Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body

Chapter Eleven

Agatha called an emergency meeting of her staff for eight o' clock the following morning.

She described what she had learned and then said, "So you see it could either have been Charlie Beagle or Fred Summer."

"But they're so old," protested Toni.

"They're fit enough to put up all those Christmas decorations each year. One of them tips John Sunday off that there's going to be a meeting about him at the vicarage. He's a snoop, so he creeps up. Either Charlie or Fred nips out as if to go to the loo, gets in the garden, Grudge Sunday is moving up to the vicarage windows, so one of them stabs him and dives back into the house."

Simon looked excited. "Wait a bit. Whoever it was wouldn't like to be sitting around with a bloody knife, knowing the police would be called the minute the body was found."

"Maybe the murderer didn't expect Sunday to be found until after the confab was over," pointed out Patrick. "Whoever it was might not have expected Sunday to stagger up to the windows and die in front of everyone."

"Yes, but even so. Where would the murderer hide a knife?"

"In the cistern in the toilet?" suggested Phil. "But the police must have done a thorough search for the weapon."

"But," said Agatha, practically jumping up and down with excitement, "when they were assured that no one apart from Miriam and Miss Simms had left the room, they didn't search any of us. The murderer might not have depended on that. The police were searching outside the vicarage for a weapon."

"So we just tell the police," said Patrick, "and start them off on a new search."

"I found this out," said Agatha stubbornly. "And I'm going to find out the rest of it. I'll get Mrs. Bloxby to go over to the vicarage with me to report on the takings from the teas. I'll go to the loo and look around and search the hall as well."

"Who is this Miss Simms?" asked Simon. "Are you sure she couldn't have done it?"

"Not the type. Besides, she left with Miriam and was with her the whole time."

"You know," said Phil uneasily, "it was quite a time ago now. Our murderer has had plenty of opportunity to go back to the vicarage and get the knife back."

Agatha's face fell. Then she said stubbornly, "I'm going to try."

"I think you should let us know the time you're going to be in the vicarage," said Patrick, "and we'll all park somewhere nearby so you can call us if there's any danger. Remember, the vicar left for his study and the vicar is reputed to have a violent temper."

"And I can't imagine two oldies murdering anyone over Christmas tree lights," said Simon.

"I can," said Agatha defiantly. "Those lights were the highlight of their miserable lives."

Agatha drove back to Carsely and told her startled friend, Mrs. Bloxby, of her plan.

"But the police . . . ," began the vicar's wife in protest.

"Sod the police. They'd descend in droves and clump around, alerting everybody. One of those villagers might have a nephew or a cousin in police headquarters for all we know."

"Very well. I'll just get the record of the money we took at the teas to make it all look respectable."

Penelope welcomed them effusively. "Such a success! I do think good works give one a positive glow. Now, let's have a nice cup of tea in the garden. They say the weather is going to break, so this will be our last chance for a while to get some sunshine."

Agatha waited impatiently until they were settled in their garden chairs and Penelope had brought out the tea tray, and then said, "Do excuse me."

"It's on the first landing, if you want to powder your nose," said Penelope.

"Haven't you got one in the hall?"

"So dark. You'd be much better upstairs."

"I'll be fine," said Agatha, and made her escape.

The toilet off the hall was small and dark. It was old-fashioned with a high cistern and a long chain. There was a tiny window at the back which looked as if it had not been opened in ages. Beside the toilet was a small shelf of books of an improving nature--Is God in Your Life? Meetings with Jesus, and so on.

Agatha carefully removed all the books but found nothing behind them. She put them back. Then the door handle of the toilet rattled. "Who's in there?" called Giles's voice.

"Agatha Raisin. Sorry, I'm a bit constipated."

She stood with her heart thumping until she heard him go up the stairs. Now, where else? There was a high shelf with spare toilet rolls. She stood on the seat of the lavatory pan and began to search behind them. Nothing.

