He made up his mind. He phoned Lewes police headquarters and asked them if they had sent a detective to interview Mrs Raisin.
The man in the bar rose as he heard Agatha approach. He turned and smiled. ‘Sit down, Mrs Raisin.’
Agatha let out a gasp of fear. ‘Brian McNally,’ she said.
He was holding a gun on her. How odd the workings of the frightened mind, thought Agatha. I don’t know if that’s a pistol or a revolver. I’m the pre-gun generation. I can’t tell one from the other.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered again.
Agatha sat down, her heart as tumultuous as the raging storm outside.
He raised his voice against the storm. ‘You are one nosy interfering bitch and it’s going to be a pleasure to get rid of you. This casino deal was going to be sweet as a nut. You’ve ruined my business.’
Goodbye, everybody, thought Agatha. She suddenly felt calm. She didn’t know if there was a God, but Mrs Bloxby believed in one, so she asked Mrs Bloxby’s God either to let her die with dignity or to save her.
He levelled the gun and pointed it at her heart.
‘Not going to beg for your life? I’d like that.’
‘Fry in hell, you bastard,’ said Agatha.
At that moment a huge wave crashed against the long windows of the bar, shattering them. As the sea poured in, Brian half turned his head in alarm. A flying shard of glass embedded itself in his neck. Agatha threw herself on the floor and then felt herself being swept up in a tide of seawater towards the bar. As the undertow began to drag her back, she clutched on to the foot rail of the bar.
Then, as the water receded, she stumbled to her feet and ran screaming and splashing through the now flooded reception. Still screaming, she ran up the stairs and pounded on James’s door.
James answered it. Agatha shot past him, babbling, ‘Brian McNally was in the bar. He tried to shoot me.’
‘Sit down,’ ordered James. ‘I’ll call the police.’
The police arrived very quickly, alerted by Nick’s call. Not being able to approach the front of the hotel, they had climbed over the garden wall at the side and had come in through an open fire door.
Agatha had had time to change into dry clothes, which James had fetched from her room.
Sergeant Wilkins was the first to appear. ‘Tell us what happened, Mrs Raisin.’
In a shaky voice Agatha told him all she knew.
‘Brian McNally’s dead,’ said Wilkins. ‘A piece of glass from the shattered windows sliced an artery in his neck. He bled to death. He was nearly swept out to sea. We found his body jammed under a sofa next to the windows. Evidently he got Nick Loncar to get you down to the bar by saying he was a detective and flashing a fake ID. Loncar phoned the police. The police found a fire door open and we assume he got in that way. We got here as soon as we could. It’s a mess out there. The fire brigade and ambulance men will be searching the houses on the seafront in the hope that the residents have survived the storm. You’ll need to come along to the police station and make an official statement.’
‘Can’t you see she’s still in shock?’ demanded James angrily. ‘I’ll bring her along in the morning.’
‘Very well. We’ll send someone for her at seven o’clock.’
‘Make it nine,’ said James. ‘Let her get some sleep.’
Agatha, who in her fantasies about James had imagined being rescued by him and spending the night in his arms, now only wanted to get to the privacy of her own room and have a good cry.
She assured James she would be all right and locked her door. She found she was shivering and stripped off and had a hot shower. She changed into her nightdress and crawled into bed and fell into a sleep tortured with dreams of being lost at sea and fighting up one wave and down the next and never having land in sight.
She awoke early. Sun was streaming in the window. She got out of bed and looked out to see if the sea had receded, forgetting that her room overlooked a weedy garden at the back of the hotel.
Agatha got dressed and went down to the dining room to find it full of shattered glass and upturned tables and chairs. Charles appeared behind her.
‘What a night,’ he said.
‘Haven’t you heard what happened?’
‘No.’
Agatha told him. ‘Let’s go up to my room,’ said Charles. ‘My feet are getting wet. The carpets are sodden.’
Wearing a pair of bright pink Wellington boots, Betty came into the hotel.
‘Oh, Mrs Raisin, the police stopped me outside and told me what had happened. The hotel’s finished. I’ll need to look for another job. There was something odd I should have told you about. I got talking to a young man and he took me for a drink. He asked me all sorts of questions about you and Mr Lacey and when I went to the loo and came back, he’d disappeared.’
‘You’d better tell the police,’ said Agatha.
Upstairs in Charles’s room, Agatha said, ‘I wonder why that young man was asking questions about me.’
‘Probably one of McNally’s boys trying to find out for him what they could,’ said Charles. ‘Before he thought up the detective idea, he maybe planned to try something like sending up a note pretending it came from James. You haven’t any make-up on.’
‘So what?’
‘So you’d feel better if you put a bit of paint on. You’re awfully white. The press will be there and you don’t want to look like a ghost. Cheer up. You know what I think? I think with McNally dead, that will be the end of attempts on your life. The head of the serpent has been chopped off. You’ve the devil’s own luck, Agatha.’
‘Or maybe it was Mrs Bloxby’s God.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Never mind.’
The police came and took Agatha to the police station along with Nick and Betty. They had to walk because the seafront was a shattered mess of fallen slates, bricks, broken glass and flotsam and jetsam.
