03 - Murder in Mink (8 page)

Oh yes, Clara knew all about that. How often had she sat
and wondered where her future lay?  Yes, she had her work and it was good work,
but she was still lonely. For a brief period a few weeks ago that loneliness
had been assuaged by a dashing ex-RFC captain. O’Harris had been everything
that normally drove Clara away; brash, over-confident, boastful, driven.
Instead he had drawn her in and within a short time Clara had begun to think of
him a lot more than was usual. His disappearance had hurt. She denied loving
him, because Clara Fitzgerald did not fall that easily, but he had shown her an
insight into another world, a world where love, maybe even marriage was
possible. And then he had gone and blown it.

Clara tossed onto her side gruffly. He had ruined her
last hopes. She had opened a small, yet firmly sealed door inside herself, for
him, and when he left it was murder closing it again. Perhaps it hadn’t really
closed. A faint smile played on Clara’s lips because a thought had struck her.
That silly man Oliver Bankes was still around. She wasn’t sure if he irritated her
or appealed to her. He definitely drove her insane. He was so disorganised and scatter-brained.
Sweet, but hopeless. He was the sort of man who would need a full-time wife
just to ensure he got dressed and had breakfast in the mornings, not a woman
who had her own life to lead. Still, he was nice company and he
had
taken her out for afternoon tea every day after the loss of O’Harris was known,
just so she didn’t get down in the dumps. Silly man! But, bless him, he was so
amiably reliable. Clara rested back. Her last thoughts were of Oliver Bankes
and his endless photographs of Brighton.

“We’re heading to the race track, come on.”

“Tommy Fitzgerald don’t pester me! I barely slept.” Clara
splashed cold water on her face.

“You know Andrew didn’t come home last night? Peg wants
to see if he is there. He will be of course. I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps we should have checked the river again.” Clara
said grabbing up her purse.

“Don’t be cruel.” Tommy frowned at her, “Come on! Come
on! We have some cars to inspect!”

Clara rolled her eyes at her brother.

Brooklands race track fitted neatly into the rolling
Surrey landscape, strangely at peace with its country surroundings. Built in
1907 by Mr Locke King, a wealthy car enthusiast, the circular track lolled up
and down the rough ground and man-made hills. It was rather alien to Clara’s eyes,
these huge swathes of tarmacadam and concrete, coursing at angles and tight
turns to give the cars and drivers a good run for their money. Though the
landscape had grown up around it and removed some of its ‘newness’ it still
stood out against a backdrop of trees and fields.

“The track is 1,000 feet wide and 2 miles, 1,350 yards in
circumference.” Tommy read off a small leaflet a man at the gates had given
them, it seemed it was too early in the morning to be worrying about tickets
and the man had waved Tommy, Clara and Peg through without asking to see them,
“The total length is 3 and a quarter miles. Now, over there were the land
rises, that’s the Byfleet, made from two huge bankings that are so tall they
tower over the roofs of nearby houses.”

“I’m sure that delights the householders.” Clara said.

“When the land you live on is owned by Mr Locke King you
don’t exactly have an option.” Peg added, catching Clara’s tone.

“It says here at one point the track crosses the Wey
itself and at another it runs in the lee of a railway line. Oh and Clara,
Alcock and Brown’s Vickers Vimy aircraft they used in the World Record crossing
to America was made here.”

“They make a lot of planes in the sheds near the track.”
Peg pointed into the distance, “The long straight is an ideal landing strip.
Ask Andrew and he will tell you the mess the Royal Flying Corps made of the
racetrack during the war.”

They were approaching a series of white garages. Cars
were sitting idle in front with men in overalls tinkering with them.

“Last minute touches.” Peg nodded, “If Andrew is anywhere
it will be here. He usually has garage 10.”

“Peg, what do you make of Andrew staying out all night? I
mean, is that usual for him?” Clara asked as they threaded through scattered
tools and spare tyres.

“He can be like that.” Peg answered carefully, “Prone to
brooding. Trouble is, I can’t say for sure if he is upset because the woman was
a nasty fraud or because she was real.”

Clara had been thinking the same. The line of garages was
well-lit in the sunlight and it was not hard for Peg to suddenly give a cry and
point out Andrew’s Napier. It was painted a dark green and sitting on the very
edge of the garage area, between two pillars. A pair of legs stuck out from
underneath, moving slightly as their owner stretched to reach into the belly of
the beast.

“Andrew!”

