The Blood of an Englishman (15 page)

The voices moved away and the light in the downstairs room went off. The front door began to open. Simon nipped quietly round the side of the building, his heart hammering.

He waited until they had driven off and wondered what to do. He couldn't phone the police, because he and Agatha had been warned off.

What pond?

He took himself off to the pub, ordered a half of lager, and said to the barmaid, “Are there any ponds around the village?”

“Thinking of going fishing?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“Won't do you no good, m'dear. There's just the one pond up on Sar Field and it got nothing in there but rubbish.”

“And how do I get to Sar Field?”

“You go out the village, past the church and just before the turn-off to the Evesham road, you'll see the pond in the field on your right. But what do you want to go there for?”

“It's for a bet,” said Simon.

He gulped down his drink and left. He blessed the day he had taken up fishing, because he had a pair of waders in the back of his car.

Simon located the pond and walked towards it carrying a torch and his waders. He sat down on a tussock of grass and pulled his waders on. He stood up and shone his torch at the pond. A shopping market trolley stuck out at the edge of the water along with an old sofa. Wishing he had brought a stick to test the depth of the water, he gingerly stepped into the pond.

A sliver of new moon shone down. Icy ripples ran across the pond, driven by a stiff wind. He shone his powerful torch down into the water but the ripples distorted everything.

*   *   *

It was a quiet night in the pub and the barmaid was telling everyone about the young man who was going to the pond for a bet. Jed Widdle heard her and made for the door.

Two young men finished their drinks and one said, “Let's go to the pond. I want to see what this bet is.”

*   *   *

Simon was beginning to feel it was all hopeless. He would need a long rod to poke about. He had just reached the edge of the pond when a pair of strong hands seized him and thrust him down into the icy water. He fought and struggled, feeling himself getting weaker, when he was suddenly released. His attacker had propelled him into a deep part of the pond. He struggled to the shore, cursing the dragging weight of his water-filled waders.

The two young men from the pub helped him out. “What's going on, mate?” one asked. “We saw Jed Widdle trying to drown you.”

“Get the police,” said Simon.

*   *   *

Wrapped in blankets, Simon sat in a police car. Detective Constable Alice Peterson was in the front. “Can I borrow your phone?” asked Simon. “Mine's at the bottom of the pond. I have to phone Agatha.”

“Sorry,” said Alice. “Wilkes would kill me.”

*   *   *

The ringing of her bedside phone woke Agatha. “What is it?” she demanded.

“It's Chris Jenty here, Agatha.
Mircester Echo.
Do you know what's going on at the pond outside Winter Parva? Your detective is there in a police car. Someone tried to attack him and the police are draining the pond.”

By the time Agatha arrived at the pond, a small crowd of villagers had gathered. She saw Simon sitting in the police car and rapped on the window. He rolled it down.

“Are you all right?” asked Agatha. “Are they looking for Crosswith?”

“I think he must be in the pond,” said Simon. “I was looking because I overheard Mrs. Crosswith and Jed talking about a pond.”

“That's enough, Mrs. Raisin,” said Alice. “Mr. Black will be questioned later.”

Police had put tape around the scene, which Agatha had ducked under on her arrival. A policeman told her to get back and she reluctantly agreed.

Chris Jenty came to join her. “I heard Wilkes order a search for Jed Widdle. He took off over the fields, say the fellows who rescued Simon. Jed was trying to drown him. I heard Wilkes say that if the body of the blacksmith is found, he'll forgive Simon. If not, he'll throw the book at him for interfering in a police investigation.”

“Rubbish,” said Agatha. “Oh, look. A couple of divers have arrived. I didn't think the pond would be that deep.”

“Maybe not. But it's a bit of a rubbish tip and they've got to scrabble around the bottom.”

A couple of floodlights had been erected. Agatha nervously lit a cigarette. “Disgusting habit,” complained a man behind her.

Agatha swung round. “Oh, shut up, you tiresome man,” she yelled.

“Steady,” admonished Chris. “Look.”

One of the divers had surfaced and held up a hand.

