by M C Beaton
“The quokka hops in through the door,” James said, pointing, “then it slams shut when the animal’s weight on the floor springs a trigger.”
“At least they’re not using some horrible kind of wire noose or steel clamp.”
“That wouldn’t be in their interest at all. They would end up with damaged goods. I did some ferreting around on the internet. Each of the quokkas could be worth up to five thousand pounds.”
“Really?” Agatha was astounded. “What about the little wizards and Aslan?”
“A De Brazza might be as much as ten thousand and a Timbavati lion far more than that. A cub could fetch in excess of a hundred thousand.”
“So this is big business.” Agatha nodded, then set off along the track. “Come on—the Land Rover went this way.”
They made their way down the track until it wound its way out of the forest, the trees parting to reveal a pattern of undulating fields swooping off to the distant horizon. On their left was a vast field of plants cultivated in long rows. The leafy green foliage sat on ridges separated by shallow trenches and boasted pretty white and yellow flowers.
“Potatoes,” said James. “They didn’t go that way. It would be easy to see if that lot had been disturbed.”
“This way, then,” said Agatha, opening a gate into a grassy field that fell away towards a cluster of buildings partly hidden by a hedge and a screen of conifers. “Is that some kind of farmyard?”
“Barns and storage, probably,” said James. “Hard to tell. I can’t see an actual farmhouse.”
“We can follow the hedge.” Agatha pointed out their route. “If we keep our heads down, we won’t be seen from any of the buildings.”
They trotted along the hedge until they came to a gap through which the Land Rover must have passed. Beyond it, in front of the conifers, was a tall chain-link fence. They dashed to the fence and crouched under cover behind a grassy mound.
“That’s how the Land Rover got through.” James pointed to a gate held fast by a chain and padlock.
“And this will be how the animals got out.” Agatha tugged at a weave of barbed wire that had been used to close some damaged sections of the fence. “This fence is pretty old. Looks like they’ve patched up a few holes. We need to get through to those trees to see down towards the buildings.”
“We’re bound to be spotted if we try climbing over,” James pointed out, looking up at the unwelcoming jagged edge at the top of the high fence.
“Be prepared, Boy Scout,” Agatha scoffed, producing from her handbag a vicious-looking pair of wire cutters. She quickly snipped a new hole in the fence and they wriggled through. They crept forward from tree to tree, then dropped to their hands and knees as they approached the edge of the copse. Lying on their bellies, they had a clear view down into the building compound.
“There are a lot of shipping containers and storage sheds.” James was squinting to see clearly, then began fumbling with his binoculars case. “We’ll need these to see what’s going on.” When he looked back, Agatha was already studying the scene through a small but powerful telescope.
“You really did come prepared, didn’t you?” he said.
“Tools of the trade,” Agatha replied. “Look—there’s a huge truck arriving.”
An enormous articulated lorry that seemed to fill the narrow lane beyond the compound pulled up at the main gates, which were hauled open by two men. They were swiftly swung closed again after the lorry, hauling a trailer bearing a transport container, had reversed slowly into the compound. There was a flurry of activity, and a large forklift appeared from one of the buildings, preparing to unload from the container. What they saw next shocked them both. As the forklift eased a large cage out of the container, there was a flash of something orange and a roar that shook the trees.
“Did I just see what I think I saw?” James whispered.
“You did if you think you saw a tiger,” Agatha replied, reaching for her phone. “There’s no way anyone should be keeping a tiger in a dump like that!”
“I can see a car arriving,” James reported, focusing his binoculars. “The driver has got out and opened one of the rear doors for a man with a beard.”
“Keep an eye on them,” she said, then concentrated on the phone. “Bill? Listen, you’re not going to believe this, but…”
She gave Bill Wong a brief run-down of their situation, then held the telescope to her eye again. “I can’t see the licence plates on the truck,” she told him, “but a black Mercedes just showed up and I can see those plates.”
