Free The Blood of an Englishman by M. C. Beaton

James, getting out of his vehicle.
    But Agatha got out as well, telling herself she was a detective and to get a grip.
    The snow had suddenly stopped and a pale sun shone down through a break in the clouds.
    James rapidly told Wilkes what they had seen.
    â€œDetective Sergeant Peterson will take your statements,” said Wilkes. James saw a pub opposite.
    â€œWe’ll go over to the pub,” he said.
    â€œVery well,” said Wilkes. “But stay there until I join you.”
    *   *   *
    â€œYou should really have hot sweet tea,” admonished James as Agatha clutched a large gin and tonic.
    â€œHate the stuff,” said Agatha, taking a gulp of her drink.
    James described what they had seen while Alice recorded his statement on tape and also wrote it down in her notebook.
    When it was Agatha’s turn, she felt it was like describing a nightmare.
    â€œDo you think that was the sword from the theatre?” asked Alice.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Agatha. “There’s some awful hate-filled person around. To play that music!”
    At last Wilkes and Bill joined them. “The forensic team are going over everything,” said Wilkes.
    â€œDid you find the rest of the body?” asked Agatha.
    â€œIt was in the corner of his living room behind the sofa. It looks as if someone sliced his head off while he was asleep. What is even more horrible, is that there was a CD of the executioner’s chorus. Someone had programmed it to play over and over again. You will now need to go with Peterson to police headquarters and wait until your statements are prepared and then sign them.”
    *   *   *
    On the road to Mircester, James suddenly swung into a lay-by and stopped the car.
    â€œAgatha, I want you to drop this case,” he said.
    â€œI’ve never dropped a case yet,” said Agatha. “Why?”
    â€œBecause this mad murderer might come after you.”
    â€œJames,” said Agatha wearily, “I will put it on hold. By tomorrow or even later today, the village of Winter Parva will be thick with the media and tomorrow, the world’s media will join them. There will be squads of police going from door to door. I won’t be able to get near anyone.”
    â€œI really do wish you would drop it.”
    â€œNo and no. Drive on.”
    *   *   *
    After they were finished signing their statements, James left Agatha at her office. She waited until her small staff had all come back, complaining about the difficulty of getting anywhere through the snow.
    Agatha told them about the latest gruesome murder. “I had better phone Gareth Craven,” she said finally. “I won’t be able to proceed with any investigation while the village is flooded with police, rubber-neckers and the whole of the world’s media. You can all go home. We’ll do what we can tomorrow. This snow can’t last forever.”
    After they had all left, Agatha phoned Gareth Craven. He sounded frantic. “I can’t take much more of this. Haven’t you the slightest idea who is doing this?”
    â€œNot yet. But I will, I promise you,” said Agatha with a confidence she did not feel. “I will be back on the job once the press hysteria cools. I called on you before I found George but you weren’t at home.”
    â€œI was out at an old neighbour’s shovelling snow.”
    â€œI tried your mobile.”
    Gareth gave a shaky laugh. “I’d left it at home. What is this? Am I a suspect?”
    â€œNo,” said Agatha quickly. “I just wondered if you had seen anything or heard anything.”
    â€œI wish I had. I must try to see Gwen. This is awful for her.”
    â€œLet me know what she or anyone else says,” said Agatha.
    She had just put down the phone when it rang. It was John Hale. Agatha’s heart gave a lurch.
    â€œThis is awful, horrible,” said