The Blood of an Englishman (21 page)

*   *   *

Toni and Patrick went round to police headquarters and demanded to see Bill Wong. They waited and fretted until Bill appeared. He listened in amazement to their tale of the missing Agatha and to Agatha's theory that John Hale had been murdered and made into pies.

“She's been reading too many detective stories,” said Bill. “If something has happened to her, it might be Luke Newton. I'll pull him in for questioning.”

“No! You've got to get a search warrant and go to that bakery,” shouted Toni.

“Agatha sent a meat pie to Birmingham for analysis,” said Patrick. “Why don't you phone them?”

“Leave it to me,” said Bill. “But Agatha often has these mad flights of fantasy. I'll question Luke first.”

*   *   *

Back at the office, Toni said, “We'd better get over to that bakery. We daren't wait.”

They set out in their cars only to be stopped on the main road out of Mircester by an overturned truck. They fumed and fretted as the time passed.

*   *   *

Bill and Alice were grilling a sulky Luke Newton. Luke was protesting for the umpteenth time that he had not seen Agatha when the door to the interview room opened and Wilkes summoned Bill. When Bill went out, Wilkes said urgently, “I've just had a call from the lab in Birmingham. There is human flesh in that meat pie. Get rid of young Newton. The sooner we get to that bakery, the better.”

*   *   *

Agatha's hands were fastened with plastic cuffs. She rolled around the room, looking for something sharp. Dimly, she heard the noises from the shop. If only she wasn't gagged and could shout. She saw an old scythe propped up in one corner. She rolled towards it and then started to saw at one of the cuffs on her wrist.

It was slow and agonising work but extreme fear had leant her strength. At last, the cuff fell apart. Agatha unfastened the other one and then ripped the tape from her mouth.

She unfastened the ropes that bound her ankles and stood up shakily and tottered to the door.

It was locked. The noises from the shop had ceased. Agatha looked at her watch. Lunch time. Probably the bakery was closed.

She heard footsteps approaching and hid behind the door.

The room was dark. Walt walked in and strode towards the pile of flour sacks on the floor. He swung round just in time to see Agatha darting out the door.

With a cry of rage, he ran after her. Agatha ran into the bakery shop. She seized a large meat pie and threw it straight into Walt's face. He clawed the meat off. Agatha grabbed more meat pies and threw them as she made towards the door. The door was locked. She let out a whimper of fear and Walt approached her, his eyes blazing with hate. “Help,” said Agatha weakly. And then gathering all her strength, she screamed, “Help!” at the top of her voice.

*   *   *

Charles had joined Agatha's staff as they arrived at the bakery in time to hear that scream.

Patrick took a cosh out of his pocket and broke the glass on the doors, put his hand in and turned the key. The sound of sirens coming along the street could be heard behind them.

They all burst in to hear Agatha shouting, “He's getting away. Round the back!”

The police arrived in time to hear Agatha's shout and raced to the back of the bakery.

Charles gathered Agatha into his arms. She was shaking from head to foot. “There, now,” he said. “It's all over.”

But Walt had disappeared. They searched the bakery without success and then the whole area round about. Gwen arrived from a shopping expedition and was taken into custody.

The whole village seemed to have gathered outside the bakery. There was to be an investigation later to find out which gabby policeman had told the villagers what was in the meat pies. Several began to vomit and others clutched their stomachs. The crowd began to disperse to form a queue outside the doctor's surgery instead.

Bill said to Agatha, “You'd better come with us for questioning.”

“I can't,” wailed Agatha. “I've peed myself.”

“We'll find you clean clothes,” said Bill.

*   *   *

Agatha arrived at police headquarters and learned that Gwen had collapsed and had been taken to hospital.

Before the questioning began, a bag was handed in. Agatha was told Charles had gone to her cottage and had packed up a set of clean clothes. She was allowed a break while she donated a urine sample and got washed and changed.

Wilkes was furious. How the hell did this woman with no real detective training leap to the conclusion that the late John Hale was in the meat pies?

