Dishing the Dirt

“Break in!” said Agatha.

“I can’t. I haven’t a warrant. Let’s try round the back. He may be in the garden.”

They walked along a path at the left side of the villa. The garden was a profusion of flowers. On the patio was a garden table with a half-finished glass of wine and a book, its pages fluttering in the breeze. Draped over a chair by the table was a paisley shawl.

Agatha cupped her hands and peered in the French windows. It was the room she had sat in with Bob.

“Can you see anyone?” asked Bill.

“No one.”

“We’ll try later,” said Bill. “I’m sure you’re worried about nothing.”

Agatha would not give up. Her breath had steamed up the glass. She wiped it with a handkerchief and peered in again. Then she tried the handle on the window.

“It’s open,” she said, and before Bill could stop her, she went into the room, calling, “Bob! Are you there?”

There was a faint sound from behind the sofa. Agatha peered over and then shrieked, “Bill!”

Bob Dell lay on the floor. His face was a mass of blood.

Bill hurried in and knelt beside him. “His pulse is faint.” He phoned for an ambulance and then called police headquarters.

*

Toni and Phil had heard the sirens and hurried up to Glebe Street to find Bob Dell being loaded into an ambulance. Toni was worried about Agatha because Agatha’s face was chalk white.

“I think you should go to the hospital as well, Agatha,” said Toni. “You’ve had a bad shock.”

“I’ll be all right,” said Agatha. “I feel it’s got something to do with my visit to him.”

Wilkes came up to Agatha. “You may go home, Mrs. Raisin, and we’ll be with you shortly to take a statement.”

“Look at them!” said Agatha, pointing to the forensic team, who were about to enter the villa. “Masks, heads covered, suited up, little booties. If they were on television they would have shoulder-length hair and stilettos on.”

“Come along,” urged Toni, putting an arm around Agatha’s waist.

*

Back in Agatha’s cottage, Toni tried to persuade her to drink hot sweet tea but Agatha stubbornly demanded gin and tonic. “You don’t have any ice,” said Toni.

“Snakes and bastards! Who cares?” yelled Agatha.

Toni reluctantly fixed a gin and tonic. Agatha gulped it down and demanded another. “Don’t you think you ought to wait until after you’ve made your statement?” said Toni.

“No, I do not!”

To Toni’s relief, Agatha was still relatively sober when Wilkes and a detective Agatha did not recognise came to take her statement. Then Phil was questioned and explained that he had seen a heavyset man leaving Glebe Street on a bike. “I didn’t get a good look at him,” said Phil apologetically. “He had a baseball cap pulled down over his face. He was wearing grey trainers and a grey zip-up jacket. He had gloves on his hands.”

“We can only hope Mr. Dell survives the attack and can tell us who did this to him,” said Wilkes.

“Make sure there’s a police guard outside his hospital room,” said Agatha.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” snapped Wilkes. “You’re like the bloody angel of death, you are. Report to headquarters in the morning and we’ll have your statement printed out and ready for you to sign. The same goes for you, Mr. Marshall.”

After they had left, Toni said to Phil, “Would you wait with Agatha? I’ll go home and pack a bag. I think I should stay with her this evening.”

“I’ll be all right,” said Agatha.

“You’ll do as you’re told for once in your bossy life,” said Toni.

“Then get me another G and T before you go.”

“Off you go, Toni,” said Phil. “I’ll get it.”

When Phil returned to the kitchen with Agatha’s drink, she was hugging herself and shivering. “It’s so cold,” she moaned.