Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery (29 page)

‘I take it you're here to spare Anna's feelings? That's if she knows who you are,' I said, glad to accept the offer.

‘I've never met her, but Arthur deemed it politic to omit me, successor trustee or not. She's OK, a bit strange, but it should improve, the hospital says. I told Arthur my absence was fine with me. And before you ask, the merry widow's doing well.'

‘Found your merry man yet?'

‘I have my eyes on one. Depends on how merry he is.'

‘I hope it works.'

‘So does Jason. He's tired of having an over-merry mum. Wants me to settle down and bake cakes for him. I told him to get married again. He told me to get lost, only he didn't use those words. I then pointed out that he owed me because of the Porsche. Talking of which, Jack, are the police going to charge us with wasting their time?'

‘Not if you're lucky.'

‘And what about Anna?'

I'd asked Dave what he intended to do about Boadicea and the Porsche, though I couldn't tell Jenny that. ‘Nothing,' Dave had told me, ‘much as I'd like to. No point wasting more police time as the car's back safely. When she's well we'll have a chat with her. The sort of chat I have when I'm not feeling happy.'

‘I pity her,' I had said feelingly.

Boadicea, on her reappearance from lunch, gave every sign of enjoying her day of glory, and being back on self-imposed duty I followed her route. Her first port of call was the Punch and Judy show. She and most of the lunch party sat down to watch, and she stared at it entranced, clapping her hands in glee and shouting out at the appropriate moments. I couldn't share her delight. To me the gleam in Punch's eye as he lashed out at Judy had the same maniacal gleam in his eye as the Laughing Sailor. The rest of the party, however – Glenn, Fenella, Peter, Jason and Jessica – seemed as glued to the show as Boadicea, as though it were the height of theatrical experience. Perhaps it is, encapsulating murder, punishment, family life, marital relations and a few other aspects of life, yet we all cheered at the end because they were unreal puppets and Punch got his comeuppance.

I'd seen no sign of Doubler thankfully, but any relaxation I felt was promptly squashed when I realized his men could be around. Which brought the unwelcome question of where Jason's guards were, and – sudden fear – were they covering the ladies' toilets?

‘Yes,' Jason reassured me when I tracked him down. ‘Only just thought of it, Jack? And you a detective.'

‘Car detective,' I reminded him. ‘Car washes don't need guards.'

Whoosh was going to wind up with a grand parade round the track which included Jason's performance, and as the afternoon wore on, it became an increasingly peaceful day. A Teddy Bears' Picnic was laid out on the grass at four o'clock, at Boadicea's request. Cucumber sandwiches, jelly, trifles, scones and cream, and urns of tea and orange squash made their appearance, plus wine for the sturdier older folk, overseen by a small army of both stuffed and human teddy bears. Boadicea was sitting in one of a small group of chairs, appropriately looking as pleased as Punch, with her nearest (and I hoped dearest) grouped around her, and overlooked by the beady eyes of several guards. The rest of us sat on cushions on the grass. Nothing happened to disturb this peaceful scene, but the contrast between this and what still might lie ahead was something that still lodged uneasily in my mind. I pushed it away, telling myself this was time off. Until Boadicea suddenly rose to her feet.

‘I want a bunfight,' she shouted. ‘Let's all throw custard pies.'

A stunned silence followed, until Jessica gave a resigned nod. Luckily, she quickly improvised a plan that those who wished exemption from this treat should wave a white paper napkin. Even so the bunfight was not a huge success, as very few people joined in. Fenella was not one of them, but a blob of trifle arrived on the beautifully made-up face, courtesy I think of Jessica. I looked round hopefully for Colin as a target but there was no sign of him and Jason too had disappeared, so I took it that the Harlequinade was in preparation.

I felt myself relaxing but struggled to fight against it. The fat lady hadn't yet sung, I reminded myself. A row of seats had been set at the side of the track for Boadicea to watch the parade, and she sat down between Glenn and Arthur, with Peter, Fenella and Ray on the far side. Arthur was looking tired now and no wonder.

Then the parade began – and what a parade. Clowns doing somersaults, furry animals (with humans inside), and various assortments of witches, fairies, and wizards. The procession seemed endless, and the strain of constantly watching for a threat that never materialized began to get to me.

