Hiss and Hers: An Agatha Raisin Mystery Read online

  Bill did not approve of Simon. He remembered how Simon had once been chasing Toni, then had gone into the army and got engaged and dumped his bride-to-be at the altar.

  Shifty little swine, thought Bill as he gazed anxiously up the road.

  ‘Are we never going to get there?’ asked Jessica petulantly.

  ‘I’m keeping to the back roads,’ said Rex. ‘Don’t want anyone to see the car.’

  ‘Where are the snakes?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘In the boot. Shut up and let me drive.’

  Agatha could feel rage building up inside her. If the car slowed enough, she could risk rolling out. But what if Rex had a gun?

  She searched in her handbag, looking for something she could use as a weapon, her fingers moving quietly through the contents, frightened any sound would alert Rex. Her fingers closed on a canister of extra-strength lacquer. They were now out on the Fosse Way.

  ‘Hell! Blue lights in the distance,’ said Rex. ‘I’ll swing off here at Harn.’ Agatha was hoping he would make a slow turn, but he swung the wheel violently, and at the same time, she leaned right forward and sprayed the lacquer into his face.

  Rex screamed and let go of the wheel. The car, out of control, plunged into an all-night kebab stand parked on a lay-by. A huge red-hot doner kebab crashed through the front windows of the car and landed on Jessica’s lap. A flood of coffee from an urn cascaded into Rex’s cut and bleeding face. Agatha and Toni had grabbed on to the back of the front seats and crouched down at the last minute to stop themselves from being thrown forward.

  Toni got out and ran into the main road, waving her arms desperately as a police car approached. Then she returned to help Agatha out. They clung on to each other, feeling dizzy. Both had banged their heads.

  A police car screeched to a stop and two policemen got out. They went to the car. One called urgently for an ambulance.

  A stocky, unshaven man erupted on to the scene. ‘Who gonna pay for this?’ he yelled. ‘I go out back and then hear this goddamn boom.’

  ‘Stand to one side, sir,’ ordered one of the policemen. ‘We will take your statement in a moment.’

  An ambulance from Moreton Hospital came racing up, followed by police cars.

  ‘Are they dead?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Stand back, madam. We’ll deal with you directly.’

  Agatha and Toni watched as the giant kebab was lifted out, and then Jessica. Her face was covered in blood. She moaned faintly as she was lifted on to a stretcher and then into the ambulance. Rex was lifted out next. His body seemed still and lifeless. A paramedic bent down and felt for a pulse and then rose to his feet, shaking his head.

  A car arrived with Bill Wong and Inspector Wilkes. Bill went straight to Agatha and Toni.

  ‘What happened? Are you all right? Do you need to go to hospital?’

  ‘We were drugged,’ said Agatha. ‘We came to just before they made the turn to Harn. I sprayed Rex’s face with hairspray and he crashed.’

  ‘Young Simon tipped us off,’ said Bill. ‘There are evidently snakes in the boot. They planned to dump you in Mrs Freemantle’s garden and try to put the blame for your deaths on her.’

  ‘How did he find out what they meant to do?’ asked Toni.

  ‘He was worried about you and was listening outside their caravan.’

  That listening device, thought Agatha. I’ll bet he was using it.

  Bill signalled to Alice Peterson. ‘Take Mrs Raisin and Miss Gilmour to hospital for blood tests. We’ll need evidence they were drugged.’

  After the blood tests had been taken, Alice tried to get Toni and Agatha to stay in hospital and rest, but both insisted on going to their respective homes.

  Agatha wearily let herself into her cottage. She patted her cats and, as she bent down to refill their water bowls, she saw her hands were shaking.

  All she wanted to do was to get to bed and wipe out the frightening images of that crash.

  She trailed up the stairs and was about to go into her own room when she heard a gentle snore coming from the guest room. Charles!

  And where had her fair-weather friend been when she had nearly been murdered? Snoring his dilettante head off, that’s what.

  She was suddenly consumed with rage. Why couldn’t she have a real man around, a man who would look after her and protect her? Well, she was going to start anew. Right now!

