by M C Beaton
Agatha gave her name to the desk sergeant and was told to wait. And wait she did, longing for a cigarette. It was a full half-hour before she was summoned.
She was led to an interview room, noticing it had escaped the redecoration. The same scarred table with coffee-ring marks and old cigarette burns from the days when smoking was allowed. The same dull green walls.
‘Sit down, Mrs Raisin,’ said Wilkes. Bill was not there. Instead there was a woman in a grey power suit. She had a drab, sallow face, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a thin mouth and hooded eyes.
She put a tape in the recording machine and announced, ‘Interview with Mrs Agatha Raisin commencing. Detective Inspector Wilkes and Detective Sergeant Collins conducting the interview. Time ten-five a.m.’
Agatha realized with a sinking heart as the interview began that Collins was going to ask all the questions. She had considered Wilkes severe in times past, but Collins fired questions at her in an aggressive manner and with an accusatory tone.
‘Now,’ snapped Collins at one point, ‘you listened at the dining-room window, according to Sir Charles, and yet you failed to tell the police what you had heard. I have here Sir Charles Fraith’s statement. Let me read you a bit.’
She read out an accurate report of what they had both heard as they had listened outside the window.
‘Would you agree with this?’ asked Collins.
‘Yes, that is correct.’
‘So why didn’t you tell us? Is there anything else you are hiding from us?’
‘No,’ said Agatha miserably, feeling her face turn red. ‘I’ve told you everything.’
‘You consider yourself an experienced detective?’ sneered Collins.
Agatha sat silently, glaring at her.
‘Very well. We will accept your lame excuse for the moment . . .’
The questioning went on remorselessly for two hours. Feeling as if she had been mugged, Agatha finally emerged blinking in the sunlight, and looked outside the police station. Charles’s car was gone.
She told herself she should be used to his erratic behaviour. Agatha made her way to her office. Her small staff were waiting for her to get the day’s instructions.
Agatha was about to begin when there was a knock at the office door and then Alison Tamworthy walked in. Despite the sunny day, she was wearing a tweed skirt and cotton blouse under a Barbour. Her normally pugnacious face showed signs of recent crying.
She stared at Agatha. ‘I don’t care what the others say,’ she said. ‘I have to know.’
‘Please sit down,’ urged Agatha. ‘You want us to find out who killed your mother-in-law?’
‘That’s it. The others say, “Oh, just let it go.” All they think about is the money. But I can’t go on wondering and wondering. They don’t know it, but suspicion will hang over the lot of them until this is cleared up. I have my own money.’
Agatha signalled to Mrs Freedman, who came forward with a notebook. ‘I’ll need all the names and addresses,’ said Agatha.
‘I can give you that,’ said Alison. ‘Jimmy lives above the shop but has moved into the manor and will remain there until we decide what to do with the estate. They are all still at the manor. I want you to come back with me. I want to tell them all that I have engaged you.’
‘Do you think one of them did it?’ asked Agatha.
‘I can’t believe that. I think it must be one of the troublemakers from the village. Paul Chambers is the ringleader.’
‘Right,’ said Agatha. ‘Mrs Freedman will draw up a contract for you to sign. Toni, get Mrs Tamworthy a coffee.’
While Mrs Freedman prepared the contract and Alison sipped coffee, Agatha gave Phil and Patrick their instructions for the day. Toni looked at her dismally. Agatha appeared to have forgotten her existence.
‘Right,’ said Agatha when the contract was signed. ‘You go ahead to the manor, Mrs Tamworthy, and break the news to them that you have employed me and I will follow after, say, half an hour.’
When Alison had left, Agatha grinned. ‘Great! Nice to get something different from divorces. Toni, I want you to come with me to see if that famous luck of yours can dig up something.’
As Agatha drove towards Lower Tapor, Toni sat in the passenger seat in a state of excitement. She, Toni Gilmour, was going to a manor house! Ideas of grandeur culled from Merchant Ivory films floated through her head. Would there be a butler? Tea on the terrace? Croquet on the lawn? She was wearing a denim blouse and jeans and wished Agatha had let her go home to change into something more suitable.
