M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

Fred Griggs, the village policeman, came hurrying up. Agatha told him in a weak, faltering voice what had happened. He went into the house.

Then two police cars arrived; Bill Wong, Detective Inspector Wilkes and various other plain-clothes detectives and police officers. Then the ambulance.

Agatha waited, shivering.

At last Bill Wong came out. “I’ll take you home, Agatha. You look awful.”

“It’s my hair,” babbled Agatha insanely. “That wretched hairdresser ruined my hair.”

“Get in the police car. You’ll feel better when you’ve had a cup of tea.”

Back at her cottage and despite her protests that she couldn’t drink anything, Bill made her a cup of milky sweet tea. “Try to get it down you. You’ll feel better.”

“If only I’d gone to see her last night,” mourned Agatha.

“Why? Why last night? What do you know?”

“I may as well tell you now she’s dead. She was being blackmailed by that hairdresser, Mr. John.”

“Drink some tea and begin at the beginning.”

Agatha did as she was bid and then in a halting voice told him about Mrs. Dairy.

When she had finished, he demanded, “Did you tell Worcester CID any of this?”

She shook her head.

“Why not? Perhaps she would still be alive if you had. I’ve warned you and warned you about the danger of playing amateur detective.”

“It was told to me in confidence.”

“Is there anything else you haven’t told the police?”

Agatha longed to unburden herself, but she could not betray Liza or Maggie. Besides, would either woman have been capable of committing such a savage and violent act of murder?

“No,” she lied. “Nothing.”

A voice in her brain screamed that any woman frightened of exposure as a murderess might kill again in a frenzy of rage, but she hung her head and stared at the floor.

“I’ll need to get back,” said Bill. “We’ll be along later to take a statement. Why did you call on her?”

“She left a message on my Call Minder.”

“Saying what?”

“Just that she wanted to see me. She sounded as bad-tempered and bitchy as usual.”

“Wait here.”

Bill left. Agatha sat hugging herself. A stiff wind had risen and moaned in the thatch.

The door opened and Charles came in. She rose and threw herself into his arms. “It’s horrible, Charles. Let’s leave it to the police. Let’s forget about the whole thing.”

“There, now. Brace up. They’ll all be along in a minute. I gather you told Bill Wong about Shawpart attempting to blackmail Mrs. Dairy. You didn’t tell him about the others?”

“No.”

“Neither did I. So we wait. We’ll not only have Gloucester police grilling us but Worcester as well because of the Shawpart connection. It’s going to be a long day, Aggie.”

And it was. They were both driven to police headquarters in Worcester and grilled again.

Agatha felt shaky and sick. Finally, they were released with a stern warning not to interfere in police business.

“Drink?” said Charles.

Agatha shivered. “I just want to go home.”

“Hey, we came here in a police car. How do the rats expect us to get back? Let’s go and ask them for a car.”

“We’ll get a taxi. I’m not going back in there.”

“Aggie, this is Worcester. It’ll cost us a lot. Let them do it.”

“I’ll pay.”

They sat silently side by side in the cab going home. Then Agatha broke the silence as they were nearing Carsely by asking, “Do you feel anything about all this, Charles? I mean, you seem very cool.”

“It was nasty, but I just put it out of my head.”

“I wish I could be like you,” mourned Agatha. “I think I’ll see poor Mrs. Dairy lying there until the day I die.”

“Come on. You didn’t even like her.”

“It doesn’t mitigate the horror.”

“Does for me,” remarked Charles with what Agatha thought was truly heartless indifference.

Indoors, he poured drinks for both of them and lit the fire, which had fortunately been cleaned out by Agatha’s help, Doris Simpson, who was once more back on the job.

Charles settled down to read the newspapers which had been delivered that morning.

“Listen to this, Aggie,” he said, rustling the paper. “It says in this report, ‘A fleck of dandruff, a licked stamp or a smudged fingerprint on a car key could soon be used by scientists to catch and convict criminals. Researchers have developed a method of DNA fingerprinting which will work with a single human cell.’ Didn’t shed any dandruff around Shawpart’s house, did you?”

“I don’t have dandruff,” said Agatha crossly, “and anyway, the police know I visited him although I didn’t tell them I was there when the fire started. So what?”

“Let’s eat.”

“I couldn’t.”

Charles threw down the paper. “I’ll make us something. Got to keep your strength up.”

After fifteen minutes, he called Agatha into the kitchen. “Cup of soup and cheese omelette. Get it down you.”

Agatha found to her surprise that she was hungry.

They tried to watch television after dinner, but Agatha finally said, “I think I’ll have an early night.” “Good idea.”

Agatha found she could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mrs. Dairy and the dog lying in their own blood.

She got out of bed and went to Charles’s room. He was lying awake, reading.

“I can’t sleep,” said Agatha. “I’ve got the horrors.”

“Come and join me and cuddle up.”

She climbed into bed next to him. He held her close and then began to kiss her hair.

“Charles,” protested Agatha, “I didn’t come for…

AGATHA awoke in the morning to find Charles gone. She stretched and yawned and then remembered the night’s love-making as if it had all happened in a dream. But the sun was shining outside and the horrors had gone.

She went down to the kitchen. Charles had left a note: “Just remembered I’ve got guests arriving. Phone you later, Charles.”

It wouldn’t have hurt him to have said something affectionate, thought Agatha. She went back upstairs and washed and dressed and came down just as the doorbell rang. For the first time, she did not hope it was James. It must be Charles. With a glad smile, she flung open the door.

Mrs. Bloxby stood there. Agatha’s face fell. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.”

“Who were you expecting?”

“Charles. You’ve heard about the murder? Of course you have. It was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. Did she have any family?”

“She has a daughter and son,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “They are with the police at the moment.”

Agatha told her all about Mrs. Dairy, about the attempted blackmail, and how Mrs. Dairy had said she was going to play detective herself.

“But she couldn’t have got very far,” exclaimed the vicar’s wife. “Unless, of course, she had known John Shaw-part somewhere before. Where was he before he came to Evesham?”

“Portsmouth. He said Portsmouth. I might drive there today and see what I can find out.”

“So who are your suspects?”

“I don’t think we have any except perhaps either Mrs. Friendly’s husband or Maggie Henderson’s husband. There is a certain Jessie Lang who works at a dentist’s in Evesham who knew him and was seen at his house. Oh, and John told me he had been married once. Damn, the police probably know who to and where but they won’t tell me.”

“And where is Charles today?” asked Mrs. Bloxby brightly-too brightly, thought Agatha as those mild eyes studied her face.

“Oh, he’s got guests. He’ll probably be back later.” Did he pack? wondered Agatha suddenly.