Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

∨ The Love from Hell ∧

10

BUT in the morning, both Agatha and Charles were beginning to think that they had leaped at the idea of the child’s being Megan, of somehow Melissa and Megan having the same personalities.

“Might as well have a go anyway,” said Charles. “We’re at a dead end otherwise and all that church-hall business will have been a waste of time.”

Agatha and Charles walked out to Mrs. Green’s cottage, which lay up the hill on the road leading out of the village. It was a mellow day with misty golden sunlight flooding the countryside. “If we don’t get anything out of this,” said Agatha suddenly, “I’m going to forget about the whole thing.” She waved an arm to encompass the sunny village. “Ever since James left, I’ve been wandering around in darkness. I want to start living again.”

“Without James?”

“Yes, without James. Even if by some miracle I found him, even if he wanted to come back to me, it wouldn’t work. I kept expecting him to change and he kept expecting me to change, and neither of us could.”

“You haven’t been smoking. That’s a start.”

“But how long does it take for the craving to go away?”

“You could stop carrying cigarettes in your handbag.”

“Works for me. As long as I’ve got them with me, I feel the strength to keep on resisting them.”

“If you say so,” said Charles. “This the cottage?”

“Yes. Here goes.”

Mrs. Green answered the door and looked on Agatha Raisin with disfavour. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I found what you wrote in your report very interesting,” said Agatha, giving her that crocodile smile one gives people one doesn’t like. “May we come in?”

“No.”

“You said on the night Melissa was murdered you saw a child,” said Charles. “Can you describe this child?”

Mrs. Green was a snob and her face softened at the sound of Charles’s upper-class voice. “It was dark, Sir Charles, and…Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.” Charles stepped past her into the cottage and she promptly shut the door in Agatha’s face.

Face flaming, Agatha opened the door and followed them into the cottage parlour, which was a dark room in which framed photographs covered every surface. The darkness of the room was caused by the leaves of a large wisteria growing outside the win –: dow and by the leaves of a large cheese plant just inside the window. Mrs. Green’s autocratic face swam in the gloom.

“I would say she was in her early teens,” she said. “She was chewing gum, a disgusting habit, and had one of those little rucksacks on her back that young people affect these days instead of carrying a handbag.”

“Colour of hair?” asked Charles.

“I couldn’t really tell.”

“What was she wearing?” asked Agatha.

“Shorts with a bib top and these ugly boots they all wear these days.”

“Did you tell the police?” asked Charles.

“Of course not. They are looking for a murderer, not a child. And if I may say so, you would be better off leaving the whole thing to the police. What do we pay taxes for? I suppose such nosiness is understandable in the case of a person like Mrs. Raisin, but you, Sir Charles, should know better.”

“You forget,” said Agatha icily, “that my husband is missing.”

“Poor Mr. Lacey. I am not surprised. According to the people of this village, you led him a dog’s life.”

Agatha, who had taken a seat on a sofa, rose to her feet. “You are a nasty, acidulous old bat and I hope you rot in hell.” She stormed out.

Charles rose as well. “Just one thing,” he said to Mrs. Green, who was gasping and goggling. “What was this child’s hair like? I mean, long, short, pigtails?”

She looked up at him through her thick glasses. “It was in little clumps at either side and tied with ribbons. Now, I must say, Sir Charles, I do not know what you see in that woman. I don’t – ”

Charles simply walked out. Agatha was standing outside, lighting a cigarette. He plucked it out of her hand and threw it into Mrs. Green’s garden and then waltzed her down the road. “What’s up with you?” cried Agatha, disengaging herself when she could.

“The child wore its hair in bunches, or clumps, as she called them, and tied with ribbons. Now, who do we know wears her hair like that?”

“Megan,” breathed Agatha.

“What do we do now? Go to the police?”

“No, I want to go and see her and confront her.”

“Might not be safe.”

“You’ll be with me.”

“I’m not much protection against a psychopath wielding a hammer. But she won’t be on her own. Sheppard’ll be there. And how did she get from Oxford to Carsely and back without her husband knowing about it?”

