vehemently and tearfully. All she can wonder about is what is going to happen to her previously expensive lifestyle.’
‘And is Richards really the head of things?’
‘Before his ambition to join the drug market, it was pinching cars and expensive farm machinery and shipping it to Eastern Europe. Among the men we picked up, there were two Albanians, one Kurd, and I regret to say two residents of Mircester, the latter both having spent time in prison in the past for grievous bodily harm.’
Bill’s phone rang. He walked out of the kitchen to answer it. When he came back, his face was grim. ‘One of the gang has started to sing. He says that Beech would earn money by telling Richards which combine harvesters were left out on the fields and where to pick up expensive cars. Maybe the P in his ledger was for Porsche. He also tipped Richards off when it looked as if one of the gang might be under suspicion and managed to ‘lose’ the evidence. But he felt he wasn’t getting enough and started to blackmail Richards. Richards ordered a man called Boris Ahmid and one of the Englishmen, Marty Gifford, to deal with Beech in such a way as to frighten off anyone else who might want to play the same trick. The roast pig idea was Boris’s. The missing feet and arms have been found in a freezer at the back of the main supermarket store in Mircester.’
‘Wouldn’t one of the staff have found them?’
‘It was a padlocked freezer. Richards is a sick and vicious man. The rest of his gang are soon going to turn against him when they learn he’s going to plead that they threatened him into doing their dirty work.’
‘And when did Tulloch enter the picture?’
‘I think shortly after Beech’s murder. He’s a compulsive gambler and owed money to a loan shark. Richards heard about it through the loan shark. We believe Tullo
ch drugged himself outside Agatha’s cottage to divert suspicion from himself.
‘Tulloch killed Amy Richards. She was about to take over the blackmailing. How on earth the silly woman thought she could get away with it is beyond me.’
‘But what is Tulloch’s record?’
‘Seemed straightforward copper until we started digging. His wife called us out one night. She had been beaten. Two broken ribs. Then she withdrew the charge. But it left a nasty taste in the mouth. He divorced her a few months later. He was transferred to us from Manchester. Now, before he left Manchester there had been a series of brutal, sadistic murders of prostitutes. After he left, nothing. Makes you think.’
Simon could not sleep that night. He was recovering rapidly, but not in spirit. He had never felt so low or so shamed in all his life. He was sure the army had seen through his fake post-traumatic stress but after his treatment of Sue had decided it would be better just to get rid of him. His parents knew all about his spying for Mixden and looked at him sadly, as if they could not believe they had created such a monster.
There had been a police guard outside his door, but when he had been considered strong enough to move to a general ward, the police guard had been taken off. The fact that his parents had not seen fit to pay for a private room for him had shaken him.
Sometimes, in his lowest moments, he began to wish he really had died. And yet it was his fear of Tulloch returning to finish the job that kept him alert, had made him refuse the sleeping pills.
The other patients did not talk to him. He had heard one say, ‘He’s probably a criminal.’
He was thankful he now had enough strength to go to the bathroom himself without enduring the indignity of ringing for a bedpan. He emerged from the bathroom and hesitated, wondering whether to see if he could get any food from the kitchen. Soup and a sandwich had been served at six o’clock in the evening, and he knew he could not expect more food until the following morning. The night nurse was not at her desk. He managed to find a small kitchen outside the ward and made himself a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich. Beginning to feel a bit weak and shaky, he cautiously emerged from the kitchen to make his way back to his bed. In front of him was what looked at first like a hospital orderly pushing a trolley of medicine. The orderly stopped outside Simon’s ward, selected a syringe and filled it. Simon began to shake with fear. There was something horribly familiar about that burly figure with the fair hair. He retreated slowly and then began to run until he reached the main desk, crying, ‘Get the police. It’s Tulloch. He’s trying to murder me!’
Soon the hospital was surrounded. In the abandoned cart, they found a syringe full of cyanide. Bill Wong, hurrying to the hospital, wondered if he would ever get a decent night’s sleep again. But Tulloch – and it must have been Tulloch, for who else would want to kill Simon? – had disappeared.
Simon was once more removed to a private room with a policeman on guard outside. He had a sudden longing for the abrasive person of Agatha Raisin.
Agatha was awakened by the shrill ringing of the phone by her bedside. She squinted at the clock. Three in the morning? She picked up the phone.
‘It’s me, Simon,’ the voice on the other end whispered. ‘Don’t hang up.’
‘What do you want, you sneaky little toad?’ demanded Agatha.
‘Tulloch’s been here at the hospital.’ He rapidly told her what had happened, ending up by saying, ‘I need to see you.’
‘God knows why,’ said Agatha acidly. ‘Look, you’re no longer in intensive care, I gather. So I’ll be along in the morning when they allow visitors.’
She slept uneasily for the rest of the night. Every rustle in the thatched roof made her think of Tulloch crawling up there; every creak from the old timbers made her think he was trying to find a way in.
I have never been this frightened for so long, thought Agatha miserably. Oh, for the boring life of lost teenagers and cats back again. I swear I’ll never complain.
Agatha took her time getting to the hospital. She went to Achille in Evesham to get her hair done before going to see Simon.
Simon saw her approach through the open door of his room and called to the policeman on guard to let her in.
