The Blood of an Englishman (20 page)

“Everyone out,” ordered Bill. “I'll send a forensic team round.”

*   *   *

Charles took himself off. Agatha went to her office and asked Patrick Mulligan to get in touch with his police contacts and find out if the forensic team had discovered anything sinister. Agatha did not believe that the note was genuine.

Patrick phoned her that evening to say that there were signs that John had really left. His toothbrush and shaving kit were gone along with clothes and his passport. No signs so far of any violence.

When Agatha rang off, she wondered whether Walt were like Luke. Perhaps he didn't want his mother to marry. Maybe he had killed John. Well, let's imagine, thought Agatha, that he killed John but somewhere outside the theatre. Where would he hide a body?

*   *   *

In the morning, she held a conference with her staff, asking them if they had any suggestions.

“I'd dump it in that pond,” said Simon. “Say Walt did murder John, then he would assume the police would never look there, that is, if by the remote chance they thought John had been murdered. I've got scuba diving equipment. I'll go down there this evening if you like and take a look around.”

“Good idea,” said Agatha. “One of us had better come with you as a lookout.”

“What about Toni?” asked Simon.

“I've got a date,” lied Toni.

“I'll go,” volunteered Patrick.

“Good,” said Agatha. “I'm going back to Winter Parva to see if anyone will gossip to me now. I'll start with Pixie Turner.”

*   *   *

To Agatha's surprise, Pixie Turner welcomed her instead of trying to get rid of her as she had done before. Now that there was no possibility of any press arriving, Pixie was devoid of make-up and wearing a faded T-shirt and jeans.

“Isn't it awful John disappearing like that,” said Pixie when she and Agatha were seated in the cluttered living room. “Poor Gwen. She must be devastated.”

“Was Bert Simple a wife beater?” asked Agatha.

“I did hear a bit of gossip about that, but, look here, there's so much wife beating goes on in the Cotswolds, they should show it at some country fair as a rural pastime.” She threw back her head and laughed, revealing squiggly discoloured teeth.

“Is Walt very close to his mother?”

“I guess so. Boys always are.” Her eyes narrowed. “Hey, what are you getting at? Do you think Walt bumped off John because he's got one of those eedpussy something complexes?”

“No, and don't tell anyone anything about my questions.”

“Wouldn't breathe a word. It's a shame the bakery's to be closed. The steak pie they served at the reception was ever so good. Isn't that interesting that you think Walt killed John.”

“I never said that!” howled Agatha. “I don't want Walt Simple to sue me.”

*   *   *

Simon appeared in the office at the end of the day. “Nothing in that awful pond but rubbish,” he said.

“I wonder if there's anything going on in that village hall at the moment,” said Agatha. “A body could be stuffed somewhere under that stage and no one would be the wiser. I'm going over there.”

“I'd better come with you,” said Toni.

“Are you sure?” asked Agatha. “I must admit I'd be glad of the company.”

“I'll come too,” said Simon quickly.

“No, it's all right. You're tired,” said Agatha. “We'll have a bite to eat first, Toni. I'll feel more comfortable detecting after dark in that poxy village.”

*   *   *

They went in Toni's old Ford, Agatha not wanting her own car to be recognised. They parked round the back of the village hall and got out. It was a soft spring evening. The stars above were just beginning to come out. It was the sort of evening when that perpetual teenager that lurked somewhere inside Agatha thought again about romance and the lack of it. Would her heart ever beat quickly again at the sight of some man? Falling in love was a heady drug and Agatha missed it.

They approached the side of the hall until they were in its black shadow. Toni took out a pencil torch. “That's the door there,” whispered Agatha. “See if it's locked.”

Toni tried the handle. “It's locked but I think I can spring it.” She took a thin strip of metal out of a bag at her waist and slid it into the door and jerked. There was a click and the door sprang open.

Agatha took out her own torch. “I don't think we can risk switching on the lights.”