She got back down and sat down wearily on top of the lavatory. Then she studied the floor. It was covered in old green linoleum, some of it warped with damp and age. She got down on her knees and began to pull up pieces of it.

Agatha could hardly believe her eyes when she finally ripped a lump clear from one corner and found herself looking down at a kitchen knife.

She pulled out her phone and called Patrick. "I've found the weapon. Get the police!"

There came a timid knock at the door. Penelope. "Are you all right, Mrs. Raisin?"

Should she tell her? No.

"Badly constipated," she shouted. "Won't be long."

"Oh, dear. I have some Seneca. If you slide open the door a crack I can slip it in with a glass of water."

"I'll be all right," roared Agatha.

What was keeping the police so long? Then to her horror she heard a voice she recognised as that of Fred Summer. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Mr. Summer," she heard Penelope say. "Mrs. Raisin is using our toilet." Penlope raised her voice. "All right now, Mrs. Raisin?" Agatha stood up and pulled the plug and then washed her hands at the hand basin. Then she shouted, "The door's stuck."

"That's all right," came Fred's voice. "Charlie's here with his hammer."

"I did a silly thing," called Agatha. "I called the police!"

"You what?" screeched Penelope.

"You don't want your door knocked down with a hammer. I'm sure the police have lock picks."

Giles, the vicar, joined the group outside. Then Carrie Brother. Agatha began to feel like Alice in Wonderland when she had her foot stuck up the chimney. Then Charlie Beagle shouted, "Stand back all. I'll 'ave 'er out!"

The heavy blow of a hammer struck the door. Then Agatha heard the wail of a police siren.

Then Bill's voice. "Put that hammer down. Are you all right, Mrs. Raisin?"

Agatha opened the door and pointed mutely to the torn linoleum and the knife. "I haven't touched it," she said.

"Right," said Bill. "Out you come. I'll seal off this door until the forensics team arrives."

Fred Summer, Charlie Beagle and Carrie Brother had disappeared.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on in my house?" demanded Giles, his high, thin, reedy voice almost cracking with outrage.

"Mrs. Raisin has found what looks like the weapon that murdered John Sunday under the linoleum in your toilet," said Bill. "Now, Agatha, just come out into the garden and I'll take your initial statement."

"You'd better send some police to bring in Charlie Beagle and Fred Summer," said Agatha. "Then I'll tell you."

Bill barked orders. "Wait here, Agatha. I've got to phone Wilkes." He turned away and began talking rapidly into his mobile phone. Then he turned back to Agatha.

"Right! Let's have it."

Agatha explained how she had guessed that perhaps one of the old people might have gone out to use the toilet and that the vicar's wife would not think it decent to say so.

"You'll need to get taken off to headquarters and make a full statement." He signalled to a policewoman. "Take Mrs. Raisin to headquarters and get a full statement from her."

"I'll follow you in my own car," said Agatha.

A policeman came running back. "Can't find them," he gasped.

"What kind of car have they got?"

"The neighbours say they haven't got a car."

"Off you go, Agatha. I need more men out here to check the fields."

"Wait!" cried Agatha. "Dan Palmer's car." She scrabbled in her bag and brought out her notebook and flipped through the pages. "Here it is." She gave Bill the make and registration. "That car was never found. They could be using that."

Bill went back to his car and frantically radioed instructions for roadblocks to be set up.

As she drove, Agatha phoned Toni and Simon and told them to start searching for the missing Beagles and Summers.

Agatha waited impatiently at police headquarters for someone to interview her. After an hour, she was shown into the old interview room she remembered so well--scarred table, institutional green walls and hard chairs.

A woman detective Agatha had not met before came in, flanked by a police sergeant. "I am Detective Sergeant Annie Plack and this is Police Sergeant Peter Lynn," she began.

Annie Plack had shiny black hair and clear blue eyes. Agatha wondered vaguely if Bill had fallen for her yet.

The tape was switched on and Agatha began her statement. Annie had heard stories about Agatha, how she never did any real detective work, just blundered about and stirred things up until something had cracked. But she had to admit that no detective or police officer could have hit on the idea that the vicar's wife would consider it not genteel to mention anyone leaving to use the loo.

