Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet (17 page)

‘He meant the Feathers,’ said Agatha.

‘The old men’s pub. That’s where we went last time. I’m fed up with mineral water. I’ll try tomato juice this time.’

The pub looked the same, tired and dusty. Dust motes swam in shafts of sunlight striking through the windows. An old man slumbered over his beer in a corner.

James ordered a tomato juice for himself and a gin and tonic for Agatha.

Time passed while they discussed the suspects in the case in a desultory way. Agatha would have liked to debate the possibility that Freda was the murderess. After all, she had paid out the biggest amount of money. But James’s face went rigid at the very mention of Freda’s name.

James ordered another round of drinks and carried them back to the table. ‘I don’t think our young friend is coming,’ he said. ‘Maybe we’d better go back and try again.’

At that moment the pub door opened and six youths came in. Black leather and jeans, shaven heads, mean pinched faces. The leader saw them and jerked his head at the others.

‘Trouble,’ said James.

‘I don’t like your face,’ said the leader. A bicycle chain hung from one tattooed hand. ‘And I’m going to rearrange it.’ Agatha looked round wildly for help. The barman had disappeared, the old man slept on.

James threw back his head and shouted, ‘
Help! Help! Murder!
’ It was a terrible shout, deafening and shocking, a bellow. It was as if he had thrown a hand grenade into the group. They darted for the door and crashed out, colliding with one another, while James’s terrible shouts went on and on. The old man woke up and stared at him in amazement.

‘It’s all right,’ said Agatha, white-faced. ‘They’ve gone.’

James smiled at her. ‘Nothing like a good scream for help, I always say. Let’s go and sort out young Jerry.’

‘What’s it got to do with him? Oh, you think he knows Cheryl Mabbs did the murders and he’s sent along his friends to silence us.’

‘Romantic idea. But I think young Jerry phoned his friends and told them that there was some rich jerk in the pub with a fistful of tenners for the taking. I just can’t wait to see him again.’

Once more they stood outside the shabby door and once more James pressed the bell. ‘Who is it?’ came Jerry’s cautious voice.

‘Got the money outer that twat,’ said James in a gruff voice.

The door opened wide. Jerry saw them and tried to slam the door, but James shouldered his way in. He slapped Jerry hard on one side of his head and then on the other. Then, holding him by the scruff of the neck, he said, ‘Your flat. Time we had a talk.’

‘Don’t hurt me,’ squeaked Jerry. ‘I ain’t done nothink.’

‘Where is it? Which door is yours?’ demanded James.

Jerry pointed to an open door. James pushed him inside. ‘Now, before I really get to work on you, why did you send your friends to beat us up?’

‘I dinnet.’

There was a one-bar heater burning in front of an empty fireplace. James twisted Jerry’s arm behind his back and then thrust his face down towards the bar of the heater. ‘Speak up while you’ve still got a face left.’

‘Okay, I’ll tell you.’

James pushed Jerry down into a chair and stood over him. ‘I phoned up Sid and said to tell the boys there was good pickings off a couple in the Fevvers, that’s all. See, I don’t know nuffink about Cheryl. No, don’t,’ he shouted as James loomed over him. ‘I’m telling you the truff, s’welp me God. It was her idear to steal the drugs from the kennels. Get a bit of cash. She says them hopheads at the disco would buy anythink. Honest.’

His voice went on and on, pleading and explaining. It turned out he had not known Cheryl when she was working in Carsely.

James finally turned away in disgust.

Outside, Agatha looked nervously up and down the street. ‘We should call the cops,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t do that.’ James unlocked the car door. ‘It might all come out. In fact, we’d better get out of here in case that chap at the kennels has found out we’re impostors.’

When they got back to Carsely, James said, ‘I’ll make us a snack and then we’ll tackle Miss Simms.’

Agatha brightened. ‘I’ll go to my place, feed the cats and then let them out. They’ve been locked up most of the day.’

The cats gave her a rapturous welcome. Agatha sat down suddenly and watched them while they fed. She felt weak and shaky and on the point of crying. She had had a bad fright in the pub. Bill Wong was right. She should leave this sort of business to the police. But if she dropped the investigations, then James would drop
her
and go back to his writing.