  Agatha crashed into the spare room, shook the sleeping Charles awake and shouted, ‘Get out!’

  He blinked at her. ‘What’s got your knickers in a twist?’

  ‘Nearly getting murdered, that’s what. I don’t ever want to see you again.’

  Agatha stomped off to the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table, shaking.

  At last Charles came down the stairs. He went straight to the front door and let himself out. Agatha burst into hysterical tears.

  She finally pulled herself together. As she went out of the kitchen to make her way back upstairs, she saw he had left his set of keys to her cottage on a table in the small hall.

  She was awakened three hours later by the shrill ringing of her phone. Agatha groaned and glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. She picked up the receiver.

  Alice Peterson’s voice came on the line. ‘I’m coming to pick you up. You’ll need to make a statement.’

  ‘I’ve only had about three hours’ sleep,’ complained Agatha.

  ‘It’s got to be done,’ said Alice. ‘I’ll drive you to your home afterwards and you can go back to bed. Don’t speak to the press.’ Agatha showered and dressed, ignoring the frantic ringing of her doorbell. She assumed the press had arrived. She tried to cover up the dark circles under her eyes with foundation cream, applied powder and then painted a slash of red on her lips.

  Wearing a red cashmere trouser suit, she descended the stairs in time to hear Alice shouting through the letterbox that she had arrived. She opened the door. Cameras clicked; reporters shouted questions. Agatha opened her mouth to make a statement, but Alice hissed, ‘You can’t say a damn thing before the court case. Get in the car.’

  As they headed up out of the village, Agatha asked, ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘Jessica Fordyce is in intensive care. She is suffering from multiple lacerations and third-degree burns. Rex is dead. He was only doing about forty when he lost control of the car. If he hadn’t hit that kebab stand, he’d still be alive.’

  ‘So I killed him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. What about the producer?’

  ‘Admitted to giving false alibis. Said the show was Jessica. Said he thought she couldn’t possibly have done it and so saw no harm in lying for her.’

  ‘She must be mad,’ said Agatha.

  ‘From her blood tests, it seems as if she is an amphetamine addict. That can cause psychosis and there seems to be a bit of brain damage. Rex came from a broken home. Had a record of petty theft until he got into modelling and then was discovered. Jessica must have had a hold over him. He knew she had only to hint that she wanted a new leading man and he would have been off the show.’

  ‘I think television is an addiction in itself,’ said Agatha. ‘There were sad sacks I came across in my public relations days who would pay two thousand pounds a week just to get on television.’

  As they drove into the outskirts of Mircester, Agatha suddenly saw a man with fair hair, wearing a well-tailored suit. But it wasn’t Charles. All of a sudden, she remembered how she had thrown him out. I’m not apologizing, she told herself fiercely, trying to fight down the guilty feeling that she had behaved like a madwoman.

  Alice drove round to the back of police headquarters to avoid the press. ‘You should go on holiday,’ said Alice. ‘The whole of the world’s press will be descending on our village.’

  Agatha knew in that moment that the villagers would turn against her again. Many had retired for a peaceful life in the country.

  Wilkes looked weary as Agatha was ushered into the interviewing room. Some of the
other interviewing rooms had been tarted up, but the one she was in was the same old one she knew from before: hard chairs, scarred table, acid-green walls. Bill sat beside Wilkes, facing Agatha. He looked every inch the detective. There was no hint in his features that he was a friend.

  Bill was actually thinking that Agatha looked well despite her recent experiences. Her brown hair shone in the dim light and her face was well made up.

  ‘What made you suspect them, Mrs Raisin?’ Wilkes began. ‘Begin at the beginning.’

  Agatha described how Simon had found out that the producer would do anything to keep Jessica sweet and so that had led her to wondering whether he had lied about her alibis. She then went on to describe how they had been drugged and how she had woken up in time to spray lacquer on Rex’s face.

  The questioning went on and on, backwards and forwards, until Agatha felt she could scream.

  At last Wilkes said, ‘This whole business hinges on the personality of George Marston. He seems to have been capable of driving women bonkers, and, who knows, maybe even Rex fancied him. What was it about him?’

