consternation.
“We’d better have a look,” said Charles.
“Do you have a key?” asked Fred.
“Yes, I keep it on a hook by the stove. Oh, it’s gone.”
“Of all the stupid places…” began Charles, but Agatha was already hurrying out the door.
Fred and Charles followed her to James’s cottage. “The door’s closed,” said Fred. He tried the handle. “And locked.”
“The key fits the back door,” said Agatha, “and whoever it was left my cottage by the back door.”
They went round the side of James’s cottage to the back door. It was standing open with the key in the lock. They crowded inside and through to James’s sitting-room. Papers were spread everywhere. It had been ransacked, just like Agatha’s cottage.
Agatha sat down suddenly and put her head in her hands. Fred heard the wail of sirens. “I think we’d better go back to your cottage.”
Agatha rose, helped by Charles and followed Fred next door. Bill Wong came to meet mem, his round face creased with anxiety. “What have you been up to, Agatha?”
“I haven’t been up to anything!” said Agatha, her voice shrill with shock. “I’ve been burgled.”
“Let’s sit down and go over it,” said Bill. He was flanked by a policewoman and a detective constable.
They all gathered round the kitchen table. Wearily, Agatha began to talk, explaining that she had forgotten to set the burglar alarm and yes, she had been stupid enough to leave a key to James’s cottage on a hook in the kitchen. “What I can’t understand,” she said, “is how someone knew the burglar alarm wasn’t set.”
Bill nodded to the detective constable who went outside. After a few moments he was back. “The wires have been cut.”
“And nothing of value has been taken?” asked Bill.
“Not at first glance,” said Agatha. “Whoever it was must have been trying to find out if we knew anything about the murders.”
“And had you?” asked Bill sharply. “Apart from what you’ve told me.”
“Nothing more than that,” said Agatha. Charles looked at her, wondering whether she had forgotten about the psychiatrist or was deliberately withholding that information.
They could hear cars drawing up outside. “That’ll be the forensic team,” said Bill, getting to his feet. “They can start with James’s cottage.” He turned to Fred Griggs. “Ask around the village and see if someone heard or saw something.”
The phone rang. Agatha picked up the extension in the kitchen.
It was Mrs. Bloxby. “I heard you had been burgled. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so,” said Agatha, “unless you can ask around and see if anyone was seen lurking around Lilac Lane during the night.”
“Where were you?”
“Cambridge,” said Agatha. “I’ll tell you later.”
“So you were in Cambridge,” said Bill when she put down the phone. “Asking the sister questions?”
“Just a chat,” said Agatha, “and then the fog was so bad we had to stop somewhere for the night. The thing is, who would know that I wasn’t coming home? It was a last-minute decision.”
“Someone was lurking about and got lucky,” said Bill. “It couldn’t be the sister, because you saw her over in Cambridge and I cannot imagine she would drive through that dreadful fog and back again.”
“Unless,” said Charles suddenly, “she followed us. I didn’t check whether anyone was following us. Why should I?”
“And why would she do that?” asked Bill patiently.
“She’s got the best motive, and if she were guilty, she’d follow us to see if we were ferreting around Cambridge for more clues.”
“Why? She’s got a good alibi. The students who lodge with her swear she was there the whole time Melissa was being murdered.”
“But would they really know? I mean, if she took off in the middle of the night, took the motorways, she could do it in two and a half hours.”
“Each way,” said Bill. “That makes five hours. A long time to be away.”
“Students don’t get up early,” said Charles. “Say she left at two in the morning, and allowing time for the murder, got back at eight, say. Her students might not have noticed anything. I mean, if someone says good night to you and there they are again at breakfast time, of course you think they’ve been there all night. We were driving very slowly through the fog. She could have followed us easily and seen us turn off at that road-house.”
“You could have been going for a meal.”
“She could have waited in the car-park. There’s a good view of the reception, all lit up, and despite the fog, she would have seen us making a booking.”
Bill passed a hand across his face. “You’ll need to do a lot better than that.”
“What I can’t understand,” Agatha burst out, “is why you couldn’t come up with at least one fingerprint or footprint when James was attacked and Melissa killed. I watch loads of forensic TV programmes and they seem to be able to tell from hair and fibres and footprints and fingerprints – ”
“It takes a long, long time these days to get results back from the lab. But in all cases, the perpetrator wore gloves. In James’s case, the footprints were scuffed; in Melissa’s case, whoever did it was very thorough. The place had been wiped clean of fingerprints and vacuumed thoroughly.”
“Maybe if you checked the vacuum bag, there might be – ”
Bill shook his head. “Here’s a thing. We have a feeling that whoever did it brought their own vacuum cleaner.”
“This is getting madder and madder,” wailed Agatha. “How could anyone lug a vacuum cleaner through the village without being seen?”
“It could have been one of those hand ones people use for cars,” said Bill. “We get the feeling the murder was cold-blooded and calculated.”
¦
Agatha and Charles decided after the questioning was over to go and visit Mrs. Bloxby and leave the forensic team a clear field. “We’ll probably find the place covered in fingerprint dust,” complained Agatha. “I thought they used lights these days.”
“Don’t ask me,” replied Charles. “It’s all a closed book to me.”
“I thought you had to be home today?”
“I’ll hang on a bit longer. Things were getting a bit boring, but now they’ve picked up.”
Agatha felt a pang of dismay. Although she often suspected that all she meant to Charles was a diversion, she didn’t like to have it confirmed.
Mrs. Bloxby was just arriving back at the vicarage as they walked up. “Oh, you poor things,” she said. “Do come inside. I’ve just been visiting Mrs. Allan.”
Agatha remembered vaguely that Mrs. Allan was a battered wife who lived on the council estate. “She back with her husband?”
“No, he disappeared. But would you believe it, she actually misses him and keeps saying he wasn’t so bad and she should never have reported him.”
“At least there aren’t any children,” said Agatha. “I hate it when children are involved.”
“That reminds me,” said the vicar’s wife, ushering them in, “we have the concert and fete to raise funds for Save the Children in two weeks’ time. I wondered if you could help, Mrs. Raisin. We’re having a cake sale as well.”
“I’m not good at cakes.”
“But you are good at publicity. We need to get a lot of visitors.”
“You’ve left it a bit late. I’ll do what I can. Give me the exact date, time, and what’s on offer and I’ll see what I can do with the local papers.”
“Perhaps that friend of yours, Mr. Silver, could help. He was awfully good before.”
“It would mean inviting him down and he’d expect to be here for the whole weekend. Don’t think I could face it at the moment. But I’ll do what I can.”
