Beating About the Bush

by M C Beaton

  “A risk too far in the end,” Bill confirmed. “We’re getting it all from Peter Trotter. He’s in hospital. Badly broken ribs. That donkey really didn’t like him, did she?”

  “There’s nothing to like,” said Agatha. “He is a loathsome little man.”

  “He’s been talking to Alice, who is sitting by his hospital bed taking notes. Trotter is determined that he’s not going to take all the blame for the murder. He’s telling us everything in the hope that he’ll get a lighter sentence. He has confessed to killing Clarissa Dinwiddy with the ashtray.”

  “Because she knew too much?” asked Agatha.

  “Exactly,” said Bill. “On the day of her murder, she confronted Albert Morrison and played him the conversations she had on her recorder. She told him that she knew he wasn’t a bad man at heart and begged him to leave Aphrodite, abandon the drugs business and run off with her somewhere safe, where they could settle down together.

  “But she was wrong. He is a very bad man. He came up with the plan to kill her. He knew that she visited the donkey regularly to check she was being properly looked after. He also knew that Trotter hated Mrs. Dinwiddy enough to kill her.”

  “So they got Trotter to do their dirty work for them,” said Agatha, “while they all had perfect alibis, seen by everyone at Aphrodite’s homecoming party.”

  “I think they saw Trotter as being expendable,” said Toni. “If anything went wrong, he would be the one facing a murder charge. He wasn’t originally part of their gang. He was hired to look after Wizz-Wazz, but it soon became clear that they could use him as a general dogsbody, and he was keen enough when he realised how much money was involved.”

  “At the party,” Agatha recalled, “Morrison looked right at me when he ordered Sayer to tell Clarissa to go to the stables. I think … I think he was hoping I would go down there. Hoping that I would be the one to find the body.”

  “Probably,” said Bill. “We know that you were hired, as you guessed, for show. After his dodgy battery pack caused the fire, Morrison wanted to make it look like industrial espionage. To make it appear that he believed that, he needed to be seen to do something about it, so he hired you. The fake leg stunt was to discredit you and give him the chance to sack you. If you could also discover the ‘accident’ set up by Trotter, I think he hoped you might somehow take some of the blame for that, too. It would make sacking you even easier.”

  “Well, I’m glad Trotter is suffering,” said Agatha. “He deserves everything Wizz-Wazz gave him, and more. What about Dunster?”

  “Not badly hurt,” Bill said. “A few bruises. He’s made of sterner stuff than Trotter.”

  “And Wizz-Wazz? She seemed fine when she came over to me,” Agatha said, “but I heard a shot.”

  “That was just Dunster firing wildly into the darkness,” Toni said. “He was trying to frighten her off, but he didn’t hit her.”

  “What about Morrison?” asked Agatha.

  “Our men caught him leaving the factory with the heroin,” said Bill. “He is going to prison for a very long time. Sadly, there was no sign of Sayer. We’re still looking, but he has slipped through our fingers for the time being.”

  “The survival expert,” Agatha snorted, “survives yet again.”

  “He was key to the whole operation,” said Bill. “When Bream went missing in Afghanistan, he made a few initial contacts with the drugs barons, but Sayer faked his own death so that he could work with those people. He travelled the whole route from Helmand to Eastern Europe and back to the UK, setting up all the connections they would need along the way, doing all the deals that would take them across borders and through territories controlled by some extremely dangerous characters.”

  “None of those people are going to be very happy that it’s all gone wrong,” said Toni.

  “They will always find some other way of plying their filthy trade,” Agatha said. “This little network may have closed down, but they will find others.”

  “That, I’m afraid, is almost inevitable,” Bill agreed. “Now, I must leave you ladies in peace. I need to get back to the station. There is a mountain of paperwork to get through. Which reminds me, Agatha, I will send a car for you in the morning so that you can make a formal statement down at the station.”

  After Bill had left, Toni and Agatha sat together on the sofa finishing their drinks.

