Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery (25 page)

He groaned. ‘I was hoping you wouldn't tell me that.'

‘No choice. He was. He masterminded the nicking job with Shaw or someone else, then Shaw could have disobeyed orders. I can't see how, but the fact that the body has been dumped on my doorstep must indicate something.'

‘That Doubler's planning to nick the Porsche again?'

That hadn't occurred to me, but I couldn't see much mileage in it. I wondered whether to mention red poppies but as I couldn't see how they fitted in there wasn't much point in attracting Dave's standard withering silence when presented with apparent irrelevancies.

‘Unlikely,' I replied.

At which point Brandon came into the kitchen to join us. ‘Then why go dashing up to Friars Leas last night, Jack?'

‘Not because of the Porsche. I'd been told to go if I wanted to see the end of the game, the nature of which was not specified. With Shaw dead, the game seems to have been the Porsche.'

‘Let's get after Doubler then,' Brandon said. ‘Who's your contact, Jack?'

‘Via Huptons garage.'

‘But the chap Jack spoke to has left their employment, surprise, surprise,' Dave said.

‘Have you talked to Harry Prince?' I asked.

‘Yes. He's never been so horrified in his life. Fancy employing someone by mistake with forged references and forged identity, what was the car world coming to? And to think that had apparently happened at a Harry Prince garage. He would be
taking steps.
'

I wasn't surprised. Harry is good at turning blind eyes, but the minute a situation gets lukewarm, let alone hot, they are mighty good at becoming crystal clear, especially when his own safety is involved. So was Doubler, of course, but in a different way. Harry is genuinely nervous of tripping over the wrong side of the borderline he walks so carefully. He wouldn't knowingly have sanctioned Huptons having a
direct
line to Doubler. Indirect maybe – at a safe distance and hidden in a labyrinth.

‘Is Arthur Howell still at risk, Jack?' Brandon asked. ‘What's your feeling?'

I thought this through. ‘If there's only one game on the go then, as I said, it could be finished with Shaw's death. But if there's two, linked or not, then there may be more to come.'

The silence that greeted my statement confirmed my own fears. Mike's murder was carried out by someone who knew Old Herne's and the Swoosh programme. The theft of the Porsche also indicated a knowledge of Old Herne's. Boadicea's attack and Shaw's death could be linked to Mike's or the Porsche – or neither.

I went out with them to the crime scene where the team were popping endless tiny items into evidence bags with infinite care and inching to and fro on their painstaking search. Never had I felt so frustrated. I couldn't help physically nor, it seemed, mentally.

‘He'd been shot, Jack. But not here,' Brandon told me. ‘The car was parked and the body dragged over the gravel. That could be why you were called away. It takes some time to manoeuvre a dead body out of a car.'

‘If Doubler wanted Alex Shaw out of the way,' I said savagely, ‘he had a thousand places he could have chosen to leave it. Instead he makes it visible by dumping me right in it. Why?'

‘You tell us, Jack,' Brandon said blandly.

It was mid afternoon when I woke up after my second attempt at sleep – a more successful one than the first. Len and Zoe told me that I'd been asleep for three hours, by which time they were firmly established in the farmhouse organizing their own work schedules – including Arthur's Morgan – and fielding umpteen calls from the rest of the world, including Jessica, Glenn and Peter. News travels quickly. Most calls were quickly disposed of, but not Jessica's. I wanted to talk to her.

After I had finished my brief survey of events, she said simply: ‘That's terrible for you, Jack.' She had picked up immediately how I felt about the desecration of Frogs Hill. ‘Come and spend the night with me,' she urged.

I was tempted to accept so that I could forget the past twenty-four hours for a while. But I knew I couldn't leave Frogs Hill. ‘I need to face it, sweetheart, not make for a bolt-hole.'

She brushed this aside. ‘Do you want me to come to you?'

For a moment I hesitated, fool that I was, then thought of the long, lonely night ahead with so many unanswered questions out there in the dark. ‘Yes, please.'

‘Then I will. Len told me there was a footpath. I'll be with you by six thirty bearing dinner.'

I didn't protest. It sounded a great idea.

