Dishing the Dirt (14 page)

“Now there’s a flight of fancy,” said Charles. “Okay. I’ll go along with it. Why wait so long?”

“It’s a great opportunity,” said Agatha. “Murders all over the place, one of them in Oxford. She’s one of the investigating officers. What better time to bump her off? No one is going to look in his direction.”

“But he hired you.”

“What better way to find out what we know? What better way to feel manipulative power? I’ll phone Simon and get him to dig up what he can on Justin.”

“He’ll have gone home.”

“A bit of overtime never hurt anyone,” said Agatha.

She rang Simon. “You should ask Toni,” he said.

“Are you being lazy or what?” asked Agatha.

“It’s just that he came up to the office and he and Toni started chatting. Then he asked her out to dinner and a movie and she said yes.”

“What movie?”

“Rerun of
Gigi
at the Arts Cinema.”

When Agatha rang off, she stared at Charles in consternation as she told him the news.

“You’re getting carried away,” said Charles. “He’s young and beautiful and so is she.”

“I don’t like this,” said Agatha. “I’m going to hunt them down.”

*   *   *

When Agatha entered the cinema, the film was nearly over. She blundered down in the darkness, shining a pencil torch on the faces of the audience, deaf to complaints.

She located them, sitting in the middle of a row halfway down. She found one empty seat behind them, feeling suddenly stupid. She was just thinking of getting up and leaving, when Toni turned round and saw her.

Toni experienced a flash of pure rage. Yes, Agatha had rescued her, not only from a drunken home, but from several other nasty situations. But that did not give her any reason to spy on her. She doesn’t own me, thought Toni. She’s always trying to control my life. The fact that Agatha had stopped doing just that escaped her mind. Young Toni often felt the weight of all that she owed Agatha a bit too heavily. It’s better to give than receive—oh, thanks a bunch, Francis of Assisi—but say a prayer for the receivers, she mused.

Then common sense took over. If her date with Justin was important enough for Agatha to stalk her, always supposing Agatha was not jealous, and was not in the grip of one of her obsessions, then it followed that Agatha knew something sinister about her date.

When the film ended and the lights went up in the cinema, there was no sign of Agatha. Toni had suggested eating before the film, so, outside the cinema, she shook Justin’s hand, said she would be in touch with him, refused his offer of a drink and made her way back to her flat. Upstairs, she looked out of her window and saw Agatha on the opposite side of the street, just turning away. Toni ran down and called out, “Agatha!”

Looking guilty, Agatha turned round. “Why were you stalking me?” asked Toni.

“Let’s up to your flat and I’ll tell you,” said Agatha.

*   *   *

As she talked, Agatha began to feel her intuition had played her false. She had absolutely no proof of anything.

Toni listened carefully and then said, “You’ve had mad ideas before and they turned out to be right. Why don’t we go with it? I know where Justin went to school. I’ll see if I can find some of his old school friends. Say he hated Ruby, then he might have sounded off about it.”

“Maybe I should do that,” said Agatha. “I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“Don’t mother me!” said Toni sharply. Then in a softer voice, she said, “I owe you a lot, Agatha, and sometimes I almost dislike you for it. Can you understand that?”

“I’ll try,” said Agatha, although she thought of how she had battled her way to success without help from anyone.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” said Toni. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

*   *   *

After Agatha had gone, Toni replayed in her mind the conversation she had had with Justin. Finally she remembered he had said he had gone to St. Jerome’s School, a private school in Mircester. But he had not mentioned any school friends. Then she remembered that Simon had gone to the same school and phoned him up. After she had explained the whole thing, Simon said, “Maybe the local newspaper would have something. It’s a prep school and they always covered prize givings. How old is he?”

“Twenty-five.”

“So go to the local rag and look up prize givings for thirteen years ago. They all graduate when they’re twelve.”

*   *   *

Toni was a well-known figure at the
Mircester Chronicle.
She mounted the rickety wooden stairs to the editorial room and asked if she could look up the newspapers for twelve years ago. A secretary went away and reappeared with a large leather-bound book. “Not even on the old microfiche?” asked Toni.

“You know us,” said the secretary. “We never move with the times, that’s our motto.”