When at last I thought it was coming to an end, I remembered there was still Jason's performance to go. The stage had been set in the centre of the track opposite the line of chairs, and it was there that Jason as Harlequin and Liz as Columbine enacted a brief mime of stolen sausages and then danced, together with Colin the Clown. Only, in Colin's case it wasn't much of a dance, it was more of a lumber, whether intentionally or not. It served to contrast with Jason's elegant dance with Columbine (doing her best). It finished with Harlequin throwing a bouquet to Boadicea, which she rose to catch with a squeal of delight. A fairy tale ending for her fairy tale day. Now, surely, I could relax.

And then came the dark.

I don't know what alerted me – a cry or an instinct that something was wrong, a lack of action perhaps … Glancing over as the audience was dispersing I could see Glenn was still in his seat, slumped – and surely not sleeping? Terror gripped me as I pushed past the people in my path as I hurtled towards him. He'd been next to Boadicea. Had the knife or bullet been meant for her? As I reached him, I saw there was no knife, no blood – and no movement.

‘Fainted,' one of the guards said uncertainly.

No ordinary sleep, this; there was no response. ‘Get the first-aiders over here,' I yelled. ‘I'll ring for an ambulance.'

The St John Ambulance first-aiders, a stalwart presence at such events as this, were there in a flash. My initial role was over while we waited for the ambulance and the police. Fenella and Arthur were at Glenn's side, but Arthur looked so shaken that, having reassured myself that Glenn was alive, I took him to sit down some yards away, just as Jason, now changed from his Harlequin outfit, came rushing up to us. I left Arthur to him while I remained with Glenn and Fenella.

With a lurch of my stomach I realized I had paid scant attention to Boadicea. What if Glenn were the diversion and Boadicea was the main target? Thankfully, I spotted her with Peter and Ray. She didn't seem to have noticed that anything was wrong, even when the ambulance arrived.

‘I'll go—' Arthur began.

‘Stay there,' Jason ordered him. ‘Fenella can go with him.'

Arthur sank back, and after the ambulance had left I found myself alone with him. Jessica was taking charge of the disrupted Whoosh, Peter was looking after Ray and Jason had taken Boadicea to the clubhouse.

Arthur began to speak, disjointedly and with difficulty. ‘Glenn was mad at Mike,' he said. ‘He could have done that murder, Jack. Did he?'

I decided on truth. ‘There's some evidence but not more than there is for other possible suspects.' I paused. ‘Is that why you asked me to step in? Because you were afraid Glenn was guilty?'

‘I reckon so. Is this a suicide attempt?'

‘No,' I said gently. ‘I don't think Glenn would ever try to kill himself. And even if he wanted to, why here where it would distress you even more? It doesn't add up.'

Arthur took no notice. ‘But if it was he who killed Mike and attacked Anna—'

‘We don't know that, Arthur – and this wasn't a suicide attempt.'

He still took no notice. ‘He could have been afraid of what I might give Mike, or that I might put every dollar I had into Old Herne's. I wouldn't do that, Jack, and Mike wouldn't have let me. He told us all at that lunch that if the Porsche wasn't found, he'd have the insurance money to put into the place.'

‘So Glenn wouldn't have wanted to rush out and kill Mike,' I said firmly. Glenn, if driven into a corner, could murder someone, I thought, but not in the way Mike had been killed. Glenn was too fond of his own skin. I came round to the obvious. It was much more likely that whatever drug it was had been put into the wrong teacup. Glenn had been sitting next to Boadicea at the picnic as well as at the track.

Obvious? I did a double take. What
was
obvious was that I'd been a blithering idiot. Of course it hadn't been the wrong teacup! It was the intended one.

Boadicea had been as pleased as Punch at the afternoon's events. Punch, who had battered his wife – just as surely as she had swung the axe at Mike, climbed into the Crossley and run him down. Just as surely as she had probably dropped her strong sleeping pills into Glenn's tea to further her own imagined claim to run Old Herne's.

‘I'll be back,' I told Arthur as, groggy with shock, I forced myself into action.

