Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [44]
“What’s all this about?” asked Agatha as they all sat round the kitchen table.
“All in good time,” said Wilkes ponderously.
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” snapped Agatha. “You’ve been watching too many cop movies. What’s happened?”
“Burt Haviland has been found murdered.”
“What! How?”
“Stabbed to death in his flat. A vicious assault. We’ll start with your friend here. Have you been helping Mrs. Raisin on her cases?”
“No,” said Freddy. “I’m just a casual friend.”
“And where do you live?”
“I’ve just come over from Zimbabwe. I’m staying with a friend in Chipping Norton at the moment.”
“Name and address?”
“Captain John Harvey, Orchard Farm. It’s on the Oxford side of Chipping Norton.”
“Married?”
“No,” said Freddy.
“And were you with Mrs. Raisin earlier today?”
“No. I picked her up for dinner at eight o’clock. We went to the Feathers restaurant in Broadway. We’d just got back when you arrived. May I go now?”
“Yes, that’ll be all right.”
Freddy threw Agatha a guilty look and hurried out.
“When was he found?” asked Agatha.
“At six o’clock.”
“And who found him?”
“We did. He dialled 999 before he died. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I was out. I wanted a quiet evening, so I switched off my mobile as well.”
“When did you last see Burt Haviland?”
“Monday.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I asked him if there was any way anyone could sneak through the fence and into the factory. He said there was a loose bit in the chain-link fence. So me and Mr. Witherspoon found it and slid through. We were heading for the office to study the lock and see if it was an easy one to pick. Mrs. Smedley had hired a firm of security guards and we were caught and sent off. That was the last time I talked to Burt and it was about the fence. You don’t suspect me, surely? I was still in the office at six o’clock, finishing up business.”
“I suspect you of withholding information.”
“That’s not true,” said Agatha hotly. “I was the one who told you about the girls’ Web site. Didn’t the neighbours see or hear anything?”
“It’s a small block of flats. They were all still out, apart from an old lady on the top floor flat who’s stone-deaf.”
“Well, I’m not withholding a damned thing and you’ve buggered up my date.”
“Not a very gallant date,” murmured Bill Wong. “Rushing off like that and leaving you to face the music.”
“Right,” said Wilkes. “We want you to report to police headquarters tomorrow at ten in the morning and we’ll take a statement. You will tell us everything you know about Burt Haviland.”
“But I already have!”
“Don’t argue. Be there.”
“When he was phoning for help, didn’t Burt say who had stabbed him?”
“No. He said, ‘I’m stabbed. Burt Haviland. Send help,’ and then the phone went dead.”
After they had left, Agatha sat feeling miserable. Another murder. She was useless as a detective and useless as a woman. Then she remembered Charles.
She phoned his number. Gustav answered the phone. Agatha asked for Charles. “He’s busy,” said Gustav rudely and put down the phone.
Agatha glanced at her watch. It was only eleven o’clock. She locked up again and got into her car. Driving carefully and hoping she would not be stopped and breathalysed, she arrived at Charles’s mansion and knocked on the door.
Agatha was prepared to battle her way past Gustav, but it was Charles himself who answered the door.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I’m so sorry, Charles,” said Agatha. “When I said that tactless thing about Bill being my best friend, I meant he was my first friend.”
“You mean you didn’t have any friends when you were working in London?”
“No,” lied Agatha. “I meant he was my first friend when I moved to the Cotswolds. I’m sorry.”
“Come in. Gosh, we do behave like kids sometimes. But you have been pretty offhand with your friends in the past. Come through to the study.”
“Burt Haviland’s been murdered, stabbed to death.”
“When?”
“Late afternoon. Six o’clock.”
“How can the police be so precise?”
“He dialled 999 just before he died.”
“Found the weapon?”
“I was so shocked I didn’t ask.”
“Drink?”
“No,