‘Glad to see you’re looking stronger,’ said Agatha gruffly. ‘But I can now tell you, you are one sneaky piece of work.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Simon. His thick hair was ruffled up, and he looked very young. ‘The fact is I’m terrified. Every doctor who enters the room makes me shiver. It’s going to be one horror of a night ahead.’
‘How did you leap to the conclusion that one bent copper would try to buy an expensive car?’ asked Agatha.
‘It’s the sort of thing I thought he might do. Most chaps who win the lottery, well, the first thing they want is a flashy car.’
Boys and their toys, thought Agatha. ‘If only we could catch him,’ she said, half to herself. ‘He’s one mad psycho.’
‘I’ve an awful feeling he’ll try again,’ said Simon.
Agatha looked at him thoughtfully. She was tired of the police treating her like a bumbling amateur when they wouldn’t even have found the drugs factory if it hadn’t been for her.
‘I see you’ve got a private bathroom,’ she said.
‘Want to use it?’
‘No, not now. See, it’s like this. All Tulloch has to do to get at you again is put on a white coat and look like a doctor.’
‘There’s a police guard outside.’
‘That wouldn’t matter if Tulloch disguises himself a bit, pinches some doctor’s outfit and name tag. Quick stab in your arm with a syringe and it’s goodbye, Simon, hello, psycho.’
‘I wish you hadn’t come,’ said Simon. ‘I didn’t think it was possible to be any more frightened than I am, but you’ve just proved it’s possible.’
‘Listen! I’ll come back here towards the end of visiting hours. You distract the copper by calling him to the window and saying you thought you saw Tulloch outside in the grounds. I’ll nip into the bathroom and stay there for the night on guard.’
‘Agatha! Tulloch is as strong as an ox. You’d never be able to overpower him, and he’d probably have dealt with that poor policeman.’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’
‘You’re crazy!’
‘Then lie there and tremble for all I care.’
‘Okay,’ said Simon reluctantly. ‘I can do with all the protection I can get.’
Agatha went from the hospital to her office. She did not plan to tell any of them or Charles of her plans. If anyone was going to be put in danger, then it would be herself.
Toni was still resting at the vicarage. She gave Phil and Patrick a few jobs to clear up, dictated letters to Mrs Freedman and then said she felt a bit shaky and would go home and rest.
Just before the end of visiting hours, she arrived carrying a large bag containing two flasks of coffee and a packet of sandwiches. At her signal, Simon called to the policeman that he thought he had just seen Tulloch. The policeman came rushing in to join him at the window, and Agatha nipped into the bathroom and closed the door.
Simon came in later to clean his teeth. ‘It may have backfired. All that happened was that there were police all over the hospital for most of the evening.’
‘There are four police guards at the entrance,’ said Agatha.
‘Good,’ said Simon. ‘Now, I have to pee.’
‘I’ll turn my back and promise not to peek,’ said Agatha, ‘and keep your voice down.’
The night wore on. Agatha drank cup after cup of coffee, willing herself to stay awake. Sometimes she could hear footsteps in the corridor outside and stiffened, waiting. She longed to be able to go outside and check if the policeman was still alert and on guard. There should have been two of them, she thought. What if he wanted to go to the loo? Her heart sank. The intelligent thing would be to use the loo in Simon’s bathroom.
Her eyes were just beginning to droop when she heard voices outside.
She opened the bathroom door a crack.
‘Thought you’d never get here,’ she heard what she recognized as the policeman’s voice say. ‘I’m knackered. Don’t recognize you. You’re not from headquarters.’
‘Over from Worcester,’ she heard another voice say. ‘They’re drafting us in from all over.’
Agatha trembled. Didn’t that new voice have a slight Scottish burr?
Simon was fast asleep. How could he sleep in the middle of all this? thought Agatha angrily.
She kept the door open a crack. A man in police uniform was cautiously approaching the bed where Simon lay. And then, horrified, Agatha saw the glimpse of a syringe in his hand. She seized a porcelain bedpan and crept up behind him. As he gently pulled up the sleeve of Simon’s hospital nightgown, Agatha smashed the bedpan down on the back of his head.
Simon woke up with a scream. Agatha bent down and heaved the now unconscious man over. Tulloch! Footsteps could be heard racing along the corridor, and suddenly the room was full of policemen.
‘It’s Tulloch!’ said Agatha. ‘I hope I haven’t killed him.’
Tulloch groaned and tried to sit up. A hospital trolley was brought in, and he was handcuffed to it and wheeled away for treatment.
It transpired that the policeman who had left thinking his tour of duty was over had told the police at the entrance to the hospital that he had been replaced by a man from Worcester. He was told he was supposed to be replaced by a policeman from Mircester, and they had all rushed back up to Simon’s room in time to find Agatha holding a bedpan and Tulloch on the floor.
Epilogue
Agatha Raisin was not a heroine. That was borne firmly in on her by Inspector Wilkes. She was not to talk to the press because it was all sub judice until the court case was over.
In vain did she point out that if it hadn’t been for her intervention, Simon would be dead. As she wearily left police headquarters the following morning, she thought about calling the media and leaking the story but decided against it. A really angry police force might start to interfere in her business, and she needed their goodwill.