“If they've found a body and it's weighted down, how are they going to get it out?” asked Agatha.

“Pull it out,” said Chris. “They're fastening a rope to the tow bar of that police Land Rover.”

Everyone fell silent. The Land Rover backed slowly. Something wrapped in black plastic was slowly pulled up from the pond and onto the bank. A tent was quickly erected over it.

Patrick Mulligan appeared at Agatha's side. “I got a tipoff,” he said. “I went to the smithy. Police all over the place but no sign of the wife.”

“Anyone in the police here that you know?” asked Agatha.

“Bill Wong's just turned up.”

“He won't dare to speak to either of us with the police around,” said Patrick. “But I recognise that sergeant over there. I'll have a quick word.”

He ducked under the tape. Agatha shivered and waited.

Patrick eventually came back. “He says it looks like Jed and the wife were stopped in their car on the Mircester road.”

“Think they did all the murders?” asked Chris.

“Can't think why,” said Patrick. “Why don't you go home, Agatha? I'll wait here and phone you with any news.”

But Agatha had just seen Simon being driven off.

“I'll go to police headquarters and wait for Simon.”

*   *   *

When she sat in the reception area at police headquarters, Agatha was joined by Toni. “Patrick phoned me,” she said. “I came to see if Simon was all right.”

“I think so. He must have had a bad shock,” said Agatha. “He should really go to hospital for a tetanus shot. That pond was filthy. I'm angry with him.”

“Why?” demanded Toni. “If it hadn't been for him, maybe they'd never have found the body.”

“Maybe.” Agatha stifled a yawn. She took a pocket mirror out of her bag and looked at her face. She had pouches under her eyes and lines of fatigue down either side of her mouth. The youth and beauty that was Toni glowed beside her.

I wish a fairy would wave a magic wand and let me look like her for just one day, thought Agatha.

Simon emerged, wearing a grey track suit, much too big for him and with the trousers rolled up at the bottom. “Oh, Toni,” he said, ignoring Agatha, “how great of you to come.”

“Where are your own clothes?” asked Toni.

“They kept them in case I shoved the blacksmith in the pond myself. They're just being nasty, because he was probably down there for weeks.”

“Have you had a tetanus shot?” asked Agatha.

“Yes, the police doctor gave me a checkup as well. You know, Toni, I would love a good cup of coffee. Is there somewhere we can go?”

“Nowhere open this early,” said Agatha. “I am here as well as Toni, you know. Let's go to the office and have coffee and you can tell us all about it.”

*   *   *

In the office, Simon clutched a mug of coffee and described his adventures.

“You should have told me what you were doing,” admonished Agatha. “On the other hand, the police should be grateful. They'd never have got on to it if you hadn't investigated. Well done!”

“You would think I had killed the man myself the way they went on,” said Simon. He stifled a yawn.

“Get home to bed and don't bother coming in today,” ordered Agatha.

“Do you want me to answer these phones?” asked Toni.

“Let them ring,” said Agatha. “I'll prepare a statement and make sure everyone knows Simon is the hero of the day.”

When Simon had left, Agatha typed out a statement and handed it to Toni, who began to answer the phones and read it out.

Patrick Mulligan appeared an hour later. “They charged Jed Widdle with the murder of the blacksmith.”

“That was quick,” exclaimed Agatha. “Surely it will take them a few days to find forensic proof.”

“You'll never believe this,” said Patrick. “When the silly ass was wrapping up the body and putting rocks in the bag, he dropped in his driving license at the same time. Wilkes is charging him with the other murders.”

“He can't have any proof.”

“Well, the police got a bruising in the press over the unsolved murders and they're determined to get him to cough to them. He may admit to it.”

“Why on earth?”

“It seems Jed is deeply in love with Mrs. Crosswith. They're persuading him that if he admits to all the murders, they won't charge her with anything.”

“That's nasty. How did you hear all this?”

“I went to the police canteen and heard all the gossip. They sometimes forget I'm not a member of the force anymore.”

