M Beaton - There Goes The Bride

‘Why?’ asked Agatha. ‘They’ve got the coastguard out looking for him.’

‘Don’t the cops down there read the newspapers? Coastguard staff around Britain are on a twenty-four-hour walkout over pay. It started at seven o’clock last night.’

Agatha groaned. The thought of a surely vengeful Sylvan escaping frightened her.

When she rang off, she told Charles. Then she asked him, ‘What made you so sure he would be smuggling something?’

‘It was because of an article I read earlier this year,’ said Charles, nursing a mug of coffee. ‘In February, the police broke up a massive people-smuggling gang. Chinese people pay up to twenty-one thousand pounds to be smuggled into Britain. People like Sylvan are probably responsible for the France-to-Britain leg of the journey. That costs each five thousand pounds. In one flat in Peckham High Street in London, twenty-three Chinese were discovered living in cramped conditions. The police say it’s a myth to think they’re poor peasants. A lot of them are highly skilled.’

‘So what happens to them?’

‘They think a lot get swallowed up by the restaurants in London’s Chinatown.’

‘There’s the Chinese restaurant here of course,’ said Agatha. ‘That’s where Sylvan took me and Roy for dinner. But I wonder how he got them in?’

‘He was friendly with all the authorities down at Hadsea,’ said Charles. ‘I told you that. He probably had a room hidden somewhere in that large boat of his.’

Agatha’s phone rang. It was Patrick. ‘They’re taking the Bross-Tilkington house apart this morning,’ he said, ‘but George is swearing innocence and they can’t so far find a thing against him. They believe he was conned by Sylvan. They think maybe Felicity knew about it and was going to talk and that’s why Sylvan shot her. George and his wife were flattered because Sylvan treated them royally when they were in Paris and introduced them to all sorts of famous people.’

‘Idiots,’ commented Agatha sourly.

‘Oh, really?’ said Charles. ‘If it hadn’t been for me, sweetie, you’d have got laid and into a blind obsession.’

Agatha was saved from replying as a voice hailed them. Charles went up on deck. He came back down and said, ‘There’s a police car on the pier. We’re wanted back at the station.’

Agatha was interviewed again by Boase and Walker. The detective chief superintendent’s eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep. The police were still suspicious as to why Charles had leaped to the conclusion that Sylvan was smuggling something. ‘There is a detective sergeant at Mircester who claims that you have withheld vital information in the past,’ said Walker severely.

‘That will be a bitch called Collins,’ said Agatha wearily. ‘She hates me. I have helped Mircester police many times in the past.’

Falcon put his head round the door. ‘A word, sir? It’s urgent.’

Walker told the tape the interview was being suspended and then left the room. He returned shortly, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

‘Found something?’ asked Agatha eagerly.

‘Never mind. Wait outside until your statements are typed up, sign them and then you are free to go.’

Agatha joined Charles in the small reception area. ‘Something’s happened,’ she said. ‘Walker looked so excited, I believe they’ve got him.’

‘We’ll wait to sign our statements,’ said Charles, ‘and then we’ll get back to the boat and you phone Patrick.’

‘When did you learn to handle a boat?’ asked Agatha. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘I was in the navy as a young man.’

‘Charles! I never ever think of you as doing anything useful.’

A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes of the station. ‘Just as well I have,’ said Charles. ‘Seems to be blowing up.’

After a quarter of an hour they were both called into a side room where they signed their statements. Then they went out into Hewes High Street, leaning against the increasing force of the wind.

‘Do we have to go back to Hadsea today?’ pleaded Agatha.

‘’Fraid so. I promised to have it back. It’s only a river, Agatha. It’s not as if we have to go into the open sea.’

Agatha kept to the saloon as the powerful boat set off downstream. She could feel all her self-confidence leaking out through her fingertips. She remembered with shame bragging to Sylvan about her great detective work. Was she really any good? Or was she surrounded by clever people like Charles? The sheer folly of going out on a date and accepting another with a Frenchman who had been at the scene of every murder was silly, to say the least.

Maybe she wasn’t any good at being a detective at all. Maybe she just bumbled round like a trapped bee against a windowpane until someone opened the window and she saw daylight.

When they got to Hadsea and handed over the boat, Charles volunteered to drive them back as they had both come in Agatha’s car, and a weary and demoralized Agatha sank down into the passenger seat.

‘Before we drive off,’ she said, ‘I’d better phone Patrick and see why my interview was cut short.’

Patrick said that a fishing boat had located Sylvan’s boat adrift in the Channel and was towing it into Dover Harbour. An RAF patrol had been alerted earlier by the fishing boat’s captain and had immediately flown over the area. They had seen Sylvan diving off into the sea. He hadn’t been wearing a life jacket. They had circled over the Jolie Blonde. Sylvan had struck out for a little bit and then had sunk under the waves. They were now searching to see if the body surfaced.

Agatha relayed the news to Charles. ‘That’s the end of that,’ he said.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Agatha, stifling a yawn.

‘Oh, come on, Aggie. It stands to reason. He’d slept with Felicity. She must have known something.’

‘But he had a cast-iron alibi.’

‘Did Patrick say whether the Bross-Tilkingtons are still being regarded as innocent?’ asked Charles.

‘Evidently so. The police feel they were being simply used all along the way. The security and the hiring of Jerry Carter were all Sylvan’s idea. He frightened them to death with stories of burglars.’

‘So, end of chapter. Good,’ said Charles. ‘We can all get back to normal.’

‘What’s normal?’ mumbled Agatha and fell asleep.

She did not awaken until they were drawing up outside her cottage. ‘I’m starving,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s see to your cats and then walk up to the Red Lion. Has John got his outside bit?’

‘Last heard.’

John Fletcher, landlord of the Red Lion, was lucky in that he’d had an extensive car park at the back. Half was now set out with tables and umbrellas enclosed in a heavy sort of plastic tent. The day was fine, so the sides had been rolled up. They ate a hearty meal and walked slowly back.

‘My time to sleep,’ said Charles. ‘Care to join me?’

‘The usual answer.’

‘You’ll crack one of these days.’

‘Not me. I’d better go into the office. See you later.’

Everyone except Mrs Freedman was out. Agatha sighed and sat down at her computer to check through all the cases logged on it. ‘Nothing on that girl who went missing – Trixie Ballard?’

‘Not a sign yet. Sharon’s been working on it.’

Agatha studied the notes on the case on her computer. The disappearance of the fifteen-year-old had received extensive coverage in the press. She looked up. ‘Did the parents appear on television?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Freedman. ‘If you Google BBC News and check back, you’ll get it.’

When the video link came up on the screen, Agatha turned up the sound on her speakers and listened carefully. Mrs Ballard was a thin dyed blonde who sobbed uncontrollably. Mr Ballard did all the talking, ‘Please come home, princess,’ he said, his voice breaking with emotion. ‘We miss you and we love you.’