Classic in the Barn (24 page)

Nevertheless, I ought to ring her right away to make sure her barn was secure, so I turned to go.

The first thing I saw was a pair of smart leather boots.

There were on two sturdy legs planted outside blocking my exit. My eyes travelled up. I didn't know those boots – or the grinning face above them. Swarthy, longish black hair with occasional curls, black shirt, jeans and a chain round the neck. Thirties. Tall. Straight out of Hollywood? Doctor Who?

Neither.

‘Mason Trent,' announced the boot-owner. ‘Jack Colby, I presume. Heard you been asking about me.'

Now that I knew what I was dealing with, I recovered quickly. ‘We've met. Last night, I believe.'

His eyes slid over me. ‘Maybe.' Then they slid past me. ‘Nice car.'

The Lagonda. I went cold. There was nothing I could do, but brazen it out – if he gave me the chance. He wasn't going to risk another flooring from me, so the odds were that he was armed. I couldn't see any obvious signs, but he hadn't come bearing goodwill.

‘Heard you lost the little darling in a fire,' he continued chattily.

Who from? Harry, Andy, Tomas – did it matter? Not just as that moment, no. ‘Forgot where I left it,' I said casually. Keep the cool going. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘Not a lot. Car detective, you call yourself, don't you? Police work?'

Corner this carefully, I warned myself. ‘Work where I can get it.' Nice, I thought. Imply I'm anybody's for a fiver.

‘Right.'

I saw his hand go to a pocket. So this was it. I stiffened. Perhaps I could somersault myself at his feet – stupid, stupid . . . I didn't move.

The hand emerged again, and it wasn't holding a gun. The hand stretched out towards me.

‘Here's my card, mate.'

I stared at the revoltingly bright-pink object announcing Smiths' Restorations and Repair Shop with an address in Barton Lamb.

‘Very funny,' I observed.

‘Yeah. Used to know Mike Davis. Nice chap,' he informed me. ‘Pity he went the way he did.'

Play this up front, I told myself. Taking a deep breath, I became matey. ‘Never knew him myself, but I liked Polly. You heard she was murdered too?'

That did it. He hadn't missed the ‘too', not Mr Mason Trent. ‘Yeah,' he remarked, and the atmosphere grew chillier. He didn't say or do anything. He was waiting for me to make the running. OK, I could take a hint.

‘Thanks for the card,' I said politely. ‘What would I want to talk to you about?'

‘Mike owed me.'

‘Money?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Art money?'

A long pause now. ‘If you were to stumble across it, Jack, let me have it, eh?'

To my amazement – and relief – he began to stroll back towards his car. No bright-pink flashy job here, a modest Ford. The window was down, and he leaned out for a farewell word:

‘Oh, and, Jack, tell your chum Dave sorry we had to move out.' I looked at the pink card – and he grinned. ‘We won't be back.'

I tried: ‘So if I want to get in touch with you?'

‘Whistle and I'll come to you. Just whistle, Jack.' He drove off laughing, but I was under no illusions. I was on probation. One more move he didn't like, and the laughing would stop.

I felt as if I was watching the Tardis pull out, but there was no benevolent Doctor inside. There was an urgent job for me to do. Trent wasn't going to wait for me to hunt for that money – he'd be off to do it himself. And Bea might be on her own. I whipped my mobile out quicker than Clint Eastwood.

‘
Bea
!' I almost yelled down the phone, relieved to find her in, but terrified for her safety at the same time. ‘I'm on my way. Don't open the door to
anyone
except me.'

‘OK.' Bea sounded as though she had this command thrust at her every day. ‘Rob and Zoe are here though.'

I never thought I'd be glad to hear of Rob's presence anywhere. ‘Great,' I said.

Even so, I leapt into the Alfa feeling like Doctor Who myself, and when I arrived at Greensand Farm, I dashed for the front door. At least there was no Ford in the forecourt. Nevertheless, I fell in the door – opened by Rob.

‘Bea's OK, is she?'

‘Mind telling us what this is about?' asked the supercilious little twit.

