Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

about his condition.’
    ‘Come with me. I can spare you a little time.’ He led them along gleaming hospital corridors to a small cluttered office. ‘Please have a seat. I can only tell you what you must know already, that he had a brain tumour. We were going to try chemotherapy. He was due for an appointment, his first treatment, when he disappeared.’
    ‘What was his state of mind when you saw him?’ asked Charles.
    ‘He was deeply shocked and upset. He asked a lot about alternative methods. He was very interested in mind over matter. He had heard that in California they have tapes which you play which train you to combat the illness mentally. He also asked about diet. I said that miracles sometimes did happen, but that in his case, I could only recommend chemotherapy. I am afraid I do not believe in miracles.’
    ‘But you said they sometimes do happen,’ pointed out Agatha.
    ‘Not in my own experience, but some of my colleagues have experienced such. Sometimes people can have some leap of faith which seems to restore the immune system, but I am an agnostic, and I believe that it is down to coincidence. James did ask to see a psychiatrist. No doubt he was hoping to be instructed in some mental tricks.’
    ‘A psychiatrist? At this hospital?’ said Agatha.
    ‘A Dr Windsor.’
    ‘May we see him?’
    He picked up a phone on his desk. ‘A moment. I’ll see if he is free.’
    He turned away from them and dialled an extension. ‘I have James Lacey’s wife and a friend of hers with me,’ they heard him saying. ‘Can you spare them a minute?’
    A voice quacked from the receiver. ‘Right,’ said Dr Henderson. ‘I’ll send them along.’
    He replaced the receiver. ‘You are lucky. He has fifteen minutes to spare between patients. If you go out of here and turn left, walk back along the corridor and through reception and follow the signs to the psychiatric unit, you will find a small reception area and he will be waiting for you.’
    They hurried off and, following his instructions, arrived at the psychiatric unit. Agatha had been expecting a stereotype psychiatrist, a heavy-set bearded man with a German accent, and was startled to be greeted by a small, slim man in a sports jacket who looked to her eyes far too young to be a psychiatrist.
    ‘I am Dr Windsor,’ he said, shaking hands with them. ‘Please sit down. Is your husband still missing?’
    ‘I am afraid so,’ said Agatha. ‘We gather that James came to see you because he was interested in finding out if it might be possible to cure cancer by mind over matter.’
    ‘Actually, it was not that at all. I normally would not discuss any patient’s business, even to the nearest and dearest, but his question seemed to me to be academic, so I do not think there is any problem in telling you what he wanted to know.’
    ‘Which was?’ Agatha crouched forward in her chair, her bearlike eyes fixed on his face.
    ‘He was asking me about the symptoms of antisocial personality disorder. He said he was not asking about anyone in particular. He needed details for a book he was writing.’
    ‘I am surprised you could give him your time when he wasn’t a patient,’ said Charles.
    ‘He was paying for my time. I saw him at my private consulting rooms in the town.’
    ‘We read up on that mental illness,’ said Agatha, disappointed, and slumping back in her chair. So James had diagnosed Melissa before they had. Big deal.
    But Charles asked, ‘Was there any specific point he wanted clarified?’
    ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, there was. He wanted to know that if such a personality were rejected by someone, would they stalk, would they chase after that person. I said, not often, for although such a personality does not suffer from guilt, he or she suffers from intense feelings of bitterness and resentment. He then asked if two such people could be friends. I said that two such people might get together to aid and abet each other, but friendship, no. He wanted to see me again, but I refused.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Agatha.
    Dr Windsor’s face darkened. ‘I had a personal phone call while he was with me. I went into another room to take it. It was quite a long phone call. When I returned, he was sitting where I had left him. But after he had gone, I found several things that disturbed me. Two of the drawers on my desk were slightly open, as if someone had hurriedly tried to shut them, and several files in my cabinet – old files which I had removed