She recited the licence number, then waited for a response. When Bill came back on the line, he sounded gravely concerned.
“Agatha, you and James are to stay out of sight,” he said. “The car is known to be used by a Romanian gangster called Valeriu Fieraru. They call him Barbaneagra—Blackbeard.”
“I think he’s here,” Agatha confirmed.
“Don’t let any of them see you,” Bill warned. “Especially him. He’s dangerous. There’s a warrant out for his arrest. The National Wildlife Crime Unit and the National Crime Agency are after him. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Don’t do anything silly.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Just get here fast!”
Agatha and James watched and waited for the next forty-five minutes as cages and crates of various sizes were unloaded and spirited away out of sight. They could see nothing more of the cargo’s contents, although each item was handled with great care. Agatha fidgeted and grumbled, becoming ever more impatient as time wore on.
“Where are Bill and his lot?” she moaned, shoving her telescope back into her handbag and propping herself on one elbow to turn to James. “Blackbeard will be gone before the police get here.”
“I think they may have finished unloading.” James was still concentrating on his binoculars.
“Then we need to get back to Eric’s place.” Agatha raised herself to a crouched position. “Come on, James!”
Once through the fence, they raced back to the forest and had time for only a breathless few words with Eric before they took off in Agatha’s car.
“If Blackbeard and his crew are getting ready to leave, we need to delay them,” said Agatha, hurling the car round a corner that would take them into the lane leading to the compound.
“So what’s the plan?” asked James.
“I was hoping you might come up with something.”
“Then you’d better slow down,” said James nervously. “I can’t think at this speed.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Agatha slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. The lane was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but judging by the way it was hemmed in by tall hedgerows and tree branches creating a canopy above the road, it seldom saw much traffic. “Keep your eyes peeled for anyone coming.”
They got out, and James paced backwards and forwards, scanning the road in both directions for any signs of approaching vehicles, while from the other side of the car came a rustle of cloth and the zing of zippers.
“Okay, how do I look?” Agatha asked.
“Wow! That was a quick change!” James was amazed to see her no longer clad in muddied black clothes but in an immaculate short-sleeved powder-blue dress and dark blue suede high heels. “You look amazing.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s get going again.”
The lane twisted through a series of bends that made Agatha marvel at how such a large lorry had managed to negotiate them, then they were suddenly at the compound. Once again, two men were heaving the gates open, and twenty yards away, near the cab of the truck, Blackbeard stood by the Mercedes, preparing to leave. He glowered at Agatha’s car as she pulled up across the gateway, blocking any exit. Both the men on the gates looked towards him, and he jerked his head to one side, clearly signalling them to get rid of the unwanted visitors. Agatha and James stepped out of the car.
“Good morning,” Agatha called cheerily. “I was wondering if I might have a w
ord with whoever’s in charge?”
One of the men walked towards her. He was dressed in a black bomber jacket and jeans. His head and face boasted a layer of stubble that was not quite dense enough to hide the ragged edges of the tattoos that rose like blue-black flames from the neck of his T-shirt.
“You get lost,” he grunted with a heavy accent.
“No, no, not at all,” Agatha responded, adopting her most professional smile. “We’re not lost. I simply need to speak to your boss.”
“Not here.” The man shook his head.
“Yes, I think here will be fine.” Agatha nodded, deliberately obtuse and still smiling. “It’s this place that I want to talk to him about. Is that him beside the nice Mercedes?” She pointed and waved to Blackbeard. He shouted something unintelligible at the man and strode towards her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly. His beard was full and bushy, merging almost seamlessly with his crop of wavy black hair. Agatha could never abide men who grew beards. The facial hair always smelled of stale lager and last night’s chicken biryani.
“So nice to meet you,” she beamed, reaching out to shake hands. He ignored the gesture. “My name is Selina Valentino and I run a wholesale perfume business. I was told that many of the farmers around here have storage areas that they rent out.”