“Taxi?” said Agatha.

“I’m sure the police will have checked that. And buses.”

“Unless Sheppard was in on it. If only we could make sure he’s not at home when we call.”

“I think that could be arranged,” said Charles. “Let’s get home and I’ll phone him and say there’s been a break-in at his shop.”

“What if she goes with him?”

“We’ll chance that. If not, we’ll need to wait until Monday morning, when he goes to work.”

They hurried back to Lilac Lane. Charles looked up the Sheppards’s number in the phone book. “Don’t listen,” he said to Agatha. “I’m going to disguise my voice and I can’t do it with you listening. I’ve got to pretend to be a copper.”

Agatha went into the kitchen. She took out her packet of cigarettes and then put them away again.

She heard the murmur of Charles’s voice and then he came into the kitchen. “That’s it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

♦

Charles drove quickly to Blockley, hoping he did not meet Luke Sheppard driving out of the village. He parked in front of the Sheppards’s cottage and took a deep breath. “Here we go, Aggie,” he said.

Megan answered the door. “You again,” she said. “What now?”

“May we come in?” asked Charles, smiling at her. “We have some news for you.”

“I suppose. Luke isn’t here. There’s been a break-in at his shop.”

They followed Megan as they had done before, out into the garden. “So what have you got to tell me?”

Charles opened his mouth to start with a diplomatic way of approaching the subject, but Agatha said brutally, “You murdered Melissa. You were seen in the village at the time of her death. We have a witness.”

Megan sat very still, the pupils of her eyes seeming huge. Then she laughed. “Nice try. I was in Oxford all night. How was I supposed to get from Oxford to Carsely?”

“I don’t know,” said Agatha. “But we have this witness. It places you at the scene of the murder.”

“And what do the police have to say to that?”

“We haven’t told them yet,” said Agatha.

“Why not?”

“We wanted to know what you had to say for yourself.”

“Aren’t we all supposed to be in the manor-house library?” jeered Megan. “While the great detective accuses and the guilty one breaks down? Why don’t you both take your fairy-tales and run along, or I will call the police and charge you with harassment.”

“It was you James found out about,” said Agatha doggedly. “You were sectioned at the same time as Melissa.”

“I’m going to count to ten, and if you’re not out of here by the time I have finished, I am going to call the police. One…”

“Come on, Aggie,” said Charles.

“Two…”

Agatha rose reluctantly to her feet.

“Three…”

Charles urged Agatha through the cottage. “Four…” Megan’s voice chanted.

Outside, Charles said. “That’s it. We’re going to see Bill Wong.”

“What can he do that we can’t?” demanded Agatha. “We’ve got a suspect, we’ve got a witness. We’ve got to show Bill where to look.”

♦

Mrs. Wong looked outraged when they asked to speak to Bill. “It’s Sunday,” she protested, “and we’re about to have Sunday dinner.”

“Bill!” shouted Agatha.

Bill appeared behind his mother, who was blocking them off on the doorstep. “What is it, Agatha?” he asked.

“We’ve found the murderer.”

“You’d better come in. Do stand aside, Ma.”

Mrs. Wong backed off, mumbling under her bream. Bill led them out into the garden. “Sit down,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

Agatha took a deep breath and began to explain about how Mrs. Green thought she had seen a child on the night of the murder, about how the description of the ‘child’ fitted with the description of Megan Sheppard.

“But why?” asked Bill.

“Wait a minute,” said Agatha, screwing up her face in concentration. “Something’s coming. What about this? James was inquiring if there was a possibility of one psychopath befriending another. What if Melissa and Megan met in that psychiatric unit years ago, when Megan was sectioned. What if they did become friends, and then maybe lost touch. What if…” She screwed up her face even harder. “What if there was an earlier will? What if Melissa had originally left her money to Megan? What if Melissa thought that Megan was dangerous? By coincidence or by plot, Megan marries her ex. Damn, we should have asked her lawyer if she had made a previous will. Anyway, somehow Megan finds out that Melissa has changed her will and blames James’s influence and attacks him. Then she goes on to murder Melissa.”

