Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘I can’t go along to the police station,’ said Patrick. ‘There’s a policeman on guard outside the hotel.’

  ‘Is there anyone you could phone?’

  ‘I’ve got a contact at the station, but he won’t want to speak to me if there’s something important going on.’

  There was a tentative tap at the door. ‘Come in,’ shouted Agatha.

  Cyril and his wife Dawn entered. ‘This is terrible,’ said Cyril. ‘Poor Wayne. Poor Chelsea. Who could have done such a thing?’

  ‘It could be that ex-husband of Mrs Jankers,’ said Patrick. ‘He’s just out of prison and he might have come looking for the jewels.’

  ‘Wayne wouldn’t have had them,’ exclaimed Cyril. ‘I mean, after all this time. Charlie got twelve years.’

  He focused his attention on Harry. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Harry works for me. And this is Sir Charles Fraith, a friend of mine.’

  ‘I’m frightened,’ wailed Dawn. ‘What if we’re next?’

  ‘Well, I’m hungry,’ said Charles. ‘We could all go to the dining room.’

  ‘Not there.’ Agatha repressed a shudder. ‘The food’s awful.’

  Harry picked up a copy of the Yellow Pages. ‘I’ll order something in. What about pizza?’

  ‘That’ll do,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll take your drink orders and we’ll get them up from the bar.’

  Harry searched the Yellow Pages. ‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Luigi’s Pizzeria. What about just getting simple ones like cheese and tomato?’

  They all agreed. Harry phoned and gave the order and told them to deliver the pizzas to the hotel room.

  ‘How is Mr Jankers?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘He’s lying down. He says he’s not ill but it’s all been a great shock,’ said Cyril.

  They talked in a desultory manner until the drinks and then the pizzas arrived.

  ‘I wish I could get out and see what’s happening,’ said Harry. ‘There must be a fire escape here.’

  ‘There’s a fire escape at the end of the corridor,’ said Agatha. ‘You could try that way but don’t get caught.’

  Harry quickly finished his pizza. ‘I’ll see if I can discover anything.’

  Harry went along the corridor and pushed open the fire door. He wedged a business card in it to keep it open and then went nimbly down the rusty stairs.

  He found himself in an unkempt garden. He saw a gate leading on to the promenade. It was padlocked and chained. He climbed over it. Waves were buffeting the sea-front and washing across the promenade.

  He ran along the front, keeping to the buildings, pausing as a particularly large wave smashed over, and then running on when it retreated. There were sandbags outside some of the houses to stop them from being flooded.

  Harry wondered why the council didn’t do anything about the increasingly high tides.

  He turned off towards the police station and saw a crowd of reporters and photographers outside.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked one reporter.

  ‘We just know the police brought a man in for questioning. He had a blanket over his head, so we couldn’t see him. The police say they’ll make a statement later.’

  Harry couldn’t find out any more, so he dodged the waves again and got back to the hotel.

  When he reached Patrick’s room, there was a note in the door. ‘Downstairs in the bar.’

  Harry went down and found the party minus Cyril and his wife. ‘Where’s Cyril gone?’ he asked.

  ‘Upstairs, comforting Mr Jankers.’

  The day dragged on and it was six o’clock before Detective Inspector Barret and Detective Sergeant Wilkins arrived.

  Cyril and Dawn joined them in the bar, having been summoned by the detectives.

  ‘We have arrested Charles Black, Mrs Jankers’s ex-husband,’ said Barret. ‘He was spotted in a pub outside the town called the Feathers.’ Agatha winced. Charlie had probably been in the bar when she and Harry had been discussing the jewels. ‘We found a quantity of jewellery in his car along with a sawn-off shotgun. It’s an open-and-shut case. He has been charged with the murders of Wayne and Chelsea Weldon.’

  Cyril brightened. ‘That means we’re free to leave.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Barret. ‘You, Mrs Raisin, and your travelling circus may leave, but I am afraid that you, Mr Hammond, your wife and Mr Jankers will need to stay a few days longer.’

  ‘Why?’ wailed Dawn.

