Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

Agatha.
    ‘I find that hard to believe. I mean, he certainly terrified Roy.’
    ‘But Roy hadn’t been living with him. Besides, Dewey’s tale of how he threatened Melissa may have only been a fantasy. Maybe the fact is she just got bored with him and got a divorce. Maybe she did threaten to attack his pet doll and so he agreed to a divorce without any protest.’
    ‘If that’s the case, bang goes suspect number one. And what about James? Are we ever going to find James?’
    ‘I think he’s dead,’ said Agatha. ‘Look, his council tax bills and water bills would go unpaid unless I paid them and James was always fussy about paying his own debts. He would have returned to clear things up if he could.’
    ‘I think if he was dead, he would have been found by now. The police don’t give up easily. They’ll have been looking all along. Did you get all his papers?’
    ‘I suppose so. I dealt with the unpaid bills. He hardly ever got any personal correspondence, except from his publisher.’
    They both stopped and looked at each other.
    ‘I never thought of his publisher or agent,’ said Agatha. ‘But the police wouldn’t have missed that.’
    ‘Who’s his agent?’
    ‘Some woman called Bobby English, one-woman show, office in Bedford Street in Bloomsbury.’
    ‘The hunt is on again,’ said Charles cheerfully. ‘We’ll go to London.’
    Agatha had never met Bobby English before and was taken aback when she saw her and was stabbed with jealousy. She was a tall willowy woman with a cloud of dark hair, very white skin, large dark eyes and a sensual mouth painted deep-red. She was wearing a power-suit and very high heels.
    ‘Terrible for you,’ she said briskly, ‘but I don’t think I can help you any more than I have helped the police.’
    Charles looked around at the framed book jackets on the office wall. Some of the covers were quite lurid. He pointed to one, entitled The Beckoning of Desire , which showed a voluptuous blonde with her dress down around her waist and said, ‘Forgive me for saying so, Bobby, but you don’t seem the sort of agent to deal with dry military history.’
    ‘No, I’m not. But I met James at a party and we took a fancy to each other.’ Agatha scowled. ‘It amused me to push his book and he was delighted when I found a publisher for it.’
    ‘That’s Greive Books, isn’t it?’ asked Agatha.
    Bobby nodded.
    ‘What is the name of his editor there?’
    ‘Robin Jakes.’
    ‘I assume Robin is a woman,’ said Agatha sourly. Bobby nodded again. Agatha had always disapproved of women who affected men’s names. Now she was beginning to positively hate them. Had James had an affair with Bobby?
    She eyed the agent. ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Bobby, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. We were just friends.’
    ‘Did James ever let slip some part of the world that he particularly liked?’ asked Charles. ‘I mean, do you have any idea where he might have gone?’
    ‘No, he had travelled widely. I don’t think he had any tie to any particular place. I really can’t help you. When we met, we would talk about books, markets, possibility of sales, that sort of thing. You can try his editor, but I don’t think Robin can tell you any more than I can.’
    To Agatha’s relief, Robin Jakes turned out to be a pleasant, middle-aged woman with sandy hair and thick glasses. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, shaking Agatha’s hand. ‘It must be an awful time for you.’
    Agatha blinked back sudden tears. No one else, apart from Mrs Bloxby, seemed to have thought that she might be suffering. To their questions, Robin said sadly that she had no idea where he could have gone. ‘He had travelled so much,’ she said. ‘I once suggested he might try writing a travel book, but his passion was military history. I was just his editor, you know. We weren’t friends.’ She frowned in thought. ‘There’s something he said, oh, about a few months before he disappeared. What was it? Oh, I have it. I was asking him again to consider writing a travel book. He was . . . is . . . a good descriptive writer. He laughed and said he had an old diary of his travels. He said he might dig it out and have a look at it.’
    ‘A diary!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘The police said nothing to me about a diary.’
    ‘We’d better get on to them,’ said Charles. ‘They may have held it back.’
    Outside the publishing office, Agatha took out her mobile phone. ‘Better make sure you get Bill,’