When Agatha had signed her statement, she was told to wait in the reception area.

At last, Annie came out and sat down next to her. "It has been suggested that we put you up in a safe flat for the next few days. A policewoman will go to your home and wait until you pack up."

Agatha thought of her cats. "I'll be all right," she said mutinously. "I've got a burglar alarm. They're old people."

"They may have committed two murders, Mrs. Raisin, the last one being particularly nasty."

"No, I absolutely refuse. I'll be all right."

Simon, accompanied by Toni, decided to call on May Dinwoody. No one in the village was talking to either them or the police. Simon hoped it might still be possible that May would talk to him.

May was about to close the door in his face when Simon said urgently, "We can pay for information."

The door opened a few inches.

"How much?" asked May, thinking of her straitened circumstances.

"Two hundred pounds."

"Come in, then. But what can I tell you that could possibly be worth two hundred pounds?"

"Fred and Charlie have disappeared along with their wives. They may have the car that belonged to that reporter. You know the countryside around here. Where could they possibly go that the police would not think of looking?"

May sat in silence, her brow wrinkled up in thought. Then she said, "There's just the one place."

"Where's that?" asked Toni.

"Thirley Grange. It belonged to Sir Mark Thirley, who died last year. Terrible death duties. But it's a Georgian gem and his nephew has managed to get the National Trust to agree to take it over. They haven't started work yet, but they've put a man at the lodge and repaired the walls and fences, and they've got a night watchman to patrol the place. There are a lot of outbuildings and stables and things and an old folly in the grounds."

"Is there any way they could get in past the man at the lodge?" asked Simon.

"I used to wander round there last year before the Trust began work. It was so quiet and the grounds, although badly in need of upkeep, are still pretty. There is a back road . . . Wait. I've got an ordnance survey map. I bought it when I first moved here, so it might be out of date."

She left the room. Simon walked to the window and looked down at the millpond. The day had turned grey and chilly. He swung round as May came back into the room. "Here we are," she said, spreading the map on the table. "That is the Grange and just there, that dotted line, that's a back road. It was used in the old days by tradesmen, but I don't think it's been used since the middle of the last century. After the war, the old habits died away and people couldn't find staff and so the tradesmen just went up the main drive."

"Why do you think they did it?" asked Toni.

"If they did," said May severely. "Oh, dear, it was those Christmas lights. They were photographed in Cotswold Life and then they were filmed on Midlands TV. They were so proud. Then John Sunday turned up to ruin it all. Money, please."

Simon took out his chequebook and wrote out a cheque for two hundred pounds.

May blushed. "I shouldn't be taking this, but times are hard."

"We'll just borrow this map," said Simon, "and I'll return it to you later."

Outside, they tried to phone Agatha, but she was being interviewed and had her phone switched off.

"We'll go and recce anyway," said Simon. "We'll take your car. My motorbike makes too much noise."

_______

Thirley Grange was buried in a fold of the Cotswold hills a good fifteen miles from the village. There were no signposts to it.

They finally located a weedy lane beside the ruin of a cottage. "Look!" exclaimed Toni. "I think someone's been through here already. You can just make out car tracks. Oh, Simon, we really should phone the police."

"And they'll arrive with sirens blaring and helicopters overhead and we may never catch them," said Simon. "We'd look like real amateurs. See how far along you can drive."

Toni set off again. Trees and bushes began to press against the car on either side. Toni finally stopped again. "I'm not going to sacrifice my paintwork on a hunch," she said. "Let's get out and walk."

"It can't be that far," said Simon as they trudged along. "I mean, May said it was a Georgian gem. Gems surely don't have that much land."

They walked forward under the green shade of the overarching trees. Simon suddenly stopped. A patch of mud on the road showed clear tyre tracks.

Toni took out her phone. "I'm trying Agatha again."

"Why?"

"Because she's the boss. You don't keep things like this away from Agatha."

