days when a street such as this would resound with the cries of children: children playing hopscotch, children playing ball, children playing cowboys and Indians. Now they were probably all indoors watching television, videos, or playing computer games.
Sad.
Number 43 turned out to be a staircase between two shops leading to flats above. At the top of the staircase was a battered wooden door and beside it a row of bells with names on cards beside each bell. There was no Mabbs listed.
'Must have the wrong address' said James.
'I didn't walk all this way for nothing' said Agatha impatiently, for her feet were sore. She pressed the nearest bell.
After a few moments the door was opened by a thin, anaemic-looking girl with blonde hair gelled up into spikes. 'Wotyerwant?' she asked.
'Miss Cheryl Mabbs' said Agatha.
'She's on bell 4,' said the girl,
'Where?' asked James.
'How should I know, mate? They usually has fish an' chips and goes to the disco'
'Where is this disco?' James smiled at the girl, who smiled back.
'Not your style' she said. It's down the road. Rave On Disco. Can't miss it. Wait till later and you'll hear the noise'
'Well, that's that' said James as they emerged out into the street again.
'No, it's not' Agatha looked up at him. 'We could have a bite to eat and then go to the disco ourselves'
He shied slightly and looked off into the middle distance. 'I really think I would rather go home, Agatha. As the young lady there pointed out, discos are not my style'
Agatha glared at him. 'Hardly mine either' she said, feeling her feet throb.
He stood there, looking down at her in polite embarrassment and obviously waiting for her to give in.
'Dinner and think about it?' suggested Agatha.
'I suppose I am hungry. It's a bit early for dinner. We'll find a pub'
Over drinks, followed later by a modest dinner in an Indian restaurant, Agatha reflected that the more time she spent with James, the less she seemed to find out about him. He seemed to have an endless fund of impersonal topics to talk about, from politics to gardening, but what he really felt or thought about anything, he did not say.
But he agreed to try the disco.
Back along Blackbird Street they went. They heard the thud, thud, thud of the disco music as they approached.
The disco was called Rave On and was a club, but they got inside easily after paying a modest entrance fee. 'Enjoy yourself, Grandma' said the bouncer to Agatha, who glared at him and said, 'Get stuffed' and then realized that James's face had taken on that shuttered look again.
Inside it was full of bodies writhing under strobe lights. Following closely behind James, Agatha shouldered her way to a black plastic-padded bar in the corner.
James ordered a mineral water for Agatha because she was driving and a whisky and water for himself. 'How much is that?7 he shouted at the barman, a white-faced youth with a pinched, spotty face.
'On the house, officer' said the barman.
'We are not police officers'
'In that case, pay up, guv. Four pound for every drink. Eight quid, squire'
'Do you know Cheryl Mabbs?' asked James. 'We're friends of hers'
He pointed. 'Over there in that booth, her wiff the orange-and-pink 'air'
Through the stabbing strobe lights and shifting gyrating bodies, they could make out a gleam of orange and pink in a far corner.
'Drink up' said James and tossed his back.
Til leave mine' shouted Agatha above the din. 1 never did like gnat's piss anyway'
His eyes had that blank look which Agatha had come to interpret as a sign of disapproval. But he said, 'We'd better dance our way over. Less conspicuous.'
He joined the gyrating figures, cheerfully waving his arms in the air and dancing like a dervish. Agatha tried to follow suit but felt ridiculous. Teenagers were stopping their own dancing to cheer James on.
Inconspicuous, thought Agatha with a groan. The whole damn place is looking at us.
A few more whirls and turns and James came to a stop at Cheryl's booth, wildly applauded by the customers.
It was a different Miss Mabbs from the quiet, pallid girl in the white coat Agatha had first seen at the vet's. Her hair was sprayed pink and orange and arranged in what Agatha could only think of as tufts. She wore a black leather jacket with studs over a yellow T-shirt with some slogan on it that Agatha could not read in the gloom. Beside her was a leather-jacketed young man with a face like a tipsy fox.
'Miss Mabbs!' cried Agatha. 'We've been looking for you.'
'Who the hell are you?' said the girl and picked up her drink, which was of as vile a colour as her hair, nudged aside the little paper umbrella on the top with her nose and took a sip of it through a straw.
'I am Agatha Raisin' said Agatha, thrusting out her hand.
'So what?' mumbled Cheryl.
'I met you at the vet's in Carsely. I came along with my pussy'
Took your pussy along, did you?' demanded Cheryl's escort with a cackle. 'Any luck?'
Cheryl sniggered.
'Look here' said James in the authoritative tones of the upper class, 'can we go somewhere quiet where we can talk?' ^^
'Sod off' said Cheryl, but the young man put a hand on her arm. His foxy eyes glinted up at James. 'What's it worth to us?'
'A tenner and a drink' said James.
'Okay' he said. 'Come on, Cher.'
They were soon all seated in a quiet dingy pub, perhaps one of the few left in Britain without a slot-machine or juke-box or piped music. A few old men sat around in corners. The bar smelt of must and old beer and old menu
'What do you want to know?' asked Cheryl Mabbs.
'About Paul Bladen' said Agatha eagerly. 'It now seems he was murdered.'
Interest showed in her face for the first time. 'And I thought nothing exciting would ever happen in that dump of a village. Me, I prefer the more cosmopolitan life, like' she stated, as if Leamington Spa were Paris. 'Who done it?'
'That's what we want to find out' said James. 'Any ideas?'
She scowled horribly and took a hearty swig at her glass of vodka and Red Bull. 'Could be anyone' she said finally.
'There's Mrs Josephs as well' said Agatha and told of that murder.
'I told him trouble would come when he destroyed her old cat' said Cheryl. 'He didn't like cats, and that's a fact. Hated the beasts. But he sweet-talked those old dears in the village a treat. Always taking one or the other of them out for dinner.'
'Why?' asked Agatha.
'Why else?' countered Cheryl. 'After their money, I suppose. I mean, what other reason could there be?'
'And why would he want their money?' demanded James, flashing a sympathetic look at Agatha, who was now outscowling Cheryl. 'I mean, he left a fair bit.'
'It was an impression, that's all. He was keen on that Freda Huntingdon. I caught them hard at it.'
'Where?' demanded Agatha with a triumphant look at James.
'Right on the examining table. Her skirt was up around her ears and his trousers were down round his ankles. Laugh! I nearly died. But the others? Holding hands and taking them out for dinner was about as far as he got, I