Brandon – find Brandon. Where the hell was he? In the clubhouse? I tried his mobile. Voicemail. I'd not seen him since the ambulance had left. But then I caught sight of Dave. Wonderful Dave, who listened and acted.

‘Get going, Jack,' he said. ‘I'll find Brandon. Trust me.'

I did.

I found Jason and Boadicea sitting peacefully in the window seat of the bar with Hedda temporarily back in her old job. I told Hedda to go to the track to look after Arthur and then went over to the window seat to join them. Jason was silent and Boadicea was happily chatting about the events of the day. Then, when she saw me, she broke off from her rhapsody about cuddly animals. ‘What are you doing here?' she snapped.

‘I've been enjoying the Punch and Judy show,' I said in as normal a voice as I could manage, and sat down in an armchair that would block her exit if need be.

Jason must have caught the tone of my voice because he looked up sharply.

‘I'll be staying some time, Jason,' I continued.

His eyes went to Boadicea and then back to me. ‘Is anyone joining us?'

‘Several people,' I told him.

He nodded. ‘I'll stay too.'

Boadicea didn't seem to notice anything strange as she chatted on about ghosts and animals. Even when Brandon arrived with two female constables she didn't query their presence. Even when they asked her to come with them for questioning and led her to the waiting car.

Neither Jason nor I went with her, and afterwards I let out a long sigh of relief. ‘Did you realize she killed your father, Jason?' I asked, when he still said nothing.

I had discounted Boadicea because I had reasoned she had nothing to gain from murdering Mike, but she had. Oh yes. She was, as Jason had said, not a clever woman. She'd planned the theft of the car and its destruction, banking on the fact that she and Mike would have the insurance money. But then on the eve of Swoosh Mike had announced that he would put that into Old Herne's. That, combined with the lunch at which Arthur had said Mike would go on running the club, clinched it.

So how did the attack on her fit in? I'd probably been right about the blackmail, but not about the reason for it. Shaw knew she was responsible for the theft of the Porsche, but if he'd also known or made a lucky guess over her guilt for Mike's death then how much more she would have had at stake? But she couldn't pay, and she knew who Shaw was. Which meant that his private enterprise could get back to Doubler. And Doubler didn't like being double-crossed …

‘I suspected she'd killed my father,' Jason answered me at last. ‘Eventually, Arthur did too, but like me he couldn't quite believe it. He was still afraid Glenn was guilty. Whoosh was a way of bringing it to a head.'

‘A risky one,' I said.

‘We had to play with the cards in our hand. I hoped and hoped it wasn't true because of Ray. He was the grandfather I grew up with, and although they fought like cats and dogs, he and Anna managed to get on in a weird way.'

‘And now?' I asked.

‘Arthur and I will look after him. And, I suppose, after Anna too. She's quite mad, you know.'

I was worried about the effects on Arthur, but Jason assured me he could cope. Boadicea was duly charged, and for once Brandon talked to me for quite a while about the case.

‘I doubt if she's even fit to plead,' he said. ‘Couldn't wait to tell me about her wonderful day with the animals. It took some time to get her on to whether she killed her husband. No problem then. She was amazed that we seemed shocked. Of course he had to go. First he wouldn't sell the car, which is why she had to arrange its theft. Second, he wouldn't listen to her advice on how to run the place properly. Didn't he realize they would be penniless? And then Arthur Howell had the cheek to say Mike could stay on, and after pouring his salary into the old place Mike said he'd use the insurance money too. She'd seen the accounts; they'd be out on their ear in a few months or a few more after that if the insurance money went in. So she'd asked Mike to talk it over with Arthur Howell in the hope of his giving them more capital, but Mike wouldn't do it. Said he'd rather put all his salary in or take a cut, so he had to be stopped immediately.

‘She went to talk it out with Mike one more time in the hangar, but Mike wasn't interested. Said the Crossley was playing up and he had to get it to the track, so could she start it while he opened the bonnet to check the engine. She saw the axe and the greatcoat in the Crossley when she climbed up and realized what she had to do. Put on the coat to take the blood, swung the axe as he closed the bonnet, then got back in to make doubly sure of the job. Then she shoved the coat in that storage cupboard and hurried back to High House to change clothes and shoes. Came back, went to the track to join Arthur. Just like that.'