  Agatha had a sudden picture of George in her garden, framed by the flowers. ‘He was incredibly handsome,’ she said slowly. ‘You didn’t even think about his false leg. In fact, that gave him more glamour – the wounded hero and all that. He had great charm. I suppose he made every woman feel special. I tell you what, he made me feel feminine and most men have lost that art. Since feminism arrived, men don’t feel it necessary to court a woman. I think now he led us all on. I think people falling in love with him was as necessary to him as fresh air. And yet when he was murdered, I couldn’t really grieve. It was as if I had walked out of some sort of force field. Can you understand that?’

  ‘Sounds like a lot of psychobabble to me,’ said Wilkes. ‘Is young Simon using some sort of listening device?’

  ‘No!’ said Agatha. ‘I wouldn’t allow it.’

  ‘We’ll be checking him out. We would like you to be on hand for further questioning.’

  Toni was next to be interviewed. Agatha offered to wait for her but Toni urged her to go home and get some rest.

  Back at the cottage, Agatha dutifully said, ‘No comment at the moment,’ to the waiting press. She poured herself a large gin and tonic and went out into the garden. There was already a slight chill in the air, heralding autumn. She sank down into a garden chair and lit a cigarette. Her cats chased each other round the lawn.

  And then she heard someone calling, ‘Agatha.’ She looked to her right. Her ex-husband’s head was appearing above the high cedar-wood fence. ‘We’re coming over,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Bloxby’s here. We’re avoiding the press. Have you got a ladder?’

  Agatha brought a ladder from the garden shed and propped it against the fence. Mrs Bloxby climbed gingerly down while James scrambled over.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Agatha. ‘I’m so glad to see you. Can I get you something to drink?’

  ‘You stay where you are,’ said James. ‘What’ll you have, Mrs Bloxby?’

  ‘Just coffee, please.’

  When James went into the house, Mrs Bloxby said, ‘I heard about it on the radio. I don’t think they’re releasing that much except to say they have arrested someone, but it’s all over the village about the accident at Harn.’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it when James comes back,’ said Agatha. She blew a smoke ring up into the air. ‘I wonder how I did that,’ she said. ‘Can’t do it when I try.’

  James came out with a tray bearing mugs of coffee, sugar, milk and a plate of biscuits.

  Agatha told them of her adventures in a weary voice. After having gone over it several times already with Wilkes, she seemed to hear her voice coming back at her.

  When she had finished, James said, ‘I saw Charles arriving yesterday. At least you weren’t alone last night.’

  ‘Oh, did he?’ said Agatha. ‘He must have left before I got up this morning.’

  ‘That blush matches your lipstick,’ said James. He assumed the blush meant Agatha had slept with Charles, and found himself getting annoyed.

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ shouted Agatha.

  ‘Yes. You’re almost as much a philanderer as George Marston.’

  ‘That’s not true and that’s not fair. You know Charles uses my cottage like a hotel!’

  ‘Please,’ begged Mrs Bloxby. ‘Mrs Raisin has been through a most terrible ordeal. Don’t shout.’

  James rose to his feet. ‘I think I’d better leave. If you feel you can get round to telling me the truth, Agatha, let me know.’

  ‘Snakes and bastards! What the hell has my private life got to do with you? You’re my ex, remember?’

  James stalked off and climbed over the fence.

  A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek and plopped into her gin.

  ‘What really is the matter?’ asked Mrs Bloxby gently. ‘Is it all the shock? Maybe you should get counselling.’

  Agatha wiped the tear away. ‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘It’s Charles. I came home after being nearly killed and there he was, snoring peacefully in the spare room. I lost my head. I told him to get out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought a real man would have looked after me.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Raisin. How on earth was the poor man to know what you had just been through? And you cannot expect people to suddenly change their characters to suit the moment.’

  ‘Anyway, he’ll never speak to me again and James has gone off in a huff. The village is crawling with press again and they’ll all blame me.’

  ‘Perhaps you should take a holiday.’

  ‘I can’t,’ wailed Agatha. ‘The police want me to hang around for more questioning.’

