‘I once applied for a job there,’ said Toni, ‘but Mixden wanted me to spy on Agatha’s agency for him. Oh, what on earth has Simon been up to? Will he live? Was he shot?’
‘No, he was stabbed at the fairground and left to die inside the Haunted House. If he hadn’t fallen forward across a couple, he would be dead by now. He lost a lot of blood. But the stab wound appears to have missed anything vital. We are waiting for him to come round.’
‘He told me he was unemployed!’ said Toni, tears standing out in her eyes. ‘I’ve been such a fool.’
‘In your discussions, did he name anyone he suspected?’
‘No. I would have told Agatha.’
The questioning went on. Bill was sorry for Toni. Wilkes all but accused her of having an affair with Simon. Bill often wondered how pretty Toni could manage to maintain her air of innocence, considering the work she did and the things she had seen. He wondered if she was still a virgin. Maybe there were some left in this wicked day and age.
Toni was finally read out a statement and asked to sign it.
When she had left, Bill said, ‘You were a bit hard on her, sir.’
‘I am sick and tired of Agatha Raisin and her employees interfering with police work,’ said Wilkes.
‘But it looks as if Mrs Raisin’s seemingly mad leap of intuition is going to be proved right.’
‘Who was on holiday at the time Chelsea was taken in Las Vegas?’
‘Just . . . Oh, what is it?’
The policeman at the door who had been talking to someone outside said urgently, ‘I think you’d better hear this, sir. There’s a chap out in reception.’
‘Better be good,’ snarled Wilkes. Both he and Bill were suffering from lack of sleep.
Wilfred Butterfield rose to meet them as they walked into the reception area. He burst out with ‘As soon as I saw his photo on the telly, I knew it was my duty to come forward.’
‘Do you mean Simon Black?’
‘Yes, he called at our showroom in Birmingham. He said he worked for the Agatha Raisin Detective Agency. He showed me his card.’
‘And you are . . . ?’
‘Wilfred Butterfield. Car salesman at Class Cars.’
‘You’d better come with us and make a statement.’
In the interview room so recently vacated by Toni, Wilfred poured out his story, omitting any mention of the money Simon had given him.
When he had finished, Wilkes said, ‘Now let’s get this straight. The man you described to Simon was thickset and had a Scottish accent.’
‘Yes.’
There’s only one here answers to that description, thought Wilkes, and that’s Sergeant Tulloch. ‘Oh, now what is it?’
He left the room and came back, his face grimmer than ever. ‘Detective Sergeant Wong will get you to sign a statement. Thank you for coming forward. Please keep this information from the press.’
Followed by Wilfred’s fervent assurances, he left the room.
He was met by the desk policeman who had been on duty the night before. He listened to the tale of how Simon had asked for Bill Wong. Had been told he was out and had then said he would wait. Simon had studied the police photographs and then had pointed to one and asked if that was Henry James. The policeman had said it was Sergeant Tulloch and Simon had decided not to wait.
A search started for Tulloch. They were told it was his day off. Armed with a warrant, Bill, Wilkes, Alice and a squad of policemen descended on Tulloch’s flat. There was no answer. Wilkes nodded and stood aside while the door was rammed open.
The small flat was empty. Wilkes put a call out for all airports and train stations to be watched along with the licence plate of Tulloch’s bike. He then waited out in the car while a team from Scenes of Crimes Operatives arrived to search the flat.
Toni went straight to the hospital as soon as she left police headquarters. She found Agatha in the waiting room. A little way away from her sat Simon’s parents.
‘I’m sorry, Agatha,’ she whispered.
Agatha shrugged. ‘I’ve already endured a session with the police at dawn. So Simon was prepared to spy on us for Mixden’s? Well. Whatever he found out nearly killed him. What a waste of a bright young man. Don’t blame yourself, Toni. That one could have fooled me as well. Oh, here comes the surgeon.’
They watched anxiously and then saw smiles of relief on Simon’s parents’ faces. Wilkes and another detective they did not recognize arrived.
‘You pair,’ said Wilkes. ‘There’s no use waiting. Police and family only.’
‘I know. Let’s phone Patrick,’ said Agatha. ‘I bet he’s learned something.’
They went to a cafe across the road where there were tables outside. Agatha ordered coffees for both of them, lit a cigarette and phoned Patrick.
Toni waited impatiently until Agatha had rung off. ‘The culprit appears to be a Sergeant Billy Tulloch. Either he was working with Beech or he took over when Beech left off. But he was working for someone or some gang. I hate being outside it all. There’s nothing we can do but wait. For some reason, Simon visited a car salesroom in Birmingham and found out that someone of Tulloch’s description had been asking about posh cars. Patrick says Staikov’s place has been thoroughly checked and all his trucks as well. There’s nothing more we can do today, and I need some sleep. I think you should stay with me tonight, Toni. My place is well guarded.’
Toni hesitated only a moment. She thought of poor Simon, left to die in that horrible way. ‘Yes, thanks. I’ll go home and pack a bag.’
Toni was relieved to find Charles waiting outside Agatha’s cottage in his car. She found undiluted Agatha rather overwhelming.
Over coffees, Charles listened to all the latest news. ‘I wonder what took Simon to that car showroom,’ said Charles. ‘Do you think Mixden knows more than he ought?’
‘I think it was a leap of intuition,’ said Toni. ‘He probably tried to figure out what a copper with a lot of money that he couldn’t splash about would think of doing with it.’
‘Patrick says that Tulloch wasn’t due any holiday, just a few days off. That’s probably why he went to Las Vegas.’
‘We’ve been concentrating on Staikov because his father is Bulgarian,’ said Agatha. ‘But what other firm has trucks going abroad?’
‘Richards!’ said Toni.
‘He’s stocking cheap leather jackets. He didn’t need to get them from Staikov. I’m sure his trucks go abroad for fruit and veg as well. There are always protests in the local papers about supermarkets stocking foreign produce and ignoring the homegrown stuff.’
There was a ring at the doorbell. ‘I’ll go,’ said Charles. He looked through the spy hole. ‘It’s Wilkes.’
‘Let him in,’ groaned Agatha. ‘What’s happened now?’
But Wilkes had come to deliver a lecture. He believed in solid police procedure and felt Agatha’s and Simon’s wild flights of intuition were somehow cluttering up the investigation. In vain did Agatha point out that if it hadn’t been for Simon, they would never have found out about Tulloch. She was told firmly that from now on, she and her staff were to leave matters strictly to the police.
When he had gone, Toni said, ‘We should have told him about our suspicions of Richards.’
‘I tell you what,’ said Agatha angrily, ‘I’m tired of that pompous twat treating me like a schoolgirl. I’ll show him.’
‘How?’ asked Charles.
‘We’ll all go to bed and have a good rest, and then we’ll follow one of Richards’ trucks and see where it goes.’
‘I’ll see if James is at home,’ said Charles. ‘He’s more of the derring-do type than I am.’
But Charles returned shortly to say that James was not at home. ‘Oh, well,’ he said reluctantly, ‘I’d better go with you. If I were you, Agatha, I’d phone up Doris and ask her to come and collect your cats.’
‘Why?’
