The Blood of an Englishman (14 page)

“How about meeting me at Russell's in Broadway in an hour's time.”

“Great,” said Agatha. “I'll be there.”

When she rang off, she rushed for the stairs to get up to the bathroom to start preparing for her date and tripped over her cats. Cursing, she got to her feet. Hodge and Boswell mewed accusingly and Agatha realised she hadn't fed them. Although Agatha mostly lived on junk food, she wouldn't dream of giving her cats anything but fresh fish. It took time to prepare their meal and feed them.

Agatha hated being late so it was a flustered woman who arrived at Russell's. As she walked into the restaurant, she saw her reflection in a mirror behind the bar and realised she had forgotten to put lipstick on.

When Paul rose from a table to greet her, she brushed past him, saying, “Be with you in a minute.”

In the ladies' room, she scrabbled in her handbag for a lipstick. The only one she could find was orange and she was wearing a red sweater. It would have to do. No way was she going out there with bare lips.

Paul got up again as she emerged. “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Agatha, giving him an orange smile.

They chose their meals and then Paul talked about farming while Agatha, not really listening, wondered if the blacksmith had gone on holiday or fled out of the country.

“It was terrible last year,” Paul was saying. “My fields were flooded.”

“How awful,” murmured Agatha, thinking, I really should call on Bill Wong. He hasn't called me in ages.

She suddenly realised Paul was coming to the end of an anecdote. “And old Jimmy said, ‘Reckon you do be right.'” Paul laughed heartily and Agatha laughed as well.

This won't do, she thought frantically. You can't have a marriage where you don't even listen to the man.

He then asked Agatha how work was going and Agatha chatted on until the end of the meal, thinking all the time, he's nice and strong and I haven't had sex in ages. But it's no go. There just isn't that spark there. She felt suddenly depressed and insisted on paying for the meal as a compensation for having encouraged him.

They were just getting up to leave when Luke, Paul's son, walked into the restaurant. “Hi, Pops!” he said, ignoring Agatha. “I thought you'd like a lift home. The police are out tonight with their breathalysers. I can run you back for your car in the morning.”

“How did you know I was here?” demanded Paul.

“You told Jimmy where you were in case there was any trouble with the lambing,” said Luke.

“And is there?”

“No, fortunately. Let's go.”

“I'll see you outside,” said Paul. “I want to say goodnight to Agatha.”

When his son had left, Paul took her hand. “I can send him away,” he said. “We could have a nightcap at your place.”

“Maybe another time,” said Agatha. “Got an early start in the morning.”

*   *   *

This is silly, thought Agatha. Why must I chase after men I have nothing in common with? She let herself into her cottage. But it would be nice, she thought sadly, to have a warm man in a warm bed.

The next morning, she called at police headquarters and asked to speak to Bill Wong, only to be told it was his day off.

Agatha headed out to his home, dreading meeting Bill's mother, who, she knew, did not like her one bit. In fact, she often thought that Bill seemed unaware that his mother put a stop to him having any relationship with any woman whatsoever. His father was Hong Kong Chinese but had been in England for so long that he had a Gloucestershire accent.

Mrs. Wong answered the door. She was wearing an apron over a droopy dress and carpet slippers. The last woman alive to wear an apron, thought Agatha.

“You can't see him,” she said. “Goodbye.” The door slammed.

Agatha was retreating down the path when the door opened again and Bill called, “I thought I heard your voice. Come in. Poor mum has such a bad memory for faces that she did not recognise you and thought you were selling something.”

Oh, yeah, thought Agatha, but followed him to his home and into the antiseptic living room where everything was so clean and polished that it glittered.

“You're supposed to take the plastic covering off the furniture,” said Agatha. “Must be hell on the bum in the hot weather.”

“Only if you sit on it naked,” said Bill equably. “Mum says it keeps the dust off and we only use this room for guests. We can join her in the kitchen, if you like?”

