Pushing Up Daisies (10 page)

So they followed him through a door at the back of reception and found themselves in a huge workplace, full of the sound of sawing and planing. “He's got his area at the back,” yelled Jake. “I can't see him, but he's probably brewing up tea in his cubbyhole.” He pointed off to a small partitioned area at the back of the shop. “Wait here. I'll go in and get him.” He pushed open the flimsy door.

They waited. “What's up with the boy?” complained Agatha.

She and Charles pushed open the door and then stood, frozen with horror. Jake was standing there, holding a bloody severed head. The young man's face was greenish-white, and he looked ready to faint. Later, Agatha thought if she had not been so concerned to preserve the crime scene, she might have fainted herself.

“Put the head down where you got it,” she shouted, “and walk away.”

Numbly, and as if sleepwalking, Jake put the horrible head on a small table littered with tools. The decapitated body was sitting in a battered armchair, and the flimsy wooden walls of the cubbyhole were drenched in blood.

“Get the police, Charles,” said Agatha. “I'll try to help Jake. Then see if you can get someone in charge to cordon off the area.”

A man walked up to Agatha. “What's up with him?”

“Toby Cross has been murdered,” said Agatha. “We're waiting for the police. Can someone get this boy tea or brandy?”

A man who seemed to be the manager joined them and listened in horror to Agatha's discovery. He started shouting out orders. Soon, the cubbyhole was fenced off with lengths of wood. Jake was given brandy, and some colour began to return to his cheeks.

“It's a joke, isn't it?” he pleaded.

“Don't think so,” said Agatha.

“I thought it was, you see. That's why I picked up the head. I was going to carry it out and bowl it at them, and then I saw my hands were sticky with blood and … and … there was this smell of shit and blood and…”

“There, now,” said Agatha. “Have another swig of brandy. Here comes a nice policeman.”

“‘To put you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head,'” murmured Charles behind Agatha, making her jump.

“What a long day,” sighed Agatha. Detectives had followed police and then a forensic team, photographer, pathologist had arrived. She and Charles gave long interviews until Agatha felt she could scream.

As they left the police station, they saw the dejected figure of Jake sitting on the steps. “I thought you would be in hospital being treated for shock,” exclaimed Agatha.

“It's awful. Pa arrived with Mr. Bonlieu and Bonlieu said he would have to fire me. He said I had been a disaster. He got to hear I had told some customers that maybe they'd be better off at Ikea. So Pa says it's either the army or I get out and make my own way.”

“You'd better come back with us. I'll find you work,” said Agatha.

Charles groaned.

“But first,” went on Agatha, “I think we should book into some hotel. I've got to try to see that other chap in Kensington tomorrow.”

After a fortifying all-day breakfast, Agatha said to Jake, “Feel like talking a bit about it? The police wouldn't tell me anything. Didn't they offer you victim support?”

“Yes, but then Pa turned up and all I wanted to do was get away from him.”

“What about your mother?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, sorry. But before the questions, don't you want to go home and pack some things?”

“And get shouted at? I'll wash out my smalls tonight. What do you want to know?”

“Why did no one hear him screaming?”

“Well, there's always a lot of noise.”

“Was he allowed to take a break when he felt like it?” asked Charles.

“He was one of the few independent craftsmen. He could do chairs that looked like Chippendale or Sheraton. Great favourite with the new rich. He could make his own hours just so long as he delivered the finished product on time.”

“When you picked up the head, was the blood wet or tacky?” asked Agatha.

“The police asked me that. It must have been sort of sticky. I got the stuff on my hands. That's why I thought at first it was a joke until I saw the rest of the body.”

“Did anyone see him at all today? I mean, when we asked, you said he was in his cubbyhole. How did you know?”

“One of his clients came in early and asked to see him. Toby led the man into his office.”

“But how did you know he was still there?” pursued Agatha.

“Because one of the fellows going out for lunch said, ‘Toby stays in that hole of his all day. When does he work?'”

“I said he had keys to the place and sometimes worked all night.”

