Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

Agatha and I are being regarded as first and second murderer,’ said James. ‘Tell us about the forensic evidence, Bill.’
    ‘Pretty much still what I told Agatha. He had been strangled with a man’s silk tie. Now that sounds like a good clue, but it is a Harvey Nichols tie and can be bought at just about any good outfitter’s in the country. It’s also quite old and frayed at the edges.’
    ‘That was Jimmy’s own tie,’ said Agatha suddenly. ‘He wasn’t wearing it when I last saw him but he had it on at the wedding. Wait a bit. Maybe he had it in his pocket. He wouldn’t surely stand there and let someone fish in his pockets for a murder weapon?’
    ‘What did the tie look like?’ asked Bill. ‘I can’t remember.’
    But Agatha did. She thought every horrible fact and item of that day would be burned into her brain forever. ‘It was one of those ones which look like an old school tie but aren’t – discreet stripes. Dark blue, gold and green.’
    Bill whipped out a notebook and scribbled busily. Then he said, ‘We’ve found out he got cleaned up in a Salvation Army hostel before he came down here and they gave him clothes. Of course, they probably gave him the tie as well.’
    ‘Was he hit with anything first?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Only the back of your hand.’
    ‘He can’t just have stood there and let it happen.’
    ‘I think I know,’ said Roy triumphantly. ‘He’s lying there in the ditch after Aggie here swiped him. Now, if you’re a drunk and someone swipes you and you fall in the ditch, the first thing you’d do would be to take that bottle out of your pocket to make sure it hadn’t got broken. Then you’d take a good swig out of it. Maybe when he pulled the bottle out of his pocket, the tie came out as well. Enter murderer. Jimmy in ditch, Jimmy with bottle to his mouth, tie sticking out of pocket, seizes tie, strangle, choke, one dead body.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Jingle,’ said James. ‘Mind you, it’s possible. What do you think, Bill?’
    ‘I think you all know something you aren’t telling me,’ said Bill, looking at them.
    ‘How’s dear Maddie?’ asked Agatha sweetly.
    His round face flushed. ‘Detective Constable Hurd is well, thank you.’
    ‘Do, please, please, give her my regards.’
    Bill wondered in that moment whether Agatha had guessed that Maddie had sent him to find out what he could and then decided that love was making him paranoiac.
    ‘I’d best be going.’ Bill got to his feet.
    ‘See you around,’ said Agatha. James showed him out.
    Bill stood outside the cottage for a moment, irresolute. He had not received his usual welcome. It was unlike both Agatha and James not to offer him a drink or a cup of coffee. He wondered for a moment whether he should go back and tell Agatha the truth, that he had not come near her before this because Maddie had urged him to do so. He took half a step back towards the door and then gave his round head an angry little shake and went towards his car instead.
    So the three amateur detectives inside were free to start their investigations, unhampered by any help from the police.

Chapter Three

    Agatha was silent on the drive to London the following morning. James, used to Agatha’s holding forth on every subject under the sun, found this unnatural silence was making him uneasy. Furthermore, Agatha was wearing trousers and a sweater and no make-up and sensible walking shoes. No perfume either. He was obscurely piqued that for the first time Agatha should appear to make no effort whatsoever on his behalf.
    The last known address for Help Our Homeless was in a basement in Ebury Street in Victoria. They had found it in James’s very out-of-date set of London telephone directories. James wished they had tried to phone first, for it turned out to be now a minicab firm.
    They found the boss of the minicab firm, a large West Indian, lounging back with his feet on the desk.
    ‘We’re looking for Help Our Homeless.’
    ‘You an’ everyone else, guv,’ said the West Indian. ‘Tell you what I told them. Don’t know. Don’t care.’
    ‘Why is everyone else looking for them?’ asked James.
    ‘Same reason as what you are, guv. Money owing.’
    ‘So you have no idea where Mrs Gore-Appleton is now?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Search me.’ He heaved his shoulders in a massive shrug, picked up a coffee cup, took a gulp of the contents and appeared to forget their very existence.
    ‘Did you buy this place from her?’