‘It’s a local company who imports it and bottles it. Have you been to the village store in Blockley? It’s fabulous, all the things they have there. Charles says this wine is very good.’
‘I’ll stick to beer,’ said Paul ungraciously.
Toni shrugged. She opened a bottle of beer and poured him a glass. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a faded T-shirt.
‘I thought this was to be an occasion,’ said Paul, surveying her clothes.
‘Rather a sad one,’ said Toni. ‘Do sit down.’
He sat down on a two-seater sofa and patted the space beside him, but Toni drew up a hard chair and sat opposite. Toni had been out on only two dates with him since the murder. On each occasion, he had lectured her on the dangers of her job when he was not pontificating about the importance of his own. Toni wondered what she had ever seen in him. Maybe a psychiatrist would say she had been looking for a substitute father.
‘It’s like this, Paul,’ she said. ‘I am devoted to my job and I haven’t got time to go out on dates.’
His face became distorted with fury. ‘Are you dumping me?’
‘That’s a pretty harsh way of putting it,’ said Toni. ‘All I’m trying to say – well . . . it’s just that we’re not suited.’
‘Little girls like you need a good slap on the bottom.’ Before Toni quite realized what was happening, he had jerked her off her chair, over his knee, and had begun to spank her. She reached down between their bodies and grabbed his balls and squeezed as hard as she could. He screamed and threw her off and then rolled on to the floor.
At that very opportune moment, the door opened and Bill Wong walked in.
He helped Toni to her feet. ‘What happened? Did he assault you?’
‘He smacked my bottom because I said I didn’t want to see him any more.’
Bill hauled the still-squirming Paul to his feet and clipped handcuffs on him. He read him his rights and charged him with assault.
‘She attacked me!’ Paul howled.
‘Let’s just forget it,’ said Toni.
Bill looked at her. ‘He’s done it before and he will do it again. His ex-wife divorced him because of physical and mental cruelty. He broke her ribs on one occasion and her jaw on another. You know the score, Toni.’
‘Okay,’ said Toni. ‘Just take him away.’
‘Are you going to be all right? Is there anyone you could phone?’
‘No, I’ll be all right now,’ said Toni.
Agatha at that moment was telling Amy that she was going to Florida. ‘Isn’t your husband at home?’ she asked.
‘He should be here at any moment,’ said Amy nervously.
‘You seem on edge,’ said Agatha.
‘I keep wondering if whoever killed poor Gary might come after me.’
‘Only if they think you know something.’
The doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be my Bunchie!’ cried Amy, leaping to her feet.
‘Doesn’t he have a key . . . ?’ began Agatha. But the door to the living room opened and Amy entered, followed by a small, square man. He was expensively dressed in grey worsted. He had oily brown hair, a florid face and a long clown’s mouth.
‘This is my Bunchie!’ cried Amy. ‘Good luck on your trip. Keep in touch.’
‘If I could just have a few words with your husband, please.’
‘Oh, now is not the time. My poor Bunchie is so tired.’
Somehow Agatha found herself propelled towards the door.
‘It’s all very odd,’ Agatha told the privet hedge outside. She settled into her car and drove off a little way down the street where she could still get a good view of the entrance to the house from the streetlamp outside. The cold was intense, but she did not feel like switching on the engine. I wonder if this Bunchie really is her husband, she thought. He didn’t have a door key.
After an hour, the door opened and Bunchie appeared. He scuttled into a black BMW and set off. Agatha followed him. He drove through Mircester and out to the northern end of the town where there were large villas set back from the road.
Agatha got out of her car and walked slowly along. He walked up the path of one of the villas, took out keys and unlocked the door. A child’s voice could be heard crying shrilly, ‘Mummy, Daddy’s home!’
Now, thought Agatha, retreating to her car, either Amy is on the game or dear Bunchie is a bigamist. If I tell Bill, he’ll put a watch on the house and then call her in for questioning. Amy’s paying me and I need the money. Expose Amy and I won’t get any. But if I continue to watch Amy, there might be some connection there to her ex-husband’s murder.
Her plans for choosing some disguise to pretend she had actually gone to Florida while keeping a watch on Amy’s house were nearly sabotaged by a letter arriving in the morning post that declared she had been appointed as one of the nominees for the award of Mircester’s Woman of the Year.
Agatha glowed. She must slim. She must book a series of nonsurgical face-lifts. But after looking more closely at the invitation, she realized it was not due to take place until June. And usually the nominees for Woman of the Year were announced the year before. The choice of her name looked a bit last minute. She must find out the names of the other nominees.
But in the meantime, it was back to business.
Heavily disguised, Agatha drove into Mircester and checked the electoral roll for the address where she had followed the man who had left Amy’s. To her amazement, opposite the address was the name Mr T. Richards. So it looked as if he was a bigamist! But she could not confront him. She had phoned Amy earlier and had told her that she was about to board a flight to Miami.
Agatha called Bill on his mobile. A sleepy voice answered her and said crossly, ‘You woke me up.’
Agatha looked at her watch. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning.’
‘And I’ve been working all night,’ said Bill. ‘What is it?’
‘Can I come round and see you? I have some important news.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m in diguise.’
Fifteen minutes later, Mrs Wong opened the door to a woman with heavy black hair and plump cheeks, wrapped in several layers of clothing and wearing large glasses.
‘We’re not buying,’ she said. The door began to close.
Bill appeared behind his mother, wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he said. ‘I know who this is. It is you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on in.’
Mrs Wong retreated, angrily muttering about folks who wouldn’t let her boy sleep.
Bill led the way into the living room. ‘It’s a good disguise, Agatha. Out with it. I’m so tired, your information better be good.’
Agatha told him what she had found out about Richards.
Bill listened in amazement. ‘How did he think he would get away with it in the middle of a murder inquiry? Good work. We’ll pull him in.’
‘And you’ll keep me up to date on anything you find out?’ asked Agatha anxiously.
‘You have my word. Did Toni tell you I arrested Paul Finlay?’
‘No, she never said a word. What happened?’
Bill told her.
‘Why on earth didn’t Toni tell me?’ wondered Agatha.
‘Perhaps she feels you are too interested in her private life, Agatha.’
Agatha thought dismally of Simon in Afghanistan and blushed. Bill surveyed her in amazement. He could not remember ever having seen Agatha blush before.
By the end of another week, Agatha was tired of her surveillance of both Richards and Amy and driving in disguise to wait for long hours at a time outside their respective houses. Tom Richards spent most of his evenings and nights with Amy and only about two with his children.
It was therefore with relief that she hailed Bill Wong, who was waiting for her at the end of what seemed to Agatha like a very long week of waiting.