  “We’ve had our ups and downs recently,” Agatha said, “but I honestly don’t know anyone I can rely on more than you to back me up, to be there for me when the going gets tough.”

  “I’m glad you think that,” said Toni, “because when I thought they might have…” A tear forced its way out of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “Oh, don’t start that”—Agatha sighed—“or you’ll get me going, too.”

  “Sorry,” said Toni. “We’re detectives. We have to be tough. We have to look out for one another. That’s what friends are for.”

  “Come on, I’m exhausted. Time for bed. You’re in the spare room. In the morning, I’ll lend you clean knickers,” said Agatha, dragging herself to her feet. “And you’re right—that is what friends are for.”

  “What—clean knickers?”

  “That, too.”

  * * *

  Bright and early next morning, having shared a pot of coffee with Agatha, Toni set off for work. No more sound files to wade through, but she had to catch up on what was happening with the agency’s other cases. She would need to keep on top of things while Agatha was out of the office. After all, she was working for the most famous private detective in the country. She was proud to be young, single, and an independent woman. She was proud to be a private investigator, and she was proud to be wearing Agatha Raisin’s knickers. I may not be able to fill her shoes yet, she thought, or even her underwear for that matter, but one day, one day …

  Agatha watched Toni strutting down the path, looking full of confidence and vigour. She still felt tired from the night before and knew that she had hours of tedious questions ahead of her once the car arrived to take her to Mircester police station. She cast her eye around the room, wondering what to do until the car showed up. There was an ashtray sitting on a side table. An ashtray. An ashtray had killed Clarissa Dinwiddy, and had nearly killed Agatha, too. In the not-too-distant past, she would have sat down and enjoyed a cigarette while waiting for the car. Now, she never wanted to see another ashtray again. She hated the things. She tucked the offending item into a drawer, out of sight. A hatred of ashtrays, she decided, was just the thing to ensure that she never smoked again.

  * * *

  It was after lunchtime when Agatha was once again standing at the window of her living room, looking out at the gloomy sky of a grey autumn day. She had, as expected, spent hours at the police station and had asked to be brought home afterwards so that she could rest and decide what to wear to dinner. Tonight, after all, Chris Firkin was taking her out, and she wanted to look her best. Just then, a pink sports car drew up outside her house. A blonde woman emerged from the car. She was wearing a pink fun-fur coat not unlike the one that Agatha had donated to Wizz-Wazz, although the colour of Agatha’s coat had not matched the paintwork of her car. Aphrodite Morrison strolled towards the front door, removing her dark sunglasses—presumably because it was so dull out there that she couldn’t see a thing. Agatha hurried out to open the door.

  “Mrs. Morrison, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Yous kin make dat Aphrodite, Mrs.… can I just say Agatha?”

  “Of course,” said Agatha. “Do, please, come in.”

  Aphrodite took three steps across the hall into the living room.

  “Cute,” she said, looking round the room.

  “Can I get you something?” Agatha asked. “A drink … er … tea maybe?”

  “Naw, I’m good,” Aphrodite sat on the sofa, where Agatha joined her. “I wanna talk to yous about dat no-good husband of mine.”

  “He’s not exactly my favourite person.”

>   “My neither. I got my lawyers on him. I’m gonna sue his ass to hell and back. By the time he gets out of jail, he’s gonna have nothin’. I’m takin’ the house, the factory, the stables, everythin’.”

  “What will you do with Wizz-Wazz?”

  “I’ve always had a soft spot for dat mad donkey. Never saw too much of her before, but now she’s gonna be a star. There’s a company plannin’ a toy range and I’m gonna get them to set up in the factory. That way we can keep the employees that wanna stay. The stables and the grounds are gonna be turned into the Clarissa Dinwiddy Donkey Sanctuary, so I’m gonna get a whole bunch more donkeys dat need some TLC.”

  “It’s very generous of you to name the sanctuary after Mrs. Dinwiddy. I didn’t think you were friends.”

