Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers

by Beaton, M. C.

  Opposite Jessica’s cottage was a field, bordered by trees. He slipped across the road into the shelter of the trees and pointed the machine at the cottage.

  Nothing but absolute silence. Then he noticed there was no car outside. Either Jessica had gone back to London or was out for the evening.

  Stubbornly, he decided to wait. A warm wind had got up and rustled in the leaves above his head. He arranged himself comfortably with his back to a tree. He had drunk a lot in the pub to pass the time, and his eyelids began to droop. Soon he was fast asleep.

  He awoke suddenly, feeling something moving on his back. Simon jumped to his feet. Some creature, he guessed, must have fallen out of the tree and down his back. He stood and tore off his shirt just as whatever it was bit him painfully. A bright moon was shining down through the leaves and to his horror, he saw a small snake, slithering off.

  Quickly, he hid his equipment behind a tree and raced off to Moreton-in-Marsh Hospital. Outside the hospital, he phoned Toni.

  ‘I’ve been bitten by a snake.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Never mind that now. Go to the trees opposite Jessica’s cottage. I’ve hidden my equipment behind one of the trees right opposite. Get it. I can’t risk the police finding it on me.’

  He rang off. Toni had returned to Mircester several hours ago. She got in her car, and, as Simon was being raced in an ambulance from Moreton to Cheltenham General Hospital, Toni set out again for Carsely.

  To her relief, Jessica’s cottage was in darkness. She located the listening device and was just about to pack it into a carrier bag she had brought with her when she remembered that Sarah Freemantle’s cottage was close by. Despite her previous scruples, Toni suddenly found the temptation irresistible. Keeping to the trees, she crept along to opposite Sarah’s cottage and pointed the listening device at it and clamped on the earphones.

  To her horror, she could hear Sarah sobbing. Then came her husband’s voice. ‘You will tell me the truth if it takes all night.’

  ‘I d-didn’t h-have an affair with him,’ sobbed Sarah. ‘L-leave me alone, Guy.’

  ‘I’m going to heat up the hot plate and put your hand right down on it and you’ll tell me.’

  ‘No!’

  Toni took out her mobile and dialled 999. ‘Shots fired at ten Blackberry Lane, home of Sarah Freemantle, Carsely,’ she shouted, disguising her voice as best she could.

  Taking out a pencil torch, she flicked it at a small notebook and found Sarah’s number. Mr Freemantle answered.

  ‘Police on the way, you murdering bastard,’ said Toni, and rang off. She ran to her car with Simon’s equipment and roared off. She drove straight to the vicarage and thrust the carrier bag with Simon’s equipment at a startled Mrs Bloxby.

  ‘Hide this, please,’ pleaded Toni. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  She then drove back to Sarah’s cottage and waited. The police might have recognized her voice on the phone so better to confront them and say she thought she heard screams and shots from the house.

  Soon the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Bill Wong was the first on the scene. ‘Armed response unit is on the way. Did you phone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Toni. ‘I was going to interview Mrs Freemantle when I heard her scream something like, “Don’t burn me!” and then I thought I heard a shot.’

  Other police arrived on the scene. The door of the cottage opened and Guy Freemantle came out.

  ‘Down on the ground,’ yelled Bill. ‘Get down on the ground.’

  A helicopter landed in the field opposite and disgorged the armed response unit.

  Guy looked suddenly terrified. He sank to the ground. Bill went forward and handcuffed him.

  Armed police burst into the house first, followed by Bill and Alice Peterson.

  Sarah was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, sobbing. She had a cut lip and a black eye. The hot plate on the cooker burned fiery red. ‘He was going to burn me,’ she whispered. ‘I think he’s broken my ribs.’

  Alice phoned for an ambulance.

  An hour later, Toni sat in an interviewing room at police headquarters. She had had plenty of time to rehearse her story. Wilkes began the interview.

  Toni stuck to her story that she had been visiting Phil Marshall and had gone to see if she could get an interview with Sarah Freemantle. She said she was worried about her because she had been there earlier and had judged Guy Freemantle to be a violent man. She had heard screams and then she swore she thought she had heard shots.

