The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [56]
“You wait there,” she said to Agatha. She radioed for assistance.
“You are charging him with assault, aren’t you?” Betty said to Agatha.
“Definitely.”
The change in Mark was almost ludicrous. The fury had all gone out of him and he stood there with his head hanging.
“Look, we can sort this out,” he pleaded. “It was all a mistake.”
“I’ll just see if Joyce is all right.” Agatha walked into the house.
Joyce was sitting on a sofa, rocking backwards and forwards, her face now twisted with pain.
“I think he broke my ribs,” she whispered.
Agatha left her and went out again. “Joyce Peterson needs an ambulance.”
Betty spoke into her radio. “Is she bad?” she asked Agatha.
“She thinks her ribs are broken.”
“Keep her company until the ambulance arrives,” said Betty, “and I’ll watch this bastard here.”
Agatha went back inside. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.
Joyce shook her head. “I’m charging him with assault, so you may as well do the same thing,” said Agatha.
There came the sounds of a scuffle outside, then they heard Mark crying out in pain, and Betty’s voice calmly charging him with assaulting a police officer.
“There you are,” said Agatha. “Two charges of assault. You’d better make it a third.”
“Will he go to prison?”
“Of course.”
She gave a broken little sob. “Then I will charge him as well. May I have some brandy, please? There’s a bottle over there with the other drinks.”
Agatha reflected that hot sweet tea would be a better idea, but decided that she could do with a brandy herself. She poured two stiff measures and carried them over.
Joyce took a gulp and shuddered. “You never can tell with men,” she said. “I thought he was God’s gift to women when I met him. He was so charming, so attentive. It was just after he moved in with me that the beatings started. He always cried afterwards and begged my forgiveness, but he would always start again after a few days.”
“What caused this latest assault?”
“I said I wanted to go to Harrison’s funeral, that’s all it took.” “Were you fond of Harrison?”
“For quite a time. Then he started travelling a lot and he was hardly ever home. When he was sent to prison, I was so angry with him that I wanted to get a divorce and make a clear break. Jason was devoted to his father. I don’t think he ever forgave me. When I was invited to the Laggat-Browns’ party, Mark wouldn’t let me go.”
Sirens were sounding outside as both police and ambulance arrived. Joyce was examined and helped out to the ambulance. Agatha watched and was photographed for the local paper. The whole of Shipston-on-Stour seemed to be crowding into the street to watch.
Mark Goddham was thrust into a police car. Agatha found herself facing Bill Wong.
“You’d better follow me back to Mircester,” said Bill, “and give me a statement. Are you fit to drive?”
Agatha felt the back of her head, which was sore and tender. “I feel a bit shaky. He really did bang my head against that wall. Oh, Lord!” She glanced at her watch. “I’m supposed to pick Roy up at Moreton.”
“You’d better leave your car and come with me. We can swing round by the railway station and pick up Roy.”
At Agatha’s insistence, Bill, who was driving a police car, turned on the siren and broke the speed limit along the Fosseway and into the station yard just as the passengers were alighting from the London train.
Agatha called to Roy and he slid into the back of the police car, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Agatha’s been assaulted,” said Bill. “We’re taking her into police headquarters to make a statement.”
“Are you all right?” asked Roy. “Who assaulted you?”
Agatha told him her story and then burst into tears. Bill handed her a box of tissues and said, “I’ll get a doctor to examine you, Agatha. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to cry before.”
Emma had zigzagged down towards Warwickshire, taking country buses although she felt that no policeman would recognize