“Not us,” growled Blackbeard. “Now move your car.”
“What a shame.” Agatha looked deflated. “I’m really desperate, you see. Can’t you spare me just a little space? I have half a container of Misty Lilac and Primrose Passion landing from Shanghai in two days, and my usual warehouse has burned down. The nightwatchman was apparently smoking pot. What he didn’t realise was that he was sitting on a crate full of fireworks. Next thing he knew, a rocket shot up between his legs. They say that if he’d been sitting a few inches further forward, he’d have got properly high—well, bits of him would have. Please say you can help me out. I can pay you well. I can even pay in advance, if you like.”
“Move your car now, or I’ll drive that truck over it!” Blackbeard yelled in her face, his dark eyes flashing malice. Then he glanced off to the left where a police van had suddenly appeared at the gates, blue lights flashing. His eyes flicked back to Agatha. “You bitch!” he spat, reaching out to grab her. She shuffled backwards, dodging his lunge, and James inserted himself between them. Blackbeard grappled with him, flinging him to the ground and aiming a kick, but uniformed police were now storming the compound and two burly officers bowled him over, one of them handcuffing his wrists in front of him with practised ease.
“Are you okay, James?” Agatha asked, rushing over to where James had landed in a patch of mud and farmyard slurry. He heaved himself upright, clutching his leg.
“I’m fine,” he grimaced, “but I think I may have cracked my torch. Selina Valentino?”
“It was all I could think of at the time.”
Scuffles broke out, the police subduing Blackbeard’s henchmen in various parts of the compound, and Agatha noted that a number of the officers were armed. Blackbeard cursed as the two officers dragged him to his feet.
“This isn’t over!” he snarled at Agatha.
“It is for you,” she shrugged.
Staring straight at her, he bared his teeth and drew a finger across his throat.
“That’s supposed to frighten me, is it?” she said. “Get a shave, Mr. Barbaneagra. There could be anything living in that rat’s nest around your chin.”
“Keep a close eye on that one.” Bill Wong strode towards them, instructing the two officers holding Blackbeard, then turned to Agatha. “I thought I told you to stay out of sight?”
“We had to stop him from leaving.” James jumped to her defence. “Agatha was magnificent.”
“Yes,” Bill sighed and smiled, “I’ll bet she was. Thank you both. You know, of course, that I will need to talk to you later at the station for proper statements?”
“We know the drill,” Agatha nodded, “but we need to talk to Eric first to let him know that Aslan and the small wizards are going to be all right.”
“Aslan and the … what?” Bill looked confused.
“It will all be in the statement,” said Agatha.
“Good,” said Bill. “I’ll be here for a while. We need to secure the scene and wait for the guys from the National—”
There came the sudden revving of an engine, a horrendous crash and the sound of splintering wood as the Land Rover smashed through the wall of a store shed. It shot forward, kicking up a cloud of dust, and roared uphill towards the gate in the chain-link fence. The police officers, already occupied with their prisoners, were powerless to stop it bursting through the fence and heading off up the track.
“Where does that track lead?” asked Bill.
“Into the forest,” James explained, fishing a map out of his pocket. “Looks like it branches off all over the place once it’s deeper into the trees. There are quite a few exits from the forest onto main roads.”
“I’ll get our people onto it,” said Bill, reaching for his radio. “I got his licence number. We’ll catch him.”
But they didn’t. The Land Rover simply melted into the terrain, one of thousands of similar green Land Rovers abroad in the English countryside.
* * *
Despite having called ahead to update the team in her office, Agatha was surprised by her welcome when she arrived back at Raisin Investigations following a long afternoon of questions and form-filling at Mircester Police Station. The assembled staff of Toni, Patrick and Helen gave her a loud cheer and a round of applause.
“Fantastic!” Toni grinned. “That must be Raisin Investigations’ fastest ever case—from client interview to the arrest of the culprits in less than twenty-four hours!”