“Roy Silver is on the phone,” said Toni.

“Tell him I'll call him later.” Poor Roy, thought Agatha. He must be furious at having missed out. “Go home, Patrick,” said Agatha. “I'm going to get some sleep later.”

“Go home now,” said Toni. “I'm not a bit tired. I can run things with Phil and Mrs. Freedman.”

 

Chapter Seven

Agatha wearily let herself into her cottage. The phone started to ring. She had recently changed to an ex-directory number so she felt safe to answer it.

It was Paul Newton. “I thought you might be at home. I've been watching events on television. Are you all right?”

“Just tired.”

“Want to meet up for a meal later and tell me about it?”

Agatha hesitated for a moment. Then she said, “It's my time to treat you. I'll meet you in the Black Bear in Moreton-in-Marsh at seven.”

“That's great. See you then.”

Just as she put down the receiver, the phone rang again. It was Charles. “Hullo, Agatha,” he said.

“Goodbye, Charles,” retorted Agatha and hung up. She had suddenly decided she was fed up with Charles treating her in his usual cavalier way. Maybe she didn't fancy Paul, but an evening with a man who admired her was preferable to the company of Charles who too often looked on her with a cynical eye.

*   *   *

Contrary to her usual behaviour when out on a date, Agatha arrived at the Black Bear wearing comfortable clothes and the minimum of make-up.

Paul rose and kissed her on the cheek.

Why! He's rather what I would call husky, thought Agatha, coming to the opinion that she had previously formed too harsh an opinion of him.

After they had ordered their food—steak pie and chips for both of them—Paul asked Agatha about the latest murder and Agatha was glad to talk it over to an appreciative listener.

When she had finished, Paul leaned across the table and took her hand. “It's a dangerous job. Have you ever considered giving it up?”

“I don't think I would be good at anything else,” said Agatha, “except my old job of public relations and I did get really tired of that.”

“Never think of getting married again?”

“After two marriages which didn't work out,” said Agatha, gently removing her hand, “I'm a bit wary of the idea.”

*   *   *

Toni received a phone call from Luke. “My dad's gone out for the evening.”

“Doesn't he usually?”

“No. Is he seeing your boss?”

“I wouldn't know,” said Toni. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Feel like going to a movie tomorrow?”

Toni hesitated. She liked him but not that much. “This latest murder means we are all working overtime,” she said. “I'll phone you.”

*   *   *

Paul was saying, “I thought all women dreamed of marriage. No responsibilities. Have some loving man to look after them.”

“Well, that's only a dream,” said Agatha cynically. “The reality is different.”

Paul's phone rang.

He listened and said impatiently, “Okay. I'm coming.” He rang off and said to Agatha, “There's trouble with the lambing. I've got to go. Luke sounds frantic. Do you want to come with me?”

“I'm still tired. Off you go. I'll get this. It's my turn.”

*   *   *

As she watched him leave, Agatha felt her waistband tightening. Why did I eat all that steak pie? she mourned.

She asked for coffee and then fell into a dream of being a farmer's wife, which had more to do with Hollywood and cheap romances than reality.

But reality in the form of Charles Fraith came into the restaurant. “I drove over to see what you were in such a snit about,” he said, sitting down opposite. He looked at Paul's empty plate. “You've been on a date and he left.”

“It was Paul Newton.”

“Who's Paul Newton?” asked Charles.

“Just someone who wants to marry me.”

“Why?”

“What an insulting thing to ask.”

“Your track record with men has been awful,” said Charles.

“You included,” snapped Agatha.

He gave a little shrug. Charles was like her cats, thought Agatha angrily. Doling out affection when it suited him and dropping in and out of her life like a cat using a cat flap on the door.

“So what's all this about the latest murder?” asked Charles.

Agatha told him the latest news, feeling herself beginning to relax. Charles was a good listener.

When she had finished, Charles said, “I often feel sorry for young Simon. You don't seem to rate him much, but he does have a way of finding out things. And do you think Jed Widdle will confess to all the murders to save Mrs. Crosswith?”