Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell (13 page)

Reluctantly his parents backed away from the doorway and then Bill stood there, beaming. ‘Come in, come in. Perhaps we could all have some tea, Ma?’

‘I’m not making tea for nobody,’ grumbled his mother.

‘Can we go into the garden, maybe?’ suggested Agatha. ‘We’ve got some news that might interest you.’

‘Sure.’ Bill led the way through the house into the garden at the back, which was his pride and joy. They sat down at a garden table surrounded by a riot of flowers.

‘What have you got for me?’

Agatha described John Dewey and then related the story of his marriage, ending up with asking, ‘Did he have an alibi?’

‘There are witnesses to testify that he was working late in his shop the night Melissa was killed, and that Neighbourhood Watch woman saw him returning home around midnight. Of course, we can’t pin-point the exact time of death. He could easily have driven over to Carsely. We’ll keep an eye on him. Anything else?’

Agatha told him about the visit to the disco, about learning that Melissa at one time had been sectioned for a drug addiction and diagnosed as a psychopath. Then she said, ‘Of course, there is the other husband, Sheppard.’

‘But Luke Sheppard and his wife spent that night at the Randolph in Oxford.’

‘Still, that’s not far. He could have driven to Carsely, done the deed, and driven back. It takes about three quarters of an hour to get to Oxford. Half an hour if someone broke the speed limit.’

‘We checked. The night staff didn’t see him leave.’

‘It’s impossible,’ groaned Agatha. ‘It could well be someone from way back in her past. She told my cleaner she was engaged on secret work for the government. Now I know that’s another of her lies, but what prompted that lie? Could she have been tied up with some MP or army man?’

‘Like James?’ suggested Bill, and then regretted saying it as a haunted look appeared in Agatha’s eyes.

‘Is there no word of him, Bill?’

‘Not a thing. We regularly check to see if he’s drawn any money, but there’s nothing. Look, why don’t you stay here and relax and then we’ll all have dinner.’

Agatha repressed a shudder. His mother was a dreadful cook and his parents would grumble about their presence all through the meal. She was always amazed that Bill could not see how awful they were, but he obviously adored his father and mother and could see no fault in them. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘We’d better get on.’

‘Thanks anyway for your news. We may pull in Dewey for questioning again. If he could tie her up like that and threaten to take her eyes out, then he could easily have killed her.’

‘Where to now?’ asked Charles. ‘Call it a day and go for dinner?’

‘I’m tired. But we could just catch Luke Sheppard again before he closes his shop.’

‘And what can we ask him we haven’t asked him already?’

‘We could tell him about Dewey. I mean, ask if he’d ever met Dewey. Ask him whether Dewey ever called on Melissa.’

‘All right,’ said Charles amiably. ‘We’ll give it a try.’

Agatha looked at him with a sudden burst of affection. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you, Charles!’

His face took on a tight, closed look. Damn, thought Agatha. Rule number one. Never tell a man you need him. In a moment or two, he’ll tell me he wants to go home and pack. But to her surprise, he drove steadily and said nothing until they drove into the main car park at Mircester.

‘I feel our Sheppard is a bad-tempered man,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t exercise it on us.’

‘You could buy something,’ suggested Agatha. ‘That would put him in a good mood.’

‘From that shop? You must be joking.’

‘A thought, that’s all.’ As they walked along the street where Sheppard’s shop was situated, they saw him outside, pulling down the shutters. They quickened their step and came up to him.

‘Oh, it’s you two,’ he said ungraciously.

‘We wondered if you could spare us a minute,’ said Agatha.

‘Okay, but a minute is all I’ve got. Let’s go to the pub.’

Once inside, Agatha asked him what he wanted to drink, not wanting Charles to start on one of his tales about a missing wallet.

She carried the drinks over to the table. She had bought an orange juice for herself as well as Charles. She would offer to drive them home.

Agatha told Luke Sheppard about their meeting with John Dewey and then asked him, ‘Did Melissa ever talk about her previous marriage? Or did Dewey ever try to see her?’

‘She said he was weird. She said he loved his dolls more than humans. But she didn’t volunteer much else except it was one marriage she was glad to get out of.’

Agatha was disappointed. ‘She didn’t say anything about being frightened of him?’

‘No, I saw him once. Curiosity, you know. I went to that shop of his. Insignificant little chap, if you ask me. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. She didn’t have any trouble divorcing him.’