Toni began to search, glad that it was a weekly newspaper. She concentrated on the July publications. She found the article and photographs of graduation day. Justin had not received a prize. But there was a group photo. She only recognised him from his name amongst the others underneath the grainy photograph. He was wearing glasses. Those marvellous blue eyes, thought Toni. Must be contact lenses. She took notes of the names of three of the prizewinners, John Finlay, Henry Pilkington, and Paul Kumar.

Back in the office, she found a number for Henry Pilkington and called. A woman answered the phone. She said she was Henry’s wife and that he worked as managing director of Comfy Baby on the industrial estate. She started to ask what it was all about but the wail of a child in the background distracted her and she hurriedly cut the call. Toni sent the information over to Agatha.

*   *   *

Agatha set out the following morning. Comfy Baby supplied goods for the new baby: cots, nappies, feeding bottles and clothes. The offices looked new and prosperous.

After waiting twenty minutes, she was ushered into the managing director’s office. Henry Pilkington was a small man wearing thick rimless glasses. It was hard to believe he was the same age as Justin. He was bald on top and his thin brown hair was already going grey.

He studied Agatha’s business card as if it were some sort of poisonous insect. “So,” he said, “she’s done it at last.”

Agatha looked bewildered. “Who’s ‘she’?”

“My bloody neurotic wife. Always accusing me of having an affair. How does she think I got this job so young? Leaving the office early? I’ve slaved and worked long hours to get where I am.”

“I am not here because of your wife,” said Agatha. “I would like to know about Justin Nichols.”

His face cleared. “Oh, the golden boy. I was at prep school with him. Smarmy little creep. I’m telling you, the teachers fawned on him.”

“Do you happen to know if his father’s divorce hit him badly?”

“I wasn’t one of his buddies. But I guess it did. I know he had long sessions with the school counsellor.”

“Can you remember her name?”

“A Miss Currie.”

“Do you know if she is still at the school?”

“No.”

“Had Justin a particular friend?”

“I suppose John Finlay was close to him. He’s working here. He’s a sales rep. I’ll see if he’s around but he may be out on the road.”

He picked up the phone and asked if John Finlay was in the building. Then Agatha heard him say, “Send him to my office.”

Pilkington smiled at Agatha. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. Good chap, but likes his drink.”

When John Finlay arrived, Pilkington said, “You can use my office.” He made the introductions and explained that Agatha wanted to know about Justin.

John Finlay was tall and handsome with thick curly black hair and an engaging smile. “I don’t know if I can help you,” he said. “I haven’t seen Justin in ages. What’s he done? Got a jealous wife?”

“Nothing like that,” said Agatha, reflecting that the very name “private detective” immediately made most people think of divorce. “I’m interested in Justin’s prep school days, particularly his reaction to his father’s divorce.”

“It hit him hard. He loathed his stepmother. Said she made his life hell, always sneering at him when she wasn’t calling his father a waste of space. He was devoted to his father. He wanted to go on to Ratchett, the public school, but he did badly in the exams. His teachers intervened and managed to get him a place at Mircester High School, which is a state school. I remember now. There was a fire at the school in his final year and someone had seen him near the school on that night, but his girlfriend, Sadie Broody, stepped up and said he had been with her all night.”

“Do you know where I can find Sarah Broody?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea. What’s this all about?”

“Nothing serious. Just checking up on something which hasn’t got much to do with Justin. Thank you for your time.”

When Agatha had left, Finlay was joined by Pilkington. They stood at the window and watched Agatha cross the car park and get into her car. “I like Justin,” said John Finlay. “Might see if I can look him up and tell him that some detective has been asking questions about him. I mean, it was his stepmother who was murdered. Is that what she’s investigating?”

*   *   *

Broody was not a common name and Agatha found an address for an S. Broody. Her flat was near Toni’s. She rang the bell but there was no reply. By asking the neighbours, she learned that Sarah sold cosmetics at Jankers, Mircester’s most expensive store.

Agatha was told that Sarah was on her lunch break and usually went to a café next door. The café was crowded. Agatha stared around at the customers. There was an attractive and elegant woman in the corner. Agatha approached her. “Miss Broody?”