‘Chap called Mason Trent. On the hunt for missing money.'

‘Aren't we all?' Rob drawled as Zoe and Bea emerged from the kitchen. At least they had the decency to look anxious.

‘Are you all right, Jack?' Bea asked.

She was actually worried about me, bless her. I gave them an edited account of my morning so far and the advisability of our getting down to the barn soonest.

‘Why?' Zoe asked practically. ‘This Mason Trent might be hiding behind the door.'

‘But he might find—' I began. ‘Stupid of me. We know there's nothing there.'

‘And even if the dosh is somewhere around,' Rob said languidly, ‘I'd sooner be here than there if he does show up.'

I longed to say I'd protect him, the little darling, but for Zoe's sake held back. I'd not been thinking straight, of course.

There was no ring at the doorbell for the next few hours, and by the afternoon Zoe and Rob decided they had a mission elsewhere, but said they would be back later and stay on for supper. I pointed out that no way could Bea stay here tonight alone, so I'd sleep over here again. This caused a raised eyebrow from Rob, which surprised me until I thought it through. The trouble was that this place was beginning to seem much like home, and Bea such a fixture that I almost wished she wasn't too young for me. Grow up, Jack, I told myself as I looked at her slumped in the garden – in Polly's garden. I still thought of it that way, and I began to realize it wasn't Bea so much as Polly for whom I was still hankering. Bea was the closest I could get to the dream, but she dwelt in another country, one which was twenty years younger than mine.

‘What's that bruise?' she asked curiously, when Rob and Zoe left. She was carefully inspecting my face. ‘I've been dying to ask you, but thought you might not want to make a public confession. Another cosh on the head?'

‘A mere tussle, and I won. Not serious.'

She looked relieved, which was pleasing.

‘Bea,' I continued, ‘I've a theory to put to you. You won't like it.'

‘Try me.'

‘How about art theft? Big time.'

She looked blank to my relief. ‘What about it?'

‘Smuggling paintings through customs in the Lagonda.'

She was there in a flash. ‘No money laundering then? Mum and Dad together?'

‘Right first time.' I proceeded to explain, almost forgetting that it was her parents we were talking about, but luckily she seemed to take it with the same attitude.

‘What about after Dad died?' she asked. ‘Mum did travel occasionally, but not in the Lagonda. I truly didn't know she still had it.'

‘I believe she would have given up after your father died. No fun without him.'

Bea went very pale. ‘Then she must have been killed because she realized he'd been murdered too, just as you suggested. It's still one big guess though.'

‘But tenable, and it implies that there were other people involved in the art operation. Maybe your parents were just cogs in the wheel.'

‘Must have been quite big cogs,' Bea said bravely. ‘My father wouldn't stand for being a lowly cog. He thought big.' She paused. ‘Does this mean there would be no buried treasure after all, or that it's more likely?'

‘I don't know.' The unpleasant thought occurred to me that Mike and Polly might have been responsible for bringing back the cash for the stolen paintings. Smuggling art out and money in. Handing the cash over – minus a bit. Perhaps not handing any cash over . . . Arguments over the cash. A hundred scenarios, but they all came down to the fact that only Mike and Polly would know where the loot was, and therefore murder would seem an inappropriate route to take.

‘If there really is buried treasure,' Bea said with a wobbly voice, ‘I don't think Mum knew about it. Fiddling the till might have been Dad's private venture. He saw that kind of thing as exciting, but Mum didn't. Not where money was concerned. So it's all too possible he never told her.'

‘If you're right, Bea, I need to check the barn again.'

‘I'll come with you.'

‘No way,' I said firmly. ‘And I'll wait till Rob and Zoe are back here before I go dashing down there. That's if you don't mind my poking around?'

‘Be my guest.' She made an attempt at humour. ‘Don't run off with the loot, though.'

I promised her that after the British Museum she would be the first to hear about it.

