The Blood of an Englishman (7 page)

*   *   *

“Where does he live?” asked Phil as Agatha roared out of Mircester.

“Maybe above the gift shop but all we have to do is look for all the flashing blue lights.”

“What can they charge him with?”

“Wasting police time for a start,” said Agatha.

The village of Winter Parva was in a hollow and thick mist had descended. As Agatha turned into the high street, she could see flashing blue lights outside the gift shop.

She parked the car. She and Phil got out and stood near the entrance to the gift shop. Two policemen appeared, escorting George to a police car. George was shouting, “It was only a joke.”

“He must be mad,” said Phil.

“There's a thought,” said Agatha. “Mad people commit murders.”

*   *   *

She dropped Phil off at his home and then drove to her cottage. Agatha still felt shaken and wondered if any of the cast would sue George for the distress he had caused. Gareth would probably try to get all the money back he had lost on refunded ticket sales.

Her doorbell rang. First, she peered cautiously through the spy hole. The vision that was John Hale stood outside, wreathed in mist.

Agatha wrenched open the door. “I just heard the awful news,” said John.

“Come in. Let me take your coat. Let's have a drink and I'll tell you all about it. How did you hear what happened?”

“Gwen called me but she was too distressed to go on.”

Agatha struck a match and lit the log fire which her excellent cleaner had laid ready. “Now, what would you like to drink?”

“Brandy, if you've got it.”

Agatha poured two glasses, handed him one and sat down in an armchair. John was leaning back against the cushions of the sofa, very much at his ease.

After describing the shock the fake head had caused, Agatha surveyed John.

“I don't think you've got a cold,” she said. “Why did you let George Southern take your place?”

“He begged me. He said it was a dream of his to have the leading role. He's got a good voice and I thought one evening wouldn't hurt.”

“The police will be looking for you,” said Agatha. “If they think you both planned it, you will be charged along with George.”

“I had no idea the silly fool planned such a horrible joke. Oh, dear. Poor, poor Gwen. She must be in bits.”

You can go off people, you know, thought Agatha. Yes, he's beautiful. But what if I'm sitting here with a murderer?

She said, “Perhaps you had better go home. The police will be looking for you.”

“I suppose I must.” He got to his feet.

The doorbell rang shrilly, startling both of them. Agatha went to answer it, peering through the spy hole and seeing Bill Wong standing on the step. “Come in,” she said, opening the door. “There's someone here you'll want to interview.”

“I wanted to talk to you and ask you what you were doing there,” said Bill.

“Later. John Hale is in the living room.”

“We've been looking for him. Lead the way.”

Agatha introduced them. John, who had got to his feet, sank back onto the sofa looking miserable.

Bill questioned him closely. John's moving rapidly up the list of suspects, thought Agatha. John explained that he was at home, marking exam papers, when Gwen Simple had phoned with the bad news. He knew Mrs. Raisin had been hired to investigate and he had given her tickets for the theatre and so he had called on her to find out more. Bill asked if there were any witnesses to the fact that he said he had been home all that evening. He gave the names of two parents who had phoned him during the time the show was onstage.

He's frightened, thought Agatha. Wait a bit. He said one of the parents who phoned him was Mr. Buxton. That must be Kimberley's father. Should she tell Bill? Or was she going to protect John?

She suddenly realised Bill's shrewd almond eyes were fastened on her face. “What is it, Agatha?” he asked.

Slowly and reluctantly, Agatha said, “Mr. Buxton is the father of Kimberley, a pupil at John's school. The girl initially claimed Bert Simple had molested her, but now says he didn't. Toni tried to get something out of the girl but had no luck.”

“Buxton called on me at the school,” said John.

“So what did Mr. Buxton want?”

“He was angry with me,” said John. “He blamed me for telling Agatha about Kimberley.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“As a matter of fact, he did. He said if I didn't keep my mouth shut, I'd end up like Bert Simple.”

“You should have phoned the police immediately,” said Bill severely.

“If I phoned the police every time a parent threatened me, I'd never be off the phone,” said John wearily. “If their little genius—in their opinion—turns out to be failing English exams, they take it out on me.”

“I would like you to call at police headquarters in the morning,” said Bill, “and sign a statement.”

“Of course.”

*   *   *

After Bill had left, John rose and stretched. “What a horrible mess,” he said. “I hope they lock up George and throw away the key.”

Agatha escorted him to the door and helped him into his coat. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for not calling me a fool,” he said. “I owe you a meal. I'm a good cook. What about next Saturday evening?”

Looking up into his handsome face, Agatha forgot about any doubts about him. “I'd love to. What time?”

“Eight o'clock. Here's my card with my address.” He kissed her on the cheek again. Agatha opened the door. Tiny snowflakes were beginning to swirl in the light over the door.

“I'd better get home before this gets worse,” said John. “See you soon.”

Agatha dreamily watched him go.

*   *   *

The newspapers and television were full of the fake-head story on the following day. Agatha finally locked her office door to keep the press out. Interest in the gruesome murder of Bert Simple had been reanimated and she knew Winter Parva would be full of the media.

She settled down at her desk to read the newspaper reports. Gwen Simple was reported as being too distressed to make a statement. Other members of the cast were threatening to sue George for causing them post-traumatic stress.

Agatha turned to Patrick. “See if any of your police contacts can let you know if George has been charged.”

Patrick put on his coat and left the office. Agatha looked out of the window. The snow was coming down thicker. If she did not make a move soon, she would not get to Winter Parva.

But if she did go to try to see if George had been released and returned home, the press would all be waiting outside the gift shop.

Mrs. Freedman was patiently answering the phone and reading from a typed statement.