  ‘It appears that on the night Mrs Jankers was murdered, Charles Black was in London at a gambling club and did not leave until two in the morning. There are plenty of witnesses to attest to that fact. So that leaves us with the unsolved murder of Geraldine Jankers. We will be back tomorrow to take both of you and Mr Jankers over your earlier statements.’

  ‘We’ll never get out of here,’ moaned Dawn.

  ‘So what are we going to do now?’ asked Patrick after the Hammonds and the detectives had left.

  ‘Wait!’ Agatha took out her phone and called Phil Marshall. ‘How are things going at the agency?’ she asked.

  ‘I wish you’d get back here,’ said Phil. ‘There’s a lot of work come in and I can barely cope.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Agatha rang off.

  ‘There’s a lot of work back in Mircester. I think you, Patrick, and you, Harry, should return to the office. If I get any leads, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Alone at last, darling,’ said Charles the next morning after they had waved goodbye to Patrick and Harry.

  ‘I hope you are here to help me,’ said Agatha. ‘The trouble is if you see some pretty girl you know, you’ll be off like a shot.’

  ‘I don’t know anybody in the whole wide world who would want to visit a place like this. I haven’t seen the mysterious Mr Jankers.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better start all over again,’ sighed Agatha, ‘in case Mr Jankers might have some idea. Cyril had known Geraldine for a long time. Maybe she knew something unsavoury about him and threatened to tell his wife. Let’s go up to Fred Jankers’s room.’

  Fred Jankers was sitting in a chair wrapped in a blanket. ‘It’s the shock of all this,’ he said. ‘I can’t seem to get warm.’

  Agatha introduced Charles and then asked, ‘Did the police inform you that Charles Black has been arrested for the murders of Wayne and Chelsea?’

  ‘Yes. I want to go home, but they say I’ve to stay here for a bit because they are still investigating Geraldine’s death.’

  ‘In the short time you knew your wife, did she seem afraid of anyone?’

  He shook his head. ‘Geraldine wasn’t afraid of anyone.’

  ‘Not even of Charlie Black?’

  ‘No. Not as far as I know.’

  ‘When you first met her at ballroom dancing, was there anyone else in the offing? I mean, did she seem romantically involved with anyone?’

  He wrinkled his brow and pulled the blanket closer up to his chin. ‘Let me think. She did come along with some chap. What was his name? Peter somebody.’

  ‘Where was this dancing class?’

  ‘In Lewisham.’ He lowered the blanket and fished his wallet out of his pocket. ‘I think I still have their card.’ He took a small pile of cards out of his capacious wallet and flicked through them. ‘Ah, here it is. “Jane and Jon’s Ballroom Dancing, Cherry Street, Lewisham.”’

  Agatha took the card. ‘I’ll just borrow this for the time being.’

  When they left Mr Jankers, Agatha said, ‘We may as well go up to London tomorrow. I can’t get much more out of Cyril or his wife or Fred Jankers. Who knows? She had a habit of annoying people. She was once married to a criminal. Blast! I wonder if Charlie did the job himself. Say he had an accomplice and the accomplice was after the jewels and got down here before Charlie. Let’s see if this place has a library so we can check the old newspapers.’

  When they went downstairs, Mr Beeston was checking in members of the press and looking delighted with this unexpect
ed custom.

  Agatha saw Cyril in the bar and went in, followed by Charles. ‘That armed robbery,’ she asked Cyril, ‘when exactly did it take place?’

  ‘Let me see – Charlie was on remand for six months before it got to court. It would be in 1994. In October, I think it was.’

  They thanked him and went out in search of the library, finding it among the winding streets that formed part of the original town. It was a red sandstone building, or rather, it had been red, but it was one of those buildings that had never been cleaned up, and so it was mostly black with old soot.

  They went in and found the newspaper section. Whatever money had been stinted on the outside of the building had been used on the inside, which was bright, cheerful and modernized. But they met with a setback. The library only contained records of what had been in the local papers. They went back out again and found a nearby pub.

