prams and children’s broken toys.
Toni rang the bell. After a few minutes, she said, “I don’t think it’s working,” and knocked loudly at the door.
A woman in her forties answered the door. Toni felt disappointed. Surely this plump little woman with a round rosy face and conservative clothes could not be Cherry Upfield.
But Agatha pushed past Toni and demanded, “Cherry Upfield?”
“Yes. Who wants to know?”
Agatha patiently explained who they were and that she wanted to ask questions about Trixie Webster.
“That cow,” said Cherry vindictively. “I hope she’s dead somewhere with a needle in her arm.”
“Don’t you read the newspapers or watch television?” asked Agatha. “She’s now a vicar’s wife and lives in Comfrey Magna.”
“Was that her? Blimey. I thought she looked a bit like the Trixie I used to know, but I thought she couldn’t possibly be. She was a redhead when I knew her, although, mind you, she dyed her hair. Come in.”
She ushered them into a cluttered living room lined with books. “So what’s Trixie got to do with the goings-on at Comfrey Magna?” asked Cherry when they were seated.
“We don’t know,” said Agatha. Toni was pleased with that “we.” Agatha usually said “I,” as if Toni were not present. “But we’ve just found out her drugs background and that she testified against you and the others. If she wanted to get hold of some acid, who would she go to?”
“I don’t know. I’m long out of the drugs scene. Then, after she testified against us, no one would want to know her. But someone who was really into selling the stuff was Zak Nulty. I saw him the other day going into that pub, the Blodgers, on the Cirencester Road. You could try him, if you can find him.”
“What does he look like?” asked Toni.
“He’s very tall and thin and when I spotted him, he hadn’t changed all that much except he was going bald at the front and had his hair tied back in a grey ponytail.”
“Whereabouts on the Cirencester Road?” asked Agatha.
“Just after the T-junction on the London Road. On the left.”
They thanked her and promised to let her know of any outcome.
At the pub, there was no sign of Zak Nulty, but they realized they were hungry and ordered sandwiches and drinks.
The pub began to fill up with an unsavoury-looking crowd of young people. Several of the men were eyeing up Toni. They probably think I’m her mother, thought Agatha dismally.
After an hour, Toni said, “We may have missed him in the crowd. Let’s look outside. He may have gone to the bar, got a drink and gone outside for a smoke. There are a few tables outside.”
Outside the pub, a large crowd was standing, filling the air with blue smoke. Toni nudged Agatha. Sitting at one of the tables was a tall thin man with a ponytail.
Boldly Agatha walked up to him. “Zak Nulty?”
“Who you?”
“Someone who’s willing to pay you for a few minutes of your time—in private.”
He grinned and rose to his feet. They followed him to the side of the pub. “Now, what’s it about?”
“Trixie Webster.”
“Who?”
But his eyes flickered.
Agatha opened her handbag and took out a roll of notes which she always carried tucked away in case she needed to bribe someone.
He looked at the notes and said slowly, “What if I do?”
“Did she ask you for any LSD recently? We’re not the police.”
“I’ll put it this way,” said Zak slowly. “You tell the police and I’ll find you and break your legs.”
“Okay,” said Agatha. “I just want to know.”
“You someone from that village where she lives?”
“Yes,” lied Agatha.
He eyed the notes greedily. “How much is there?”
“Five hundred.”
He hesitated and then said, “Well, I don’t owe that bitch nothing. Yes, I got her some acid. Now, give me the money and don’t let me see you again and if the pigs come for me, you’re toast.”
Agatha handed over the money and she and Toni hurried off to the car park.
Toni drove off a little way and then parked the car. “Now, what do we do?” she asked.
“Tell Bill.”
“What! No confronting the suspect like Poirot? And what if Zak comes looking for us?”
“Let me think. I know. We now know for sure that Zak is dealing drugs. We tell Bill to get the police to pick him
