Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

brusque common sense. She had never felt so alone. ‘Come along, Agatha,’ said Bill.
    ‘I do not think Detective Sergeant Wong should be on this case as he is obviously a friend of the accused,’ said Maddie Hurd. Agatha looked at her with hate.
    ‘Later,’ snapped Wilkes.
    A small group of villagers had gathered outside Agatha’s cottage. She wondered bleakly if there could possibly be one more thing she could do which would shame her so utterly in the eyes of the village – first attempted bigamy, now murder.
    At police headquarters in Mircester, she was led into an interview room, the tape was switched on, and Wilkes began the questioning, flanked by another detective sergeant, Bill Wong having disappeared.
    Gathering all her resources, Agatha said she had gone out walking early because she could not sleep. She had seen Jimmy approaching her. He was drunk. He had run after her. She had lost her temper and slapped him. She had pushed him into the ditch and she had shouted something at him. Yes, she was afraid she had shouted that she hoped he would die. If he had struck his head on something, she was sorry, she had not meant to kill him.
    And that seemed straightforward to Agatha, but they took her backwards and forwards through her story, over and over again.
    Getting some courage back, she demanded a solicitor and then was put in a cell to await his arrival.
    The solicitor was an elderly gentleman whom Agatha had picked out a few months before to help her make her will in which she had left everything to James Lacey. He had been avuncular and kind then, the family solicitor from Central Casting with his thick grey hair, gold-rimmed glasses and charcoal-grey suit. Now he looked as if he wished himself anywhere else in the whole wide world but sitting in an interview room with Agatha Raisin.
    The questioning began again. ‘What more can I tell you?’ Agatha suddenly howled in a fury. ‘You can’t trip me up and get me to say anything else because I am telling you the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
    ‘Calmly, dear lady,’ admonished the solicitor, Mr Times.
    ‘You,’ said Agatha, ‘have done bugger-all since you got here but looked sideways at me as if I am some sort of Lady Macbeth.’
    There was a knock at the door. Wilkes snapped, ‘Come in.’
    Bill Wong put his head around the door. ‘A word, sir. Most urgent.’
    Wilkes switched off the tape and went outside.
    Inside, Agatha’s burst of anger had gone, leaving her weak and shaky. Everything was against her. She had attacked Jimmy in front of everyone at the registry office and she had been seen by Harry Symes to attack him that very morning. She was not free to find out who had actually done it should it prove not to have been an accident. Whom else could anyone possibly suspect? Who else would want to kill a drunk who normally lived in a packing-case at Waterloo? Only Agatha Raisin.
    Wilkes came back into the room, his face grim. He sat down again, but did not switch on the tape.
    ‘Where is James Lacey?’ he asked.
    ‘I do not know,’ said Agatha. ‘Why?’
    ‘He did not tell you where he was going?’
    ‘No. Why?’
    ‘I am withdrawing the charge against you, Mrs Raisin, due to insufficient evidence, but must ask you not to leave the country.’
    ‘What’s happened?’ demanded Agatha, getting to her feet. ‘And why do you want James?’
    He shuffled the papers in front of him. ‘That will be all, Mrs Raisin.’
    ‘Sod the lot of you,’ said Agatha, furious again. Her solicitor followed her out.
    ‘Should you need my services again –’ began Mr Times.
    ‘Then I’ll find myself a decent lawyer,’ growled Agatha. She strode out of the police station. They had not even given her a car home. What was she supposed to do? Walk?
    ‘You need a drink,’ said a voice in her ear. She turned and saw Bill Wong. ‘Come on, Agatha,’ he urged. ‘I haven’t got long.’
    They walked across the main square under the shadow of the abbey and into the George. Bill bought a gin and tonic for Agatha and a half-pint of bitter for himself. They sat down at a corner table.
    ‘What has happened is this,’ said Bill quickly. ‘The preliminary forensic evidence has discovered that Jimmy Raisin was strangled with a man’s silk tie. It had been chucked into the field a little down the road. Footprints other than yours were found near the body, the footprints of a man. So the hunt’s up for James Lacey.’
    ‘What!’