Wearily, Agatha described how she had finished a drink at the George, had felt dizzy, her vision was too blurred to see who was helping her out of the hotel and the next thing she knew, she was trussed up in the bakery.

At the end of the interview, Agatha was told a police guard would be put outside her cottage, but she said she was going back just to deliver her cats to Doris Simpson and then she was going to stay at the George Hotel.

*   *   *

Later that day, she was to learn through Patrick that a forensic team had found a trapdoor in the floor of one of the freezers leading to a tunnel which exited in the back lane outside. It was guessed that Walt had hidden down there until he felt it safe to make his escape.

*   *   *

A media frenzy enveloped Winter Parva for days. Pixie got her photograph on the front page of the local paper, saying that she and John had once been betrothed. That was subsequently found out to be a lie but Pixie did not care. She had enjoyed her moment of glory. Agatha gave interview after interview, much to the fury of Wilkes, who had been trying to claim that the discovery of John Hale's macabre death had been the result of police work.

Agatha took that week off work to recover. She had a large bruise in her side where Walt had kicked her and her wrist had bruises where the cuffs had bit into them.

She grew extremely fond of Charles, who called daily to sit and talk nonsense and cheer her up.

Meanwhile, the search for Walt Simple spread throughout the country and abroad. A hot line was set up. Reports of sightings came from all over and were followed up but without any of them leading to finding Walt.

On the second last day of her stay at the George, Agatha went down to the bar for a preluncheon drink. The first thing she saw was that nearly handsome man at the bar. She had an impulse to join him at the bar instead of sitting down at one of the tables and waiting to give her order to one of the staff, but memories of all the mistakes she had made in the past, ending up with Paul Newton, crowded into her brain, and so she meekly took herself to a table in the corner.

She ordered a gin and tonic, wishing she could smoke. Charles would probably call on her soon. Dear Charles.

“Mrs. Raisin? It is Mrs. Agatha Raisin, is it not?”

Agatha looked up and blinked. The nearly handsome man was smiling down at her.

“That's me,” said Agatha.

“I read about you in the newspapers. You are a very brave lady.”

Agatha smiled up at him. “Won't you join me?”

“I'll just get my drink.”

Agatha quickly flipped open her compact. Make-up all right. Damn! There was a little hair at the side of her mouth.

He came back and sat down.

“It must have been awful for you,” he said. “I haven't introduced myself. I'm Jeremy Rutherford.”

“I'm getting over it,” said Agatha. “Are you a resident of Mircester?”

“No, I live in Walton Magna. It's a few miles outside Mircester to the south.”

“And what do you do in Walton Magna?”

“I have an antique shop.”

“Have you always been an antique dealer?”

“No, I was in the army for years. Finished my army career two years ago.”

“So why antiques?”

“My father was a collector. He died two years ago and left me a house crammed with antiques along with his antique shop. At first I was going to put stuff up for auction, but I thought it would be fun to carry on the business and get rid of some of the stuff that was cluttering up the house at the same time. What about you? How did you get into the detective business?”

Agatha began to happily brag about her career until he interrupted her by saying, “Why don't we continue this conversation in the dining room?”

Out of the gloom of the bar and in the bright light of the dining room, Agatha covertly studied her companion. He had thick brown hair streaked with grey, a pleasant square face, a firm mouth and a good figure.

*   *   *

Charles stood at the entrance to the dining room. He was about to join Agatha and her companion, but Agatha looked so happy and animated that he turned and went back into the bar instead. He felt Agatha needed something to take her mind off her recent horrible experience. He'd find out who this man was later.

*   *   *

After lunch, Agatha trailed up to her room, disappointed. Jeremy had not suggested they meet again. Probably married, she thought wistfully. He had been in the army and had known James. She resolved to see if James could tell her more about him.

She was supposed to tell the police when she was returning to her cottage so they could put a police guard on her door, but she was sick of the police. She felt Bill Wong should at least have called on her and Wilkes had treated her as if she were the criminal.

