Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley (15 page)

‘No,’ said Kelvin. ‘They’re treating it as murder.’

The door opened and Bill Wong came in, followed by a policeman and policewoman. He came up to their table. ‘Alice Dewhurst,’ he said, ‘we want you to accompany us to the
station.’

‘Why?’ demanded Alice, turning a muddy colour.

‘Just a few questions. Come along.’

‘What’s that all about?’ they asked Gemma.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I’m sure.’

‘Was Alice with you all night?’ asked Peter.

Again that shrug. ‘Don’t ask me. I took one of them barbiturates and was dead to the world until she brought my tea in the morning.’

‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ said Terry. ‘You know Alice could never have done it.’

‘I dunno,’ said Gemma to their surprise. ‘Got ever such a nasty temper.’

‘But why on earth would she want to biff Jeffrey?’ asked Agatha.

‘Maybe because she thought he killed Jessica,’ said Gemma, scooping up a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the table.

‘Not very loyal, are we, darling?’ commented Terry.

‘Actually I’m a bit tired of Alice,’ said Gemma, looking earnestly round at them. ‘She gets on my tits.’

‘Oh, we all knew
that,
sweetie,’ said Peter and nudged Terry and sniggered.

Peter turned his attention to James and Agatha. ‘And just what were our loving couple doing last night?’

‘What do you think?’ asked James.

‘Oh, don’t pull that one. I should have thought romance went down the plug hole for you two a million years ago.’ Peter sounded suddenly waspish.

‘You’d better watch out, you dismal little twit, or I’ll biff
you,’
said Agatha. ‘Shouldn’t you and your fairy friend here be off to that slum of a
restaurant to serve up another dose of salmonella to your customers?’

‘Nasty, nasty,’ chided Peter, quite unfazed. ‘Come on, Terry. Duty calls.’

The party broke up with their going. James and Agatha went back to their flat.

‘Well,’ said James gloomily, ‘I haven’t a clue. What about you?’

Agatha shook her head. ‘As far as I’m concerned, any of them could have done it. I can’t look at them objectively any more. I’m beginning to dislike the lot of
them.’

‘Let’s have a drink and think about dinner. What do you want?’

‘Gin and tonic, please. Oh, there’s someone at the door.’

James put down the gin bottle and went to answer it. He hoped it wasn’t one of the walkers. He felt he had had enough of them for one day.

But it was Bill Wong, who said, ‘May I come in? I have some news that might interest you.’

He refused a drink. ‘Is it about Alice?’ asked Agatha.

He nodded. ‘We’ve been digging into the past life of all the suspects. We got some old newsreel film of the Greenham Common women. One report, trying to prove they were all noisy
slags, had interesting footage of Alice and Jessica, a younger Alice and Jessica, having a stand-up fight. Now Alice said in her statement that she did not know Jessica before Jessica came to
Dembley, so why did she lie?’

‘And what does she say?’ asked James.

‘She says she had forgotten all about it, that she always thought there was something familiar about Jessica. She’s still lying, but we can’t get her to say anything else. Now
if Jeffrey knew anything about her and Alice, Alice might have decided to shut him up. She could have called on him and suggested it would be a great idea to get even with Ratcliffe by cutting the
padlock on that gate.’

‘Were the wire-cutters hers?’ asked Agatha.

‘No luck there. Jeffrey had bought them himself six weeks ago to get even with another landowner who had padlocked and chained a gate over a right of way. You’ve been with these
people. You were on that walk. There must be one of them who struck you as being capable of murder.’

James looked at Agatha, and Agatha looked at James. Both shook their heads.

‘These murders have twisted up my mind so much that I look at them and think any of them could have done it,’ said James.

Bill sighed. ‘Normally I would be telling you both to go home and forget about all this, but I keep hoping that in your amateur way you might hit on something.’

‘What about forensic evidence?’ asked Agatha. ‘Footprints, fingerprints?’

‘Can’t get anything off that rock, and the ground was bone-dry and hard. Jeffrey’s car was found nearby. They’re going over that inch by inch. It’ll take some time
for all the fibres, if there are any, to be analysed and traced. I’m tired. Pray for just one break before anyone else gets murdered!’