As they approached the gates, Agatha said, ‘I want you to study each one of them and give me your impressions. The police will still be there and they won’t be happy to see us, but I’m used to that.’
As Agatha parked the car, she could see Bill Wong’s head through a window of the mobile police unit. He appeared to be interviewing someone.
Alison met them at the door. ‘Sir Henry is being interviewed again. The rest are in the drawing room. Come with me.’
Jimmy, Bert, Sadie and Fran were slumped in chairs in the drawing room. They all stared angrily at Agatha. Bert said, ‘I have told my wife that I cannot see what you can do that the police can’t. Waste of money.’
‘It’s my money I’m using,’ snapped Alison.
‘Well, we’re not going to cooperate,’ said Fran.
Alison strode to the fireplace and stood facing them with her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t you all see! If this murder isn’t solved, it’ll hang over our heads forever. People will look at us and say, “That’s the family that murdered their mother.” Say we decide to sell. People will try to drive the price down because of our shameful reputation.’
The money bit struck a chord, thought Toni, covertly studying the faces in the room.
There was a long silence. Glances were exchanged. At last Bert said with obvious reluctance, ‘Oh, go ahead. It shouldn’t bother any of us because none of us did it.’
‘Mrs Tamworthy –’ began Agatha.
‘Call me Alison.’
‘Very well. If forensics have finished with the kitchen, I’d like to have a look at it.’
‘Come with me,’ said Alison.
Agatha swung round to Toni. ‘Why don’t you sit down for a bit,’ she ordered the girl. ‘I’ll be back presently.’
When she had left, Sadie, Fran, Bert and Jimmy all looked at Toni for a long moment. Then Sadie picked up a magazine and began to read, Jimmy walked to the window and stared out, Fran began to stitch at a tapestry frame and Bert opened a newspaper.
Toni looked around the room. The manor house was not what she had expected. There was no feeling of antiquity. From the outside, it looked like an old building, maybe eighteenth century, made of mellow Cotswold stone. To judge from the drawing room, it looked as if everything old had been ripped out of the house, and an interior designer brought in. The sofa and chairs were chintz-covered and without any sign of comfortable wear. Toni thought it looked like a hotel which had been decorated to look like a manor house.
Her gaze fell on Jimmy. He was standing at the window chewing his fingernails. There was an air of defeat about him. Fran, with her tightly permed hair and discontented face, did not look upper-class. Toni thought that if you put her in a flowered apron and a turban and stuck a cigarette in her mouth, then she would look like one of those northern women in mill towns one saw in old photographs of World War II.
Bert, too, looked out of place with his red face and bald head. And Sadie, small and dumpy, was of a type that could be seen on any council estate. Agatha had told her on the drive to Lower Tapor that she was married to a baronet. Odd. Toni, who had expected them all to be like Sir Charles, was disappointed.
Agatha found there was not much to see in the kitchen. Any makings of salad and any utensils that might have been used preparing the high tea had been taken away for analysis.
She turned to Alison. ‘Do you know how long the police are going to be here?’
‘And then what are everyone’s plans?’
‘We’re all going to the lawyer’s late this afternoon to make sure the will is still the same. That is, divided amongst us four ways. After that, I don’t know. Fran suggested we should all stay together for a few days to decide what to do about the estate. Fran wants to keep it in the family and Sadie would like that as well. But Jimmy wants to sell the place and so does Bert.’
‘You see,’ said Agatha, ‘I can’t get much further while the police are here. Can you continue to try to persuade the rest of them that it would be in their interest for me to try to find out who murdered Mrs Tamworthy?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘In that case, I’ll concentrate on the village today. Paul Chambers is the ringleader of the protesters. Where does he live?’
‘He owns the pub. He lives upstairs.’
‘Does the pub belong to the estate?’
‘Yes, and the rest of the village.’
‘Now the two women who served lunch. What are their names and where do they live?’
