Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [18]
“I’ll take you home,” shouted Harry.
“Got a car?”
“I’ve got my motorbike tonight.”
“Cool.”
Outside, he gave her his spare helmet. “Where to?” asked Harry. Trixie gave him her home address. He registered that it was two doors away from where Jessica lived. He was just wondering how to manufacture a stop somewhere so that he could talk to her when she said, “Can we go round to where Jessica’s body was found?”
“Sure,” said Harry. She climbed on the back and they roared off.
Harry knew as he sped along the dual carriageway that he would recognize the spot from the police tape. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any police on duty because they would quickly move them on.
He slowed and stopped when he saw the police tape. The earlier rain of the evening had stopped and a dank mist was swirling around the scene.
He parked the bike and he and Trixie got off. She removed her helmet and her eyes gleamed with excitement in the dark. “Let’s do it here,” she said. “Down in the grass.”
“And get my leathers mucky,” said Harry.
“You a poofter or something?”
“Listen, babes. The forensics will be back in the morning and I don’t want my DNA spread over the grass. You’re weird.”
She stared at him sulkily. “Don’t you fancy me?”
“I did but right now I don’t,” said Harry. “What was a nice girl like Jessica Bradley doing having a friend like you?”
“She wasn’t no angel. I could tell you a thing or two.”
“Go on. Bet you know nothing.”
“I tell you, she was having it off with a man old enough to be her father.”
“Who?”
“Kiss and tell.”
Harry repressed a sigh and clamped his mouth over hers. Her tongue went so far down his throat he was frightened he would gag.
When he finally came up for air, he asked again, “Who?”
“Salesman at that electronics factory. Smedleys Electronics. Name’s Burt Haviland.”
“I’d never have believed it,” said Harry. “Now let’s get you home.”
Agatha was awakened at midnight by a call from Harry. He told her about Burt Haviland.
“Good work,” said Agatha.
“Do you want me to come with you when you interview him?”
“I’ll need to think about it. I’m awfully afraid we might have to tell the police.”
“Why?”
“If we go to the factory, we might run into Smedley, who’d get huffy if he thought we weren’t solely on his case. Then this Burt can simply give us a flat denial. The police can take his DNA and compare it to anything they might have found at the autopsy. I’ll ask Patrick and see you first thing at the office.”
Agatha rang Patrick. The former Miss Simms answered the phone. “Wot you doing ringing in the middle of the night, Mrs. Raisin?” she demanded.
“I want to speak to Patrick.”
“I wish you’d left him alone. He’s never here and I’ve got to look after the kids meself. What fun’s that? I think he’s too old for me. I mean, old is all right in gentlemen friends, if you get my meaning. Besides, he’s only got his pension and I’ve had to take a part-time at the supermarket.”
“I never thought you were mercenary,” said Agatha, momentarily diverted.
“Like them men who go out to wars?”
“No, after money.”
“Who isn’t these days? It’s all right for you. I’ll get him.”
Agatha heard her say, “Wake up. It’s Mrs. Raisin on the line.”
“What does she want?” grumbled Patrick.
“Ask her and find out. I’m going back to sleep.”
When Patrick came on the line, Agatha told him what Harry had found out, ending with, “Should I tell the police?”
“I think you’d better.”
“Any results from the autopsy? Was she raped?”
“Too early to say.”
“I’ll phone Bill Wong.”
Agatha found Bill’s mobile phone number, praying the phone would be switched on,