“There’s a lot of work back in Mircester. I think you, Patrick, and you, Harry, should go back. If I get any leads, I’ll get you back down here.”
* * *
“Alone at last, darling,” said Charles the next morning after they had waved goodbye to Patrick and Harry.
“I hope you are here to help me,” said Agatha. “The trouble is if you see some pretty girl you know, you’ll be off like a shot.”
“I don’t know anybody in the whole wide world who would want to visit a place like this. I haven’t seen the mysterious Mr. Jankers.”
“I suppose I’d better start all over again,” sighed Agatha, “in case Mr. Jankers might have some idea. Cyril had known Geraldine for a long time. Maybe she knew something unsavoury about him and threatened to tell his wife. Let’s go up to Fred Jankers’s room.”
Fred Jankers was sitting in a chair wrapped in a blanket. “It’s the shock of all this,” he said. “I can’t seem to get warm.”
Agatha introduced Charles and then asked, “Did the police inform you that Charles Black has been arrested for the murders of Wayne and Chelsea?”
“Yes. I want to go home, but they say I’ve to stay here for a bit because they are still investigating Geraldine’s death.”
“In the short time you knew your wife, did she seem afraid of anyone?”
He shook his head. “Geraldine wasn’t afraid of anyone.”
“Not even of Charlie Black?”
“No. Not as far as I know.”
“When you first met her at ballroom dancing, was there anyone else in the offing? I mean, did she seem romantically involved with anyone?”
He wrinkled his brow and pulled the blanket closer up to his chin. “Let me think. She did come along with some chap. What was his name? Peter somebody.”
“Where was this dancing class?”
“In Lewisham.” He lowered the blanket and fished his wallet out of his pocket. “I think I still have their card.” He took a small pile of cards out of his capacious wallet and flicked through them. “Ah, here it is. ‘Jane and Jon’s Ballroom Dancing, Cherry Street, Lewisham.’ ”
Agatha took the card. “I’ll just borrow this for the time being.”
When they left Mr. Jankers, Agatha said, “We may as well go up to London tomorrow. I can’t get much more out of Cyril or his wife or Fred Jankers. Who knows? She had a habit of annoying people. She was once married to a criminal. Blast! I wonder if Char-he did the job himself. Say he had an accomplice and the accomplice was after the jewels and got down here before Charlie. Let’s see if this place has a library so we can check the old newspapers.”
When they went downstairs, Mr. Beeston was checking in members of the press and looking delighted with this unexpected custom.
Agatha saw Cyril in the bar and went in, followed by Charles. “That armed robbery,” she asked Cyril, “when exactly did it take place?”
“Let me see; Charlie was on remand for six months before it got to court. It would be in 1994. In October, I think it was.”
They thanked him and went out in search of the library, finding it among the winding streets that formed part of the original town. It was a red sandstone building, or rather, it had been red, but it was one of those buildings that had never been cleaned up, and so it was mostly black with old soot.
They went in and found the newspaper section. Whatever money had been stinted on the outside of the building had been used on the inside, which was bright, cheerful and modernized. But they met with a setback. The library only contained records of what had been in the local papers. They went back out again and found a nearby pub.
Agatha took out her phone and called a journalist she used to know and asked if he could look up the records for an armed robbery that had taken place in October of ‘94 at a jeweller’s in Lewisham, promising him an exclusive if she solved a murder case she was on. She gave him her mobile phone number and he said he would ring her back.
“So what really happened to dear James?” asked Charles.
“He cleared off. I told you.”
“Oh, really? I thought you two were off on a second honeymoon or something.”
“When the police told us we were free to leave this horrible burg, he suggested we go on holiday somewhere in the south of France. But I couldn’t leave the case, so off he went. He sent me a postcard with the address, expecting me to join him, but I didn’t feel like it.”
“Good heavens, Aggie grows up at last.”
“Don’t call me Aggie!”
Agatha’s phone rang. The journalist said, “You could have found it yourself on your computer. Here it is. Armed robbery. One Charles Black arrested. His partner got away.”
“Have you got a name for the partner?”
“Pete Silen. Police were looking for him but never found him.”
Agatha thanked him and rang off. “He says Charlie’s partner was a man called Pfete Silen. The police never got him. Now our Geraldine turned up on the dance floor initially with someone called Peter.”
“Longshot.”
“But worth trying. We’ll go tomorrow.”
SIX
AGATHA and Charles drove off early and headed for London. Agatha was glad that Charles was driving because she had slept badly and knew that the traffic on the way to Lewisham would be horrendous.
Agatha wondered how long Charles would stay on the case. In the past, he had had a habit of suddenly deciding to leave her, either because he had a date or because he had become bored. He led a self-contained, orderly bachelor life and maintained that lifestyle by doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it.
They stopped at a roadside restaurant for breakfast.
“Why should James want to take me to such a dreadful place?” Agatha burst out. “He said he used to go there as a child.”
“He’s in his fifties, isn’t he?” asked Charles. Agatha nodded. “So we’re talking about a little over forty years ago. Probably was a sweet little watering hole then. Shops selling ice cream and postcards, Punch and Judy and donkey rides on the beach, things like that. I’ll bet you he remembered every day as sunny as well. One does, and forgets all the rainy days. I mean, where did you go on holiday when you were a child?”
Agatha remembered occasional holidays at holiday camps with a shudder. Her parents were usually drunk and raucous.
“Here and there,” she said vaguely. “Anyway, he’s probably lazing in the south of France and basking in the sun. If you’ve finished your breakfast, we’d better get going.”
They circled around Lewisham until they found a car park. Charles looked up Cherry Street in the
“I’m not even going to reply to that,” said Agatha. “Come on.”
Jane and Jon’s Ballroom Dancing was situated above an antique shop. As they mounted the stairs, they could hear the strains of “La Paloma “ “Tango time,” commented Charles. “I can just see you with a rose in your teeth,