  Both women fell silent. Slowly Agatha began to feel calmer. It was almost as if the vicar’s wife emanated peace and quiet.

  At last Mrs Bloxby said, ‘Has it occurred to you that Miss Fordyce could be found innocent?’

  Agatha stared at her. ‘That’s not possible. She was caught red-handed with the pair of us recovering from drugs in the backseat. How on earth . . .’

  ‘If she knows Rex is dead, she can plead that he manipulated her and terrified her and that he committed the murders.’

  Agatha took out her phone and managed to get through to Bill Wong. ‘Does Jessica know that Rex is dead?’ she asked. ‘If she does, she can blame everything on him.’

  ‘We’ve thought of that. She will be available for an interview possibly later today. Everyone has had strict instructions not to discuss the case with her.’

  When Agatha rang off, she said, ‘Well, that’s all right. She’s not to be told.’

  Jessica felt very weak and terrified that her face might be damaged beyond repair. A young nurse came in to monitor the various tubes attached to Jessica’s body.

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Jessica faintly.

  ‘Mary Donovan, miss.’

  ‘Bring me a mirror, Mary.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be bothering about that now. Just you get better. To think of the times I’ve watched you on the telly.’

  ‘Tell me. Is Rex dead?’

  ‘Now the police have been after saying no one’s to discuss the case with you. Just get some rest.’

  ‘Please, Mary. It’s not discussing the case. I have to know. Look, I’m innocent and when I get back on television, I’ll find a part for you.’

  ‘My! Me on the telly.’

  ‘Why not?’

  There were footsteps in the corridor outside. ‘Yes, the poor lad is dead,’ whispered Mary, just as a doctor entered the room.

  ‘Doctor,’ said Jessica, ‘is my lawyer here yet?’

  ‘The police are coming to interview you later today and I believe he will be present then.’

  Jessica thought furiously. There was a way out of all this. She would pretend to be even weaker than she was to postpone the interview.

  The following
April, on a blustery windy day, Agatha, Toni and Simon stood outside the Old Bailey under the entrance sign: defend the children of the poor and punish the wrongdoer.

  ‘I need a drink,’ grumbled Agatha. ‘The defence made me feel like the wrongdoer.’ The three detectives were feeling emotionally battered after being interrogated by Jessica’s defence, Lord Hollinsby.

  Simon had been the longest in the witness stand. Lord Hollinsby had dragged up Simon’s aborted marriage and ignominious departure from the army on psychiatric grounds. Then a whole day was taken up while the jury were escorted to Jessica’s trailer and asked to listen outside while two people talked inside. All said they couldn’t hear a thing.

  Toni was next. She put up a good show in the witness box, sticking calmly to her guns as she described the drugging and abduction.

  Agatha had been grilled that morning. Before she took the stand, Mrs Arnold from the village testified to Agatha’s passion for George Marston, followed by Joyce Hemingway, who described Agatha Raisin as ‘hysterical’.

  Then it was Agatha’s turn and she unfortunately lost her temper and called Lord Hollinsby an idiot if he thought Jessica Fordyce was an innocent victim of Rex Dangerfield. She knew she had given a bad impression.

  They went over to the Firefly pub and ordered drinks and food. ‘How Jessica managed to get out on bail is beyond me,’ said Agatha. ‘I think she must have had some plastic surgery. She’s in the box this afternoon. I don’t think the prosecution is doing a very good job. Surely she can’t get away with it.’

  ‘She might,’ said Toni. ‘The charge is murder. She had that top psychiatrist who swears that she was terrified of Rex. If only she didn’t have all that money to pay for top defence and famous psychiatrist. I’ve never believed those people who grumble that there’s one law for the rich and one for the poor, but I think I’m seeing that very thing in action.’

  ‘Simon,’ said Agatha, ‘I’m going to ask you again. Did you use that listening device?’

  ‘Well, I did,’ said Simon defiantly, ‘and if I hadn’t, you’d both be toast.’

  ‘May I remind you that I saved us,’ snapped Agatha. ‘You said you’d taken it home in case the police searched the office. Where is it now?’