And then there was Jason, who had rung several times. I only hoped that didn't mean there'd been trouble at Nightmare Abbey too, but I needed to have a word with Brandon before I returned his call. I rang Jason ten minutes later and he answered the phone immediately it rang.

‘Trouble?' I asked him.

‘Not here. The police have been, though. You knew this man, Jack? The police wouldn't give us any info on him.'

‘He was involved in your Porsche theft.'

‘Not the famous Alex Shaw?'

‘Yes. Simon Marsh was an assumed name. I doubt if he organized the theft though.'

A silence, then Jason said: ‘I don't like this, Jack. I take it that phone message was merely to get you out of the house, but why here?'

‘I don't know.'

‘And why dump the body on you? You'd think it would be me since I'm the owner.'

‘
I don't know.
'
I was getting fed up with everyone assuming I knew the answer to everything. ‘I'm a car detective, not a supernatural all-seeing god.'

But Jason was remorseless. What was wrong with the man? ‘You thought Arthur was at risk.'

‘He still could be.'

I was gritting my teeth in earnest now. Jason was a grown man for all his elfin looks and fragile appearance. He was Mike's son, Arthur's grandson and he was tough. So far I only had his word for it that there had been a call at all. I'd asked Brandon if he had checked that and of course he had, but the answer had not been conclusive. There had been a call from a mobile at the time Jason claimed, but the phone was not traceable. The nearest they had got was that the call had been made in the Friars Leas area. It could therefore, as Brandon pointed out, have been Jason himself who called. And incidentally, he had thrown in for free, the power line feeding Friars Leas had been cut.

For all my irritation with Jason, I couldn't see how he could be connected with Alex Shaw, despite that red poppy. On a scale of ten, the probability was less than one. Besides, I respected Liz Potter's view that Jason was a good guy. I then reminded myself that that wasn't something to rely on in a murder case.

‘How did Arthur take the police visit?' I persevered, as Jason didn't comment.

He did this time though. ‘He insisted on seeing them, but it upset him.'

‘Because of the Porsche?'

‘No, because of Old Herne's. Glenn, Fenella and Peter were remarkably quick off the mark with visiting him today.'

‘Routine visit or because of last night?'

‘The latter, but they regularly check in to ensure I'm not diverting the family fortunes away from them – even Peter. I didn't tell them about Shaw, but a police sergeant has been doing the rounds up at Old Herne's.'

The net seemed to be drawing closer around the club, so perhaps the police were trying to link Doubler both to Shaw's murder and Mike's. If so, Old Herne's was central – and at its heart was Glenn.

I decided to take a risk. ‘I noticed a red poppy on Arthur's table last night.'

Jason's surprise seemed genuine. ‘What about it? It came in the post to Arthur a week or two ago. Don't know why and he didn't tell me.'

‘It might be linked to the car theft.'

‘It isn't,' he said flatly.

Jessica was a lady of her word. At six thirty precisely she appeared at the gate to my garden laden just like Len and Zoe with a backpack, but she was also carrying a large basket in one hand. She was sturdily dressed in trousers, anorak and trainers, which surprised me – although I don't know why it should. Jessica would dress to meet every occasion suitably clad. I ran down the path towards her with a lift of the heart. The garden on this late June evening was looking its best and murder seemed a long way away. I kissed her and took the bag from her.

‘Careful,' she warned.

‘It's a soufflé?' I joked.

‘You should be so lucky. I've brought soup, bread, cheese, smoked salmon, strawberries and various bits and bobs.'

‘That'll do, I suppose.'

She aimed a mock blow at me. ‘Shall we eat out here?'

Another great idea. The evening was warm enough and it seemed further away from the horror of the forecourt than did the house itself. It was pleasant to be dining here, I thought as I scurried to and fro bringing all the necessary paraphernalia and clutching a bottle of Chardonnay. Dad had built a sort of arbour to display his beloved roses, and we dined underneath its canopy of fragrance. I'm no gardener but I make sure that his roses are happy for his sake. My lost love Louise had loved this arbour, but there would be no thinking of her tonight, I resolved.

‘Tell me about it, Jack,' Jessica said at last when the wine bottle was empty, our stomachs full and some of the evening still stretched ahead. I took her at her word, leaving out Shaw's name, and she listened intently.