Agatha stared at him for a long moment. Then she said slowly, “When each chair was finished, was it then sent to an upholsterer?”

“No, Toby did that as well after the client had chosen the right sort of cloth, usually Regency stripes or something dead unimaginative like that.”

“Drugs!” exclaimed Agatha.

“In the chairs?” said Charles. “If the man was peddling drugs, he could carry them easier in his pocket.”

“
A lot
of drugs,” said Agatha stubbornly.

“Forget it. I'm tired.” Charles stifled a yawn.

But Agatha's eyes were gleaming. “You don't have any keys to the warehouse, Jake?”

“Oh, lor', yes. I forgot to give them back. But if you're thinking of going there, the police will be all over the place.”

“They'll have gone by now,” said Agatha.

“But there'll be police tape on the doors.”

“Not all of the doors! Is there one at the back?”

“Yes, but…”

“Let's go,” said Agatha excitedly.

“If were given to sulk, I would sulk,” said Charles bitterly. “Oh, I suppose I'd better join you, if only to watch you making a fool of yourself.”

They stopped the taxi a good bit away from the premises and then Jake led them to the back of the property by a circuitous route. He fished in his briefcase and brought out a ring of keys.

“Switch on the lights,” said Agatha.

“That'll bring the police!” exclaimed Jake.

“If we walk about flashing torches, someone's more likely to get suspicious,” said Agatha. “If they see all the lights blazing, they'll think it has something to do with the work.”

“What! With police tape on the front door?” said Charles.

“I didn't see any police tape,” snarled Agatha. She flicked a torch round the walls, located a bank of light switches and turned several on.

“Is there any point in telling you that the front of the building is probably taped off?” said Charles.

Agatha ignored him. “Lead the way, Jake. I don't want to muck up the crime scene. If Toby had any chairs ready for delivery, where would they be?”

“Through that door on the left. That leads to the storeroom. Beyond that is the garage. If he's got any stuff, it'll be easy to find. He's got his own label. Become quite famous has Toby.”

“Oh, Aggie,” said Charles. “Let's get to bed. If he had become a famous furniture maker, then it stands to reason he wouldn't need more money out of anything illegal.”

But Agatha opened the door to the storeroom and switched on the overhead fluorescent lights.

“The last commission he had was for a set of dining chairs for the Malimbian Embassy,” said Jake. “I suppose those crates in the corner are the chairs. They've got Toby's name on them.”

“Okay, Jake,” said Agatha. “There's a crowbar. Open up one of them.”

Charles waited for Jake to protest, but Jake was in the grip of a new freedom offered by this odd woman who had offered him accommodation and a job. He no longer had to fear his father. He cheerfully seized the crowbar and prised open a side of the crate. Four chairs were wrapped and stacked.

“Lift out one of the chairs and slit open the upholstery,” said Agatha.

“You're not wearing gloves. Your fingerprints will be all over the place, and you will be charged with wanton vandalism,” said Charles.

“There's no need to slit the upholstery at the top. Maybe we can get in through the bottom,” said Jake. “I'll fetch some carpentry tools.”

“Good lad. Go to it.”

When Jake returned, he made a little opening and poked and prodded with a chisel, but there seemed to be nothing but stuffing.

Agatha saw the cynical, amused look on Charles's face and suddenly realised the enormity of what she had encouraged Jake to do.

“Wrap it up again,” she urged. “And then we'd better wipe our fingerprints off.”

“That's odd,” said Jake.

“What's odd?” demanded Agatha. “Oh, hurry up. I must have been mad.”

“The balance,” said Jake. “It seems as if one leg's heavier than the other. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.” And as Agatha and Charles wailed, “Noooooo!” Jake seized a saw and began to saw the leg off. The leg of the chair fell to the floor, and out of it rolled what looked like gravel.

“There you are,” said Agatha. “It's only some stuff to add weight.”

Charles knelt down and picked up what looked like a grey pebble. “Uncut diamonds,” he said.

“Police!” shouted a voice from the doorway.

A uniformed policeman strode in followed by a short, burly looking man with a red face.