Bill put his head in his hands. “Agatha, Agatha. A lot of police work and time went in checking out the Sheppards’ alibi. Their car was in the hotel garage all night.”

“Oh. Wait a bit. What sort of car?”

“A Range Rover.”

“You could get a motorbike in the back of one of those.”

“Agatha, all vehicles that went out of the hotel garage that night were checked.”

“But they wouldn’t need to leave a motorbike in the car. They could leave it at the station or in Saint Giles. Oh, Bill, if they had a motorbike, or a scooter, it might be registered to one of them. Please, Bill, do try.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”

“The more we discuss it, the thinner it gets,” mourned Charles.

Bill came back. “They’ll get back to me. We have to wait.”

“You see,” said Agatha earnestly, “she could have slipped out of the hotel when no one was looking. I know Mrs. Green’s got bad eyesight, but she could pass for a child and no one would think of reporting seeing a young teenager.”

“Dinner’s ready,” called Mrs. Wong.

“You’ll need to put mine in the oven,” Bill called back. “Important police business.”

Mrs. Wong appeared in the garden, holding a ladle like a weapon. “It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is, bothering people on a Sunday.”

His mother retreated. “You can check the records at the hospital,” said Agatha. “If she was there at the same time as Melissa, it’s something to go on.”

“It still won’t make her a murderess.”

Agatha sighed. And then the phone rang. Bill ran into the house, calling out, “I’ll get that.”

“If Mrs. Wong answers the phone first and that’s the police, she’ll give them a long harangue about Sunday dinner,” said Agatha gloomily.

“It just might not have anything to do with Megan at all,” said Charles quietly. “Don’t build up your hopes.”

Bill came back and his eyes were gleaming. “What?” asked Agatha eagerly.

“You’re a witch! There’s a motorbike registered to Megan Sheppard. I wonder if they still have it.”

“The shed,” said Charles. “They have a shed at the bottom of the garden.”

“I’ll need to go into the office,” said Bill. “I hope they haven’t got rid of that motorbike. I wish you had come straight to me in the first place. She may have fled. Go home and wait. Yes, Agatha. It’s out of your hands now.”

♦

So Agatha and Charles waited. The long afternoon dragged on into evening and Agatha’s phone remained silent.

They ate a silent meal, waiting, always waiting. Then, just before nine o’clock, the doorbell rang.

“At last!” cried Agatha, leaping to her feet.

She rushed and opened the door. Megan Sheppard stood there, the outside light over the door gleaming on a small but efficient pistol she was holding in her hand. “Back into the house slowly,” she said.

Numb with shock, Agatha did as she was told. Charles came out of the kitchen and stood staring at the pair of them.

Megan waved the gun in the direction of the sitting-room. “In there,” she snapped.

When they were inside, she ordered, “Sit down.”

Agatha and Charles sank down side by side on the sofa.

“So it was you,” said Agatha, through dry lips.

“And I would have got away with it,” said Megan, “if you hadn’t come blundering around.”

“Why?” asked Charles. “Was it the money?”

“She said she would leave it all to me. We were friends, she thought. Actually, I never liked her. But I kept in touch with her over the years. I didn’t take Luke Sheppard away from her. He got sick of her and asked for a divorce. That was when I moved in. She didn’t mind, she said.”

“But no one knew you had been seeing Melissa,” said Agatha. “Didn’t you call at each other’s houses?”

“No, she didn’t want to see Luke again, or so she said. Then Luke came back one evening and said Melissa had sent for him.”

“That was when she told him,” said Agatha, thinking, I must keep her talking. Where is Bill?

“No, that was his story. She actually told him that she had a friend in the village, James Lacey. He had advised her to change her will and leave the money to Julia, her sister.”

“I phoned her up to protest, to say she hated Julia and that we’d always been friends, but she said that Lacey was right. Sorry, and all that. The worst of it was she really got a kick out of telling me.