This time Toni got Agatha and talked rapidly. "Don't run into danger. You catch a glimpse of even one of them, call the police. I'm coming."

Agatha phoned Charles. "Toni thinks they might be hiding out at a place called Thirley Grange. Know it? They're on a back road to it."

"Where are you?"

"Parked in front of police headquarters."

"I'm in Mircester. I'll be with you in a minute."

Agatha thought she ought to call Patrick and Phil off the jobs they were working on, but then decided against it. It was too much of a long shot that they would find the couples.

Charles joined her and they set off.

"There's the back of the house," whispered Toni as they emerged from the trees sheltering the road. "What should we do now?"

"I think we should hide back in the trees and bushes and watch," said Simon.

They crouched down in the bushes and waited. The house seemed ruined, empty and deserted. "If they drove right up," whispered Toni, "then their car must be badly scratched. I noticed an awful lot of broken twigs and branches as we walked along. They must be there. No one else would be crazy enough to force a car along that road."

"Agatha won't be long now," whispered Simon. "You should have left it to us."

Toni took her mobile out again. "I'm phoning the police."

"You're what?" Simon made a grab for her phone, but Toni darted away from him and into the trees. She had felt a sudden frisson of fear. It was almost as if her old friend Sharon were around, telling her not to be such a fool. Toni still had Bill Wong's mobile phone number registered on her phone from the days when they used to date. She called it. "Bill, I'm at Thirley Grange. I think they're here. I'm--"

A low voice in her ear said, "If you wants to see your boyfriend again, missy, drop that phone."

Toni swung round. Fred Summer stood there holding a hunting knife. "Drop it!" he snarled. Toni dropped the phone and Fred ground it underfoot. "Now, march!"

Toni was urged forward, feeling the point of that knife at her back. Simon was where she had left him, but he was lying facedown on the ground and Charlie Beagle was standing over him, holding a shotgun.

"On yer feet," said Charlie. "Both of you into the house."

Bill Wong called for urgent reinforcements. Then he called Agatha. "What were you doing sending that young pair into danger? They've been caught. Don't go any further if you're on your way there. Two people are enough to rescue."

"What was that about?" asked Charles, who was driving. Agatha told him. Charles pressed harder on the accelerator and the car leapt forward. "We'll go in by the main gate," he said. "We could waste valuable time looking for that side road."

A man came hurrying out of the lodge house and held up a hand. Charles lowered the window and shouted to him that escaped murderers were hiding up at the Grange. The lodge keeper dashed to open the gates. "Have you any guns?" called Charles.

"Couple of shotguns and a rifle."

"Bring them quick and get in the car."

Agatha fretted with impatience. Was Toni alive? How could she ever forgive herself if something had happened to the girl?

Toni and Simon were forced down into a cellar. They heard the door above being locked and then they were alone. A faint light shone from a cobwebbed window up near the ceiling.

"They're going to kill us," said Toni. "They're up there right now figuring out how to dispose of us."

"What happened? Did Fred hear you calling the police?"

"Yes."

"Then with any luck they're going to make their escape and leave us locked up here. I wish we could find some way out. They are murderers, after all."

"Turn your back," said Toni, feeling her way off into a dark corner.

"Why?"

"I've got to pee. I nearly peed myself out there."

When she rejoined him, she said, "That's coal over there, isn't it?"

"Yes. What are you planning? To throw lumps at them when they come back?"

"Coal means a coal hole, see? That's how the coal got down here. It's not a wine cellar. It's where they kept the coal."

"Right," said Simon eagerly. "It must be up there somewhere."

Charles drove up to the front door. The lodge keeper, who had introduced himself as Matt Fox, jumped out and unlocked the front door.

"Wait!" shouted Agatha. "I can hear a car."

"It's coming from the back," said Charles. Matt jumped back in the car and Charles drove round to the back of the building.