“Agatha Raisin was at the performance and witnessed the whole thing. George Southern begged to replace John Hale for one performance only. Mrs. Raisin does not know why he decided on such a horrible trick. Goodbye.”

The calls grew less and finally ceased.

Toni appeared and said it looked as if most of the roads were going to be impassable. She was soon followed by Simon and Phil, complaining about the same thing.

They all sat, drinking coffee, and watching the white world outside the windows. Patrick appeared at last, shaking snow from his heavy overcoat. “George has been kept in overnight,” he said, “and they're going to be interviewing him again today. Evidently Wilkes thinks that someone who could go to the lengths of performing such a macabre joke probably killed Bert.”

“I believe members of the cast are threatening to sue him for causing post-traumatic stress,” said Agatha.

“The actual charge,” said Patrick, “would be nervous shock and they would need to pay a psychiatrist to back up the claim. Is there anything else I can do?”

“I don't think there's anything any one of us can do until they get the gritters out,” said Agatha. “You can all go.”

“I don't think I'll make it to Carsely,” said Phil.

There was a knock at the office door and a familiar voice called, “Agatha!”

Agatha rushed to open the door. James Lacey, her former husband, stood there, smiling at her.

“How did you get here?” asked Agatha. “Let me take your coat.”

“I've invested in a Land Rover with snow tyres,” said James. “I've been reading all about the Winter Parva case and wondered if you needed any help.”

“Oh, that would be great,” said Agatha. She studied James. He was as handsome as ever. Then she remembered how difficult their marriage had been. And James had been furious when Agatha had insisted on keeping the name Raisin, that of her first husband, for business. Then her racing mind thought, I must get rid of him by next Saturday. I don't want anyone messing up my date with John.

Aloud, she said, “We could drop Phil back off in Carsely and go on to Winter Parva from there. Toni, Simon, you've both got digs close by so you can go now.”

Young Toni blushed slightly as she passed James, remembering when she had once had a crush on him.

Simon hurried after her. James sat down next to Agatha at her desk.

“I've been looking at my notes,” said Agatha, “and I've just remembered something. Gareth Craven, the producer of the pantomime who's hired me to investigate, well, he told me he wanted to marry Gwen Simple but that he was married at the time.

“But Bessie Burdock was the one who told us that Gareth had rushed off to get married
after
Gwen got married. It's a small lie, but it's a lie all the same.”

“Maybe he was just trying to save face,” said James. “But I'd like to meet this Gareth Craven.”

“We'll go in a minute,” said Agatha. “I've got Toni's notes here. I hadn't time to read them. She thinks Kimberley really wanted to tell her something but her father was making threatening noises and she clammed up. She plans to go back and try to get Kimberley on her own.”

“So let's brave the snow,” said James, “and see what Gareth has to say for himself.”

*   *   *

The main roads had been gritted but it was hard going on the untreated country roads leading to Winter Parva. Agatha covertly studied James and wondered what he was thinking. His handsome face seemed inscrutable. Did he ever think of the nights in bed they had spent when they were married? Probably not, thought Agatha, feeling suddenly frumpy and deflated.

“Isn't this that village where they roasted a cop at the pig roast?” asked James.

“The very one,” said Agatha. As they drove along the main street, she said, “Just look at it. Like a picture postcard. I can't help wondering what goes on behind those net curtains and closed doors. Probably husbands beating the shit out of their wives.”

“Cynic,” commented James.

“Slow down,” said Agatha. “It's that house over there.”

*   *   *

There was no reply when they rang the doorbell.

“Could it be that he is in Mircester getting ready to put the show on again?” asked James.

“He might,” said Agatha. “He has to get back the money that was paid back on the first night. But before we go back, I'd like to see if George Southern has been released by the police. The gift shop is in the main street. It's right next to the post office.”

They drove to the gift shop. There was a Closed notice on the door.

“Probably still being grilled by the police,” said James.

“Surely not.” Agatha peered out of the car. The snow had turned to large flakes, drifting slowly down. “Wait a moment. There's a light on upstairs.”

They got out and went up to the shop door. James hammered on it and the door slowly opened. A chorus of “Behold the Lord High Executioner” sounded from above.

“Let's go up,” said Agatha.

“It's trespass,” said the ever-cautious James.

“We'll shout.”

Agatha began yelling, “Mr. Southern!”

“He'll never hear you,” said James. “He's playing the music awfully loudly.”

Agatha lifted the counter and made her way through to the back shop. “Look! There are stairs leading up,” she said.

“I really don't think…” began James, but Agatha was already mounting the stairs.

She pushed open the door at the top, releasing a blast of sound.

Agatha was about to walk in when she stopped short and let out a whimpering sound. She turned round and collided with James.

“It's awful,” she said.

He put his arms round her. “What's awful?”

“His head is on his living room floor and there's blood everywhere.”

“Let me see. The idiot's probably playing another stupid trick.”

He released Agatha and edged past her.

James saw the head, the blood and the bloody executioner's sword lying on the carpet.

“Let's get out of here. Call the police.”

He helped her down the stairs and into the Land Rover after he had called the police.

“Oh, James,” wailed Agatha. “I have seen some terrible sights in my career but I think this is the worst.”

He put an arm round her. “The police will soon be here. We'll make our statements and go back to Carsely where you can have a warm drink.”

*   *   *

At one point it seemed as if the police would never arrive but then Wilkes, Bill Wong and Alice Peterson drove up in a police Land Rover. “I'll deal with this,” said James, getting out of his vehicle.

But Agatha got out as well, telling herself she was a detective and to get a grip.

The snow had suddenly stopped and a pale sun shone down through a break in the clouds.

James rapidly told Wilkes what they had seen.

“Detective Sergeant Peterson will take your statements,” said Wilkes. James saw a pub opposite.

“We'll go over to the pub,” he said.