As The Pig Turns

with the surly remark of ‘They’re insured anyway’, generally from those who did not realize the insurance was apt to go sky-high and that the recent government’s heavy tax on four-by-fours had been an added burden. Wilkes obtained a search warrant for Country Fashions, and Customs & Excise were warned to search all of Staikov’s trucks leaving or entering the country. He also ordered a search of the passenger lists on all aircraft going to or returning from Las Vegas.
    Toni was relieved when she met Simon that evening to find him cheerful and friendly. ‘Got a job yet?’ she asked.
    ‘Looking around,’ said Simon airily. ‘How’s the case going?’
    ‘Which one?’ asked Toni cautiously.
    ‘You know, the murders and that pal of yours being kidnapped in Las Vegas.’
    ‘One minute, Agatha tells us all to go on holiday in case something happens to one of us, and the next minute, we’re all back on the job again.’
    ‘You can see her point. Until everything is solved, you’ll always be looking over your shoulders. What’s the latest?’
    He looked so eager and friendly that Toni began to relax. There could be no harm in telling Simon. She often felt quite lonely in the evenings these days. Her old school friends seemed like strangers. She felt she had moved on out of their world: a world of discos and binge drinking and dreaming of becoming celebrities without getting any skills such as acting, singing or dancing.
    So Toni told him all about the latest theory that the Las Vegas business might have been a coincidence, about the disappearing farm machinery, and about Agatha leaping to the conclusion that there might be another rogue cop who had taken over when Gary had been murdered.
    Simon suggested they have dinner together, but Toni suddenly felt uneasy: that she should not have said anything at all. She swore him to secrecy, said she had another appointment and left.
    After she had gone, Simon sat, thinking hard. Any policeman who had turned criminal would be careful not to flash money around. But if this bent copper – say he was a bent copper – had money, surely he would want to buy something special and maybe keep it hidden. The police would be checking the casinos of Britain, looking to see if there was a recognizable face, but that would take days and weeks of studying video footage.
    He ordered another drink. Perhaps the best idea, he decided, would be to watch the comings and goings at police headquarters, see if there was something about any policeman that sparked his suspicions.
    The police frequented a pub called the Golden Eagle round the corner from headquarters. He decided that it might be a better idea to go there.
    But all he got for an evening’s work was too much alcohol and a hangover the next morning. Not one policeman or detective seemed to be flush with money.
    He drank two Alka-Seltzers and followed that with a cup of strong coffee before sitting down at his computer to type out a report for Mixden. Of course, he was cheating Agatha by spying for Mixden, but he comforted himself with the thought that Agatha deserved it for having interfered in his life.
    As he was typing, his thoughts returned to what he, for example, would buy if he had a lot of money. A car, he suddenly thought. A Porsche, a Ferrari, something flash, keep it hidden but take it out for a spin on days off, keep it well away from Mircester in a lockup.
    There was a dealer in expensive cars in Birmingham called Class Cars. He thought of phoning them but decided to go there in person. Thanks to the generosity of his parents, he had a wardrobe of expensive clothes. He put on a Savile Row suit with a silk shirt and silk tie, asked his father if he could borrow the Audi for a day and set off.
    Once at Class Cars, he wandered around the showroom until an assistant came up and asked, ‘Can I help you, sir?’
    Simon pretended to show interest in an Alfa Romeo. ‘I’m thinking of buying something really good,’ he said. ‘In this recession, you must be feeling the pinch.’
    ‘Well, I must admit, people are hanging on to the cars they’ve got,’ he said. ‘Would you like to take the Alfa out for a trial spin?’
    ‘Look,’ said Simon, exuding sincerity, ‘I’ll tell you what I’m really after.’ He produced one of the Agatha Raisin Detective Agency cards with his name on it. ‘I don’t want to waste your time. You’ve read about those dreadful murders in the Cotswolds?’
    ‘Yes, but what’s