They prowled around in the darkness. There were trunks full of costumes but not one contained a body, nor was there anything sinister behind old bits of scenery.

“Bad idea,” said Agatha.

“Shh!” hissed Toni. “Someone's come onto the stage.”

“Why on earth did you bring me here?” came a woman's voice.

“That's Gwen!” exclaimed Agatha.

“I had to get you somewhere alone. Walt just glares at me.”

“And Gareth. What's going on?” wondered Agatha.

She and Toni stood by the trap where they could clearly hear what was going on up on the stage.

“Walt is still furious with John for having dumped me,” said Gwen.

“Gwen, you know I've always loved you. Walt will be going off to university. We could get married.”

“The last thing I want to think about at the moment is marriage to anyone,” said Gwen. “Take me home.”

“But say you'll think about it, please,” begged Gareth.

“I'll think about it. I must get back or Walt will wonder what's happened to me.”

Their voices faded as they left the stage, Gareth still pleading.

“Let's get out of here,” said Agatha.

*   *   *

In Toni's car, Agatha said urgently, “We've got to warn Gareth.”

“I wouldn't do that,” said Toni cautiously.

“Why not? If I'm right about Walt, Gareth could be next on the list.”

“He's in love,” said Toni. “He'll be furious with you. He'll tell Gwen, who'll tell her son about our nasty suspicions and then you might be the next target.”

“I'll think about it,” said Agatha huffily, not wanting to tell her young assistant that she was probably right.

 

Chapter Ten

Toni dropped Agatha in Mircester and Agatha got into her own car and drove to her home.

As she got out of her car, Agatha was suddenly aware of a feeling of menace. She stood for a moment, frozen with fear. A car turned into Lilac Lane, illuminating her in its headlights.

The car stopped and Charles got out. Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. This case was getting to her and making her imagine things.

Charles followed her into her cottage. “Shouldn't you be squiring your fiancée?” asked Agatha.

“She sent the ring back.”

“Come through to the kitchen while I feed my cats and tell me about it.”

“There's nothing to tell. She simply posted the ring back to me.”

“And what explanation did she give?”

“I didn't ask. I knew anyway.”

“What did you know?”

“That she was following me, that she saw me having dinner with you and no doubt followed me back here and waited to see if I would spend the night.”

“So if you knew all that, why the hell did you stay the night?” asked Agatha, taking fish out of the fridge.

He shrugged. “I don't like being spied on. Talk about something else. How's the case?”

“Before I do that,” said Agatha. “I'm feeling guilty. It was because of me that your last engagement broke up.”

“Well, she was spying as well and I don't like being snooped on. So what's been happening?”

Agatha told him about her visit to the village hall and Gareth's proposal and ended up by saying, “What has that wretched woman got to make all the men dotty about her?”

“Money.”

“They're not all like you, Charles.”

“Nasty.”

“Well, you are awfully mercenary. Any dinner with you and you start croaking like a parrot, ‘Oh, I seem to have forgotten my wallet.' Anyway, I think John was after her money, but Gareth does seem to be carrying a torch for her. I wanted to warn him but Toni pointed out it might make me the next target.”

“Clever girl. So what now?”

Agatha arranged fish on two plates and put them on the floor. When she straightened up, she said, “I think John's dead body is somewhere. Where would you hide a body?”

Charles groaned. “It could be anywhere—down a well, in a bale of hay, buried six feet deep, lots of places. Forget about it for the evening. Stop brooding over your cats like a mother hen. Let's go through and have a drink and watch some television.”

*   *   *

Agatha was suddenly tired. As Charles surfed the channels, trying to find something to watch, she suddenly fell asleep. Charles rose and took a burning cigarette gently from her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

He found a film of
Sweeney Todd
and settled down comfortably to watch it.

Almost at the end of the musical, Agatha awoke with a jerk. She rubbed her eyes and said, “Sorry. I dropped off. What are you watching?”

“
Sweeney Todd.
”

“Oh, the chap who baked people into pies. Any good?”