‘It doesn't make sense,' she observed.

‘My thoughts entirely. What line was the Old Bill taking with you today?'

‘He had a photo of this man and questions, questions, questions. Did we know him? Had we seen him around Old Herne's? Could he have had access to the keys?'

‘He was concentrating on the car theft then.'

‘Yes, not much about Mike.'

‘Did he talk to Tim?'

‘He did. Tim's so besotted with his new role that he'd have been furious if he'd been omitted. He's getting one over Glenn, as he sees it. He said he thought he'd seen the man in the photo before, but he wasn't certain where. The only person who thought he recognised him was Ray Nelson.'

‘Really? Where?'

‘High House.'

‘Is that possible?'

‘Not really. The chap he saw was delivering logs.'

Let-down, so I switched topics. ‘How's the Glenn arrangement working?'

‘Early days. He and Fenella are being careful not to upset me, and vice versa. We're all trying not to upset Arthur. I still have to button my lip every time Fenella shows me some of her crappy designs for the clubhouse, even though she pretends to take in what I'm saying. Glenn actually does listen to me about bookings and catering.'

‘Has Hedda departed from the bar?'

‘Yes. She and Tim are getting on like a house on fire. He orders her around, she takes no notice, and he loves the results. So it works a treat. The bar has two staff now as well as a couple looking after special events.'

‘How about Peter? Still waiting in the wings?'

‘I think he's bored with it. Fenella is repelling all advances, so he's decided to be a knight in shining armour; he's keeping Arthur informed of every step, even about Ray and Boadicea. She seems to be progressing.'

The rest of the evening swam by in a romantic haze. The time was ripe for romance. We ceased talking about murder, we even ceased talking about Old Herne's, and as the last of the light faded we retreated into Frogs Hill. I took Jessica's hand and led her upstairs. My bedroom is at the rear of the house and so fortunately we didn't have to overlook the crime scene, which was deserted save for a guard.

As I took Jessica in my arms, however, my eyes fell on the bed – but for the wrong reasons. My head began to swim, and by the time we both reached the bed, romance had vanished. I must have fallen asleep instantly because when I woke up it was long past dawn. Someone was shaking my shoulder, who in my dream I thought was Brandon castigating me for attacking Jason with a tyre iron. It wasn't Brandon, it was Jessica to tell me that breakfast was ready.

I groaned as my humiliation came back to me. ‘Sorry.' It wasn't much of an apology for the night now past.

She laughed. ‘Don't be. There's always next time.'

I pulled myself together and as soon as Jessica had set off along the footpath I remembered the outside world and what aspect of it lay closest to me – the crime scene. Before I could get any further, the phone rang. Not Dave, not Jason, not Len or Zoe.

It was Jennifer Ansty.

It wasn't hard to guess why she was ringing. ‘You've heard about Simon Marsh?' I asked. In the back of my mind a faint bell was ringing.

‘Yes, Jack. They want me to formally identify him as the man who sold me the car. Would you come with me? It's today.'

Her voice sounded strained and I could see this was going to be an ordeal for her. No problem. Of course I would go with her – especially as it meant I could get away from the crime scene. Soon, very soon, I hoped, it would be lifted and I could return to the Frogs Hill I loved, although that wouldn't be easy.

I drove to the police mortuary at Charing, where I had arranged to meet Jenny, as she wanted to get the ordeal over first before having the lunch I'd suggested. She arrived only a few minutes after me, and Dave joined us right away. ‘I won't come in,' I told her, ‘but Dave will look after you and I'll be here when you come out.' I didn't think I could face seeing Shaw again, and Dave was an excellent substitute. We were honoured. He didn't often work at weekends.

Jenny seemed happy with this, though she was definitely not the merry widow I remembered from Burwash. Dave, a solid family man, clearly saw her as Mum from his protective body language with her. They weren't gone long, and when they emerged, I had a discreet thumbs-up from Dave and a nod from Jenny

Dave left us rather regretfully and I took her to lunch at the Plough Inn at Stalisfield Green on the Downs. The pub and village are a long way from anywhere, but the food is so good that it feels like the centre of the universe. I hated to spoil their welcome and brilliant fare with work but I had no option. Something wasn't adding up.