Charles said, ‘But he forced her into a divorce. Didn’t she tell you?’

He looked genuinely surprised. ‘No, she told me he had agreed to the divorce without a murmur.’

‘Here’s what really happened,’ said Agatha, and told him about Dewey’s drugging Melissa and threatening her.

He goggled at her. ‘She never said a word. But she was secretive. She had a lot of money of her own. But she never discussed it with me. She kept her bank-books and bank papers locked up. Mind you, that didn’t bother me much. I wanted rid of her after the honeymoon.’

‘What happened on the honeymoon?’ asked Agatha eagerly.

He glanced impatiently at his watch. ‘I’ll make it quick. It was like this. We went to Paris. It was August and there weren’t many French people around. All gone off on the annual holiday. She was a great know-all. Had memorized the guidebook. We trudged round everywhere – Notre Dame, Versailles, Sacré Coeur – you name it. I don’t speak French. She said she spoke it like a native. I said, “How come then the natives don’t understand a word you’re saying?” She’d dropped the act of hanging on my every word, being the perfect partner. She demanded attention the whole time and not only from me, from about every man who crossed her path. I often wondered how she would get on in a roomful of men with different personalities, trying to be all things to all of them. I’m telling you, by the time we got back, I
detested
that woman.’

‘So how did you get her to agree to a divorce?’

He looked again at his watch. ‘I’ve really got to go.’

‘Quickly,’ said Agatha. ‘Did you ask for a divorce and did she agree to it just like that?’

‘Yes, something like that.’ He got to his feet. ‘See here, I’ve given you two enough of my time. Don’t come round here again.’

‘Where were you living when you were married?’ asked Charles.

He half-turned. ‘Why?’

‘Just wondered.’

‘Oxford.’

‘Where in Oxford?’

‘Jericho. Pliny Road.’

He marched out of the pub.

‘What did you make of that?’ asked Charles.

‘I think,’ said Agatha, resting her chin on her hands, ‘that he threatened her just like Dewey.’

‘I think you’re right. That’s why I asked for his old address.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we will go there tomorrow and ask the neighbours about Sheppard and Melissa. I wonder, why Oxford? It’s an hour-and-a-half’s drive at least from Oxford to Mircester.’

‘We should have asked Melissa’s sister more questions.’

‘We can still do that. I’ve got her card. She lives in Cambridge. The other university town.’

‘Do we need to go all the way there? It’s quite a drive.’

‘Maybe we’ll phone her. Let’s get out of here and have some dinner.’

‘Come home and I’ll make us something.’

‘Anyone who eats microwaved curry for breakfast is not to be trusted with dinner. Plenty of good restaurants in Mircester.’

A wave of black depression hit Agatha as soon as she awoke the following morning. She had been dreaming about James, and in her dream they had been walking along a sunlit beach together and he had been holding her hand. Where was he? Was he alive? Did he ever think of her? Why was she going to all this trouble to clear his name?

She mumbled that thought to Charles when he came into her bedroom, demanding to know why she wasn’t getting up.

‘Because we are out to clear your name as well, sweetie. Or had you forgotten? Your alibi is only for the evening James disappeared. You’ve got nothing to prove your innocence when it comes to Melissa’s murder.’

‘Can you bring me up a cup of coffee?’

‘No, you’ll drink it and lie in bed and smoke and gloom. Come downstairs.’

Agatha climbed out of bed. Her knees were stiff and she stared down at them. Here was another bit of body betraying her. She did some exercises and took a hot shower. By the time she had dressed, the stiffness had gone. But, she wondered, was this the beginning of the end? Goodbye healthy life and hello rubber knickers and support hose? What would it be like to creak about on a Zimmer frame? She had a sudden craving for life, for excitement. She had an impulse to ask Charles to go upstairs to bed with her that minute. Then she thought, was this how James felt? If I can feel like this over a brief ache in the knees, what did he feel like when he learned he might die? He should have been making his peace with God, she answered herself. Would you? sneered a little voice in her head. Agatha slowly shook her head. The God she only half believed in had shaggy grey locks and wore open-toed sandals and disapproved of one Agatha Raisin.

‘Agatha! Why are you standing there shaking your head and moving your lips?’ asked Charles.

Agatha gave herself a mental shake. ‘I just wondered what thoughts were going through James’s head when he learned of his cancer.’

