As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,46

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 went to the industrial estate, Patrick went home and changed out of his suit, collar and tie and shiny shoes. He put on old casual clothes, a scuffed pair of boat shoes and a baseball cap.

It was a glorious day in June. He cycled out to the estate, feeling he needed the exercise. The English are not very used to good summers, and the warm weather appeared to have taken a lot of people by surprise. He could see men and women carrying coats and jackets.

He cycled into the industrial estate and propped his bicycle at the side of the café. He realized he hadn’t had any lunch and ordered a hamburger, chips and tea. He could hear the man and woman who ran the café chattering in Polish. There were Poles everywhere in Gloucestershire. The lunch rush was over. He selected a table where he could get a good look at the entrance to Country Fashions.

Then he saw Bill Wong and Alice Peterson emerging and getting into their unmarked police car and driving off. He jerked down the peak of his baseball cap and turned his face away as the car slowed down opposite the café and then heaved a sigh of relief as it accelerated and drove off. He was served his hamburger, chips and tea. The tea was hot and freshly made. The hamburger was good, and to his amazement, the chips were from real potatoes, not the frozen kind.

He had a sudden longing to be able to sit here, relaxing in the sun, forgetting about detective work. But what would he do if he retired? He did not have any hobbies. Perhaps he and Phil could retire together and take up golf. At last, he decided reluctantly that he’d better get on with it and have a closer look at the factory.

As he approached it, a truck drove up and went round the back of the factory. Patrick paid for his food and pushed his bike in the direction the truck had gone. Men were unloading skins from the back of the truck.

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded a sharp voice.

Patrick swung round and found himself confronted by a man in the uniform of a security guard. Fortunately, Patrick had studied the list of businesses on a board as he had entered the industrial park.

‘I think I’m lost,’ he said. ‘I need a pump for the pond in my garden.’

‘You want Aquaria Plus, Lot eleven, over there,’ said the guard. Patrick got on his bicycle and cycled off.

Patrick lived in a flat and didn’t have a garden, but he was always cautious, and some instinct prompted him to cycle to Aquaria Plus, dismount and go inside. As he inspected a selection of pumps, he glanced out of the window. The security guard was standing there. Patrick fell into conversation with a sales assistant, and when he looked up again, the security guard had gone. He waited a few minutes and then said apologetically that he would need to consult ‘the wife’.

He cycled back to the café and ordered a cup of tea and a doughnut, sitting this time with his back to the factory. Perhaps the security guard was simply overzealous. Still, it was something to report.

Early that