“I was red with rage. I found out where Lacey lived and went round and attacked him. He got away. I thought he would go to the police and I couldn’t believe my luck when he just disappeared. I realized I had to silence Melissa, and silence her fast. She would guess it had been me who attacked James. I told Luke. He was as anxious to get his hands on the money as me. That shop of his is hardly selling anything and he had just re-mortgaged the house. So we planned to put the motorbike in the car and stay at the Randolph in Oxford. We left the motorbike in Saint Giles. I slipped past the desk. The porter was on the phone and I crawled past under the desk.”

“What did you kill her with?” asked Agatha.

“An ordinary hammer. Now I am going to shoot you both and get out of here.”

Charles rose from the sofa and walked towards her. “No, you’re not.”

“Charles!” cried Agatha in an agony of fear. Megan aimed the pistol at his face and tried to pull the trigger. Nothing happened. Charles seized her wrist and twisted it until the gun fell on the floor. He clutched the struggling Megan tightly, yelling to Agatha, “Get the gun. The safety catch is on.”

Megan was kicking out wildly and screaming and trying to twist around and claw Charles’s face. Agatha grabbed the gun. “Get rope or something,” shouted Charles.

Agatha stood blindly. Rope, rope, where on earth is rope? She ran into the kitchen. Nothing. She seized a large roll of cellophane and ran back with it. Megan’s screams were awful, mad, unearthly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” panted Charles.

And then there came the wail of police sirens. Charles succeeded in throwing Megan onto the floor and sat astride her, holding her hands above her head.

Agatha rushed and opened the door and waved frantically to the arriving police cars.

Villagers were gathering at the end of the street. They would turn up now, thought Agatha.

Bill was in the first car. “She’s here?” he cried when he got out.

“Inside. Hurry,” said Agatha.

♦

Megan was handcuffed and taken off. Charles and Agatha followed in another police car to Mircester to make their statements. Agatha felt quite limp and also disgusted with herself. She had been so frightened when Megan pointed the pistol at her that she had wet herself. Why hadn’t she just told the police that, and begged to be allowed to change?

She had no sense of triumph, no gladness in being proved right. She felt old and messy.

Inspector Wilkes sent Bill to take their statements. As he went to switch on the recording machine, Agatha said, “Where’s Sheppard?”

“We took him in for questioning. We got him just as he was returning from Mircester. We found the motorbike, and in one of the saddlebags we found the vacuum cleaner. It was one of those small ones people use for cleaning cars. I hope it hadn’t been emptied. That’s the trouble with dealing with mad amateurs. If James had not disappeared, we would have been able to arrest her and Melissa might still be alive. Megan had the most amazing luck.”

“I wonder if Melissa ever intended to leave her any money,” said Agatha. “I wonder if James found out about Melissa and dumped her because she was dangerous. I wonder if she told Megan that in the hope that Megan would make life a misery for James.”

“Unless we find James Lacey, we’ll never know,” said Bill. “Now, let’s begin.”

They both made statements and Bill disappeared with them, leaving them alone. “I can’t bear this,” said Agatha to Charles. “When she pointed that pistol at me, I wet myself.”

“If they keep us here much longer,” said Charles, “you’ll soon be dry.”

“Doesn’t it disgust you?”

“No, ordinary human functions do not disgust me. Stick it out now. Can’t be much longer.”

But Bill returned with Wilkes, who said he would like to go over their statements again. Agatha was too weary to do other than repeat everything she had told Bill, but Charles was sure that Wilkes really wanted to know how they had managed to figure out it was Megan when the police had not.

It all seemed like a dream, thought Agatha, as she and Charles went through their investigations once more, step by step. At last the statements were approved. They signed and were told they were free to go.

Agatha regained some of her usual spirit. As they were leaving the room, she turned and said to Wilkes, “You might at least say thank you.”

“For what?” said Wilkes, shuffling the statement papers. “For solving your case for you.”

