Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [50]
Phil coloured. “Don’t be ridiculous. A man of my age!”
“Okay. Here’s Harry.”
She listened excitedly as Harry told her about the attempted seduction and finding the letter. Then she said, “Now, why didn’t the police find it? They must have searched her house.”
“Maybe they missed it.”
“I doubt it. Maybe she put it somewhere and put it back after the police had left. Although, why someone would want to keep a Dear John—or, in her case, Dear Jane—letter is beyond me. I’d better tell the police. Damn! It’s not like the old days. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of them. I want Bill Wong because he might trade some information. I’m not going to talk to anyone else. I’ll go to police headquarters. You come with me, Harry. I’ll phone Patrick and get him to liaise with you, Phil. Unless he’s got a hot lead on any of the men who accessed that Web site, I want you to get to some of Smedley’s staff and find out who else Haviland was romancing.”
She telephoned Patrick and gave him instructions and then said to Phil, “He’ll meet you in the square in fifteen minutes.”
Agatha was told Bill Wong was out on a case. She and Harry waited in reception.
While they waited, a policeman and policewoman came out, putting on their helmets. “Where are you off to?” asked the desk sergeant.
“Folks up in Bewdley Road are complaining some hysterical woman’s been harassing them. Honestly, if it weren’t a posh area, we wouldn’t have to bother.”
When they had left, Harry whispered, “Could you step outside for a moment?”
Agatha followed him out.
“What?”
“I told Joyce my name was James Henderson and I lived with my parents on Bewdley Road. They actually live in a cottage out in the country. She’s a greedy thing and must be frantic at the idea of a rich young man slipping through her fingers. I bet it’s her.”
“Serves her right.”
“Where’s Charles?”
“Decided to sleep late. Oh, here’s Bill. Bill, we must talk to you urgently. We’ve got important information.”
He walked them through to the interview room and listened intently while Agatha told him about the letter. Then he read it.
Bill leaned back in his chair. “Agatha, have you thought for a moment what Wilkes will say when he finds out how you went about getting this letter? Young Harry here lying about his name and job and then stealing it while she was asleep? He’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks.”
“Couldn’t you just say we found it and cannot reveal our sources?”
“You’re not a journalist.”
“Say it was delivered to our office anonymously this morning,” said Harry.
“Come on, Bill,” urged Agatha. “It’s too important a piece of information to hold back. If you tell the truth and get us into trouble, what’ll happen to Harry?”
“I know,” said Harry. “There’s nothing wrong with part of the truth. Say Joyce picked me up in a tea shop. I made a date with her because she didn’t know who I worked for and I thought I might get some information by taking her out for dinner. She drank too much. I took her home. She invited me in for coffee, went to make it and disappeared. I went to look for her and found her dead asleep in the bedroom. I searched her bureau because that’s my job and found the letter.”
“So far, so good. But he’ll be furious at you for taking the letter away.”
“If you give me an hour, I’ll put it back,” said Harry.
“How?”
“I’ll find a way. Please.”
“I should be shot for agreeing to this. Okay. But if you’re caught, I know nothing about it.”
“Thanks.” Harry took the letter and left.
“Now Bill,” said Agatha. “What about giving me some crumbs of information?”
“As long as you don’t say you got it from me.”
“Of course.”
“Burt Haviland’s bank account reveals that in the past six months he received two payments of twenty thousand pounds each.”
“Blackmail?”
“Could be. It was paid in cash. The teller who took the payments has left the bank and is now on holiday in Turkey. We’re trying to find her.”
“I keep wondering if all these murders aren’t connected in some way,” said Agatha.
“Maybe. You’d better get off. I’ll tell everyone