Dishing the Dirt

“She saw a dark figure on the towpath but couldn’t see if it was a man or a woman. Her friends told her to forget it, that it was just someone fly tipping.

“I went to see this Hayley Martin. I told her that anything she told me would not be reported to the police. She said the others were drunk and had been smoking pot. She said she didn’t take drugs and hadn’t had all that much to drink. I could see why the police took her story seriously. She’s a very pretty girl and very honest.

“Now, to Tremund’s office. His computer has been taken and as you saw, Agatha, papers and correspondence were scattered all over the place.”

“Did the police say whether Jill Davent kept tapes of her sessions?”

“Evidently she didn’t. That’s all I’ve got. Come along, Charles. All this talking has given me a thirst. I’ll be in touch, Agatha.”

*

Over drinks in the George, David said, “Are you in a relationship with that Raisin woman?”

“We are very close friends.”

“Didn’t think it could be anything else,” said David.

“Why?”

“Men like us can have a pick of the young ones,” said David. “Though I must admit Agatha is sexy. Might have a fling there.”

Charles rose to his feet. His light voice carried around the bar.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll kill you,” said Charles and strode out of the hotel bar.

David Herythe was furious. People treated him with respect. He would bed Agatha and make sure Fraith heard about it.

He finished his drink and decided to return to his home in Summertown in Oxford.

He lived in a Victorian villa, one of the ones that had been built for the Oxford dons in the nineteenth century when the decision was made to allow them to live out of college and marry. It is the most expensive part of Oxford. He also had an apartment in the Inner Temple in London, one of the Inns of Court.

He parked his car in the short drive under a laburnum tree and got out, savouring the peace of the evening. He let himself in, reset the burglar alarm, went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of Chardonnay and carried it through to his desk in the office.

He started to make out a bill for his services at police headquarters to send to Agatha. That being done he opened the window wide, for the evening was warm, listening to the blackbirds singing and the hiss of traffic going down the Banbury road.

His phone rang. A gruff, sexless voice said, “If you want to know who done those murders, meet me at the Hythe Bridge canal in half an hour.” Then whoever it was rang off.

Now this is either some nutter or the real murderer, thought David. He phoned the police and told them about the call. They said they would send plainclothes detectives to keep watch.

As he got into his car and set off, he felt the thrill of the chase. He parked in the Worcester Road car park and walked round to Hythe Bridge. He could not recognise the detectives, but the road was busy with young people coming and going. As the time dragged past, he realised the call must have been a hoax. He phoned the police and said he had been the victim of a silly trick and he was going home.

As he parked, he noticed to his irritation that he had left his office window open in his excitement. He let himself in, reset the burglar alarm and decided to make himself an omelette before going to bed.

After he had eaten, he undressed, showered and went to bed. But he felt restless, tossing and turning until he decided to take two of his prescribed sleeping pills, the ones he had been trying so hard to do without.

With a sigh of relief, he settled back against the pillows. Soon his eyes closed and he was fast asleep.

He slept naked. A gloved hand came out of the darkness and gently pulled the covers down. Leaves were pressed against his chest. The figure moved silently away.

David jerked awake as palpitations racked his body. His body arched in convulsions, he writhed in agony and then fell into a coma.

The dark figure came back and picked the leaves from his body and then disappeared.