‘One is Doris Crampton. She lives in Pear Tree Cottage. The other is her sister, Mavis. They live together. They do the cleaning here and my mother-in-law would engage them when we all met here for meals to wait at table. Oh, it’s all so awful. There are police out scouring the countryside for hemlock.’
‘Will they find it?’
‘I should think so. It’s pretty common.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Agatha sharply.
‘We Googled it on Fran’s computer this morning.’
‘I’ll collect Toni and be off to the village.’
As Agatha drove out and checked signposts to Lower Tapor as the easy entrance to the manor was in Upper Tapor, she asked Toni, ‘Well, what did you make of them?’
‘I can’t quite believe it,’ said Toni. ‘It’s like a stage set. They don’t belong. I dunno. I mean, they look like a group of people who’ve gone to one of those hotels where they do murder weekends. You know, where they dress up in thirties costumes and one of them plays Poirot. They look as if they’re waiting to put their costumes on and wondering which one of them is going to play the murderee.
‘I don’t know anything about manor houses, but I thought they would look more at ease in their surroundings. Of course the place itself is more like a hotel.’
‘Evidently Fran and Sadie have grand ideas and both would like to be ladies of the manor,’ said Agatha. ‘But surely not that manor house. But I doubt if either of them would want to buy the others out. Unless, of course, Sir Henry Field is rich. Alison said she has her own money. I wonder just how much she has got. Here we are at the pub. Be prepared to be insulted.’
A few locals stared at them sullenly as they walked into the stone-flagged bar. Paul Chambers was behind the bar sitting on a high stool, reading a newspaper.
He looked up at Agatha and his eyes hardened. ‘I heard about you,’ he said. ‘Some sort of snoop.’
‘I am a private detective employed by the family to find out who murdered Mrs Tamworthy,’ said Agatha.
He had unusually pale eyes and a shock of fair hair and fair lashes. ‘You’re looking in the wrong place,’ he said. He looked at Toni. ‘You employing child labour these days?’
‘Watch your mouth, mate,’ snarled Toni and Agatha looked at her in surprise.
But Paul grinned. ‘Feisty, aren’t you? It’s no use bothering me.’
‘You were furious at Mrs Tamworthy when you learned she planned to sell the place,’ said Agatha.
‘Yeah. But I wouldn’t have murdered the old trout. What good would it do? None of that lot has enough money to keep the place going.’
‘What about Bert Tamworthy? He runs the brickworks.’
‘Sure, but the brickworks are part of the estate, see?’
‘What about Sir Henry Field?’
‘Got a little money from a family trust. Enough to keep him from working too hard for a living, but that’s all.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Made it my business.’
‘Are you sure Mrs Tamworthy had planning permission to build houses on her land?’
‘Sure. There’s a field that’s never used other side of the six-acre. There’s ruined houses there. There were about ten of them in the nineteenth century. The manor was owned then by a Jeremy Twistle. He chucked the tenants out because he wanted the extra land for agriculture. But he died before he could do anything about it and the houses fell into ruin. Mrs Tamworthy claimed that as the land had never been used for agriculture, she had a right to build on it and got planning permission. We weren’t having any of that.’
‘Why?’ asked Agatha. ‘The countryside is short of housing.’
‘It’s damn short of affordable housing,’ said Paul. ‘She’d build houses for rich incomers and we’ve got enough incomers in the Cotswolds driving house prices up so that the villagers can’t afford to live in them.’
‘If the villagers would stop selling their homes to incomers,’ said Agatha, ‘then the prices wouldn’t become inflated.’
‘What do you know about anything? Shove off.’
‘Were you up at the manor house yesterday?’ asked Toni.
‘No, I wasn’t, cheeky-face.’
‘And you can prove it?’
‘Course I can, but I’m not going to waste time telling a slip of a girl like you. Tell you what, come back this evening when you’ve got rid of Granny here, and maybe I’ll stand you a drink.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Toni.