‘Doesn’t bear thinking of. I’ve made toast and coffee. Eat. Drink. Then let’s get off to Oxford.’

As they drove to Oxford, Agatha driving this time, she switched on the air-conditioning in the car. ‘The sun’s so hot,’ she said. ‘Going to be one very hot day.’

‘Watch out for the speed camera just after Blenheim Palace,’ said Charles as Agatha drove through Woodstock. ‘You just get used to the camera facing one way, and then they come and turn it the other way and catch all the drivers who increase speed when they think they are safely past it.’

‘I never speed through towns or villages,’ said Agatha virtuously. A car ahead of her, unaware that the camera had turned, went slowly past it and then speeded up. There was a bright flash as he was photographed. ‘See what I mean?’ said Charles with all the satisfaction of one motorist seeing another getting caught by a speed camera.

‘I was thinking, Charles, that we have all these suspects whirling around our brains. Well, maybe two suspects, Sheppard and Dewey.’

‘Three.’

‘Who’s the third?’

‘Her sister. She inherits. Maybe she knew she was going to inherit. Melissa, it seems, had money of her own.’

‘Yes, but where does James come into it?’

‘I’d forgotten about him.’

‘Why would the sister attack James?’

‘We don’t know what James was up to. Remember, he was like you when it came to trying to find out things.’

‘So three suspects . . .’

‘Maybe more. What about Jake and his pals? No one’s going to bother much about a bit of pot these days. But remember, Melissa had once been sectioned for drugs. Maybe she wanted some hard stuff and they were pushing.’

‘All possible. But we can’t go to Bill with mere speculation. I can see both Sheppard and Dewey doing it, but I really can’t think of a motive. They were both clear of her.’

‘Who knows? Maybe Melissa paid a visit to Dewey’s shop and spat on his favourite doll.’

‘Which brings us back to where James came into it.’

Charles groaned. ‘Okay, let’s see if we can find out anything about Melissa and Sheppard when they were married that he hasn’t told us. I mean, it took nearly a year for the divorce to come through, so he didn’t start divorce proceedings immediately after the honeymoon.’

‘It’s a pity we didn’t get the number in Pliny Road. I don’t know whereabouts in Jericho it is. I’ll pull into the lay-by and have a look at the map. You’ll find a street map of Oxford in the glove compartment. Jericho’s that residential area between the Woodstock Road, Saint Giles and the canal.’

‘I know,’ said Charles as Agatha drew the car to a stop. They spread out the map. ‘Let’s see the index,’ said Charles. ‘Ah, here we are: Pliny Road, off Walton Street, just there.’

‘Doesn’t look very long,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll just knock on doors.’

‘While we’re in Oxford,’ said Charles, ‘do you think there’s any point in asking questions at the Randolph? Maybe one of the staff saw something.’

Agatha shook her head. ‘I’ve a feeling the police will have covered that thoroughly.’

‘Still . . . let’s see how we get on in Jericho first.’

‘I hope the traffic’s not too bad,’ said Agatha. ‘They’ve made Cornmarket a shopping precinct and for a while it’s been chaos.’

‘Seems clear enough,’ said Charles as they drove along the Woodstock Road. He studied the map again. ‘Turn next right, Aggie.’

‘I thought for a while you’d given up calling me Aggie. I wish you wouldn’t. Every time you call me Aggie, I feel as if I ought to be standing at the doorway of a terraced house in a mining area in some northern town with my hair in rollers, wearing a chenille dressing-gown and fluffy slippers, and with a cigarette stuck in my mouth.’

‘Sounds like you.’

‘I’m driving or I’d hit you. Where now?’

‘Turn right on Walton Street and next left.’

‘It’s residents’ parking only.’

‘So risk it.’

Agatha parked in Pliny Road, and they got out. Tall Victorian houses lined either side of the road. ‘Where should we start?’ she asked.

‘Let’s try the middle, although sod’s law probably has it that they lived at the end. You take the left side and I’ll take the right.’

After ringing several doorbells, Agatha began to wonder if she was going to have any success. Perhaps Oxford was like London and people didn’t know their neighbours.

Then she heard a shout from across the road and turned round to find Charles waving to her. He came to meet her. ‘A woman in that house,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, ‘remembers them, because she sometimes chatted to Melissa at the corner shop. They lived at number fifteen.’