  Agatha took out her phone and called a journalist she used to know and asked if he could look up the records for an armed robbery that had taken place in October of ’94 at a jeweller’s in Lewisham, promising him an exclusive if she solved a murder case she was on. She gave him her mobile phone number and he said he would ring her back.

  ‘So what really happened to dear James?’ asked Charles.

  ‘He cleared off. I told you.’

  ‘Oh, really? I thought you two were off on a second honeymoon or something.’

  ‘When the police told us we were free to leave this horrible burg, he suggested we go on holiday somewhere in the south of France. But I couldn’t leave the case, so off he went. He sent me a postcard with the address, expecting me to join him, but I didn’t feel like it.’

  ‘Good heavens, Aggie grows up at last.’

  ‘Don’t call me Aggie!’

  Agatha’s phone rang. The journalist said, ‘You could have found it yourself on your computer. Here it is. Armed robbery. One Charles Black arrested. His partner got away.’

  ‘Have you got a name for the partner?’

  ‘Pete Silen. Police were looking for him but never found him.’

  Agatha thanked him and hung up. ‘He says Charlie’s partner was a man called Pete Silen. The police never got him. Now our Geraldine turned up on the dance floor initially with someone called Peter.’

  ‘Long shot.’

  ‘But worth trying. We’ll go tomorrow.’

  Chapter Six

  Agatha and Charles drove off early and headed for London. Agatha was glad that Charles was driving because she had slept badly and knew that the traffic on the way to Lewisham would be horrendous.

  Agatha wondered how long Charles would stay on the case. In the past, he had had a habit of suddenly deciding to leave her, either because he had a date or because he had become bored. He led a self-contained, orderly bachelor life and maintained that lifestyle by doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted to.

  They stopped at a roadside restaurant for breakfast.

  ‘Why should James want to take me to such a dreadful place?’ Agatha burst out. ‘He said he used to go there as a child.’

  ‘He’s in his fifties, isn’t he?’ asked Charles. Agatha nodded. ‘So we’re talking about a little over forty years ago. Probably was a sweet little watering hole then. Shops selling ice cream and postcards, Punch and Judy and donkey rides on the beach, things like that. I’ll bet you he remembered every day as sunny as well. One does, and forgets all the rainy days. I mean, where did you go on holiday when you were a child?’

  Agatha remembered occasional holidays at holiday camps with a shudder. Her parents were usually drunk and raucous.

  ‘Here and there,’ she said vaguely. ‘Anyway, he’s probably lazing in the south of France and basking in the sun. If you’ve finished your breakfast, we’d better get going.’

  They circled around Lewisham until they found a car park. Charles looked up Cherry Street in the London A to Z he kept in the car. ‘It’s right off the High Street,’ he said. ‘Not far to walk. I see you’ve taken to wearing flat shoes. Ah, when love dies, women lose two and a half inches in height.’

  ‘I’m not even going to reply to that,’ said Agatha. ‘Come on.’

  Jane and Jon’s Ballroom Dancing was situated above an antique shop. As they mounted the stairs, they could hear the strains of ‘La Paloma’. ‘Tango time,’ commented Charles. ‘I can just see you with a rose in your teeth, Aggie.’

  ‘Stop being frivolous,’ snapped Agatha. ‘This is a murder investigation, remember?’

  They opened the door and went in. Six couples were gyrating in a genteel version of the tango. A tall thin woman wearing a leotard and black tights came forward to meet them.

  ‘Are you interested in joining the class?’ she asked. She thrust out a bony hand. ‘I’m Jane.’

  ‘I’m a private detective,’ said Agatha, ‘and this is Sir Charles Fraith.’

  Jane looked alarmed. Her pencilled eyebrows rose nearly into her black hair. ‘It’s all rubbish,’ she said. ‘I never touched the silly man.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Didn’t Mrs Smither send you?’

  ‘Never heard of her.’

  Jane visibly relaxed. ‘We’ve had some trouble because some woman is claiming I made a pass at her husband, but you should see Mr Smither! Fat and fifty, my dear.’