“Not bad. Shut up until I see the end.”

Agatha leaned back in her armchair, bits of the Winter Parva murders swirling around in her brain. She began to nod off again. A picture of Pixie rose before her mind's eye. “The steak pie was ever so good,” the dream Pixie was saying.

Agatha jerked awake again and stared at Charles. “Snakes and bastards,” she said. “Meat pies!”

“You hungry?”

“No. Listen to this. What if Walt got rid of John by cutting up his body and putting it in the steak pies?”

“This musical's been getting into your brain while you were asleep. Anyway how would Walt have the time? The stag party was before the wedding and—”

“And steak pies were served at the reception. He could have been up most of the night. I must get hold of one of those pies,” said Agatha. “Let me see. He knows me and Toni. He'll have seen you with me. Phil's been in the village.”

“You're nuts,” said Charles. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed.”

“Oh, shove off, then. You're no help.”

“Night, beloved. I'll come and see you in your rubber room.”

Agatha phoned Patrick Mulligan. “Patrick,” she said, “I want you to get over to the bakery in Winter Parva in the morning and buy a steak pie and bring it to me at the office. I'll explain later.”

*   *   *

The next morning when Patrick returned from Winter Parva, she told her staff about her suspicions. Mrs. Freedman sniffed at the pie. “It looks lovely and smells just as it ought.”

“Nonetheless, I'm taking it straight to that forensic laboratory in Birmingham and I'll pay them for a rush job. I want them to tell me what the meat is. They'll probably think I'm one of those people who are worried about horsemeat passing off as steak.”

*   *   *

Despite Agatha's pleas, she was told the analysis would take a week. But as the days of waiting dragged on, she began to feel silly. Thank goodness she hadn't told them she thought the meat was human flesh.

Two days before the analysis was due, Agatha drove to Carsely and decided to go to the Red Lion for a drink before going home. As she sat in the dark bar, she was almost tempted to book a room for the night. The past few days, she had endured a feeling of dread, almost as if she was being spied on. Of course, she thought, it could be Charles's fiancée playing detective. Charles had not called and she did not know whether his engagement was on or off.

The long bar was crowded so she took her drink to a table in the corner. A tall, fairly handsome man at the bar turned round and looked at her. Agatha took out her compact but the bar was too dark to make out what she looked like. She picked up her bag but left her drink on the table and hurried to the ladies' room. Agatha quickly repaired her make-up but when she returned to the bar, the good-looking man had gone. She took a gulp of her drink and deciding not to finish it, thought she'd better stop being silly and just go home.

She stood up, her head beginning to swim. Her legs seemed to have turned to jelly. She staggered towards the door and a strong arm went round her waist to support her. As her head continued to swim, she thought it must be the handsome man, but her vision was blurred.

She was thrust into the back of a white van. In a panic, she realised something was badly wrong, but that was her last thought before she fell unconscious.

*   *   *

The next morning, at the agency, her staff waited in vain for Agatha to arrive. Toni tried her home number and mobile number without success.

Then she phoned Charles. Any phone calls to him were usually blocked by his man, Gustav. But to her relief, it was Charles himself who answered. She quickly told him about her worries about Agatha, and, knowing he had a set of keys to Agatha's cottage, she begged him to go over to Carsely and make sure Agatha was all right.

They all waited anxiously. At last Charles phoned to say Agatha was not at home and there was no sign that her bed had been slept in.

*   *   *

Agatha recovered consciousness. She had been frightened before in her career but never as frightened as this. She was bound and gagged and lying on a pile of flour sacks. She was in some sort of stores cupboard.

Twisting around and struggling at her bonds, Agatha's eyes fell on one shiny black man's shoe. It looked remarkably like the sort of shoes John Hale had worn.

The door opened and Walt Simple walked in. He grinned at Agatha and said, “I'm having a big sale of meat pies tomorrow at the final day of the bakery, and you, you old frump, will be in every one.” He kicked her in the side and walked out.