Agatha checked out of the hotel. She sat in her car, took a pair of tweezers out of her handbag and pulled that little hair out. She was amazed to see how tiny it was. During the meal with Jeremy, she had been too conscious of that offending hair, feeling it growing in size. She had been frightened to escape to the ladies' room to deal with it in case Jeremy might be joined by people he knew. You silly cow, Agatha chastised herself as she drove to Carsely. If by any chance some friend had joined him, then you might have found out whether he was married.

She had phoned her cleaner, Doris Simpson, before she had left the hotel and Doris promised to take Agatha's cats back to her cottage.

Agatha let herself into her cottage to a rare welcome from her cats, who usually punished her by ignoring her when she had been away.

She sat down on the kitchen floor and petted them, feeling the tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Agatha wanted a strong man to turn up, to take her in his arms and tell her he would look after her until the end of time. She wondered whether she would ever have the courage to go on detecting.

She got to her feet and dried her eyes. It was a beautiful spring day. She let the cats out into the garden, sat down on a chair at the garden table and let out a long slow sigh of relief. A cherry tree lifted its heavy pink blossoms up to the clear sky. Agatha employed a woman gardener. The lawn was covered in crocuses and daffodils nodded on the borders. A blackbird poured liquid song down from the rooftops. It was like falling off a tall building and suddenly discovering that you had not broken any bones, thought Agatha. Life was all right.

 

Chapter Eleven

Agatha phoned Bill Wong to say she was back at her cottage. Bill reported the fact to Wilkes and said they should send a police guard but Wilkes was furious with Agatha for having had so much publicity in the newspapers. He felt she had made the police look stupid and so he told Bill there would be no police guard because Walt would not dare show his face in the Cotswolds again. In vain did Bill point out that a man who was so obsessed with his mother that he should bump off her fiancé would surely try to see Gwen again and maybe get revenge on Agatha. So Agatha learned that she was to have no protection.

But the glorious weather continued. One sunny day followed another. The lilac tree in Agatha's front garden bowed down under a heavy weight of blossom.

Jeremy had not phoned although she had given him her card. Had he phoned immediately after their lunch, Agatha might have considered whether she was really interested. But like all immature romantics, she was addicted to the hunt, building up dream pictures of a man she barely knew. Charles was again absent and James Lacey still abroad, and without a man around, Agatha felt diminished.

Also, she needed something to take her mind off the fact that Walt had not been found.

Roy came down one week-end, complaining that he had been tied up with a PR account when Agatha was getting all the publicity. To Agatha's amazement, her former employee's craving for self-publicity had actually made him jealous of her. He had not told her he was coming and she was tempted to tell him she had too much to do to entertain him, but she was lonely.

Somewhere at the back of her mind was the uneasy thought that a modern businesswoman like herself should be self-sufficient. Agatha asked Roy why he was so conservatively dressed, as he usually wore something outrageous. He was wearing a tweed jacket and cords over a checked shirt.

“I've been publicising that fishing tackle shop, Angler's Dream. I tell you, I've become fascinated by the idea of fishing and even took a couple of lessons in fly fishing. I've got a treat for you. I've two rods in the car. Why don't we go fishing?”

“I don't know anything about it.”

“I'll show you,” said Roy eagerly. “I stopped off in Mircester and got a couple of fishing permits for the upper reaches of the Mir. It would be fun.”

Agatha hesitated only a moment. It was another lovely day.

“All right,” she said. “I'll watch you.”

“I've even got the Luxury Fisherman's Picnic Hamper. They made me a present of it.”

“Sounds fine,” said Agatha. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

They settled themselves on the bank of the river. There were a few anglers wearing waders out in the middle of the river.

“Why don't they just sit on the bank and be comfortable like us?” asked Agatha.

She was soon to find out when Roy started fishing. The banks of the river were lined with trees and he caught his hook in branches and spent ages trying to dislodge it.