  The music stopped. ‘Excuse me,’ said Jane. She started the CD over again and called, ‘Once more and put some feeling into it.’

  Agatha wondered why Jane was dressed more for a ballet class than for ballroom dancing. As if reading her thoughts, Jane said, ‘I take them through some ballet exercises first to limber them up. Now what can I do for you?’

  Agatha told her about the murder of Geraldine and how Geraldine had first come to the classes with a man named Peter.

  ‘Oh, I remember her,’ said Jane. ‘Seemed a quiet woman but quite a nifty dancer. I believe she hit it off with Mr Jankers very quickly and then we never saw Peter Brody again.’

  Are you sure his name was Brody? Not Silen?’

  ‘Definitely Brody.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘Come into the office and I’ll find his address.’ She turned to the class. ‘Swoop, Hugh. Swoop and dip.’

  The small man called Hugh dipped so far, his partner fell to the floor with him on top of her.

  ‘Leave the swoop for the moment,’ said Jane in a tired voice. And to Agatha, ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Is Jon your husband?’ asked Agatha as Jane led them into the cubicle that served as an office.

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Pentonville.’

  ‘In prison? Why?’

  ‘Dealing drugs. So I’ve got to manage the business on my own.’ She squeezed in behind a desk and switched on a computer. ‘Let me see. Brody. Ah, here we are. Fifty-two B Carriage Way.’

  ‘Where is Carriage Way?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Go outside and turn right. It’s the fourth turning on your right.’

  They thanked her and left.

  ‘I suppose we couldn’t really expect this Peter to be Peter Silen,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, if he was that easy to find, the police would have arrested him ages ago.’

  ‘Still, he might shed some light on Geraldine’s past,’ said Charles. ‘Here we are. Carriage Way. I thought with a name like that they’d be mews cottages.’

  They walked along past tall stuccoed Victorian buildings until they came to number fifty-two. ‘B must be the basement,’ said Agatha.

  They opened an iron gate and walked down stone steps. ‘No bell,’ said Charles, knocking on the door.

  A few moments passed and then the door was opened by a small wiry man wearing a tank top and stained jeans. He had sandy hair and small features: small brown eyes, small mouth and small nose. Charles guessed he was in his fifties.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  Agatha launched into her spiel of being a private dete
ctive investigating the death of Geraldine Jankers.

  ‘What’s it to do with me?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, you used to escort Mrs Jankers to the ballroom classes. We thought if you could tell us a bit about her, about her friends, anyone who might have hated her, that sort of thing, it would be a great help.’

  He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Come in.’

  He ushered them into a sparsely furnished but tidy living room. Apart from an old-fashioned hatstand loaded with coats, the furniture consisted of three hard upright chairs, a table and a large television set.

  They sat down at the table. ‘How did you meet Geraldine?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘I met her at the market. I was shopping, so was she. We got to talking and went for a drink. She said she had never learned to dance properly and one thing led to another and I volunteered to take her. I only went with her to two classes and then she got her claws into Jankers.’

  ‘So you didn’t know anything about her before then?’

  ‘No. I thought it would be a bit of fun, but I tell you, I was fed up when she left me standing to go chasing after Jankers. Wait a moment. I thought the police got the murderer. Some armed robber.’

  ‘Charlie Black murdered the son and his wife,’ said Agatha. ‘But he’s got a cast-iron alibi for the night Mrs Jankers was killed.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. I thought she was nice at first but she turned out to be a bit of a bitch. I told her I was angry with her for getting me to sign on for the classes and then dumping me. She had seemed quite refined, but then she gave me a mouthful that would have made a sailor blush.’

  ‘What do you do for a living, Mr Brody?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Oh, this and that. Why?’

  ‘Just making conversation.’

  Peter Brody seemed in that moment to change from quite an amiable man into someone hard and angry.

  ‘Look, bugger off, the pair of you,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got time for this. I’ll show you out.’

  Charles turned round as he and Agatha approached the door. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Silen,’ said Charles.

  Peter reached behind the hatstand and pulled out a sawn-off shotgun. He held it on them. ‘Get back in the room.’