When Bill had left, James said, ‘What about going back to Carsely and putting everything we’ve got on the computer and then see if we can hit on
something.’

‘I may as well see my cats,’ said Agatha. ‘Should I bring them back with me?’

‘If you like,’ he said moodily. ‘But I don’t think there’s any point in us staying here much longer.’

Agatha glanced round the flat which had become their home for such a brief period. All her dreams of romance with James had faded away. They somehow seemed to have settled down to living
together like two old bachelors.

Once back at Carsely, she fed and petted her cats, although deciding not to take them to Dembley with her, before going next door and joining James at the computer. But before he had started
typing out the first list of names, his doorbell went and he soon returned, followed by Mrs Mason.

‘I saw your car outside,’ she said to Agatha. ‘How are things going?’

‘Very slowly,’ said Agatha.

‘I’m worried about poor little Deborah,’ said Mrs Mason, heaving her corseted bulk into a chair. ‘This other murder – I saw it on the six o’clock news –
must be frightening her to death.’ She preened lightly. ‘Thank goodness she has Sir Charles to look after her. Do you know she went to Barfield House for dinner last night?’

‘She said something about that,’ remarked Agatha. ‘She was asking what to wear. How did that go? I forgot to ask her.’

‘Oh, she said it was wonderful and his friends were ever so nice to her.’ Mrs Mason patted her grey permed hair. ‘I think we might have a Lady in the family soon.’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said James idly, staring at the screen. He wondered what Mrs Mason would say if she ever knew her beloved niece had been having a lesbian affair with
Jessica.

Mrs Mason bristled. ‘Don’t you think my Deborah good enough?’

‘What?’ James swung round. ‘No, no, I was just thinking one invitation to a dinner party does not make a marriage.’

‘But Deborah says he’s ever so keen on her. She’s a bright girl. She was the first in our family ever to go to university. My poor sister, Janice, had ever such a bad time with
that husband of hers. Bad lot, he was. Poor little thing. So clever and pretty. Do see if you can find out who’s doing these dreadful killings.’

She refused an offer of tea and left. James returned to typing out lists of names, one on each page. Then he and Agatha began to put down what they knew of each one.

‘Do you know,’ said Agatha, stifling a yawn, ‘I still think any of them could have done it. They’re not a very nice crowd.’

‘You’d better get some sleep.’

‘And something to eat,’ said Agatha.

‘Tell you what, as we’re leaving for Dembley in the morning, fetch your case along here. I’ll fix us an omelette or something and you can sleep in my spare room.’ His
eyes were kind, and Agatha knew that he was concerned for her because of her shock over the murder.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

She went back and collected a suitcaseful of clean clothes, not really bothering much what she put in this time. The idea of having supper with James and sleeping under his roof in Carsely would
have sent her into Seventh Heaven only a short time ago. But the last murder had brought her face to face with the brutal realities of life. She was a middle-aged woman with a wrinkled upper lip
who should accept that fact and stop being silly.

It was just as well she did not know that James was beginning to enjoy her company as never before. While she was in her own cottage, packing, he put clean sheets on the spare-room bed and went
to rummage through the kitchen cupboards to find something for supper. He reflected that having someone around gave structure to his days, and when a weary Agatha returned on his doorstep, he took
her suitcase from her and carried it upstairs without feeling in the slightest bit wary of her.

Over a supper of ham omelette and a bottle of chilled white wine, he talked idly about his army days and then, when she had finished eating, went upstairs to the bathroom and ran a bath for her
and told her gently to get ready for bed.

‘Maybe we’ll have a bit of luck if we try again, Agatha,’ he said. ‘Have a bath and a good night’s sleep and if you have any bad dreams, just wake me up.’

‘Thank you, James,’ said Agatha humbly. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek and went upstairs.

James whistled to himself as he did the dishes.

‘Will that be all?’ Gustav asked Sir Charles.

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Sir Charles vaguely from behind his newspaper. Then, as Gustav was leaving the room, he lowered it and said, ‘Wait a bit. There is something. Did Aunt
get off to London all right?’

‘Yes, I took her to the station. The train was on time for once.’

‘Good, good. I want you to take the day off tomorrow, Gustav.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you have to know? Well, I have invited Miss Camden round for lunch and I don’t want you glooming about the place.’