“No, this is fine. I called on the blacksmith yesterday only to find he's gone to Bangkok. Did you know about this?”

“No. We're still on the case, of course. But to be honest, we're not getting any further,” said Bill. “Winter Parva is a small village. Someone must know something. What about Gareth Craven? He must know the villagers well.”

“I'll try him again,” said Agatha. “There's something else.” She told Bill about Mrs. Crosswith's affair. “And,” said Agatha, “I bet the new boyfriend turns out to like beating up women. Women like her never learn.”

“We'd better get after Harry Crosswith,” said Bill. “But the trouble is, we've got no evidence that he is a murderer.”

“Did forensics not come up with anything?” asked Agatha.

“Not even a hair. The trouble is with all those reality crime shows on television, everyone who watches them gets instructions on how to clean up a crime scene. There was no forced entry. You and Lacey just walked in. Somebody took that sword out of the theatre. Maybe Southern himself, planning some other joke.”

“How did you get on with Gwen Simple?” asked Agatha.

“I think she helped as much as she could.”

“And the son?”

“Him, too. The latest news is that they're going to sell the bakery.”

“John Hale will like that,” said Agatha. “He's desperate for money.”

“He may be disappointed. Gwen gave the shop to her son so any money from the sale goes to him.”

Agatha grinned. “Then I'll be amazed if the wedding goes ahead.”

“I often wonder about Hale,” said Bill. “Rumour round the village says that he was keen on Gwen for a long time.”

“So was Gareth Craven. I still wonder if he hired me to investigate so that he wouldn't be suspected. I think I'll pay him a visit, although I am wasting precious time. I told him I wouldn't charge him until I had something concrete.”

“So how's your love life?” asked Bill.

“Know anything about a farmer called Paul Newton?”

“Rings a bell. I know, he reported the theft of a tractor last year and I went out to take down the details. Seems pleasant. Been courting you?”

“I suppose you could call it that. I think he just wants sex.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He came up to me in Jacey's. Said he was a friend of James.”

“So ask James about him.”

“James is away on his travels,” said Agatha.

“I haven't offered you coffee or anything,” said Bill. “I'll ask Mother to make us some.”

“No, don't!” said Agatha. “I'd better be off. I'll call on Gareth and then get back to all the work I ought to be doing.”

*   *   *

Gareth seemed pleased to see Agatha. He supplied her with a cup of excellent coffee and an ashtray.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Dead ends all round except that Harry Crosswith has gone to Bangkok and his wife is having an affair.”

“She'd never dare!”

“I assure you, she has. I saw them.”

“What did the man look like?”

“Big, heavyset chap, working clothes, curly brown hair, broad piggy face.”

“That sounds like Jed Widdle.”

“Who's he?”

“He's a builder. Works on construction sites. Lives in a cottage on the road out of the village. I wouldn't have thought she would have had the courage. And I don't care if Harry is in Bangkok. He'd need to be dead before she started anything.”

Agatha looked at him and then said slowly, “What if he is dead?”

“Not another murder!”

“I'd like to check. I'll get someone to help me.”

*   *   *

Agatha phoned Simon and told him to join her outside the market hall. When he finally arrived, she briefed him, and then said, “Where would they have got rid of a body?”

“It's a smithy, isn't it?” said Simon. “Cut him up and put him in the fire.”

“We'll park down the lane from the smithy,” said Agatha. “We wait until she goes out and then we start to search.”

He got into Agatha's car and they drove to the end of the lane.

“Will spring never come?” mourned Simon, looking out at the grey day. Although there was no rain, the wind was rising. A crisp packet flattened itself against the windscreen before being torn away to dance up the lane.

“Does Toni ever talk about me?” asked Simon.

Agatha glanced sideways at his sad jester's face. “I'm afraid not, Simon. Give up. I don't think she'll ever forgive you for dumping that girl at the altar. You couldn't have been that keen on Toni to go and propose to someone else, and then decide you didn't want her.”

