Dishing the Dirt

After only five minutes, a police car rolled to a stop and two policemen got out. Agatha quickly told them who she was, why she had called and what she had found. The police called it in. Another wait while two detectives arrived. Agatha had to make her statement again and was told to wait until a forensic team arrived.

The day was becoming darker and a damp gusty wind promised rain. Agatha retreated to her car and lit a cigarette, noticing that her fingers were shaking. Where was Clive? What had happened to him? She felt in need of support. Agatha noticed that neighbours were emerging from the surrounding houses. She phoned Toni and asked her to join her, saying, “Pretend to be a curious onlooker and question the neighbours before you come and talk to me.”

A forensic team arrived and suited up before going into the office. The morning dragged on. At last Toni arrived and Agatha could see her questioning the neighbours. Then Toni finally walked off and disappeared around the corner into Walton Street while Agatha fretted. Where on earth was she going?

After ten minutes, Toni returned, carrying a large brown paper bag. She slid into the passenger seat of Agatha’s car.

“Coffee and sticky buns,” said Toni, opening the bag.

“You’re an angel. What did you get from the neighbours?”

“Not much. He lived upstairs.”

“Oh, snakes and bastards!” howled Agatha. “I didn’t even think to have a look. He could be lying dead up there.”

“Don’t think so. No ambulance. Have a bun.”

“Ta. So what else?”

“Didn’t speak to the neighbours. His clients mostly called in the evenings. Yesterday evening, one young woman, blond, slim, that’s all the description.”

“Could be you,” said Agatha gloomily.

“Two men at different intervals, both looking like middle-aged businessmen, one tall and thin and the other small and tubby. Not much to go on.”

“I should have looked for a client list,” mourned Agatha, “instead of rushing out to phone the police. But you know how it is, one fingerprint and they’d haul me in for breaking and entering. I’ll come back when things have quietened down and try the next-door neighbours. The police are already knocking at doors.”

“That’s why I couldn’t try them myself,” said Toni. “All I could do was to pretend to be one of the crowd. Have another bun. They’re very comforting.”

“Oh, well, why not?”

There came a rapping on Agatha’s window. The detective who had interviewed her earlier said, “You are to come with me to Thames Valley Police to be interviewed. Leave your car here. An officer will drive you back. Who is this young lady?”

Oh, to be young and beautiful, thought Agatha grumpily. The man’s practically leering.

“Miss Toni Gilmour,” said Agatha. “One of my detectives.”

“She’d better come with you. I don’t want anyone messing up this crime scene.”

*

Agatha made her statement again to a refreshingly young and efficient female detective. She was just about to leave when the ax fell. She was told that she had to recover her car and then drive to Mircester police headquarters and make another statement, and Agatha knew that Wilkes’s idea of an interview could run into hours.

There was no sign of Toni. Agatha got into her car and phoned her.

“I got chased away,” said Toni. “I’ll come back this evening, if you like.”

“Let me think about that. Do you know if they’ve found Clive?”

“Not a sign of him. A friendly policeman told me his flat was empty before he got reprimanded.”

“I hope to God he’s all right,” said Agatha. “I’ve got to go to Mircester to make another statement. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Agatha knew the rush-hour traffic would be building up and so she decided to drive to the Botley road and exit Oxford by the ring road.

But as she got to the bottom of Beaufort Street, the traffic slowed to a stop and she could see police erecting a barrier.