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Jill’s name. I told him her maiden name was Jill Sommerville. He told me to phone him the following day, which I did. He said Jill had been working for a high-class escort agency and I had been well and truly conned. I confronted Jill again and said unless she agreed to an immediate and uncontested divorce, I would take her to court. She agreed. She moved out immediately. She was as cold as ice. She jeered at me and called me a boring fool. She said she had been tired of the life.”
    Agatha supressed a groan. Prostitution, however classy, often came with a package of drugs, crime and pimps. Someone could have followed her from America. It could even be some other man she had cheated. Agatha felt deflated and at a complete loss. She could not bring herself to believe that this ex-husband might be a murderer.
    “Are you two an item?” asked Tris.
    “We were married but it didn’t work out,” said Agatha.
    Tris grinned. “Join the club.”
    Outraged, James got to his feet. “I will wait for you outside,” he said coldly to Agatha, and stalked out.
    “I shouldn’t have said that. Should I go after him?” asked Tris.
    “It’s all right. He’s miffed because it was a bit rude to compare your awful marriage to ours.”
    “Let me make it up to you?” said Tris. “What about dinner one night?”
    “All right,” said Agatha. Inside, a little Agatha was jumping around, yelling, “Yipee! I’ve still got pulling power.”
    “What about tomorrow night?” asked Tris.
    “Where and when?” asked Agatha.
    “Would you like to try Polish food? There’s a good restaurant round the corner from where I live called Warsaw Home.”
    “Won’t it be dumplings and red cabbage?”
    “No, the menu’s varied.”
    “I’ll meet you there,” said Agatha. What time?”
    “Eight o’clock.”
    “You’re on. I better go and soothe James down.”
    *   *   *
    “I wouldn’t trust that one as far as I could throw him,” raged James. “Cheeky sod.”
    “He apologised very nicely,” said Agatha.
    “Has it crossed your tiny mind that he might be the murderer?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Agatha. “We’ve forgotten about wolfsbane or monkshood. The Carsely gardens are open to the public on Saturday. Let’s go round as many as we can and see if anyone is growing the stuff.”
    “You go,” said James, folding his arms and staring out of the windscreen. “I have work to do. Are you seeing that chap again?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” lied Agatha. “I think he’s told us the lot. I wish someone would pay me to find out the identity of the murderer because a trip to Chicago would be expensive.”
    *   *   *
    Agatha dropped James and went to search out the soothing presence of her friend Mrs. Bloxby.
    When she had finished telling Mrs. Bloxby all the latest news, the vicar’s wife looked worried.
    “I would almost feel relieved if the murderer were someone from Chicago,” she said.
    “Why?” demanded Agatha.
    “I feel it must be someone Miss Davent was blackmailing.”
    “She’s Mrs.”
    “Oh, well. Her. They are slimy sorts of murders. Someone from Chicago would not necessarily know about you. Are you going to take that blackmailing ledger to Detective Wong?”
    “I suppose I must,” said Agatha. “But I can’t say I stole it from Jenny Harcourt’s desk. I can’t lie and say she gave it to me or they’ll question her and she’s not that daft. Certainly, she wouldn’t have known it was there. For some reason, Jill picked on that as a good hiding place. She must have begun to feel threatened. I know, I’ll say it was shoved through my letter box. Now, to try to get Bill on his own. But first, I’d better go home and copy out what’s written in that book.”

 
    Chapter Five
    Through Patrick Mulligan’s contacts, Agatha found that Bill was due to finish his shift at seven that evening. Realising she was still very hungry, she stopped in at an all-day breakfast restaurant and