M Beaton - Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

“Of course, I don’t think it can be a man,” said Mrs. Bloxby.

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.”

“I don’t know. Of course poisoning is traditionally a woman’s weapon.”

“In history, a lot of the famous poisoners were actually men-Neill Cream, Carlyle Harris, Roland B. Molineux, Henri Landru, and so on.”

Agatha sighed. “I keep forgetting that fire. Whoever set that fire killed John; I’m sure of it. Where was Mrs. Dairy living before she came here?”

Mrs. Bloxby frowned in concentration. Then she shook her head. “She told me, but I can’t remember at the moment. It’ll come back to me. I think perhaps you should leave this to the police. That killing of Mrs. Dairy was savage. Perhaps it might be wise if you went away for a bit. If the murderer is one of the people you’ve already talked to, they might come after you.”

“I’ll try just a little bit longer. In villages, people are supposed to know everyone else’s comings and goings. It’s a wonder no one was seen going to Mrs. Dairy’s cottage.”

“Ah, but our local bobby, Fred, told me the police think whoever it was entered from the back. If someone went round by the back lane, they wouldn’t be seen. No other cottages overlook the back.”

“Someone broke in?”

Mrs. Bloxby shook her head. “They think she knew her caller. She had already served tea before she was struck down. Didn’t you notice that? But she always left her doors unlocked when she was at home.”

“All I saw was her shattered head and that poor dog.” Agatha shivered. Why hadn’t Charles phoned?

“Please don’t do anything more about it.” The vicar’s wife looked worried. “I really do believe it will put you in danger.”

“I’ll just ask around a bit.” And maybe it was a good idea to get away from Carsely, thought Agatha. Serve Charles right if he called and found her gone.

…

After lunch, a restless Agatha decided to drive to Worcester and present herelf at police headquarters to see if they might tell her how far they had got.

She drove into Evesham and turned onto the Pershore Road just before the bridge. She glanced across the road at the river. People were fishing and other people were watching them. Then she jammed on the brakes and pulled into the side of the road. An infuriated truck driver roared past, flashing his lights.

Agatha peered across the road, but her view was blocked by traffic. She eased out, drove on, found a convenient place to turn and headed back. For she had seen a blonde, rabbity-looking girl watching the fishing and all at once she was sure that girl was Jessie Lang.

By the time she had parked in the meadows and set out on foot, she had begun to think that Evesham was probably full of blonde, rabbity-looking girls. Still, it was worth a try.

She approached the place where she thought she had seen the girl who looked like Jessie. No sign of her. No sign of any blonde. Men fished. People watched them. Children ran around screaming. Children always screamed these days, thought Agatha sourly.

And then, farther along the tow-path, she saw a blonde head bobbing along. She hurried and when she was nearly up to her, she called, “Jessie!”

The girl stopped and turned around. Yes, there were the rabbity teeth and skinny legs.

Agatha smiled and held out her hand. “Jessie Lang? I’m Agatha Raisin.”

The girl touched Agatha’s hand with her own skeletal one. “Who are you? I don’t know you. Are you one of the patients?”

“No, I’m investigating the murder of John Shawpart,” Agatha blurted out.

Jessie backed away, fear darting into her eyes. “Are you the police?”

Agatha knew in that moment that if she said she was a private individual, the girl would run away from her.

She took out her credit-card case and snapped it quickly open and shut. “Detective Constable Raisin,” said Agatha. “Shall we sit over there and have a few words?”

She led the way to a bench. The girl followed her, stumbling as her high heels spiked into the grass.

They sat down side by side.

“We know,” said Agatha, “that you were seen visiting John Shawpart at his house.”

Jessie began to cry. “My m-mum’ll kill me,” she sobbed.

“We do not need to bring your mother or any of your family into this,” said Agatha. “Just tell the truth and you’ve got nothing to fear. Here.” She opened her capacious handbag and drew out a packet of tissues.

Jessie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Sure Mum won’t get to know?”

“I see no reason why she should.”

Jessie took a deep breath. “Mum doesn’t like me, see. She’s always been picking on me. My sister Rachel’s the favourite. If Mum knew, she’d tell my boyfriend, Wayne. She’s like that, Mum is.”

“So what happened?”

“He come on to me, John did.”

“When? Where? In the salon?”

“No, at the disco off Bridge Street.”

“A disco? I thought he would have been a bit old for a disco.”

She hiccuped and gave a pathetic little sniff. “That’s what my pals thought. Wayne was away. He’s a long-distance driver, so I was there with the girls and they was giggling about him. But I thought he looked like a film star. He saw me clocking him and he come over and offered to buy me a drink. We got talking. He was flash, y’know. He asked me if I’d like to meet him for dinner the following night and Wayne was still away and I thought then it was a bit of a giggle, so I said yes.”

She fell silent. Children played, mothers gossiped, the river Avon chuckled past between its grassy banks. A pleasure boat like the one Agatha and Charles had sailed on cruised past. Charles, why didn’t you phone?

“So then what happened?”

“It was ever such a posh restaurant and we drank a lot and one thing led to another.”

“You slept with him?” What a euphemism, thought Agatha bleakly, remembering the previous night.

“Yes,” she whispered. “And I was a virgin. I was saving meself for Wayne.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Oh, God, I could kill him myself were the bastard still alive, thought Agatha fiercely.

Aloud she asked, “How long did the affair go on?”

Her thin hands twisted together. “That was it. He never took me out again. I called at his house. He said it was a one-night stand. I should have known that. I told him he had taken my virginity and he said, ‘So what? You’re old enough to lose it.’ I could’ve killed him.” Her eyes dilated. “But I didn’t!”

“Are you sure Wayne doesn’t know about this?”

She shook her head. “My pals teased him about some fellow at the disco buying me a drink, but they said he was old.”

“Did you know we believe John Shawpart to have been a blackmailer?”

She shook her head.

Agatha patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m amazed that a girl of your age these days should still be a virgin.”

Jessie gave a wry smile. “You oldies all think we’re at it like rabbits, but I was saving myself for Wayne, just like in those Barbara Cartland books. I’ll need to tell Wayne.”

“Is he very experienced?”

“He’s a virgin like I was before that sodding hairdresser got me.”

Well, well, God bless Evesham, the last home of innocence, thought Agatha.

She said aloud, “Look, I don’t think you’ve given us anything we can use. We’re only interested in the people he was blackmailing. As one woman to another, I’ll do this for you; I won’t tell my bosses I’ve met you.”

“Oh, thank you. What was your name again?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Agatha, a small feeling of panic beginning to enter her brain. What if the police did catch up with this girl and learned she had been impersonating a police officer!