TWENTY

For all my brave words, I was not hopeful of finding anything buried in that barn, however hard I looked. The only thing that decided me on this venture was that I wasn't the only person interested in it, although it was probable that by now they'd come to the same conclusion as I had. It was worth a second go, however, so I left my car outside the farm – as a subtle hint to Mason Trent that I was around if he wanted a repeat match after last night's – and walked through the farm to the barn.

As I did so, smelling the earth and trees around me, I wondered how many times Polly and Mike must have made this journey. They almost seemed ahead of me as I went through the kissing gate. I imagined them playing around there and laughing at the ‘game'. I began to feel less confident that I was going to achieve anything at the barn. I was a mere intruder into what was
their
secret. I began to wish I'd taken Rob up on his half-hearted offer to come with me. Especially as I felt my stomach muscles tighten. I could see what lay ahead of me – or rather who.

I wasn't going to be alone at the barn. Big chap though I am, I felt the chill of fear strike again. Then I relaxed a little as I saw it was not Mason Trent but Guy Williams, and unpleasant words would be the worst that could pass between us. As I drew nearer, however, I sensed there was something strange going on. He wasn't looking at me, though my arrival must by that time have been obvious. He was standing quite still, looking at the ground or something lying at his feet. He didn't even look up as I approached and called out to him. It was almost as though he had been expecting me.

He was not far from where Polly had lain. And then I saw what he was looking at. Another dead body, more blood, more brains spilling out over the dry ground.

‘Tomas,' Guy said to me matter-of-factly, as I felt my stomach heave. ‘He's been shot.'

He must be in shock, I realized, and I must be too. I swallowed hard and tried to discipline myself into calm. ‘Have you called the police?'

‘No.'

‘I'll do it.'

My oil business days had taught me it's wise never to be far from a phone, and I had my mobile in my pocket. My mouth felt dry. Should I ask Guy outright if he'd killed him? He didn't look like Guy the Gorilla any more; he was out of his depth, struggling to communicate, only able to jerk out the words:

‘Gun's over there. Not mine.'

He was right. Tomas Kasek's body was hunched up on its side and the gun tucked into its curve.

‘Did you use it?'

He looked at me as if I were mad. ‘He was dead when I got here. I didn't touch it.'

I believed him. We were communicating OK now. On the same side. At least I hoped we were.

I made the call, and we retreated to the same tree trunk I'd sat on before. Correction,
I
retreated there, but it was only with difficulty that I persuaded Guy to move. He remained gazing down at the body, and I had to return, grab him and drag him back with me. Then he began to go to pieces. He clasped his trembling hands, as though that would stop them. But it didn't, and talking was only going to make it worse. I reckoned I had to push it though. No time would be wasted once Brandon got the message, as he undoubtedly would.

‘OK,' I said to Guy gently. ‘Tell me. Before the police get here.'

It took him a while, but he managed to speak. ‘He was dead. Killed hours ago, I reckon. I came to see where he'd got to. I touched him.'

I wondered whether the irony of the situation had occurred to him. Our roles were reversed from the day he and Polly had found me apparently looting the barn. If so, he didn't comment. Everything served to confirm my impression that he was innocent. What on earth would Guy want to kill Tomas for? Guy had been his main supporter, and one of the few who believed him innocent.

‘Any sign of anyone else around when you arrived?'

It couldn't have been coincidence that Mason Trent had appeared at Frogs Hill that morning. No sign of a gun, but that was no proof. Would he have been fool enough to come to see me, however, if he'd had every intention of meeting and killing Tomas? Or had that been mere chance, because Tomas and he had arrived at the same time on the same quest: buried treasure.

I glanced across at the barn, trying to avoid looking at the body lying outside it. I couldn't be sure from this distance, but it looked as though the door was still locked. The security system was in place, and Bea would have heard if there was an intruder.

‘No.'

‘He was here the day before yesterday too. I saw him off, and Bea got a new security system fitted. I told him I'd throw the book at him if he came again – yet he obviously did.'

‘There's no current maintenance work in this field,' Guy told me. ‘There's no legitimate reason for his presence. I came because someone told me they'd seen Tomas heading this way, so I hoofed it up here.'