“We would have got there sooner or later,” began Wilkes pompously.

“Pah,” said Agatha Raisin and slammed the door behind her.

♦

Oh, the luxury of a warm soapy bath and dirty clothes spinning in the washing machine. Wrapped in their dressing-gowns, Agatha and Charles met in the sitting-room for a nightcap.

“That’s over at last,” sighed Agatha.

“Except for James,” said Charles. “Fancy a trip to France?”

“I feel too weary to even think about it,” said Agatha. “How could James behave so irresponsibly?”

“He didn’t know Melissa had been murdered.”

“He must have done. It was in the newspapers, along with his photograph.”

“He may not have looked at the newspapers. Say you find him, Aggie? What then?”

“I want to hear his side of the story,” said Agatha, but the fact was she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. The oh-so-perfect James, who had always been picking on her, had made one big major mistake for which he ought to be deeply ashamed for the rest of his life.

“I suppose we’ll have to hang around for a few days,” said Charles. “In case they want to speak to us again.”

“I suppose,” echoed Agatha sleepily. “I’m off to bed.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. I don’t care now if I never have sex again. I don’t want any more casual sex.”

“Who said it was casual?” remarked Charles, but Agatha had already left the room and did not hear him.

♦

Mrs. Bloxby was their first visitor the next morning. “It was Mrs. Allan who really put me on the track,” said Agatha, “and that remark you once made about women marrying the same sort over again. I thought, why shouldn’t a man marry the same kind as well?” She told her all about Mrs. Green’s having seen a child on the night Melissa had been killed. “Megan must have parked the motorbike outside the village,” said Agatha, “put the vacuum and the hammer in that rucksack and headed for Melissa’s.”

She went on and told her everything and how Megan had threatened to shoot them. “She must have known as little about guns as I do,” said Agatha. “I wouldn’t have noticed whether the safety catch on a gun was on or off. I wonder where she got it.”

“Well, now you can leave all those details to the police,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Any news of James?”

Agatha shook her head. She flashed a warning look at Charles to stay quiet. She had a superstitious feeling that if she told Mrs. Bloxby about the possibility of James’s being in the monastery that he would turn out not to be there at all. It was such a slim chance.

After Mrs. Bloxby had gone, Charles said he would return home and join her again when she planned to set off for France. “Leave it a week,” said Agatha. “Everything will be properly wrapped up by then. I’m surprised the press haven’t been hammering at the door.”

“Oh, Wilkes will just have said a woman is helping them with their inquiries,” said Charles. “He’ll want to keep us out of it. Make it look like all his own work. Do you think we’re psychic, Agatha?”

“You called me Agatha. You’re improving. No. Why?”

“You must admit it was an amazing leap of deduction on the part of both of us.”

“I think it was because, for my part, I’d been thinking about nothing else for weeks. It’s a bit like a crossword. You stare at some clue and then decide you’ll never get the answer, and the next day you pick up the paper and glance at it and the answer I snaps into your brain.”

“Could be. I’m off then. See you in a week.”

“You really think there’s a chance of him being at that monastery?”

“A slim one, but yes, I do think it’s worth a try.”

♦

When Charles had gone, Agatha sat down, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands and thinking it was rather pleasant to be alone again, particularly now that she had nothing to be frightened of. Perhaps a lot of her discontent and frustration was because she would not accept middle age or the prospect of heading to old age. A life without men meant she could dress the way she wanted, be herself. No need to let herself go, exactly. She had a sudden sharp longing for a cigarette and tried to fight it down.

Then she could feel the comfort draining away. How quiet her cottage seemed! She had the cats, of course. She did not really need to do anything. After what she had been through, no one should be expected to do anything. But she rose and began to do some housework and then went out into the garden to pull up weeds. She was bending over a flower-bed when a sudden sharp longing for James engulfed her.

Faintly, she could hear her front doorbell ringing.

With relief, she went to answer it. It was Bill Wong.

“Do come in,” cried Agatha. “Has she confessed? How did it go?”