Agatha was glad she had made up her face because it seemed as if all the world’s press were outside the police station.
Agatha, Nick and Betty were taken off to separate interviewing rooms.
Faced by Barret and Wilkins, Agatha wearily told her story all over again. And again and again.
At last Barret said, ‘Well, that wraps it up. I must say we’re pretty happy. One highly dangerous villain dead. And a money-laundering operation broken for the moment. McNally was the kingpin, and with him out of the way I don’t think you should have anything to fear any longer, Mrs Raisin. I think you should go home.’
‘What about the death of Geraldine Jankers?’
‘We’ve come to the conclusion it had something to do with that jewel theft. If McNally could hire killers to attack you, then he would not have blinked at getting rid of Geraldine to do Charlie Black a favour.’
‘But what if it had nothing to do with McNally?’
‘Case closed. Go home, Mrs Raisin.’
Agatha emerged from the interview room to find Charles waiting for her. ‘I thought you could do with some breakfast before we all start filling in insurance forms.’
‘What for?’
‘All the cars in the car park are a wreck, including your rented car.’ He turned to the desk sergeant. ‘Is there a back way out of this station?’
‘I’ll show you the way.’
‘Unless, Aggie, you want to face the press.’
‘Not now,’ said Agatha.
Agatha was comforted and sustained by a large breakfast of sausage, eggs, bacon, beans and fried bread, washed down with mugs of black coffee.
What was even more surprising was that Charles paid for it.
‘I’d better phone the car rental company as soon as I get back,’ said Agatha. ‘I want to go home today.’
‘Why bother? I phoned my insurance company early this morning and I’ve got a courtesy car waiting for me at a garage outside the town. I’ll run you back to Carsely. I’ll order a taxi to wait for us round the corner from the hotel and
we’ll need to lug our bags round to it. It’ll be a while before anything can drive up to the front.’
Agatha had hoped to escape the press, but the storm damage was also news and television crews were filling the seafront. For once in her life all she said was a gruff ‘No comment.’
She arranged to meet Charles downstairs in an hour’s time. Duckboards had been placed across the wet carpet in the hall.
In her room, Agatha phoned Patrick and told him she was leaving and that she would settle his bill as well as her own. Then she phoned the car rental company and told them what had happened, saying that she would fill in the accident forms and send them off.
The phone rang almost as soon as she replaced the receiver. It was Mrs Bloxby. ‘I’ve just heard the news on the radio,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘Would you like me to drive down there?’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Bloxby. I’m coming home.’
‘I’ll see Doris Simpson and give her a casserole to put in your kitchen. I won’t talk any more because you must be feeling shaken. Ring me when you get home.’
Agatha packed quickly looking sadly at all the flimsy holiday garments that she had hoped to wear. She had just finished when Charles knocked at the door.
‘Taxi’s waiting.’
Charles took hold of Agatha’s case, and they had just reached the top of the stairs when James came to join them.
‘Where on earth have you been, Agatha?’ he demanded.
‘At the police station. I’ve got to go, James.’
‘Agatha, I thought we were going on holiday together.’
‘I’m going home,’ said Agatha. ‘Besides, your car’s a wreck.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t you know? The car park was flooded and all the cars are wrecked.’
‘Look, wait at the hotel until I get a replacement. It should only take a few days. You can stay at the hotel with me until then.’
‘Taxi’s waiting,’ muttered Charles.
‘I can’t wait a minute longer in this arsehole of the world,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m off.’
‘Agatha, I’m warning you. This is your last chance.’
‘Just who the hell do you think you are? Come on, Charles.’
The taxi dropped them off at the garage and Charles signed the papers for a courtesy car – a new Peugeot.
They drove out of Snoth and Agatha heaved a sigh of relief as she watched the housing estates on the outskirts of the town pass by and recede into the distance.
‘Feeling all right about James?’ asked Charles.
‘I don’t feel anything other than relief at getting away from that place.’
Agatha’s mobile phone rang. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ asked Charles.
‘No, I’m going to switch the damned thing off!’
Agatha felt her spirits rise as the miles between her and Snoth-on-Sea increased. Going home! She had never felt so passionately about it before. And when Charles finally turned down the road leading to Carsely, where the trees arched on either side to form a green tunnel, she felt like a hunted animal returning to its burrow.
‘I won’t wait,’ said Charles, carrying her suitcase up to the door. ‘I’ll call you.’
Agatha entered her cottage and cried a welcome to her cats. They looked up at her with indifference, a sort of cat’s way of punishing her for her absence. Dumping her suitcase in the hall, she went through to the kitchen. The promised casserole from Mrs Bloxby was on the kitchen table. ‘Lamb stew,’ said a neat little label on the top.
The doorbell rang, making her jump nervously. She went through to the front door and peered through the spyhole. Bill Wong stood outside. She flung open the door with a cry of welcome.
‘Come in, Bill.’
‘Mrs Bloxby phoned me to say you were coming back.’
Agatha’s cats, Hodge and Boswell, ran to Bill, mewing and purring a welcome.
‘You’ve been having adventures,’ said Bill, following her through to the kitchen.
