day.”
“And you decided to sacrifice the price of two plane tickets just to wait and see this girl?”
“Not really. As we were in Paris, we thought it might be a good idea to double-check Mr. Laggat-Brown’s alibi. Mrs. Laggat-Brown hired me to work on the attempted shooting of her daughter.”
“We’ll leave that for the moment.” Fother clasped his large hands together and leaned forward. “Before he turned terrorist, Mulligan was an expert burglar. It was said he could get in anywhere. Yet the pane of glass on the kitchen door was smashed by a rock. If you had been at home, you would have heard the noise, believe me.
“That makes me think again about Sir Charles’s idea. We may have two people here. One wants to poison you and the other to shoot you. Perhaps the poisoner came back to see if he had left anything incriminating and finds the dead body. Panics and wants it to look like a break-in. Takes the poisoned coffee away and replaces it with a new jar, wiping it for fingerprints first. Now, DorisSimpson had the keys to your house. The fact that the burglar alarm did not go off when Mulligan got in looks as if it was not on at all but was reset later.”
“Doris would never do anything to hurt me!” exclaimed Agatha.
“We'll see. She is making a statement at this moment.”
There was a tap at the door. Bill Wong's head appeared around it. “A word with you, sir.”
Wilkes, who was sitting next to Fother, made as if to rise, but Fother stood up and went out of the room.
“I wish, Mrs. Raisin,” said Wilkes, “that you would behave like the retired lady you're supposed to be.”
“The tape's still running,” said Charles.
Wilkes rose to switch it off but sat down again as Fother came back into the room.
“Doris Simpson says in her statement that a Mrs. Emma Comfrey, who works for you and lives next door to you, asked her for your keys, saying it would save Doris the trouble of coming and going to look after your cats. Then Mrs. Simpson changed her mind and demanded the keys back, saying that as you were paying her for the work, she would feel she was cheating you if she did not do it herself. What have you to say to that?”
But Fother turned his gaze on Charles, not Agatha.
“Sir Charles? I believe you think you know who might have tried to poison Mrs. Raisin.”
“I took Emma Comfrey out for lunch a couple of times,” said Charles in a flat voice. “I think she got a crush on me. She had started stalking me. I think she may have been jealous of my friendship with Agatha. And yet I find it hard to believe she would have gone to such lengths.”
“We'll see. We're bringing her in. I will question her myself. Now we will begin at the beginning again. Your exact movements, Mrs. Raisin, starting with your journey to Paris.”
Emma sat in the back of the police car, her mind going round and round. At times she felt her very brain was spinning with fear in her head.
She was sure they couldn't have found out anything. Then she realized that Doris must have told them about her having the keys. Well, she thought breathlessly, she would simply say that she had not gone in before Doris had claimed the keys back again. She must keep her nerve. She had worked long years for the Ministry of Defence. She was a respectable woman. No one could believe her capable of attempted murder.
The day had turned chilly and grey. The long Indian summer was over and the leaves were turning red, brown and gold.
She expected to be interviewed by Bill Wong, who had taken her initial statement.
Emma was led to an interviewing room. Courage, she told herself. You survived the Superglue investigation. You'll survive this one.
It was not Bill Wong who entered, but the men who had broken off interviewing Agatha and Charles to see what they could get out of her.
She paled slightly when Fother introduced himself. It must be serious. What was someone from the Special Branch doing in Mircester?
The tape was switched on and Fother began. “You are Mrs. Emma Comfrey. You live in Lilac Lane next door to Mrs. Agatha Raisin.”
“That is so,” said Emma, feeling a great calmness descending on her now that the interview had begun.
“Lilac Lane is a dead end and there are only the two cottages in it.”
“Yes.”
“Now, you went to Mrs. Raisin's cleaner and asked for the keys to Mrs. Raisin's cottage. Why?”
“I thought I would save her the time by looking after Agatha's cats myself.”
“You are employed by Mrs. Raisin's detective agency. Why weren't you at work?”
“I had been working very hard and decided to take a day off.”
“But you had also taken the previous day off to go to the fete at Barfield House.”
Emma's calm deserted her. “I did not,” she said in a trembling voice.
“According to both Sir Charles and his manservant, Gustav, you were seen there. The manservant was disguised as Madame Zora. You consulted him.”
“Oh, I should have been working, I know,” said Emma, rallying all her forces, although she was reeling inside from the shock that Gustav had been Madame Zora. “But Charles and I are friends and I happened to be in the area looking for … for a lost dog. The day was fine after the rain. Charles had told me about the fete.”
“Yet you did not approach him.”
“He was very busy. I stayed for a little and then went back to work.”
“It is Sir Charles's opinion that you were stalking him.” Emma suddenly did not care any more what happened toher. “That's ridiculous,” she expostulated. “The vanity of men never fails to surprise me. You make a friendly gesture and they all think you are chasing them.”
“We'll leave that for a moment.” Fother leaned across the table towards her. “So when exactly did you enter Mrs. Raisin's cottage?”
“I didn't,” protested Emma. “I did not have time. Doris claimed the keys back before I had time.”
“Had you seen the dead man before? You joined Mrs. Simpson while she was waiting for the police.”
“No, never.”
“When were you last in Ireland?”
“Fourteen years ago. On holiday. We went to Cork.”
The questioning went on and on while Charles and Agatha waited nervously in the adjoining room.
“This is serious, Aggie,” Charles was saying. “That dead man in your kitchen was connected to the Provisional IRA. He was a hit man. Someone wanted you out of the picture.”
“I can't stop thinking about Emma.” Agatha ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, do you think she might have tried to poison me?”
“I tried to warn you. There's something not right about her.”
“If she's used rat poison, they'll find traces of it somewhere. Where would she hide it? In her garden?”
“I would think she'd want to get it out of her house and garden and as far away as possible. If it were me, I'd dump it in the woods somewhere—you know, in the undergrowth.
“Anyway,” Charles went on, “what on earth can the Irish connection be? Was Peterson working for them in some capacity, bagman or something?”
“In that case you would think the terrorists would be after whoever killed him.”
After an hour and several cups of bad coffee supplied by a policewoman, their interrogators came back.
Detective Inspector Wilkes took over the interview. When the tape was switched on, he said, “Mrs. Raisin, were you aware that your phone was being bugged?”
“No!” Agatha's eyes widened in shock.
“I want you to tell us all you know about the shooting at the Laggat-Browns.”
Agatha marshalled the facts, leaving out the all-important one that Patrick Mullen had phoned her to tell her where Harrison Peterson was staying and that he wanted to talk.
Questions, and more questions. The day wore on. At last Fother said, “We have arranged a safe house for you, Mrs. Raisin. I suggest, also, that you do not go to your detective agency for the next few days. Sir Charles, I suggest you stay in the safe house with Mrs. Raisin for your own protection. We will call on you tomorrow for further questioning. Before you leave, we would like to check your mobile phones to make sure they are secure. Then tell us what clothes you want us to collect for you.”
While they waited for their phones to be checked, Agatha thought again about Emma. Just to be on the safe