  She was taken through her story over and over again to see if it changed in the slightest.

  Wilkes then said, ‘We had a report this evening from Cheltenham General that Simon Black was taken in there with a snakebite. Did you know about it?’

  ‘Yes, he phoned me, but, as I said, I decided to see Sarah first before going to the hospital.’

  Wilkes shuffled some notes. ‘He says he was waiting under a tree opposite Jessica Fordyce’s cottage to see if she would return home because he wanted to ask her a few more questions. He said he fell asleep and woke when he felt something down the back of his shirt. Now, adders don’t slither about at nighttime, nor do they drop out of trees. It is our belief that someone put it down his shirt deliberately.’

  ‘So where was Jessica Fordyce?’ asked Toni.

  ‘Dining at the Countryfare restaurant in Moreton, as several of her fans can testify.’

  ‘But surely that closes at nine-thirty?’ said Toni. ‘It must have been after dark when Simon got bitten.’

  ‘Why do you assume that?’

  ‘Because it was dark when he called me,’ said Toni quickly.

  ‘Your statement will be typed up and then I want you to sign it. We will probably want to talk to you again tomorrow.’

  Agatha Raisin struggled awake as the phone beside her bed rang shrilly. She listened in horror as Toni told her of the attack on Simon. ‘I’m on my way to the Cheltenham General,’ said Toni.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the hospital,’ said Agatha.

  She hurriedly dressed, sharply aware of sinister rustlings in the thatched roof above her head. The thatch usually rustled at night, but now she imagined snakes slithering about.

  Agatha found Toni waiting for her at the entrance to the hospital. ‘I should have stopped you from coming,’ said Toni. ‘He’s asleep and doing all right. But I wanted to talk to you about Guy Freemantle.’

  She described the arrest of Guy but carefully omitted any mention of Simon’s listening device.

  ‘So he beat her up and then was about to burn her hand,’ said Agatha. ‘Now, there’s someone vicious enough to have done the murders. I wonder if he knows anything about snakes. And was he away all the time? Where was he supposed to be?’

  ‘Phil told me he’s a senior welding inspector on an oil rig in Scotland.’

  ‘That’s odd. The wife gave me the idea he was working abroad. I wonder if there’s any way he could have been lurking around the village. I suppose the police will be checking his movements.’

  ‘Do you think Sarah will divorce him?’

  ‘She might not. She doesn’t have an income. Of course, she’d get alimony. Maybe she’s been a battered wife for too long to break away.’

  ‘I don’t feel like the drive back to Mircester,’ said Toni. ‘I think I’ll sleep in the car and see Simon first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Did Simon interview anyone else?’

  ‘He saw Jessica Fordyce and from the look on his face I think he fell hook, line and sinker,’ said Toni. ‘But he was going back there to listen outside her cottage.’

  Agatha looked at her sharply. ‘These old cottages have thick walls. Where was Simon when the snake got down his shirt?’

  ‘He was sitting under a tree opposite the cottage and fell asleep.’

  ‘Any car passing along that road would have seen him in the headlights. We’ll need to find out if Sarah Freemantle’s husband came home while Simon was asleep and if he kn
ows anything about adders.’

  Agatha’s bearlike eyes bored into Toni’s face. ‘Wait a bit. Was Simon using a listening device?’

  ‘N-no,’ stammered Toni, turning red.

  ‘So he was! You’re a bad liar. What if the police look through his stuff and find it?’

  Toni hung her head. ‘I gave it to Mrs Bloxby.’

  Agatha groaned. ‘Listening devices are illegal in Britain. We’d better get over to the vicarage first thing in the morning. If Alf Bloxby finds it, that pious pillock who doesn’t like me a bit will probably take the stuff to the nearest policeman. Is that how you found out that Guy was abusing his wife?’

  ‘I couldn’t resist the temptation. I didn’t know it was illegal. I protested about it to Simon because I thought it was sneaky.’

