Agatha recovered quickly and awoke from a refreshing sleep two days later just as Brudge and two detectives entered the hospital room. “Strong enough to make a statement?” asked Brudge.
The one thing Agatha lied about was her reasons for not phoning the police. She said it was such a long shot that she decided to have a look herself.
At last, when the statement was over, Agatha said, “But why?”
“Why what?”
“I guess they killed Kylie because she’d found out about the drugs. But why not leave her body where it was and then: take it out some dark night and bury it?”
Brudge signalled to the others to leave and settled back in a chair beside the bed. “May as well tell you the whole thing. Zak cracked. What happened was this. He really did mean to marry Kylie and he was in love with her. But idiot that he was, he told her about the drugs. Now he and his father had no previous criminal records. But one of the major Birmingham gangs heard about him setting up the disco in Evesham. They approached Terry Jensen with an offer. If he stored the drugs for them, he’d be a very rich man. He wasn’t to distribute them in the disco. He was merely to store them so they could be picked up and distributed elsewhere in the Midlands. Now Zak may have been in love with Kylie, but Kylie doesn’t seem to have been in love with Zak. She thought this little bit of information was gold and began to demand all sorts of things from Terry, like, after they were married, she wanted a Ferrari.
“Terry told Zak she’d have to go. He was appalled, but it was either Kylie, or himself and his father serving a long prison sentence. She had been bitching about the wedding gown and somehow he persuaded her to slip out one night and bring it round to the club. They’d switched off the refrigeration in the cold room. Told her to go in there – they had it uncovered – and try it on. Then they shut the door and locked it and turned on the refrigeration. With all she had drunk, it made the process of hypothermia quicker.”
“But wouldn’t her hands have been bruised, hammering on the door?” asked Agatha.
“There were no injuries to her arms. I think she thought they were playing a joke on her until it was too late. When she was weak enough, they injected her with heroin.”
“But why the river and why the bouquet?”
“Zak was sick with misery. He had loved her. He wanted her to have a more ceremonious burial than the one his father had planned for her. He bought the roses – where, we still don’t know. Somehow he got her to the river, still in her wedding gown, and as a last farewell, he thrust the bouquet into her frozen hands. I think he must have been a bit off his head with grief, because he thought, in all the chaos of the floods, that it might be assumed she was another flood victim, wedding dress and all.”
“And what about Joanna?” asked Agatha.
“They got tipped off – we’re still trying to find out who did that – and someone struck her as she was getting into Kylie’s e-mail and then wiped all the e-mail out. But Joanna did find one incriminating e-mail before she was hit. Zak says he sent her a desperate e-mail, saying to keep her mouth shut.
“Joanna knew she was on to something. She called round at the disco and told Terry about the e-mail and that unless he paid up, she was going to go to the police. He broke her neck.”
“And Mrs. Anstruther-Jones?”
“It could be youths who made a habit of getting high on drugs and frightening people by driving at them. They may have gone too far. Zak denies they had anything to do with it, but Terry, or that Wayne, may have thought it was you and decided to stop you asking questions about Kylie.”
“There’s one thing I totally forgot,” said Agatha. “Kylie was a member of a church group. I should have asked about her there.”
“We are not completely inept,” retorted Brudge. “We did, of course, question the members. Kylie went once and then never again, although her mother believed her to be a staunch member.”
Agatha lay back against the pillows, her brow wrinkled. “There’s something missing,” she said slowly. “Or rather, someone.”
“What do you mean?”
Agatha lay back in silence for a moment. Then she said, “I asked Freda Stokes if Kylie had been particularly friendly with any of the girls and she said no. I asked her about wedding presents. She said that Marilyn Josh had given Kylie a thong swim-suit. Now it must have seemed like a shocking present to Freda, who at that time considered her daughter a respectable virgin. But what if it was something that Kylie really wanted? When I first saw her, she was getting a bikini wax. She said it was because Zak wanted it, but maybe Kylie wanted it to sport her swim-suit on her honeymoon. You see,” went on Agatlia eagerly, “Marilyn might have been in on it. She might have known Kylie very well. I think Zak or Terry got her, at the hen party, to whisper to her to bring the wedding dress round to the disco and she’d let her know what she thought.”
“Zak said nothing about Marilyn Josh,” said Brudge, “but we’ll check it out. Here’s Mrs. Bloxby.”
Brudge stood up to leave.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?” asked Agatha.
“For what? For nearly getting killed? For interfering in police business? You’re damn lucky you’re not being charged. You were wearing that wig again when we found you.”
“Oh, sod off!” shouted Agatha to his retreating back.
“That wasn’t very nice, Mrs. Raisin,” said Mrs. Bloxby reprovingly.
“He deserved it,” said Agatha sulkily.
“You seem to be back on your old form.” The vicar’s wife sat down beside the bed. “It’s in all the newspapers and on television.”
“What do they say about me?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. Just about Kylie and Joanna and that a large quantity of drugs was found at the disco.”
“That does take the biscuit! They’d never have found out if it hadn’t been for me,” complained Agatha. “Where’s John?”
“Coming along later.”
“Really! Can you get me my handbag out of that locker? I’ve got make-up in it.”
“When are they going to release you?” said Mrs. Bloxby, retrieving Agatha’s capacious handbag and handing it to her.
“Tomorrow,” said Agatha, taking out a small mirror and squinting at her face in it. “I look a fright.”
She busily began to apply foundation cream. “Do you think that’s a spot coming on my forehead?”
“Can’t see anything,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I’ve brought you a box of chocolates.”
“How kind of you.” Agatha eyed the box greedily. She loved chocolates but hated the effect even one had on her imagination. One chocolate and she could feel her stomach expanding and her hips grower wider. Still, she had gone through a lot and she deserved at least a few.
She applied powder and lipstick and then opened the box. “Have one.”
“I’ve just had breakfast.”
“Oh, go on,” urged Agatha. “I’ll feel like a pig eating them myself.”
Mrs. Bloxby took one and Agatha took one and ate it and then reached for another.
They chatted about village affairs, and when Mrs. Bloxby at last stood up to leave, Agatha realized that the chocolate box was nearly empty and Mrs. Bloxby had only eaten two.
¦
John Armitage arrived in the afternoon, bearing a large bouquet of flowers which Agatha studied carefully until she had judged they were slightly more expensive than the ones he had taken to Joanna.
“Have you heard the latest?” he asked.
“No, what’s that?”
“I heard it on the radio. They’ve rounded up the gang in Birmingham, the ones that got Terry Jensen to store the stuff.”
“And Brudge never even said thank you,” said Agatha.
“I think he got the impression that you were interfering. But you’ll have your moment at the trial.”
“Me! If I hadn’t interfered, as you put it, he’d still be none the wiser.”
“It’s certainly been quite a case. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I’m out of here tomorrow.”