“A good result,” Agatha agreed, dropping her handbag on Simon’s desk and taking his seat. “Not so good if we had been charging by the hour, of course.” She smiled, then added, “Which reminds me. Toni, can you run a client check on Eric, just to…”
“… make sure we’re not going to charge him a fee he can’t really afford.” Toni finished Agatha’s sentence for her while making a note on a pad. “I’m on it.”
“Good,” said Agatha. “And where’s Simon?”
“He’s out on a bin lorry,” said Helen, handing Agatha a cup of tea. “They were in our street this morning and he looked like he was having the time of his life. I saw him chatting up housewives and whistling at girls on their way to work.”
“I’ll tell him to watch his step,” Patrick said, shaking his head earnestly. “We don’t want him getting sacked because someone’s complained about him.”
“Sounds like he’s getting into the role,” Agatha said. “Toni, did you check Simon’s notes about Deirdre Higginbotham and where she might be appearing next?”
“I’ve got her usual schedule here.” Toni held up her notepad.
“Good.” Agatha took a sip of tea. “Let’s talk later. You and I may be able to take that case forward. Patrick, what about the background check on the Admiral?”
“I’m waiting for a few responses from various people,” Patrick replied, “but it’s shaping up to be an interesting report. I’ll have it ready for you first thing tomorrow. I thought we were going to wait until after the coroner’s inquest before we started looking into him.”
“The inquest is tomorrow morning,” Agatha pointed out. “I want to be fully briefed on him before I sit through that. I need to know who he was and what sort of person he was in order to make sense of whatever is said at the inquest.”
“Of course,” said Patrick, reaching for the phone on his desk. “I’ll get right back onto it.”
“Thank you for the tea, Helen.” Agatha picked up the mug and her handbag, heading for her office. “I’ll enjoy it in here while I sort through whatever paperwork awaits.”
She settled into her high-backed leather chair, draped her arms across the armrests and leaned back, staring into the distance. It
had been a very tedious and exhausting afternoon, but an incredibly exciting, exhilarating morning. Poor James, she chuckled to herself. He couldn’t possibly have known what he was letting himself in for. On the other hand, there were very few people who knew her better, so maybe, given everything that had happened since the previous evening, he hadn’t exactly been expecting a normal Thursday. He’d put himself in danger when that thug Blackbeard had gone for her. Suddenly her mind was filled with the image of the Romanian’s cruel sneer and him dragging his finger across his throat. She shuddered, feeling a sudden chill, and reached for her tea.
* * *
The lighting in Le Cheval Blanc in Mircester was soothingly subdued, making it difficult to pick out any details on the labels of the bottles of their most prestigious wines that stood on occasional shelves here and there on the bistro’s white walls. Like the lighting, the music was also soft, just loud enough to cover the voices from adjacent tables and keep your own conversation as private as you wanted.
Agatha, still in her powder-blue dress, had been first to arrive and gave Alice Peters a welcoming smile as she settled into the seat opposite. She judged Alice to be elegantly dressed, in a simple white V-neck T-shirt and black jeans. A delicate gold flower pendant hung round her neck on a gold chain.
“That’s a pretty necklace,” Agatha complimented her.
“A present from Bill.” Alice seemed to glow with pride. “I hear you’ve had another eventful day.”
“Well, I wouldn’t ever want to let life get boring,” Agatha laughed.
Alice raised her glass with a smile and Agatha clinked hers against it. “Here’s to Raisin Investigations.”
“And here’s to Eric Collins,” Agatha added. “You can be so wrong about people, can’t you? I dismissed the poor man as a crank, but he turned out to be a lovely person. He’s delighted that the RSPCA and one of our local wildlife groups are taking care of Joey and using his garden as a base to search for the quokkas that are still out there. He told me his children and grandchildren are arriving en masse at the weekend to go searching for the ‘smiley wallababies.’”
