Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

been heard threatening him.’
    ‘What about Melissa? God, that woman says she slept with James twice since we were married. How could James do such a thing?’
    ‘I think the fright of cancer made him behave most oddly. I’ve brought a bag. I’ll stay with you tonight.’
    ‘But I should be out there looking for him!’
    ‘Come, now. There is nothing you can do. The police will be searching everywhere. He took his car, so he’s still alive.’
    Agatha allowed herself to be led upstairs. Mrs Bloxby ran her a bath and sat on the bed until Agatha emerged from the bathroom.
    ‘Now, into bed with you,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘I’ll only be next door. Call me if you need anything.’
    Agatha lay awake a long time, clutching the duvet, horrors racing through her mind. She began to blame herself. Somehow, if she had been a better wife, then James would have confided in her. Something told her that James had indeed lied to her, that he had slept with Melissa. Melissa had no reason to lie to the police. And James would not have gone to Melissa for comfort if she, Agatha, had treated him better. Just when she thought she would never sleep again, she plunged down into a nightmare where she was searching the lanes and woods for James, dressed in her night-gown.
    The next thing Agatha knew, Mrs Bloxby was shaking her by the shoulder and saying, ‘The police are here again, Agatha. They insist on seeing you. James’s car has been found.’
    Agatha struggled out of bed, tore her nightgown off and began to scramble into clothes. ‘And James? Have they found him?’ she asked.
    ‘No sign of him, yet.’
    Agatha went downstairs. Wilkes was there with Bill Wong and a woman police constable.
    ‘You’ve found his car,’ said Agatha. ‘Where?’
    ‘Up in the woods, just before you reach the A44,’ said Bill.
    ‘Was there any clue in the car?’
    ‘Only more blood-stains,’ said Wilkes, and Agatha groaned. ‘It does look as if he was injured.’
    ‘May I see the car?’
    ‘No, it’s been taken away for examination. Do you know of anyone with any reason to attack him?’
    ‘None whatsoever,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ve thought and thought.’
    ‘You had better come with us to Mircester and make a full statement.’
    ‘I’ll just phone my husband,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘I’m coming with her.’
    As Agatha was driven past James’s cottage, she could see men in white overalls dusting for prints and searching everywhere. A numbness had settled on her. Once at police headquarters, she answered all questions like a dutiful child while Mrs Bloxby sat beside her and held her hand.
    The vicar’s wife wondered if Agatha realized how odd her story sounded. Yes, she had tried to marry James before but had forgotten to tell him that she did not know whether her husband Jimmy Raisin was alive or dead. Yes, Jimmy had turned up and cancelled the wedding ceremony. Yes, Jimmy was subsequently found murdered. No, relations between herself and James had not been very amicable. No, she did not know he had cancer. Mrs Bloxby did not know that, numb and shocked as she was, Agatha was not going to admit she had learned of James’s illness from Melissa.
    Mrs Bloxby knew that videos of the concert would be scanned and people interviewed to establish Agatha’s alibi. Could they establish from the blood-stains when James was attacked? Villagers often walked their dogs along Lilac Lane. If the attack had taken place in daylight, surely someone would have seen something or heard something. Melissa was more of a suspect than Agatha. She was the other woman. What did anyone in the village know of her? She was a fairly recent incomer. She must have been very keen on James to have had an affair with him in such a small village.
    The questioning went on and on. Agatha’s in bad shock, thought Mrs Bloxby. They must know that.
    At last, Agatha signed her statement and the interview was over. She was cautioned not to leave the country and to hold herself in readiness for further questioning.
    When they emerged from police headquarters it was to find Charles waiting for them. ‘I’ve been grilled as well,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Fancy some lunch?’
    ‘I must get back,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Alf will be wondering what’s happened to me.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll take her home. We’d better talk.’
    Mrs Bloxby looked doubtful. She drew Charles aside. ‘Be very careful,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Raisin has