  ‘You’d better come home with me,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll call early at the vicarage in the morning and get the damn thing and then go and see Simon.’

  The next morning, the vicar padded about the sitting room, looking for his favourite pen. He could hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as his wife prepared breakfast.

  Thinking he might have dropped it on the floor, he got down on his hands and knees and looked under the sofa. He saw a small carrier bag he didn’t recognize and pulled it out.

  He was just about to open it when his wife walked in. ‘Leave that!’ said Mrs Bloxby quickly. ‘I’m keeping it for someone. Your breakfast’s ready. What are you doing on the floor?’

  ‘I’ve lost my pen. It’s the gold-plated one I won in that crossword competition.’

  ‘It’s on the mantelpiece, behind that vase.’

  The vicar got to his feet. ‘Oh, great.’

  ‘Now, have your breakfast.’

  When the vicar had collected his pen and gone into the kitchen, Mrs Bloxby seized the bag and looked wildly around. She went through the French windows, down the garden and into the churchyard. Mrs Bloxby had already examined the contents of the bag and had recognized the machine as a listening device, having recently read an article on spy gadgets. Mr Barret-Jynes had been buried the day before. A spade was lying beside the freshly dug grave. She seized the spade, dug a hole, shoved the bag in, piled earth on top of it and then smoothed the earth flat with a hefty whack of the spade.

  After breakfast, the vicar decided to go out to the churchyard and say a prayer for the soul of Mr Barret-Jynes. The day was fine, without the clammy heat of previous days.

  He stood by the grave and bent his head.

  A voice rose from the grave. ‘Alf Bloxby,’ said the deep voice. ‘You are arrogant.’

  He let out a gasp of fright, and, turning, ran back to the shelter of the vicarage.

  ‘And that’s wot I would like to say to ’im,’ said old Mr Sither, walking past the churchyard.

  ‘Me, too,’ said his friend Bert Camden.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ cried Mrs Bloxby. ‘Alf, you’re as white as a sheet.’

  ‘I think I’m going mad,’ said the vicar. ‘I went to say a prayer at Mr Barret-Jyne’s grave and a voice from the grave spoke to me.’

  Oh, dear, thought his wife, that wretched gadget must still be switched on.

  ‘What did it say?’ she asked.

  ‘Never mind,’ said the vicar quickly. ‘Do you think he’s alive?’

  ‘Poor Mr Barret-Jynes had been lying dead for a week when he was discovered,’ said Mrs Bloxby, forcing herself to remain calm. ‘Mrs Carpie, who does for him, had been on holiday. She found him when she got back. She gave a terribly graphic description of the flies and smell. There is no way that man is alive. I’ll go and look. It was probably some joker hiding behind a tombstone.’

  The vicar’s face cleared and he looked fondly at his wife. How could any supernatural manifestation think him arrogant? ‘I’ll go and have a look,’ he said.

  ‘No, go and write your sermon. I’ll do that.’

  Mrs Bloxby hurried out to the churchyard. When she had banged the earth down flat, it must have triggered the machine.

  She hurriedly dug it up again, opened the bag and switched the machine off.

  She was just wondering where to hide it when she heard her husband calling her. She thrust the bag behind a nearby tombstone just as Alf appeared at the end of the garden.

  ‘It’s that Raisin creature,’ he called. ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘No one at all.’

  Mrs Bloxby hurried into the house to find Agatha and Toni waiting in the sitting room. The vicar had disappeared into his study.

  ‘In the graveyard,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Come with me and get rid of the wretched thing. I’m surprised at you. Don’t you know it’s illegal?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it once I’ve got it,’ said Agatha.

  They retrieved the bag and sat down together in the garden after Mrs Bloxby had found a different bag to hide the gadget in case her husband appeared and recognized the original bag.

  ‘So you see,’ said Agatha, after describing recent events, ‘Freemantle could have been on his way home and seen Simon in his headlights.’

  ‘But how would he recognize Simon?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Toni. ‘Our photos are all on Agatha’s website. It does make some investigations difficult.’