The legs twitched and went still for a moment. Then their
owner cautiously pulled himself out from under the car. Andrew’s face was
smattered with oil and he looked as tired as Clara felt. When he stood, wiping
his hands with a cloth he only briefly looked at his sister then refused to
meet her eye.

“I was so worried!” Peg hopped forward and flung her arms
about his neck, “Silly boy!”

“Don’t make a fuss Peg.” Andrew brushed her away, “What
are you all doing here?”

“Well firstly we have tickets for the race.” Clara
motioned to two slips of paper in Tommy’s hand, “But secondly, and I dare say
most importantly, we came to ensure you were here and all right.”

Andrew gave a sullen shrug.

“Why did you run off like that?” Peg demanded, “We were
beside ourselves! Where were you last night?”

“I slept in the garage.” Andrew vaguely waved in the
direction of the building behind them, “I didn’t much want to face everyone
last night. I knew you would only ask questions.”

“What do you expect after yesterday’s drama?” Clara asked
a little hotly, feeling irritated she had ever been worried at all about the
surly man before her.

Andrew made no reply, just flicked at a strand of loose
cotton on his steering wheel.

“Bonzo, Herr Campbell!” A man in driver’s cap waved at
them as he walked passed, “I am trying my Opel. See if she remembers the
track!”

Andrew lifted a hand in response, but he was still
distracted. Clara looked enquiringly at Peg.

“Mr Francke, Austrian.” Peg answered, “So he is racing
today?”

“Yes, just to top off my bad luck. I thought his Opel
would be in crates and hay for at least another year.” Andrew finished off with
the loose thread and sat back on his car, “Look, if you are here to natter on
about yesterday I don’t want to know.”

“Come off it Andrew! You have to discuss it!” Peg looked
at him aghast.

“It’s between Laura and I. I’ll find a way to put things
right, but I don’t need you barging your noses in. Especially you.” Andrew’s
last words were adamantly directed at Clara, “I don’t need a busybody
interfering in this.”

“Mind your tongue!” Tommy snapped before Clara had the
chance, “That’s my sister and she isn’t a busybody, she is a very clever
detective and you might be grateful for her help one day.”

“Might I?” Andrew scoffed, “When I next lose my gloves
I’ll let you know then.”

“You are insufferable Andrew.” Peg snapped at her
brother, “I hope you damn well lose this race, you don’t deserve to win.”

Andrew gave her an unpleasant smile as she walked away
with Clara and Tommy.

“He isn’t usually this bad.” Peg apologised, “Isn’t this
business hateful?”

Clara put a friendly hand on Peg’s arm.

“Try not to fret.”

“It’s just such a mess Clara. Who is this woman? Does she
have a claim on my brother?” Peg fumbled in her trouser pocket for a cigarette,
“I’m desperate for a gasper. I can’t stand this.”

“There goes Herr Francke’s Opel.” Tommy leaned forward in
his chair as a silver car streaked past on the racetrack, “She’s a nimble
thing.”

“Oh yes, Andrew absolutely hates Francke and his car.”
Peg muttered lighting her cigarette, “He hasn’t really got much chance against
him.”

The thrum of an engine reverberated into the distance.
The Surrey countryside seemed unmoved by the commotion, even a flock of rooks
in a nearby tree ignored the noise.

“I really can’t see how Andrew can even think of racing.”
Peg dragged hard on her cigarette, “He doesn’t seem to give a damn about
Laura.”

Suddenly there was a screech of brakes and a horn blared.
Everyone froze. The workmen glanced up from the cars, other drivers stopped in
the middle of checks and donning goggles. A silence descended. Had the Opel
crashed on an open stretch of road pre-race? No one seemed to want to move and
find out. Then, just as suddenly, an engine roared again and the Opel was
heading back towards them, coming the wrong way on the track.

“What’s the blighter doing?” Tommy was trying to see
Francke’s face, what could have turned him about?

In moments the Opel was drawing up before a building
Clara understood to be the racing steward’s office and Francke was jumping out.

“Perhaps a problem with the track?” Peg shook her head,
“And after all that effort they put into repairing it.”

Clara was edging forward. Her eyes had been caught by the
look of shock on Francke’s face in the brief moment before he left his car. He
didn’t look like someone who had found a pothole, so what did it mean?

Several officials ran out of the hut at undignified
speed, heading up the track in the direction Francke had originally gone.
Francke went to follow but he was driven back by gestures from the officials.
He stomped instead towards the garages.

“Herr Francke, what is it?” A mechanic stood up and
asked.