“It all happened when I was in the army in Afghanistan,” said Simon sulkily. “You bond with the oddest people out there.”

“Get down!” said Agatha. “Here she comes.”

Mrs. Crosswith was coming down the lane. She was wearing high-heeled boots and a scarlet coat.

“Right,” said Agatha, straightening up. “Let's go and have a look.”

“That's odd,” said Simon as they walked into the yard.

“What's odd?”

“The smithy isn't locked and there's all this metal lying around. It's a wonder thieves haven't pinched it and shipped it to China.”

They walked into the smithy. “It's pretty dark in here,” said Simon. “Want me to switch on the lights?”

“No, leave it,” said Agatha. “Don't want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“It's an earth floor,” said Simon. “Handy for burying a body. Hey! What's this?”

Agatha came to join him. “What's what?”

“Look where the earth has been freshly turned over. Give me something to dig with.”

Agatha found a spade and handed it to him. “Go carefully,” she warned. “If there's a body there, we don't want to be accused of messing up a crime scene.”

Simon scraped away at the earth with the back of the spade. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Bones.”

“Can't be the blacksmith. There would be a decomposing body at least.”

“They could have boiled the flesh off.”

“Ugh! Leave it. Let's get out of here and I'll call the police.”

*   *   *

Agatha and Simon stood and shivered in the cold while a forensics team worked on the floor of the smithy.

Then there was a shriek of outrage as Mrs. Crosswith ran into the yard. “What the hell are you doing?” she screamed.

Inspector Wilkes said solemnly, “We need to take you in for questioning. A skeleton has been found buried in the smithy.”

“That's Jess, you idiot,” she shouted.

“Jess?”

“Our old dog.”

Wilkes turned a fulminating eye on Agatha before striding into the smithy.

With a sinking heart, Agatha waited for him to reappear while Mrs. Crosswith said to her, “If it was you, mucking around in there and poking your nose in, I'll have you for trespass.”

When Wilkes came out, he said, “I am sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Crosswith. But you will need to come to headquarters with us. We have some questions to ask you about the whereabouts of your husband.”

Bill must have told him about Bangkok, thought Agatha. “And you,” said Wilkes to Agatha, “follow us. I've got some questions to ask you.”

*   *   *

Agatha waited a long time with Simon at police headquarters in Mircester until they were summoned to an interviewing room. Wilkes was flanked by a detective Agatha had not met before.

The interview began. “Why were you searching around the smithy?” began Wilkes.

So Agatha told him of her suspicions.

“Did you tell Detective Wong that you meant to go and search the smithy?”

“Definitely not. When did Harry Crosswith leave for Bangkok?”

“Just leave the investigation to the police,” snapped Wilkes. “I will not charge you with wasting police time on this occasion, but a repeat of anything like this and I will throw the book at you.”

*   *   *

When they finally left police headquarters, Simon said, “They'll check all the airlines and if there is no sign of the blacksmith having booked a flight, then that wife of his will be in trouble.”

They went back to the office and, to Simon's dismay, he was given the details of two missing dogs and told to look for them.

Simon often wanted to shine in Agatha's eyes. He knew she rated him much lower than Toni and when she went on holiday, it was Toni who was left in charge.

To his relief, he found both dogs at the Animal Rescue Centre, and wondered why the owners never thought to check there first. Also as both dogs had been microchipped and the owners had been informed and were on their way to collect their pets, it cancelled out the agency's fee.

He suddenly decided to go back to the smithy and see if he could find anything. It was getting dark and he figured he could hide in some bushes he had seen at the entrance to the blacksmith's yard. But the smithy was dark and deserted. He went round to the back and saw the redbrick house. A light was on in a downstairs room. Simon crept up to the window and listened.

“Don't worry, my chuck, they'll never find the bastard,” said a man's voice.

“There hasn't been rain in ages. What if that pond dries up?”

“It's been too grey and cold. No sun. Stop…”