As The Pig Turns

British have only to hear the word Bulgarian and you think Mafia.’
    Toni had waited until Bill had left police headquarters and followed him to the estate agent’s and then to the George. Once again, she went into the George. The restaurant was now empty apart from one couple, but she heard the sound of voices from the terrace, approached it and had a quick look, where she saw Bill talking to a silver-haired man.
    Toni found a seat in the reception area, half-shielded by a cheese plant, and waited. Bill was not very long. After ten minutes, the man he had been talking to went out. Toni followed. He got into a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. Toni wished she had brought her car.
    She approached the desk. She was just wondering whether to pose as a reporter when the receptionist said, ‘What can I do for you, Miss Gilmour?’
    Toni cursed Agatha’s penchant for getting their photos in the newspapers and on television. ‘I just wondered about the identity of that gentleman who just left?’
    ‘Oh, that would be Mr Staikov.’
    ‘Film business?’
    ‘No, clothing business.’
    The receptionist turned away to deal with someone else. Toni made her way to the offices of the Mircester Mercury , where she knew an old school friend, John Worthing, had a job as a reporter.
    John was delighted to see her. He was an owlish young man with limp brown hair. He had been bullied at school until he had come under the protection of the tough and popular Toni.
    ‘I haven’t seen you in ages,’ he said. ‘Anytime there’s a story about you, the chief reporter gets it.’
    ‘I’m here to ask a favour.’
    ‘Anything.’
    ‘Could you look up a man called Staikov in your files?’
    ‘Sure. Hasn’t your voice got posh!’
    ‘It’s not posh. It’s neutral,’ said Toni. ‘Be a love and get cracking.’
    ‘Wait till I heat up the computer.’
    ‘You are on broadband, aren’t you?’
    ‘Mircester Broadband.’
    Toni grinned in sympathy. Mircester Internet connection was rumoured to be the slowest in Gloucestershire.
    At last he gave a grunt of triumph. ‘Here he is. We did a story when he retired last year. He has a clothing business out on the industrial estate. Originally from Bulgaria. Imports leather mostly. Rags-to-riches story. Arrived here pretty broke and made a fortune.’
    ‘I wonder how he got British nationality?’
    ‘Married an English local. She died four years ago.’
    ‘What did she die of?’
    ‘Hang on.’ John clicked away. ‘Ah, here we are. Fell down a flight of stairs.’
    ‘Did she now,’ remarked Toni, feeling a stir of excitement. ‘Got a report of the inquest?’
    ‘Here we go. Verdict, accident. Pathologist said she was as drunk as a skunk.’
    ‘What’s the name of this clothing firm?’ asked Toni.
    ‘Country Fashions.’
    ‘Thanks a lot.’
    ‘Toni, wait a minute. Do you think we might meet up one evening?’
    He looked at her with pleading eyes, and Toni suddenly remembered a younger John, crying in the corner of the playground.
    ‘I’m pretty busy,’ she said diplomatically. But as his face fell, she said quickly, ‘I tell you what I’ll do for you. Give me your card, and if I’ve got a big story, you’ll be the first to know.’
    ‘That would be great. I mean, everyone’s out on some story or another and I’m left here to edit the letters page.’
    Outside, Toni phoned Agatha, who said quickly, ‘I’m in the office. Get round here. I want to hear every bit of it.’
    When Toni finished her report, Agatha’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘I knew there must be some gang behind it. Must be the Mafia. I’d like to get inside that factory.’
    ‘I should think that’s impossible,’ said Toni. ‘Anyway, I’m sure that’s the first thing Bill would have done.’
    Patrick Mulligan walked in at that moment. Agatha rapidly told him what Toni had found out.
    Tall and lugubrious and with the shiniest shoes in Mircester, Patrick looked every bit the retired policeman.
    When Agatha had finished, he said, ‘There’s a café out on the estate. Well, it’s just a shack with tables outside. I’ll get out there and see if I can meet any of the workers.’
    When Patrick had left, Toni said uneasily, ‘We weren’t going to investigate the murders. Isn’t this a bit dangerous?’
    ‘Not unless this Bulgarian has anything to do with it,’ said Agatha. ‘Don’t you see? I’ve decided we’re always going to be in danger if we don’t solve these murders.’
    Before he