"That's Dan Palmer's car," shouted Agatha. "They're not taking the side road. They're circling round to go down the main drive." Matt was hurriedly loading a rifle in the backseat. They sped after them at a frantic pace. Matt lowered the window, leaned out and took careful aim. He shot out one back tyre and then the other. Then just as the Volvo reached the lodge gates, Matt shot out its back window with one of the shotguns.

The Volvo screeched and swayed across the road, straight into the path of a huge articulated lorry. There was a sickening crump--and then silence.

"Agatha, go and see if that lorry driver is all right. Matt, give me a shotgun. Is it loaded?"

"Yes."

Charles shot in the window of his own car. "Self-defence, see?" he said.

Agatha was helping the lorry driver out of his cab as two police cars came racing up. Bill came out of the first one. "I've got to get back to the Grange," Agatha howled. "They've taken Toni and Simon."

"Just wait there. We'll handle it."

Police were taping off the road. A van full of scenes of crimes operatives stopped, climbed out and began to put on their white suits and masks. Inspector Wilkes arrived. "Now, what happened?" he asked grimly.

"Are they dead?" asked Agatha.

Wilkes looked at the crumpled wreck of the Volvo. "Yes. Now, begin at the beginning. You first, Mrs. Raisin."

Agatha was about to speak when a car drove out past the lodge and stopped. Toni and Simon, black with coal dust, got out and stood staring at the scene of carnage.

Agatha Raisin ran straight to Toni and flung her arms around her. "Oh, I'm so glad you're alive."

It was a long day. Statements, statements and more statements. Then Agatha, Charles, Simon and Toni, along with the lodge keeper, were taken back to police headquarters for further grilling.

They learned that the Grange had been searched and there was no sign of either Mrs. Summer or Mrs. Beagle. Matt backed the story of self-defence and Agatha insisted it got down in her statement that the lodge keeper was a hero.

By early evening, Wilkes went out to face the press and make a brief statement.

At last Agatha and the rest were told they were free to go home.

In the weeks that followed, it transpired that Charlie and Fred had sold their cottages to a builder two months before their deaths. Their bank accounts had been cleared out a week before their flight. Fred's fingerprints had been found on the knife that Agatha had found at the vicarage along with DNA evidence that the blood on the knife belonged to the late, unlamented John Sunday.

A massive search for the missing wives was put into operation, but they seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

"How can two such frail, elderly ladies escape the police just like that?" Agatha exclaimed one evening to her friend, Mrs. Bloxby.

"Perhaps easier than you think," said Mrs. Bloxby. "No one notices the elderly. Buses run along that road going to Cheltenham."

"But surely the police have queried all the bus drivers?"

"I'm sure one elderly lady looks much like another to these men. Did they have passports?"

"Yes, fairly new ones, too. And it's not as if they would know anyone who could get them fake ones."

"Perhaps I might be able to do it," said Mrs. Bloxby dreamily. "I'd head for some seaside resort where there are a lot of elderly people and set about stealing a few from handbags. It wouldn't be handbag snatching. Maybe a seat in a shelter looking at the sea. Friendly talk. Visit to the public toilets. More talk while hands are washed. Handbags are often left at the basin while women go to dry their hands. Quick dip and out comes a passport. Now, if you're an elderly lady and you have still got your money and keys, you might not notice your passport is missing for some time. Even if you go to the police, to them you're just another forgetful old woman."

"Really, Mrs. Bloxby. You would make a very good criminal. Toni and Simon have searched and searched."

"They make a nice pair. Do you think they'll get engaged?" asked Mrs. Bloxby.

Agatha stiffened. "They're too young! They're just colleagues."

"Ah, propinquity!"

"It won't do," said Agatha. "They are two very good detectives and I don't want Toni off having babies when she's little more than a baby herself."

"But, Mrs. Raisin," said the vicar's wife with a steely note in her voice, "you would not possibly do anything to spoil a budding romance?"

"Me? Perish the thought," said Agatha, and crossed her fingers behind her back.

Bill Wong was waiting for Agatha after she left the vicarage and returned to her home. "Social call?" asked Agatha.