  Agatha’s face turned pink. In her desire for publicity, she had somehow never thought that putting photographs of them all on the Internet might be a stupid idea. Her belief in herself, never very strong, took a plunge.

  ‘We’d better see how Simon is getting on,’ she said. ‘We’ll lock up this listening device in the office safe before we go to the hospital.’

  To Agatha’s irritation, Simon seemed very cheerful. He said he had received a shot of antivenom and would probably be released from hospital on the following day.

  His smile faded as Agatha gave him a blistering lecture on the folly of using an illegal listening device.

  ‘Perhaps we should look around for some snake handlers,’ said Toni. ‘I mean, an ordinary person can’t know how to catch adders and how to handle them. And what about pet shops? Can anyone buy venomous snakes?’

  Agatha opened her capacious handbag and took out her iPad. ‘Let me see.’ She typed busily. ‘Ah, here we are. You need to get a licence from the council. But you don’t need to bother in Ireland. Wonder if any of our suspects have been to Ireland recently?’

  ‘How do we find out?’ asked Toni.

  ‘I wish we had the resources of the police,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll just need to ask them.’

  ‘Perhaps we should widen the field,’ said Toni. ‘I mean, while we’re concentrating on Glossop, Freemantle, Hemingway and Fordyce, it could be someone else we don’t know about. Marston was a serial shagger.’ Agatha winced. ‘There might be someone else with a reason to kill him. And I don’t know why Jessica Fordyce is on the list. She’s alibied up to her armpits. She’s high profile. She could hardly walk into a pet shop and collect adders without being recognized. Anyway, I doubt very much if pet shops sell adders. People go for more exotic things, like boa constrictors.’

  ‘I agree with Toni,’ said Simon. ‘I mean, you’ve only got to look at Jessica. She’s so beautiful and warm-hearted and—’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ snapped Agatha. ‘Look, right at this moment, we have a villain in Freemantle. Any man who could treat his wife that way has a vicious jealous temper.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Toni. ‘It seems more like a woman’s crime. Marston had a drink with someone and that is how he initially got drugged. I can’t see him settling down for a friendly drink with Freemantle. I just remembered, Phil might have another suspect. I visited him yesterday. He said we’ve ignored Carsely’s villainess, Matilda Fraser. You remember, she was arrested for having a cannabis farm three years ago. Her husband, Tim, was believed to be the main villain and she’s got three young children, so she got a suspended sentence, but gossip has it that Tim, who cleared off and can’t be found, was only da
ncing to her tune. She wore the trousers in the house.’

  ‘So what’s she got to do with George?’

  ‘She evidently employed him to do her garden. It was a wreck after all the cannabis plants were taken away. She took down the greenhouse and wanted the rest turned into a conventional garden.’

  ‘Let’s go and see her now,’ said Agatha.

  ‘What do you want me to do when I get out of here?’ asked Simon plaintively.

  ‘There’s a backlog of cases. Start work on some of them. Our clear-up rate is slipping.’

  Chapter Seven

  Toni left her car parked in Mircester. Agatha drove them to Mircester Library to read up on Matilda Fraser. Her lawyer had pleaded eloquently on her behalf, saying she was a battered wife and that Tim Fraser had forced her into allowing the cannabis farm. When police had raided the property, Tim Fraser was missing. His wife said he must have had a tip-off. Police were still searching for him. Carsely is getting more like things were when I lived in London, thought Agatha. People don’t really know their neighbours as much as they used to.

  Matilda lived in the old council estate on the edge of the village. Although it was still referred to as the council estate, most of the houses were now privately owned.

  She lived in a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Unlike the others, which were mainly terraced, it stood alone.

  Matilda Fraser was a scrawny woman with dyed red hair. She was obviously an addict of the tanning parlour because her skin was an unhealthy orange-brown. She had pale hooded eyes and a thin drooping mouth.

  ‘I don’t need your card,’ she said. ‘I know who you are. What do you want?’

  ‘I need your help,’ said Agatha. ‘I am investigating the murder of George Marston.’

  ‘Oh, that? You’d better come in.’