  “We weren’t. We never got on. She wanted my husband, you know. Wanted him to leave me. She paid off that tart on reception. She even made sure that they never hired any other good-lookin’ young girls that might take his eye. She only let them hire ugly mugs.”

  “Like the trapeze girl?”

  “The what?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Anyways, even if we wasn’t the best of friends, there ain’t no way that Dinwiddy deserved what he done to her. So I’m gonna set up the factory and the sanctuary, and if I keep my mind on that, maybe it will help keep me off the sauce. So I got you to thank for that—here.”

  Aphrodite reached inside her jacket and produced a white envelope, holding it out to Agatha.

  “What is it?” Agatha asked, reaching for it.

  “It’s a cheque,” said Aphrodite. “Kinda old-fashioned nowadays, writin’ cheques, but dat’s what it is. Should cover your fee plus a little more for expenses and all the trouble you went to.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “Take it. Yous got people to pay and I can afford it, so just take it.” She stood and made for the door. “An’ any time yous want to come visit, just you rock on up to the stables,” she added. “Wizz-Wazz would love that. After all, you’s the donkey lady, ain’t ya?”

  “Yes.” Agatha smiled. “I suppose I am.”

  She watched Aphrodite glide back down the path towards her pink car. Without the voice, she thought, she was the essence of glamour, although the coat and the car … Well, they weren’t to Agatha’s taste, but they certainly made an impact.

  “How very sweet,” came a voice.

  She spun round to see John Sayer standing in her living room.

  “How did you…?”

  “I walked in through your open back door, Mrs. Raisin, while you were busy with the lovely Aphrodite.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you. You threw a mighty big spanner in the works and brought our whole operation crashing down. You have cost me an awful lot of money. I wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know how much I hate you for it … before I kill you.”

  “You must be mad coming here! Don’t you know that—”

  Sayer clamped his right hand around Agatha’s throat and hurled her backwards into the armchair.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Raisin, and tell me what I don’t know.”

  Agatha massaged her aching neck and said hoarsely, “Don’t you know that every policeman in the country is looking for you. Not to mention the military police, and probably your friends from Afghanistan and Eastern Europe, too.”

  “None of them will ever find me. I’m a survival expert, Mrs. Raisin. Out in the wild or in the busiest of towns, I know how to merge in and disappear. Escape and evasion is what we called it in the army.”

  “You’ve come a long way since your days in uniform,” Agatha said. “But why here? How did Morrison get involved?”

  “He had established a small factory in Sekiliv. It was one of a number of legitimate firms I was looking at. Initially we wanted to find a way to infiltrate the business and set up our own operation without anyone else knowing. I met Morrison in Sekiliv when he was there on business and I was posing as a buyer for a company in Spain. It didn’t take me long to persuade him that there was more money to be made in our business than in his, especially once I found out that his firm was on the verge of collapse. His useless battery pack had pretty much bankrupted him.”

  “And now he’s in jail, which is a better option than living life on the run. How long can you go on looking over your shoulder, wondering whether it will be a policeman or a hit man who finally catches up with you?”

  “That’s not your problem, Mrs. Raisin. All your problems are now over.”

  Sayer advanced towards Agatha. She squirmed sideways to try to dodge him as he reached down to grab her.

  “Leave her alone!” She looked up to see that Chris Firkin had walked into the room.

  “Who the hell are you?” said Sayer.

  “What do you care?” said Chris. “Just leave her alone and try picking on someone your own size.”

  “I will,” Sayer promised, stepping towards him.

  “I’m not scared of you,” Chris said defiantly.

  “You should be,” said Sayer.

  Agatha watched Sayer cover the distance between himself and Chris in the blink of an eye. His speed of movement was matched by the speed with which he rained blows on his opponent. Chris blocked one punch and ducked away from another but took a ferocious thump to the eye followed by another to the mouth. Sayer skipped back lightly and flicked a kick into Chris’s ribs that sent him staggering back past the open living room door to crash into the wall by the window. His knees buckled and he sank towards the floor before recovering and starting to pull himself upright.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” He spat blood from his cut lip.

