her.
She approached. “You asked to see me?”
Nick sat at the manager’s desk, biting his thumb nervously and eyeing the phone. He had received a rocket from the police after the murder of Geraldine because he had said he had not noticed anyone leaving the hotel around the time she was murdered. The fact was, he had gone into the bar and stretched out in one of the armchairs for a sleep. Nick also worked during the day at a pub in Snoth as barman.
He made up his mind. He phoned Lewes police headquarters and asked them if they had sent a detective to interview Mrs. Raisin.
The man in the bar rose as he heard Agatha approach. He turned and smiled. “Sit down, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha let out a gasp of fear. “Brian McNally,” she said.
He was holding a gun on her. How odd the workings of the frightened mind, thought Agatha. I don’t know if that’s a pistol or a revolver. I’m the pre-gun generation. I can’t tell one from the other.
“Sit down,” he ordered again.
Agatha sat down, her heart as tumultuous as the raging storm outside.
He raised his voice against the storm. “You are one nosy interfering bitch and it’s going to be a pleasure to get rid of you. This casino deal was going to be sweet as a nut. You’ve ruined my business.”
Goodbye, everybody, thought Agatha. She suddenly felt calm. She didn’t know if there was a God, but Mrs. Bloxby believed in one, so she asked Mrs. Bloxby’s God either to let her die with dignity or save her.
He levelled the gun and pointed it at her heart.
“Not going to beg for your life? I’d like that.”
“Fry in hell, you bastard,” said Agatha.
At that moment a huge wave crashed against the long windows of the bar, shattering them. As the sea poured in, Brian half turned his head in alarm. A flying shard of glass embedded itself in his neck. Agatha threw herself on the floor and then felt herself being swept up in a tide of seawater towards the bar. As the undertow began to drag her back, she clutched on to the foot rail of the bar.
Then, as the water receded, she stumbled to her feet and ran screaming and splashing through the now flooded reception. Still screaming, she ran up the stairs and pounded on James’s door.
James answered it. Agatha shot past him, babbling, “Brian McNally was in the bar. He tried to shoot me.”
“Sit down,” ordered James. “I’ll call the police.”
The police arrived very quickly, alerted by Nick’s call. Not being able to approach the front of the hotel, they had climbed over the garden wall at the side and had come in through an open fire door.
Agatha had had time to change into dry clothes, which James had fetched from her room.
Sergeant Wilkins was the first to appear. “Tell us what happened, Mrs. Raisin.”
In a shaky voice Agatha told him all she knew.
“Brian McNally’s dead,” said Wilkins. “A piece of glass from the shattered windows sliced an artery in his neck. He bled to death. He was nearly swept out to sea. We found his body jammed under a sofa next to the windows. Evidently he got Nick Loncar to get you down to the bar by saying he was a detective and flashing a fake ID. Loncar phoned the police. The police found a fire door open and we assume he got in that way. We got here as soon as we could. It’s a mess out there. The fire brigade and ambulance men will be searching the houses on the waterfront in the hope that the residents have survived the storm. You’ll need to come along to the police station and make an official statement.”
“Can’t you see she’s still in shock?” demanded James angrily. “I’ll bring her along in the morning.”
“Very well. We’ll send someone for her at seven o’clock.”
“Make it nine,” said James. “Let her get some sleep.”
Agatha, who in her fantasies about James had imagined being rescued by him and spending the night in his arms, now only wanted to get to the privacy of her own room and have a good cry.
She assured James she would be all right and locked her door. She found she was shivering and stripped off and had a hot shower. She changed into her nightdress and crawled into bed and fell into a sleep tortured with dreams of being lost at sea and fighting up one wave and down the next and never having land in sight.
She awoke early. Sun was streaming in the window. She got out of bed and looked out to see if the sea had receded, forgetting that her room overlooked a weedy garden at the back of the hotel.
Agatha got dressed and went down to the dining room to find it full of shattered glass and upturned tables and chairs. Charles appeared behind her.
“What a night,” he said.
“Haven’t you heard what happened?”
“No.”
Agatha told him. “Let’s go up to my room,” said Charles. “My feet are getting wet. The carpets are sodden.”
Wearing a pair of bright pink Wellington boots, Betty came into the hotel.
“Oh, Mrs. Raisin, the police stopped me outside and told me what had happened. The hotel’s finished. I’ll need to look for another job. There was something odd I should have told you about. I got talking to a young man and he took me for a drink. He asked me all sorts of questions about you and Mr. Lacey and when I went to the loo and came back, he’d disappeared.”
“You’d better tell the police,” said Agatha.
Upstairs in Charles’s room, Agatha said, “I wonder why that young man was asking questions about me.”
“Probably one of McNally’s boys trying to find out for him what they could,” said Charles. “Before he thought up the detective idea, he maybe planned to try something like sending up a note pretending it came from James. You haven’t any make-up on.”
“So what?”
“So you’d feel better if you put a bit of paint on. You’re awfully white. The press will be there and you don’t want to look like a ghost. Cheer up. You know what I think? I think with McNally dead, that will be the end of attempts on your life. The head of the serpent has been chopped off. You’ve the devil’s own luck, Agatha.”
“Or maybe it was Mrs. Bloxby’s God.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
The police came and took Agatha to the police station along with Nick and Betty. They had to walk because the waterfront was a shattered mess of fallen slates, bricks, broken glass and flotsam and jetsam.
Agatha was glad she had made up her face because it seemed as if all the world’s press were outside the police station.
Agatha, Nick and Betty were taken off to separate interviewing rooms.
Faced by Barret and Wilkins, Agatha wearily told her story all over again. And again and again.
At last Barret said, “Well, that wraps it up. I must say we’re pretty happy. One highly dangerous villain dead. And a money-laundering operation broken for the moment. McNally was the kingpin, and with him out of the way I don’t think you should have anything to fear any longer, Mrs. Raisin. I think you should go home.”
“What about the death of Geraldine Jankers?”
“We’ve come to the conclusion it had something to do with that jewel theft. If McNally could hire killers to attack you, then he would not have blinked at getting rid of Geraldine to do Charlie Black a favour.”
“But what if it had nothing to do with McNally?”
“Case closed. Go home, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha emerged from the interviewing room to find Charles waiting for her. “I thought you could do with some breakfast before we all start filling in insurance forms.”
“What for?”
“All the cars in the car park are a wreck, including your rented car.” He turned to the desk sergeant. “Is there a back way out of this station?”
“I’ll show you the way.”
“Unless, Aggie, you want to face the press.”
“Not now,” said Agatha.