“Oh, God!” said Agatha.

“Worse than God,” said Jake. “It's Pa.”

“It's alright officer,” said Mr. Lisle. “That's my son. He's not right in the head. Don't phone it in. No charges.”

“You'd better phone it in, officer,” said Jake triumphantly. “We've found uncut diamonds in the leg of this chair.”

Charles took out his phone. “I'm calling my lawyer,” he said.

Agatha had suffered long interviews with the police before, but this latest round of grillings left her close to exhausted tears. First there was the local police and detectives. Then came detectives from Scotland Yard, followed later by Special Branch and after them, three quiet men in well-tailored suits and with hard eyes.

“I am not a racist!” Agatha had howled at one time. How could she explain this odd intuition of hers? They assumed, because it was an African Embassy, she had suspected villainy. While the long interrogations went on, they were moved to Paddington Green station and allowed only a few hours' sleep.

After two days and with warnings not to leave the country, they were let out and allowed to go home.

It was a brisk cold sunny day as the three of them stood like owls on the steps of Paddington Green station, blinking in the sunlight, having said goodbye to their respective lawyers.

They were just about to hail a taxi when a limousine drove up. “Pa,” said Jake.

“My boy,” said Mr. Lisle, bounding up the steps, “I have secured a place for you at Sandhurst.”

“I've got a job,” said Jake. “Honest. I'd make a lousy soldier. This lady has hired me as a detective.”

Agatha supressed a groan. She had planned to find employment like gardening for Jake until he found something in line with his mental abilities like, maybe, construction work.

“Then she's as big a fool as you are. May you rot. I'll send your stuff on.” He glared at Agatha. “What's your address?”

Had Agatha not been so exhausted, she would have yelled at Mr. Lisle and then told him to take his son away. But she only wanted to get to bed, and Jake was looking at her like a whipped puppy.

She handed over her card and said mildly, “Shove off. Taxi!”

The three dived into a cab with the raging voice to Jake's father ringing in their ears. “Let's get back to the hotel and pay the bill and get home,” said Agatha. “Oh, my cats! They wouldn't let me phone Doris.” Doris Simpson, Agatha's cleaner, often looked after the cats while Agatha was away. “I'll phone her now and say I'll be home as soon as possible.”

“Agatha!” protested Charles. “Not one of us is fit to drive.”

“I am,” said Jake.

Charles grinned. “Doesn't the boy make you feel old, Aggie?”

But Agatha was busy phoning Doris.

Back at last in Carsely, all of them feeling grubby and exhausted. Charles collected his own car and left for his home. Agatha wearily showed Jake the spare room but said she would use the bathroom first. When she finally emerged, clean and ready for bed, she went into the spare bedroom to tell Jake he could use the bathroom, but he was fast asleep, sprawled across the top of the bed. She decided to leave him as he was.

Agatha awoke late. She squinted at the clock. It was after ten. She struggled into her clothes and went downstairs to a welcome from her cats and the smell of fresh coffee.

Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was working in the kitchen. “Sit down, love,” said Doris, “and I'll get you a mug of coffee. You're in the newspapers. I bought them all at the shop. They're on the table.”

“What are they saying?” asked Agatha.

“Just that you and Sir Charles had been taken to Paddington Green for enquiries.”

“Oh, snakes and bastards. That's where they take terrorists. Doris, I've got a young man upstairs.”

“Well, you know me, Agatha. I never was a one to judge. They say these here winter summer…”

“I am not having an affair,” howled Agatha. “But he's going to work for me, and he needs clothes. Could you be an angel and go to Marks in Mircester and see if you can buy him stuff to be going on with? I'll give you plenty of money, and take enough as well to pay for your time … and petrol, of course.”

Doris took down Agatha's little used sewing basket from a cupboard and fished out a measuring tape. “I'll best measure the lad.”

Because of all the dramas he had been through, when Jake awoke to find a white-haired lady measuring him, his first mad idea was that he was being sized up for a coffin, and jumped out of bed with a yell.