Agatha felt very low as they left the pub. She was in her early fifties, her legs were good and her hair glossy, but set against the glowing youth of Toni, she didn’t stand a chance.
She swallowed her pride and said, ‘Maybe you should take him up on his offer.’
‘Where will you be?’ asked Toni. ‘I doubt if there are any buses around here.’
‘We’ll interview the sisters and then I think we should go back and pack overnight bags. I’ll find a hotel near here and book us in. I’ll drop you off at the pub and I’ll be able to start work at the manor early the next morning.’
She drove slowly around the small village until they located Pear Tree Cottage.
One of the sisters answered the door. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘What d’yer want?’
She was, as Agatha remembered her, fat and frumpy. Her hair was tied up in a scarf and she had an old-fashioned flowery apron stretched across her bulk.
‘I am a private detective,’ said Agatha. ‘I wanted to ask you a few questions about yesterday.’
The woman raised her voice and screeched, ‘Doris!’ Her sister came into the room. ‘Here’s a nosy parker come to ask us about yesterday,’ said Mavis.
‘Cheek!’ said Doris. ‘Get along with you. You ain’t the perleece.’ She seized a broom from the corner and brandished it. ‘Git!’
So Agatha and Toni retreated. Agatha decided to ask Phil Marshall to call on them. He might fare better.
The hotel that Agatha found for them early that evening struck Toni as being more like a manor house than the Tamworthy one. It was very expensive and she tried not to feel intimidated.
When they had checked in, Agatha said, ‘I’ll drive you to the pub and call back for you in an hour. Then we’ll have dinner. I’ve had nothing but a sandwich all day.’
Toni felt that her luck had run out. The pub was busy and this time there was a woman behind the bar with Paul. She was gypsy-looking with ratty dead-black hair, a thin mouth, glistening black eyes and a formidable bosom.
‘Here you are,’ Paul greeted her. ‘What are you having?’
‘Tonic water.’
‘Have some gin in it.’
‘Maybe later.’
‘Paul! We’ve got other customers waiting,’ shouted the barmaid.
Paul wink
ed at Toni. ‘That’s Elsie, jealous as sin.’
‘Your wife?’
‘No, but she’d like to be.’
‘Paul!’
‘Come back at midnight,’ whispered Paul. ‘Meet me outside. I can tell you a lot.’
‘Right you are,’ said Toni. She drank her tonic, retreated outside the pub and phoned Agatha.
When Agatha arrived, Toni told her about the proposed meeting.
‘Does he know you don’t have a car?’
‘Don’t think so,’ said Toni.
‘We’ll go back to the hotel for dinner and then I’ll come back with you at midnight and drop you near the pub.’
Toni was glad of Agatha’s robust presence in the hotel dining room. The waiter was supercilious until Agatha told him to take that look off his frost-bitten face and give them some decent service. She said this in a very loud voice. He was replaced by a servile waitress.
‘They do try to give themselves airs,’ said Agatha. ‘It’s all the fault of the English. They don’t think a place is classy unless they’re being humiliated. Mind you, this pepper steak is excellent. I wonder if they do catering. I planned to cook my Christmas dinner myself but perhaps it might be safer to let someone else do it.’
‘Do you have a traditional Christmas?’ asked Toni wistfully.
‘Not yet. But I’m going to have one this time. I want a real Dickensian one with turkey and holly and, oh, you know –’ Agatha waved her arms – ‘the whole thing.’
‘We never had a proper Christmas,’ said Toni.
‘Well, you can help me with mine. I’m hoping my ex will be back from his travels in time for it.’
‘Your ex?’
‘James Lacey. He’s a travel writer.’
‘So it was an amicable divorce?’
‘Yes, we’re friends now. But I really think he’s never got over me.’
‘Have you got over him?’ asked Toni.
‘Eat your steak.’
Later that evening, Agatha drove Toni near the village pub but where her car could not be seen. Before Toni got out of the car, Agatha handed her a can of pepper spray. ‘Just in case he tries anything funny. Keep it in your hand.’