and threw it into Mrs. Green’s garden and then waltzed her down the road. “What’s up with you?” cried Agatha, disengaging herself when she could.
“The child wore its hair in bunches, or clumps, as she called them, and tied with ribbons. Now, who do we know wears her hair like that?”
“Megan,” breathed Agatha.
“What do we do now? Go to the police?”
“No, I want to go and see her and confront her.”
“Might not be safe.”
“You’ll be with me.”
“I’m not much protection against a psychopath wielding a hammer. But she won’t be on her own. Sheppard’ll be there. And how did she get from Oxford to Carsely and back without her husband knowing about it?”
“Taxi?” said Agatha.
“I’m sure the police will have checked that. And buses.”
“Unless Sheppard was in on it. If only we could make sure he’s not at home when we call.”
“I think that could be arranged,” said Charles. “Let’s get home and I’ll phone him and say there’s been a break-in at his shop.”
“What if she goes with him?”
“We’ll chance that. If not, we’ll need to wait until Monday morning, when he goes to work.”
They hurried back to Lilac Lane. Charles looked up the Sheppards’s number in the phone book. “Don’t listen,” he said to Agatha. “I’m going to disguise my voice and I can’t do it with you listening. I’ve got to pretend to be a copper.”
Agatha went into the kitchen. She took out her packet of cigarettes and then put them away again.
She heard the murmur of Charles’s voice and then he came into the kitchen. “That’s it,” he said. “Let’s go.”
¦
Charles drove quickly to Blockley, hoping he did not meet Luke Sheppard driving out of the village. He parked in front of the Sheppards’s cottage and took a deep breath. “Here we go, Aggie,” he said.
Megan answered the door. “You again,” she said. “What now?”
“May we come in?” asked Charles, smiling at her. “We have some news for you.”
“I suppose. Luke isn’t here. There’s been a break-in at his shop.”
They followed Megan as they had done before, out into the garden. “So what have you got to tell me?”
Charles opened his mouth to start with a diplomatic way of approaching the subject, but Agatha said brutally, “You murdered Melissa. You were seen in the village at the time of her death. We have a witness.”
Megan sat very still, the pupils of her eyes seeming huge. Then she laughed. “Nice try. I was in Oxford all night. How was I supposed to get from Oxford to Carsely?”
“I don’t know,” said Agatha. “But we have this witness. It places you at the scene of the murder.”
“And what do the police have to say to that?”
“We haven’t told them yet,” said Agatha.
“Why not?”
“We wanted to know what you had to say for yourself.”
“Aren’t we all supposed to be in the manor-house library?” jeered Megan. “While the great detective accuses and the guilty one breaks down? Why don’t you both take your fairy-tales and run along, or I will call the police and charge you with harassment.”
“It was you James found out about,” said Agatha doggedly. “You were sectioned at the same time as Melissa.”
“I’m going to count to ten, and if you’re not out of here by the time I have finished, I am going to call the police. One…”
“Come on, Aggie,” said Charles.
“Two…”
Agatha rose reluctantly to her feet.
“Three…”
Charles urged Agatha through the cottage. “Four…” Megan’s voice chanted.
Outside, Charles said. “That’s it. We’re going to see Bill Wong.”
“What can he do that we can’t?” demanded Agatha. “We’ve got a suspect, we’ve got a witness. We’ve got to show Bill where to look.”
¦
Mrs. Wong looked outraged when they asked to speak to Bill. “It’s Sunday,” she protested, “and we’re about to have Sunday dinner.”
“Bill!” shouted Agatha.
Bill appeared behind his mother, who was blocking them off on the doorstep. “What is it, Agatha?” he asked.
“We’ve found the murderer.”
“You’d better come in. Do stand aside, Ma.”
Mrs. Wong backed off, mumbling under her bream. Bill led them out into the garden. “Sit down,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
Agatha took a deep breath and began to explain about how Mrs. Green thought she had seen a child on the night of the murder, about how the description of the ‘child’ fitted with the description of Megan Sheppard.
“But why?” asked Bill.
“Wait a minute,” said Agatha, screwing up her face in concentration. “Something’s coming. What about this? James was inquiring if there was a possibility of one psychopath befriending another. What if Melissa and Megan met in that psychiatric unit years ago, when Megan was sectioned. What if they did become friends, and then maybe lost touch. What if…” She screwed up her face even harder. “What if there was an earlier will? What if Melissa had originally left her money to Megan? What if Melissa thought that Megan was dangerous? By coincidence or by plot, Megan marries her ex. Damn, we should have asked her lawyer if she had made a previous will. Anyway, somehow Megan finds out that Melissa has changed her will and blames James’s influence and attacks him. Then she goes on to murder Melissa.”
Bill put his head in his hands. “Agatha, Agatha. A lot of police work and time went in checking out the Sheppards’ alibi. Their car was in the hotel garage all night.”
“Oh. Wait a bit. What sort of car?”
“A Range Rover.”
“You could get a motorbike in the back of one of those.”
“Agatha, all vehicles that went out of the hotel garage that night were checked.”
“But they wouldn’t need to leave a motorbike in the car. They could leave it at the station or in Saint Giles. Oh, Bill, if they had a motorbike, or a scooter, it might be registered to one of them. Please, Bill, do try.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”
“The more we discuss it, the thinner it gets,” mourned Charles.
Bill came back. “They’ll get back to me. We have to wait.”
“You see,” said Agatha earnestly, “she could have slipped out of the hotel when no one was looking. I know Mrs. Green’s got bad eyesight, but she could pass for a child and no one would think of reporting seeing a young teenager.”
“Dinner’s ready,” called Mrs. Wong.
“You’ll need to put mine in the oven,” Bill called back. “Important police business.”
Mrs. Wong appeared in the garden, holding a ladle like a weapon. “It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is, bothering people on a Sunday.”
His mother retreated. “You can check the records at the hospital,” said Agatha. “If she was there at the same time as Melissa, it’s something to go on.”
“It still won’t make her a murderess.”
Agatha sighed. And then the phone rang. Bill ran into the house, calling out, “I’ll get that.”
“If Mrs. Wong answers the phone first and that’s the police, she’ll give them a long harangue about Sunday