  “Far from it.”

  As Sayer moved swiftly towards Chris, Agatha charged across the room wielding a side table, which she smashed into his back. The table splintered, but Sayer was still standing, seemingly unaffected. He half turned, holding up a clenched fist.

  “You shouldn’t have—” he started to say, just as a large orange frying pan appeared from beyond the door, smacking him square in the face. Agatha recognised the pan straight away. It was Le Creuset, part of a set she had bought to hang on hooks in the kitchen, more as ornaments than anything else given her lamentable cooking skills. The blow left Sayer dazed, and a second, sharp smack with the pan sent him to the floor. Then Sir Charles Fraith dived on top of him.

  “Get his feet, Chris!” he yelled.

  Chris obediently fell forward onto Sayer’s legs. Then Charlotte Clark darted in, armed with a roll of cling film. That, too, Agatha recognised from her kitchen. She used it to cover things in dishes before she blasted them in the microwave. The groggy Sayer, blood streaming from his nose, made little objection as they wrapped his ankles in cling film and then did the same to his torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

  “Where did you three spring from?” asked Agatha.

  “I came to talk about my exclusive, Mrs. Raisin,” said Charlotte, “but I was walking up the path when I saw this guy with his hand around your throat, so I ran off to get help.”

  “And she found us,” said Charles, handing Chris a handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from his eyebrow. “Chris had taken me for a spin in his zingy little electric car. We were heading to the Red Lion to discuss an extension to his lease when this young lady flagged us down.”

  “Why didn’t you just call the police straightaway?” Agatha asked Charlotte.

  “It’s my phone,” said Charlotte. “No power—a dodgy battery.”

  “Unlike my car,” Chris said, pressing the handkerchief to his eyebrow. “Which brought us silently to your garden gate. I volunteered to keep Sayer occupied while Charles lay in ambush behind the door.”

  The arrival of the police and an ambulance drew a crowd in the lane outside Agatha’s house. Bill Wong was one of the first officers on the scene, and he sent a couple of his officers to persuade the onlookers to disperse. The best they could do was hold them
back to allow for the arrival of more police vehicles and a doctor. Chris and Agatha were carefully examined by the doctor, as was Sayer, who was pronounced fit to be taken into custody. The crowd began to disperse when Sayer, handcuffed and escorted by two burly policemen, was driven away. The ambulance then also departed.

  Agatha, Charles, Chris, and Charlotte endured hours of questions from Bill in Agatha’s cottage—even a slow-motion re-enactment of the living room battle—before he was satisfied that he completely understood what had happened and how Sayer had been subdued. Police officers took measurements of the scene and photographed everything from every possible angle. Eventually Bill ushered his colleagues out the door and headed back to the station for a long evening of paperwork.

  “I must be off now as well,” said Charles. “Gustav is picking me up from the pub. This evening, Mary wants to set the date.”

  “You mean it’s all still going ahead?” Agatha was astounded.

  “Yes, for now … I mean … yes, it is,” said Charles, holding up his hands as though to push back any further questions. “We’ll talk, Aggie. Not the time or place right now.”

  Agatha shook her head in disbelief and Charles made for the door. Charlotte accepted his offer of a lift, promising Agatha that she would be back for her exclusive interview—an even bigger story now that she was actually part of it too. Finally Agatha and Chris were left alone.

  “I’m sorry,” said Chris, pointing at his bloodied shirt. “I’m in no fit state to go out for dinner, I’m afraid.” He looked at his watch. “And we will definitely have lost our table.”

  “That’s all right,” Agatha said. “I can sort us out with something.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and rummaged in the freezer. Minutes later, having nuked two portions of lasagne in the microwave, they were sitting opposite each other at the table.

  “This isn’t bad at all,” Chris said, washing down a mouthful with a glass of red wine.

  “And it’s electric quick.” Agatha smiled.

  They took the remains of a bottle of Valpolicella into the living room and sat together on the sofa.