M Beaton - There Goes The Bride

‘We are private detectives. I am Agatha Raisin and this is Toni Gilmour. We have been hired by Mrs Bross-Tilkington to investigate the murder of her daughter. Now, where do we find him?’

‘Walk along to your left when you leave here. It’s a cruiser called Helena.’

And I wonder who Helena was or is,’ said Agatha when they left the office.

‘There it is,’ cried Toni, pointing. ‘That’s one really powerful boat. Must have cost a fortune.’

‘Mr Fitzpatrick!’ called Agatha.

There was no movement from the boat.

‘Aren’t we supposed to shout “ahoy”?’ asked Toni.

‘Can’t do that. I’d feel like a prat. Mr Fitzpatrick!’

‘The wind’s carrying your voice away,’ said Toni. ‘Why don’t I nip on board? He might be asleep or something.’

Agatha wanted to say that she was quite capable of nipping on board herself but her hip gave that awful twinge – the twinge that kept crying out for a hip-replacement operation.

‘Go ahead,’ she said gruffly.

She watched enviously as Toni leapt on to the deck. Toni called loudly but the only thing that met her ears was the hum of the traffic from the town above the river and the screech of seagulls overhead.

Toni looked across at Agatha, who made impatient well-go-ahead signs. Toni tried the door of the cabin and found it unlocked. She made her way down the companionway past the head, past a table in an alcove with a marine chart spread on it and then into the cabin. It was empty. Toni was about to retreat when she realized a cruiser this size must have a bedroom.

She opened a door at the end of the cabin. Lying on the bed was the prone figure of a man, fully dressed. A hole, like a third eye, was in the middle of his forehead. The exit wound had soaked the pillow in blood.

Toni slowly backed away, her face white. Then she turned and ran up on deck, calling wildly to Agatha, ‘Call the police. Murder!’

A combination of the wind and a mocking seagull’s cry drowned out Toni’s words, but Agatha saw the girl’s white face and picked her way gingerly along a narrow gangplank which Toni had ignored.

‘He’s dead. Shot. Get the police,’ panted Toni. Agatha took out her mobile and began to dial.

‘What are you ladies doing on Sean’s boat?’ a voice called.

Toni heard the voice but not the words. She looked across at the jetty and saw Sylvan Dubois. She started to call to him, but he jumped on the deck. ‘It’s Sean Fitzpatrick, I think,’ said Toni. ‘He’s dead. Shot.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Sylvan, making his way to the companionway

‘Don’t go down there!’ shouted Toni. ‘It’s a crime scene.’

‘I need to make sure he is dead. Did you touch the body?’

Toni gave a shudder. ‘No.’

‘I’ll just check.’

Agatha rang off and asked angrily, ‘Where’s he gone?’

‘To look at the body.’

‘I’d better go and see what he’s up to,’ said Agatha.

‘The police have arrived,’ said Toni, waving frantically as two squad cars came racing along.

Sylvan reappeared and helped them back on to the jetty. ‘You shouldn’t have gone in there,’ raged Agatha. ‘It’s a crime scene.’

‘I know that now,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I had to make sure.’

Police poured out of their cars, headed by Detective Inspector Boase. Agatha explained quickly what they had found and why they had been looking for Sean. Boase barked out orders. Agatha, Toni and Sylvan were to be taken to the police station and held for interrogation. Their fingerprints were to be taken and their hands checked for gun residue. Agatha was furious.

They sat and waited in Hewes police station after their fingerprints had been taken and their hands checked for what seemed ages.

At last the detective inspector returned with Detective Sergeant Falcon. ‘You first, Mrs Raisin.’

Agatha had a sudden sharp longing for James or Charles or even Roy. Charles had said he would follow her down, but in his usual cavalier way, he had not put in an appearance. She belonged to a generation when men were supposed to handle difficult situations. She was surprised at herself. Had she not built up two successful businesses? She squared her tired shoulders and sat down in the interrogation room.

‘Coffee?’ asked Boase.

‘Police coffee?’

‘There’s a Starbucks next door.’

‘Great. Black. May I smoke?’

‘If you must.’

Agatha lit up a cigarette and thanked the gods that this nanny state had seen fit to leave the prisoners or about-to-be prisoners with some indulgences.

A policewoman came in shortly carrying a tray of cardboard containers of coffee. It would have to be a policewoman who was sent for coffee, thought Agatha. In fact, did one still call them policewomen, or was it policepersons or -

‘Mrs Raisin! If you have quite finished daydreaming,’ said Boase. ‘Interview with Mrs Agatha Raisin in the presence of Detective Sergeant Falcon and Police Constable Hathey. Time fifteen-hundred and thirty. Begin at the beginning and tell us why you went in search of Mr Sean Fitzpatrick.’

Agatha explained again that Olivia had asked her to investigate the murder. She had learned that Sean Fitzpatrick had taken over guarding the house and grounds while the Bross-Tilkingtons and their man, Jerry, were abroad. They were told he had a boat. On locating the boat and getting no reply to their shouts, Toni Gilmour went on board and returned shortly to say Sean had been murdered. Mr Sylvan Dubois had come along and gone aboard to check that Sean was really dead. ‘And that’s all,’ she ended defiantly.

But that was far from all. She was asked to explain all her movements from the time she got up in the morning to what she had been doing before she had called at the boat. She reluctantly gave up details of her interview with Bert Trymp and how Toni had found out from the cleaners about Sean. Then she had to go over it all again from the beginning until she snapped, ‘Am I being charged with anything?’

‘No,’ said Boase. ‘You are simply helping us with our inquiries.’

‘Then I’m out of here.’

‘Do not leave the area. We will probably wish to speak to you again.’

Agatha sat down in the reception area to wait for Toni. How on earth could James detach himself from a murder case which involved him so closely? She must see him again. He surely must have heard something or other. ‘What are you dreaming about?’ asked Sylvan, joining her.

‘I am not dreaming, I am thinking hard. You know the family. You’re friends with them. Surely you’ve got some idea.’

He spread his hands. ‘They seemed a nice English family. Very hospitable. I don’t think George Bross liked Felicity much.’

‘What! His own daughter?’

Ah, you see, Felicity wasn’t his daughter. He got drunk one night and told me. Olivia had an affair once. He loves his wife. Strange, hein? That dumpy little woman with the iron hair? They could not have children so he elected to bring her up as their own. He was desperate to get her married off and out of his life.’

‘Had she done something so terrible?’

‘Who knows? But she did try to please him and when she turned herself into a raving beauty, that seemed to work for a while.’

‘Do the police know this?’

‘I don’t think so, and don’t tell them.’

‘Who was the father?’

‘You’ll need to ask Olivia that. But do tell her you did not get the news from me. What about dinner tonight?’

Agatha would normally have leaped at the chance of dinner with this attractive Frenchman, despite the fact that she was still suspicious of him, had she not still been so shaken over this second murder. ‘Another time,’ she said gruffly.