The woman looked at her blankly. A woman at the next table swung round. “That’s me. What do you want?”

There was an empty chair opposite her. Agatha slid into it. Sarah Broody was plain, there was no other word to describe her. She had large pale protruding eyes, bad skin and lank hair. Agatha wondered why, as she was a cosmetics saleswoman, she did not wear make-up.

Agatha explained who she was and then said she was interested in the night of the fire at the school. A red angry spot stood out on the sudden whiteness of Sarah’s face. She began to gather up her things. “I have nothing to say.”

“I only want to know why you lied,” said Agatha, her bearlike eyes boring into Sarah’s face. “It’s either me or the police.”

Sarah, who had half risen, sank back into her chair. “Bastard,” she whispered. “Will I go to prison?”

“No, because I won’t say a word,” said Agatha. “It’s all to do with another matter.”

“He begged me. He said he would marry me if I lied for him. I would have done anything for him. I didn’t sleep with him. He got hold of me the next day. I was dazzled. I said I would and I did. But the minute the schooldays were over, he dropped me. I was furious. I said I would tell the police the truth and he laughed and said I would go to prison for perverting the course of justice and he would even swear I had helped him. He’s evil.”

*   *   *

Agatha had a quick meal when she had left and went back to the office. Toni came in and asked her how she had got on and listened, alarmed. Then she said, “But why encourage his father to investigate? He was only a young boy when he was threatening her. I’m sure he’s harmless.”

“Look,” said Agatha, “he tricked that poor girl into lying for him. He burned down the school. Murderers often start being arsonists when they are children.”

“Do me a favour,” said Toni. “If you are that sure he is evil, phone him up and say you have come to the conclusion that because of the huge investigation by the police in Oxford, it is hopeless trying to get anywhere. And after you have done that, phone the police and report your findings about the school fire.”

But Agatha felt her report on the fire could wait. Right at that moment, she could not bear the idea of another interrogation at police headquarters.

However, she phoned Justin on his mobile and explained her reasons for dropping the case. To her relief, he took the news without protest, only saying, “I see what you mean. I’ll tell Dad. He’ll understand.”

Agatha then turned her attention to another outstanding case and got to work. By the end of the day, she felt exhausted. The case meant she had to follow a nimble possible adulteress, on foot, accompanied by Phil with his cameras. The humid weather did not help. Nor did her high-heeled sandals. The woman in question went from shop to shop, then she dropped into a café for coffee before resuming her shopping and then blamelessly returned home to her suspicious husband, carrying bags of purchases while Agatha cursed a woman who wore trainers and never seemed to bother taking her car out.

She returned to her cottage, put a microwave meal in for dinner, fed her cats and finally settled down in front of the television, flicking through the channels to see if she could find a bit of escapism. She finally found an episode of
Morse
she had not seen before, but after the first half hour, her eyes drooped and she fell asleep.

Charles let himself in later that evening. He saw Agatha asleep on the sofa and decided to leave her and wake her later on. He went upstairs and put his bag in the spare room. He was just about to go downstairs when he heard the doorbell ring. He stood and listened. Then he heard Agatha making her way to the door, saying, “Justin! Can this wait? I’m very tired.”

And then Justin’s voice. “It’ll only take a moment.”

Charles wondered what to do. Agatha had seemed smitten by Justin, then suspicious of him. She might be furious to find him lurking around. He sat down at the top of the stairs and waited.

In the kitchen, Agatha went over to the coffee percolator and asked, “Coffee?”

“Not for me, thank you.”

“I’ll have one,” said Agatha. “I’m barely awake.” Her eyes fell on her open handbag, lying on the counter with the electric light gleaming on the edge of her tape recorder. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and, before turning around, switched on the tape recorder.

Justin was already sitting at the kitchen table. Agatha sat down opposite him.

“I had a call from the Broody female,” he said. “Broody by name, broody by nature. She was sobbing and gulping and saying she had betrayed me but if I would only see her again, she would swear blind she had told you nothing. Then an old school friend phoned my dad and said you’d been asking odd questions of what I was like at the time of the divorce. May I remind you, sweetie, that you are being paid to investigate my stepmother’s death?”