‘I’m glad it’s all over. Coffee? Oh dear, I haven’t any milk.’ Agatha opened the fridge. ‘Yes, I have. God bless Mrs Bloxby.’
‘I’ll have a cup. So it’s all over, is it?’
‘The police down there have come to the conclusion that one of Brian McNally’s hitmen killed Mrs Jankers.’
‘Why?’
Agatha plugged in the kettle. ‘Well, because of the jewels from that robbery. He must have demanded them, she said she hadn’t got them, and got killed.’
Bill said, ‘Somehow, the timing’s out. Charlie Black at that time was out of prison, even if he had an alibi, so it stands to reason that McNally wouldn’t step in until after Charlie got arrested.’
‘The police down there are happy,’ said Agatha mulishly. ‘What a long time this kettle’s taking to boil.’
‘You’ve only just plugged it in. You must have had several bad frights.’
‘Yes, I did. But I find it’s not healthy to brood on them.’
‘Not healthy to block everything out of your mind either.’
The kettle boiled. Agatha put instant coffee in two mugs, filled them with hot water, carried them to the table and then lifted the milk out of the fridge.
‘What are you trying to say?’ asked Agatha. ‘Do sit down and help yourself to milk.’
Bill pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. Hodge climbed up on him and hung round his shoulders like a fur stole and Boswell lay on his lap.
‘I’m saying that I think Geraldine Jankers might have been murdered by someone in that hotel. Just a feeling I’ve got.’
‘You weren’t there. I think the police have got it right this time.’
‘Where’s James?’
‘Still there, as far as I know.’
‘I thought you would come back with him.’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ snapped Agatha. ‘How’s your coffee?’
‘Okay.’
And how’s your love life?’
‘Dormant. Tell you what, run through the Jankers case again for me.’
‘Bill, I’m tired. I don’t want to think about it any more.’
‘Then I’ll be on my way.’ Bill gently lifted down her cats and stood up. ‘There’s just one interesting thing you might not know.’
‘What’s that?’ Agatha followed him as he walked to the door.
‘Cyril Hammond has a record.’
‘Of what?’
‘As a young man he assaulted a woman in a pub. Mind you, both of them were drunk, but he half strangled her before the customers could pull him off. Charged with actual bodily harm and sent to the cooler for eighteen months. Goodbye, Agatha.’
Bill walked out of the front door and closed it gently behind him.
‘I didn’t even hear that,’ Agatha told her cats. ‘I don’t even want to have heard that.’
She carried her suitcase up to the bedroom and unpacked her clothes. She looked sadly down at all the ridiculous filmy underwear and then stuffed it all into a bag to leave in the clothes bin at Budgen’s supermarket in Moreton.
After she had had a bath and changed her clothes and put on fresh make-up, she decided to visit Mrs Bloxby.
Before she left she remembered guiltily that she had sent Harry to find out about Fred’s businesses in Lewisham. She phoned him up and told him to forget it.
‘Why?’ demanded Harry.
‘Because the police say she was murdered by some associate of McNally’s.’
‘You believe that?’
‘Yes. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.’
‘Are you all right? I read about the last attempt on your life in the papers.’
‘I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The vicar seemed to delight in telling Agatha that his wife was not at home, so Agatha retreated to her cottage, heated up a portion of the casserole in the microwave and ate it at the kitchen table.
She had just finished when the doorbell rang. Again Agatha peered through
the spyhole and saw Mrs Bloxby.
She flung open the door in welcome. ‘My husband told me you were looking for me,’ said Mrs Bloxby, ‘but I was out on parish duties.’ Actually, what her husband had said was, “That bloody Raisin woman’s been round here asking for you.’
‘Come in. I’ve just eaten some of that casserole you gave me. Delicious. Thank you so much. We’ll go into the sitting room. Doris has left the fire ready to be lit. What a summer! At least it’s stopped people complaining about global warming.’
Agatha lit the fire. As she straightened up, that stabbing pain in her hip struck her again.
‘Drink?’
‘I’d like a sherry,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘I am really quite tired.’
Agatha poured her a glass and then one for herself. Mrs Bloxby sat down on the sofa and Agatha in an armchair beside the fire. ‘I should use this room more,’ said Agatha, looking around. ‘I always seem to live in the kitchen.’
‘Are you feeling all right after your adventures?’
Agatha sighed. ‘I feel safe now that I’m home. It’s all made me grateful for what I thought were the piffling little cases at the agency – you know, lost dogs and cats.’
‘They are very important,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Think how you would feel if your cats went missing. And how are things with James?’
‘Definitely finished. Do you know he even gave me an ultimatum? He offered me this holiday trip again and said it was my last chance.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘It’s a good thing in a way. It’s brought me to my senses at last.’
‘I hope you have not only finished with James but with everything to do with that dreadful place.’
‘Snoth? What a name! Yes, definitely. Everything solved.’
‘Including the murder of Geraldine Jankers?’
‘Yes, the police have decided it was one of McNally’s hit men.’
‘How convenient,’ murmured the vicar’s wife.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘It’s just that it seems too neat. Perhaps it was because I was part of it for a little while.’
Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor Page 16