Bill followed her into the kitchen. “They both ratted on each other. Sheppard said it was all her idea, and he had not known she was going to do it. He only thought she was going to threaten Melissa. Of course, when she heard that, she said he had gone along with her every step of the way. It turns out she told him about the will. He was amazed Melissa had that amount of money. Then Megan got rattled when she learned James was romancing Melissa. She phoned her and asked her if Melissa had changed her will. Melissa said not yet, but that James had persuaded her that it would be a good idea to leave it in the family. Megan decided to act before the will was changed. There was the motive.”

“It’s amazing, with all that money, she chose to live in a small cottage in a village,” said Agatha.

“She was evidently always tight with money, preferred to spend other people’s. Not all that strange a situation. You get millionaires living in council houses. There was a man won four million on the lottery. Never told anyone. Lived in a council flat, worked at a jam factory, had a pint with his mates, just as always. Relatives found out the extent of his wealth when he died. In his will, he said he had realized the money would mean he would have to give up his mates and his job.”

“Is Wilkes giving me any credit for solving his case?”

Bill looked awkward. “He’s going around saying I solved it.”

“Oh, well,” said Agatha. “That way it keeps it in the family, so to speak. I tell you this, Bill. Never again. If a body with a knife in its back falls in front of me, I’ll simply step over it and forget about it.”

“Ever thought of starting a detective agency?”

“You know, I did at one time, but then I thought it would probably be nasty divorces and missing pets.”

“I told Ma she had been a bit abrupt with you and Charles and so she’s invited you both to dinner next Sunday.”

Agatha repressed a shudder. “We can’t. We’re going on holiday.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean, you and Charles?”

“Yes.”

“Am I looking at the next Lady Fraith?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s about ten years younger than me. We’re just friends.”

“Where are you going on holiday?”

“Prague,” said Agatha, having a sudden fear that if she said the south of France, Bill might check on her movements to see if she was trying to contact James.

“Prague, eh? Why Prague?”

“Sentimental journey. I spent part of my honeymoon there.”

“Have a good time. I see you haven’t given up smoking.”

Agatha looked at the smouldering cigarette between her fingers in dismay. “I thought I had. I didn’t even know I had started again.”

“If you hear anything at all from James Lacey, remember it’s your duty to contact me.”

“Will he be charged with anything? Leaving the scene of the crime?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so. Not now we’ve got the guilty parties. Megan had no end of luck. What if a chap at the night desk at the Randolph had seen her leave or return? What if Mrs. Green had had better eyesight? What if Dewey had not been so weird and distracted our investigations? And Melissa’s sister must be relieved it’s all over. Wilkes became convinced she was the guilty party and those students who lodged with her have been grilled over and over again. Aren’t you going to put that cigarette out – that is, if you really want to stop smoking?”

“Tomorrow,” said Agatha. “I’ll stop tomorrow.”

“That’s addict-speak. If you really wanted to stop, you’d stop now.”

“Will Megan be brought to court?”

“We’ll try, but last heard she was putting on a very good mad act. If she gets a sharp lawyer, she may be considered unfit. Oh, the vacuum cleaner. The stuff inside matches the fibres from Melissa’s carpet. She got rid of the weapon but forgot to empty the vacuum cleaner. Lucky, that.”

“Where on earth did she get a gun? And if she had one, why didn’t she use it on Melissa? I wouldn’t even know where to start buying a gun.”

“Sheppard said she was nervous about your investigations. She probably bought in just before she ransacked your house, he says. She probably would have shot you if you’d arrived home while she was there. And where would she get it? Alas, Birmingham, probably. It’s easy enough if you know where to go. We catch most of the gun dealers, but as soon as we get one, another sets up shop somewhere else.”

“Would you like a coffee or something?” asked Agatha.

“No, I’ve got to be on my way. But don’t forget. Ma will expect you for Sunday dinner when you get back.”

“Won’t forget,” said Agatha, planning to think up any lie she could to make sure she never went.