Dishing the Dirt

Victoria Bannister saw her approach and called out loudly, “There’s the murderer. I heard her threatening to kill her.”


Wilkes swung round, saw the contorted accusing face of Victoria and that she was pointing at Agatha.

“Wong,” he said to Bill, “get that Raisin woman here and whoever that woman is who’s accusing her.”

*

How many weary hours have I spent in this interviewing room, having questions fired at me? thought Agatha dismally. She had been taken to police headquarters and Wilkes was interrogating her.

Over and over again, Agatha explained that she had found out that Jill had hired a private detective to ferret into her background and that had enraged her.

“I like my unfortunate upbringing to be kept quiet,” she explained.

“You’re a snob,” said Wilkes nastily. “My father was a porter on the railroad and my mother worked in a factory. I’m proud of them.”

“I am sure they were sterling people,” said Agatha wearily, “but did they force you to work in a factory and then take your wages to buy booze? And did it ever cross your mind that she wanted to get me off her case? She was counselling Gwen Simple, for a start. And why did she leave Mircester?”

“That’s for us to find out and for you to keep your nose out of police business,” snapped Wilkes.

Agatha explained she had not left the office until eight o’clock in the evening. She had stopped for petrol outside Mircester. Yes, she had the receipt.

Agatha looked to Bill for sympathy but his face was blank.

By the time she was allowed to go and told not to leave the country, Agatha was in a rage.

Mrs. Bloxby, who had driven her to police headquarters, got the full blast of Agatha’s tirade on the road back to Carsely. At last, when Agatha had paused for breath, Mrs. Bloxby said mildly, “But what a great incentive to find out who murdered her. I am sure it would be a wonderful idea to get revenge on Mr. Wilkes.”

“Yes,” said Agatha slowly. “There must be something fishy in Jill’s background. I’ve asked that private detective of hers to detect for me.”

Mrs. Bloxby looked surprised. “Why did you do that? You have detectives of your own.”

“True,” said Agatha. “I did it on the spur of the minute, but I will need all the help I can get. You see, there suddenly seems to be a great amount of adultery going on, and much as I hate divorce cases, they pay well and we are all stretched to the limit. Now I know you don’t like to gossip, but I have to start somewhere. Who in Carsely has been consulting Jill?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. There is your cleaner, Mrs. Simpson.”

“What! Doris? She’s the sanest person I know. Anyone else?”

“I believe Miss Bannister went to see her.”

“That old cow. I could murder her.”

“Mrs. Raisin!”

“Well, she’s the reason I have been stuck in the police station half the night. Who else?”

“Old Mrs. Tweedy.”

“You mean the old girl who lives round the corner from the vicarage. What’s up with her?”

“Nothing more than loneliness, I should think,” said Mrs. Bloxby. Then she added reluctantly, “Mr. Lacey spent a great deal of time with Miss Davent. Of course, there were women from the other villages but I don’t know who they are.”

As Mrs. Bloxby turned the corner into Lilac Lane where Agatha lived, they saw a car parked outside James’s cottage. Bill Wong and detective Alice Peterson were just getting out of it. Bill saw Agatha and signalled to the vicar’s wife to stop. “Don’t go to bed yet,” he said to Agatha. “I want to ask you a few more questions. Mrs. Bloxby, a minute of your time.”

“Do you want me to come in with you?” asked Mrs. Bloxby as Agatha got out of the car at her cottage.