She let the cats out into the garden and stood for a moment watching them frolicking about and then went along to James’s cottage.

‘I’ve set our meal in the kitchen,’ he said when he answered the door. ‘Come through.’

Agatha looked eagerly around the kitchen. It was cheerful and warm. A large bowl of daffodils stood on the windowsill. There was a square scrubbed table in the middle and some elegant ladder-backed chairs. Supper consisted of cold ham and an excellent salad with a cold bottle of white Mâcon.

Agatha studied him covertly as he ate with the absorbed attention he gave to everything and everyone except herself. ‘It’s time,’ he said finally, pushing away his plate, ‘for us to separately write down everything we know about everyone. Whoever killed Paul Bladen and Mrs Josephs did both killings in panic or rage and on the spur of the moment. But first, let’s see what we can get out of Miss Simms.’

Miss Simms lived on the council estate near Mrs Parr. She answered the door to them and said cheerfully, ‘Just finished bathing the kids. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘I didn’t know she had children,’ whispered Agatha when they were alone.

‘Must be a single parent,’ said James. ‘Quite common these days.’

The living-room was a mess of discarded toys and picture books. An old television set flickered in one corner. The furniture was of the kind bought on the pay-up plan, which grew old and shabby before the final payment was made.

Miss Simms came tittuping back in on the ridiculously high heels she always wore.

‘Drink?’ she offered.

James and Agatha both shook their heads. Agatha looked at James and James looked at Agatha and it was Agatha who said, ‘We happen to know you paid Paul Bladen five hundred pounds. Why?’

‘I don’t think that’s very nice. I don’t really,’ complained Miss Simms. ‘What’s it got to do with you, anyway?’

Agatha sighed. ‘We just want to know who killed Paul Bladen and Mrs Josephs. We feel if we knew why you gave him the money, it might help. The others gave him thousands and thousands, but they won’t talk.’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘There were others?’

Agatha nodded.

Miss Simms sighed and sat back on the low sofa and crossed her legs, her skirt rucked up to show an edge of scarlet lace knicker. How little I really know about the people in this village, thought Agatha. I didn’t even know Miss Simms had children. It’s the car, that’s what. People in villages have become mobile and so they’re less curious about their fellows. And television. And yet it’s funny how people go on and on about the good old days when they had to make their own entertainment. If it was so great, why did they all rush out to buy television sets as soon as they could?

Miss Simms’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I may as well tell you, only it makes me so mad; like when I think of the way that bastard tricked me. He took me out to a posh restaurant in Broadway. He told me all about this veterinary hospital he hoped to start. He said if I gave him some money, he would call it after me. He said he would get Prince Charles to open it. I drank too much and well, things got a bit passionate that night and before I knew what was what, I’d written him out a cheque for everything I’d got in the Post Office savings. After a bit when he didn’t come round again, I got worried. Not nice to be dropped like that. I asked him about the hospital and he said he was too busy to talk about it. I asked for my money back and he got nasty and said I had given it to him of my own free will. I felt such a fool. I work over at a computer place in Evesham. I pay a chunk out of my wages to pay for child care for the kids. I told Mrs Bloxby. She said I should pray to God for guidance and so I did and do you know what?’

‘No, what?’ asked James.

‘The very next day God sent me a new gentleman friend with a nice job in soft furnishings and he pays me an allowance, like.’

‘You’ll be getting married soon,’ said James.

She laughed. ‘He’s married, which suits me. Don’t like having a man underfoot all the time.’

‘Does Mrs Bloxby know the outcome of your prayers?’ asked Agatha curiously.

‘Ooh, yes. She said as how God moves in mysterious ways.’

The vicar’s wife, reflected Agatha, was always the soul of tact.

‘I was so mad with that Paul Bladen, I could’ve killed him,’ said Miss Simms. ‘But I didn’t, and so good luck to whoever did.’

‘But there’s Mrs Josephs.’

Miss Simms looked sad. ‘Forgot about her. Old duck she was. What about a drink now?’

Both cheerfully accepted now that there was no danger of their being thrown out and Miss Simms produced an excellent bottle of malt whisky supplied by her gentleman friend. Agatha paid her membership fee for the Carsely Ladies’ Society and Miss Simms entered it carefully in a ledger.

