M Beaton - There Goes The Bride

They squelched their way along under a now lowering sky. They rounded a bend and came to the stretch of river in front of the house but there was no boat at anchor. ‘Snakes and bastards!’ complained Agatha. There was a short wooden jetty. She walked to the edge and stared up and down the river.

‘Oh, come on. Let’s get out of here,’ pleaded Roy.

Agatha was about to turn away when the movement of something in the water below the jetty caught her eye. She stared down. Under the restless motion of the river a white shape could be seen.

‘Roy,’ said Agatha in a shaky voice. ‘I think there’s something down there.’

Roy trotted up and knelt down on the jetty. The water swirled and eddied and then amongst the swirls there was a sudden calm. ‘It’s a face,’ he said. ‘Aggie, there’s a body down there.’

Agatha took out her phone and called the police.

Oh, how long the day seemed as darkness fell and the body of Bert Trymp was lifted from the river. Halogen lamps were set up. Teams of scene of crime operatives moved in the light in their white suits like ghosts. After the body was pulled from the water, Agatha said she thought it was probably that of Bert. It was difficult because she had only met him once and the face was swollen from immersion in the river. Someone had struck him a savage blow on the back of the head, filled his pockets with rocks and dropped him off the jetty. Bert’s father was collected and brought to the scene. In a gruff voice, he identified his son and then burst into tears. The Bross-Tilkingtons were abroad, said Falcon. They were on holiday in Barcelona.

Then Agatha and Roy were driven to the police station and the questioning began. Boase and Falcon seemed to find Agatha’s knack of finding bodies very suspicious.

It was eleven o’clock in the evening when they were finally released. ‘I’m hungry,’ wailed Roy.

‘The Chinese restaurant is still open,’ said a familiar voice behind them.

‘What are you doing here, Sylvan?’ demanded Agatha.

‘I am the prime suspect. I am house-sitting for George. The body was found under his jetty. They have taken away my passport. Let’s eat.’

‘I should really change,’ said Agatha. She had not only bought underwear but a sweater and trousers from Marks.

‘Don’t,’ wailed Roy. ‘I’m simply too hungry.’

‘The restaurant is only just along the street,’ said Sylvan.

The staff at the restaurant seemed to know Sylvan very well. They rushed to welcome him. ‘Shall I order for us?’ asked Sylvan.

I always seem to land up with men who won’t let me choose my own food, thought Agatha, but she was too tired to protest. ‘Go ahead.’

Sylvan seemed to know a great deal of light yet scurrilous gossip about various celebrities. He poured generous amounts of wine. Agatha began to relax. She felt it would do no harm to get mildly drunk and maybe, therefore, enjoy a good night’s sleep without being plagued by nightmares of Bert’s dead face.

But charming and attractive as Sylvan was, Agatha, mindful of her detective duties, finally asked, ‘Who do you think killed Bert?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘I forgot to ask. When exactly did George and Olivia leave?’

‘Yesterday, I think.’

‘So George could have murdered Bert!’

‘Hardly. If Bert’s information was about Sean, then it stands to reason that some Irishman decided to get rid of him in the same way. Sean could have had information about some IRA cell working on the mainland.’

‘But I thought the Provisional IRA had gone all peaceful,’ protested Roy.

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Agatha cynically. ‘Tell that to the people of Omagh.’

Sylvan looked at Agatha’s tired face and said sympathetically, ‘Why don’t you go and have a good night’s sleep? When do the police want to see you in the morning? I have to be there at nine o’clock.’

‘Same time for us,’ said Roy gloomily.

‘Well, then, we will all meet up at the police station.’

As they were making their way out of the restaurant, Agatha stopped in the doorway and said, ‘We didn’t pay the bill!’

‘I run an account here when I am in town. Don’t worry about it. I invited you, remember?’

‘Well, thanks awfully,’ gushed Roy.

Sylvan walked with them to The Jolly Farmer and at the entrance drew Agatha to him, and holding her close, kissed her tenderly on both cheeks.

‘See you tomorrow.’

Agatha walked up to her room in a daze. Could he really fancy her?

But after she had said goodnight to Roy, gone into her room and looked in the bathroom mirror, she let out a squawk of horror. There were deep shadows under her eyes and her hair was a tangled mess. The rain earlier had washed all her make-up off.

If only she could turn the clock back, say, twenty years, thought Agatha. She showered, put on her nightdress and plunged down into an exhausted sleep.

She was awakened at seven in the morning by Roy hammering on the door and saying they’d better get some breakfast because the police might keep them all day.

Agatha spent so much time brushing her hair and making up her face that she had only time to eat a couple of pieces of toast and gulp down a cup of coffee before it was time to go back to the police station.

This time, Agatha was interviewed by Detective Superintendent Walker, a tall stout man with a red round face like a farmer.

He was flanked by Boase and Falcon. The tape hissed quietly as Agatha was taken through her story several times. At last she was told to sign her statement and that she was free to go. Roy was already waiting for her in the reception area.

‘Have you seen Sylvan?’ asked Agatha.

‘I asked the desk sergeant. He left just before I was released.’

‘I’d better phone him and see if he wants to see us.’ Agatha took out her mobile phone. She called the Brosses’ home at Downboys but only got the answering service.

‘You’re keen on him,’ said Roy with a grin. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

‘I am not,’ protested Agatha. ‘He was so amusing last night that I never really got down to questioning him properly.’

‘We’d better pack it in. I’ve got to get to work tomorrow,’ said Roy.

Agatha paid the bill at the inn and then reluctantly drove out of Hewes. She stopped suddenly outside the town.

‘What is it?’ asked Roy.

‘You know who was missing last night? That dog man, Jerry.’

‘So, he must have gone off with his boss.’

‘Who’s looking after the dogs?’

‘Sylvan, I suppose. Aggie, may I remind you I’ve got to get back to Carsely, pick up my stuff and catch the London train at Moreton-in-Marsh?’

Agatha sighed and drove on. Poor Bert, she thought. I’ve just got to find out what happened.

Despite her burning curiosity, the threat of a recession made Agatha concentrate on her work. Shares were sliding, prices were rising, petrol was a disgraceful cost and she knew that soon people would begin to think twice about the luxury of hiring a private detective. Certainly, there would always be the desperate people and the lawyers who wanted evidence for divorce cases, but all the bread-and-butter cases like missing cats, dogs and teenagers, the backbone of the agency, would soon begin to dwindle. Old memories of poverty drove her on. She was a very rich woman and was determined to stay that way.

Toni was no longer prepared to work overtime, even for pay. For Toni was in love.

She had worked on a divorce case for a Mircester businessman, Perry Stanton. He owned a computer company out on the Mircester industrial estate. He had been so grateful to Toni for having secured the necessary evidence that his wife was having an affair that he had begun to ask her out while his divorce was going through. He was tall and handsome and in his late thirties. Toni had kept the budding relationship secret from Agatha, knowing that lady would not approve of the age difference.