"Sort of. Been visiting Mrs. Bloxby?"

"Yes, she came up with some interesting ideas. Do you want me to get rid of the cats? They're crawling all over you."

"No, I like them." Hodge was draped around Bill's neck and Boswell had jumped up into his arms. "But maybe I'll put them in the garden if you've got anything very interesting."

"Might be."

Bill opened the garden door and detached the cats.

"Now," he said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "What gives?"

Agatha told him of Mrs. Bloxby's theories.

"Unfortunately, she may be right. Can you imagine all that murder and mayhem over Christmas lights?"

"I can in a way. Some of these people on reality TV have their moment of fame and never get over it. John Sunday was a thoroughly nasty man and must have enjoyed thwarting them. You know the bus drivers on that route past the Grange. How were they interviewed?"

"Back at the depot."

"Did you have photographs of the two women?"

"Yes, we got a photo from Cotswold Life. There's really only the one driver that does that route."

"I'd like to start at the beginning of their journey. In the meantime, do you think your boss would let you phone up watering holes around the south coast to see if any elderly women reported missing passports a few days after Mrs. Summers and Mrs. Beagle disappeared?"

"I'll probably need to do it in my own time."

"I'll get Patrick onto it as well. They would be gussied up for their photo in Cotswold Life. I think I might trot over to that hellish village and see if I can get a better one."

Penelope Timson gave Agatha a cautious welcome. "I am so glad it is all over," she said. "I do hope you haven't come about some other murder."

"No, no," said Agatha soothingly. "Nothing like that. Have you any photographs of Mrs. Summer and Mrs. Beagle?"

"The police got a very good one from Cotswold Life."

"Yes, but I need a more informal one."

"Oh, I might have something. I found a box of photos taken at village fetes. But you should have something yourself, Mrs. Raisin. Wasn't someone taking photographs at that cream tea?"

"Of course. Phil. Thanks."

Agatha phoned Phil and said she would meet him at his cottage in Carsely, where she knew he had a dark room and kept neat files of photographs.

She waited impatiently as he went searching for the photographs of the tea party. At last he came back and handed her a photo. "There you are."

"Genius!" said Agatha. It was a clear shot of Mrs. Beagle and Mrs. Summer, sitting together. "What are their first names? I can never remember."

"On the back of the photo. Gladys Summer and Dora Beagle."

"Grand."

"Starting again?"

"You bet."

Toni waited at the depot in Cheltenham for the bus to come in. When it arrived, she waited for the passengers to dismount and then climbed on board.

"Don't leave for another half an hour, gorgeous," said the driver, eyeing her appreciatively. "Fancy a cup of tea?"

"All right. I just want to ask you a few questions."

"What?"

"I'm a private detective."

"Go on with you, lass. You're too young."

Toni handed him her card. "Well, I never!" he exclaimed. "Come along then. Must have a cuppa."

Installed in the canteen over milky cups of tea, Toni showed him the photograph. "I know the police have asked you before, but on the day of that crash between the car and the truck, just before it, did two women like this get on your bus? This is a better photograph of them."

He studied it carefully. "Sorry, lass. I'd like to help you, but I'm sure they never got on."

"Do you notice the passengers much?"

"Only if they're as pretty as you. Of course, if they're in them Moslem get-ups, you wouldn't know what they'd look like anyway."

"Burkas?"

"Is that what they call 'em? Suppose so."

Toni took a deep breath. "Think carefully. Did two women in burkas, you know, veiled and everything, get on your bus that day?"

"As a matter of fact they did."

"What height?"

"Pretty small. Couldn't tell you much else."

"Where did they get off?"

"At the railway station."

"Thanks," said Toni.

When Toni told Agatha what she had found out, Agatha said, "Maybe they got straight onto Eurostar and over to Brussels or Paris before the passport control at St. Pancras got alerted. Nobody is going to hassle a couple of what look like Moslem women in case they're accused of racism. Snakes and bastards! They could be anywhere now."