‘So are you pair going to get spliced?’ she said cheerfully.

James put down his glass. ‘No danger of that,’ he said evenly. ‘I am a confirmed bachelor.’

Miss Simms laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be too sure about that. When our Mrs Raisin sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her. Mrs Harvey in the shop was only saying the other day that we would be hearing wedding bells soon.’

‘She must have been talking about someone else,’ said Agatha, pink with embarrassment.

When they had said goodbye to Miss Simms and walked outside, there was a constraint between them. Agatha felt quite tired and weepy.

‘I think I’d better go home to bed,’ she said in a small voice quite unlike her usual robust tones.

‘Don’t look so upset,’ he said in a kind voice. ‘They’ll go on talking about us, and when nothing happens, the gossip will die away.’

But I want something to happen, wailed Agatha’s heart, and to her horror a large tear slipped out of one eye and ran down her nose.

‘You’ve had a rotten day,’ said James. ‘Tell you what, we’ll walk to the Red Lion and I’ll get you a stiff nightcap.’

Agatha gave him a watery smile.

The pub was blessedly quiet, only a few of the regulars standing at the bar. They carried their drinks over to a table by the fire.

And then Freda walked into the pub with a man. She was wearing a pale-green tailored suit and a white silk blouse and looked as cool and fresh as a salad. Her companion was a florid-faced middle-aged man with silver hair, dressed in a blazer and flannels. They ordered drinks. Freda half-turned her head and saw James and Agatha. She whispered something to her escort, who let out a great braying haw-haw-haw of a laugh and stared at them insolently.

Agatha noticed James’s face was wearing a blank look and that his body was tense. Please God, let him not be jealous, she prayed, at the same time wondering why she kept praying to a God in whom she did not quite believe.

‘I think I am tired,’ said James abruptly.

They left together and walked silently home Agatha gave him a sad goodnight and went to her own cottage. At least the cats would be glad to see her.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, switching on the hall light as she did so.

There was a square white envelope lying on the doormat. She opened it up. It contained one sheet of paper with a simple typed message.

‘Stop poking your nose into things that don’t concern you or you will never see your cats again.’

Agatha let out a whimper of fear. She ran through to the kitchen and opened the back door. ‘Hodge, Boswell,’ she called, but all was darkness and silence. She switched on the back outside lights. The square of garden lay before her. No cats.

She went inside and picked up the telephone and phoned the police.

The windows of James’s bedroom overlooked the front of his cottage. He undressed and climbed into bed and switched out the light. Just as he was about to close his eyes, a blue light flickered up and over his ceiling and he could hear the sound of a car sweeping past in the lane outside.

He switched on the light again and scrambled back into his clothes. As he stepped out of his own front door, another police car arrived.

He ran to Agatha’s cottage, hoping she was all right, worried that by encouraging her to go on this murder hunt, he might have endangered her.

PC Griggs was standing on duty on the doorstep. ‘You can step inside, Mr Lacey,’ he said. ‘She’ll need some help.’

‘What happened?’

‘Someone stole her cats.’

James was so relieved that Agatha was not hurt that he nearly said, ‘Is that all?’ but bit the remark back in time.

Agatha’s sitting-room seemed full of policemen, plainclothes and uniformed.

Bill Wong looked up as James came in. He had an arm around Agatha’s shoulders, an Agatha who was sobbing quietly. Agatha had never thought of herself as a cat lover. In fact, she sometimes regretted the responsibility of looking after the pair. But now all she could think of was that they had either been slaughtered or were locked up somewhere, being mistreated and frightened.

‘You’d best sit down and tell us everything you did today,’ said Bill. ‘Agatha’s in no state to give us a coherent account. Begin at the beginning and go on to the end and don’t leave anything out.’

The only thing that James left out was that they had both pretended to be social workers. In a flat voice, he described the interviews they had conducted, the trip to Leamington, the finding out about Cheryl Mabbs’s theft of the drugs including Adrenalin, and the attacks in the pub.

He then fell silent, waiting for a lecture, but Bill said, ‘We’ll have this all typed up and get you to sign it tomorrow. We’ll need to interview everyone in Lilac Lane and see if they saw anyone or heard a car while you were both in the pub.’