‘Meaning you’re going to screw her.’

‘Who I screw or don’t screw is entirely my business, Gustav. Just leave out something for a simple lunch and bugger off. And don’t try to intimidate her this time with forty
courses and twenty canteens of cutlery. Cold pie, potato salad, something like that. Decent bottle of wine. We’ll eat in the kitchen. Now go away.’

Gustav stood his ground. ‘You should stick to your own type.’

‘You’re a dreadful snob.’

‘Not me. Some farmer’s daughter would be suitable, even some farm labourer’s daughter. And talking of farm labourers, did you sack Noakes yet?’

‘Can’t see any reason to. He told the police what he saw. Help’s hard to come by these days. Can’t do it all by machine.’

‘Wish you could do Deborah Camden by machine, sir. You might catch something.’

‘Oh, get out, you dirty-minded bugger.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ was Gustav’s parting shot. ‘That one’s creepy.’

*   *   *

James and Agatha decided next day, after unpacking their bags, to go to the Copper Kettle for lunch, for, as James pointed out, that gossipy pair, Peter and Terry, might let
another few gems of information fall.

They both ordered fish and chips, thinking that the chef at the Copper Kettle might be able to cook something so undemanding, but the fish proved to be of the breaded kind, frozen in bulk and
sold to such restaurants. It was amazingly tasteless, as were the chips; even the tartar sauce had no taste at all.

‘Thought the others might be in,’ said Peter, stopping by their table. ‘Founder’s day at the school, so they’re on holiday.’

‘I didn’t think comprehensive schools had founders,’ commented Agatha. ‘I thought they were founded by the local council.’

‘Well, this one has. So what are the leisured classes doing today?’

James thought quickly. He could hardly say, ‘Investigating this case to find out if one of you did it.’

Instead he said, ‘We might run over to Stratford and see if we can get tickets for this evening. Ages since I’ve seen a Shakespeare play.’

‘Oh, you could run a little errand for me, then,’ said Peter. ‘Deborah’s over at her mother’s. I borrowed a kettle from her, she had a spare, and she keeps nagging
me and I always forget to give it back. I’ve got it here.’

‘Can’t you just give it to her next time you see her?’ asked James.

‘I
could,
sweetie, but then I’d forget again. Now, if you took it, it would be your responsibility.’

‘All right,’ said James. ‘Give us the mother’s address.’

Peter went off and returned with an electric kettle and a slip of paper with Mrs Camden’s address. ‘It’s a council estate,’ said Peter. ‘Far side of Stratford from
here.’ James made a neat note of the directions.

‘Do we really want to go to Stratford? Dreary dump,’ said Agatha, as they got in the car.

‘We’re supposed to be investigating. If Deborah’s there, she might be able to tell us something more.’

As they drove off in the direction of Stratford, Agatha felt relief that she no longer seemed to be obsessed with James, that in a way she had grown up and was content with friendship.

She remembered a typist called Fran she had once employed at her PR agency. Fran had mooned and talked and mooned and talked about a man she fancied who worked for another PR firm. At last
Agatha and the rest had pointed out that it was the twentieth century and there was nothing to stop her phoning the man up and asking him out for a drink. They had all stood over her until she had
picked up the phone and done just that. He said he would meet her for a drink on the Friday evening after work.

They told her what to wear right down to the underwear and scent. They told her what to talk about and how to behave and then sent her off on Friday.

On Monday morning Agatha stopped by Fran’s desk and asked, ‘How did it go?’

‘I didn’t meet him,’ said Fran.

‘What!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘Didn’t he show?’

She remembered Fran’s little resigned sigh and how she had said, ‘I went right up to the door of the pub and looked in and he was there at the bar, waiting. So I turned and walked
away. You see, I’d dreamt and dreamt about him for so long that I realized he could not possibly live up to my dreams and expectations. I’m not into reality.’

But I am . . . now, thought Agatha, and it feels good.

After several mistakes, they found Mrs Camden’s address. It was a terraced council house. The garden was weedy, scraggly flowerbeds surrounding a balding lawn. The gate sagged on its
hinges.

The house had a neglected, deserted air, and they were almost surprised when they heard someone approaching on the other side of the door to answer their knock.