Francke gave him a grisly look, grimacing with his lips
curled back on his teeth.

“A body.” He said, “A woman on the track.”

“Oh Lord!” Peg gasped and dropped her cigarette, “What if
it’s Laura? What if she…”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, it could be anyone.” Clara
said quickly, “Maybe an accident?”

“Damn fool woman, right in the track. I nearly hit her.”
Francke scowled, “If she weren’t already dead, she would have been.”

“Mr Francke, what did she look like?” Peg was gnawing at
her lip, “Not a young blonde girl?”

“Nein, she was older with dark hair and a red dress.”

Clara felt a shiver go down her spine.

“A red dress?”

“Someone has rung for the police.” Francke continued.

As he spoke there was a distant ringing of bells that
indicated the peelers were on the march.

“We need to go look.” Clara said quietly in Peg’s ear,
“If it is
the
woman in red…”

Peg’s eyes went wide.

“What an awful thing Clara, but I suddenly thought
wouldn’t that solve a lot?”

“Perhaps. But we need to look first.”

“What about Andrew?”

Clara glanced backwards and could see Andrew walking down
with the other men, curious as to what was happening.

“Tommy, keep him here a moment will you? I don’t trust
him not to scarper again if he finds out who I think is lying on the
racetrack.”

Tommy turned his head, not relishing his task.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. Come on Peg, let’s see what all this business is
about.”

They walked up the track, Clara’s arm through Peg’s,
mainly because the latter was looking reluctant to come. Three stewards were
standing at a point in the track where it turned and ran between two man-made
banks – the Byfleet as Tommy had called it. Clara did not anticipate they would
welcome her arrival and she was far from surprised when the nearest marched
forward.

“I’ll have to ask you ladies to turn back.” He said
brusquely.

“I’m sorry for the bother, but we have an awful feeling
we know the lady.” Clara couldn’t quite see past him to confirm her suspicions,
“We thought we better come up and make a formal identification.”

“I don’t know about that, that’s police business.” The
steward said firmly, “And I don’t care for showing ladies around corpses.”

“Then we will just wait here until the police arrive.”
Clara responded, “I think they will want to see us.”

“You do that.” The steward snorted, then he walked back a
bit and took up a position that blocked the view of the body from the two
ladies.

“Clara, it can’t really be her, can it?”

“Now you are sounding hopeful.”

“I know, I know, that is so awful. But just think if it
is, then all this business is over and Andrew can get on with the wedding. If
Laura wants him of course, I’m not sure I would.”

“If she is dead,” Clara picked her words cautiously, “If
she is, then I think matters are liable to become a lot more complicated before
the day is out.”

“Surely not? She must have fallen down one of those
banks, or come over unwell. Perhaps she was trying to find Andrew like us and
got lost in the dark. I dare say it would be rather unpleasant falling down
that steep bank and onto concrete. It could break your neck!”

Clara was reserving judgement until she had more details,
there was no point running off at a tangent until they knew it was really the
woman in red, and, of course, what had killed her. The loud bells of the police
cars were growing nearer, gates were being flung open and a black car slid onto
the track and rumbled up to within a foot or so of Clara. The passenger door
opened and a man in a suit and hat climbed out. He was a little rumpled around
the edges and his suit had seen better days. Clara had no doubt he was a police
inspector. Clara let go of Peg and hurried towards him.

“Inspector, I’m sorry to butt in, but my cousin and I
believe we may know the woman up ahead.”

The inspector gave Clara an amused look.

“Do you now?”

“You may sneer inspector, but we have good reason to
believe the woman is someone we met only yesterday and, if that is the case, we
may be able to help you with this matter.”

The inspector was close to laughing now, looking at the
young lady before him who was acting in all seriousness as though she was a
police officer.

“When we need public opinions I will let you know.” He
smirked.

“Inspector,” Clara’s tone darkened, she was not about to
be ignored or talked to so impertinently, “Though I am certain you are a man of
the world who knows his job from top to bottom, on this occasion I fear you
have made a misjudgement. I am not a fanciful creature who has come for a spot
of sight-seeing. My name is Clara Fitzgerald, I am cousin to the Campbells. You
may recognise Penelope Campbell behind me.”

The inspector observed Peg and his expression changed,
some of his cockiness evaporated.

“I am sure you are aware of the influential nature of
that family in this area. Now, I have reason to believe that this woman is
connected with the Campbells and, if I am right, this could prove to be very
serious. I need not add that the family will do all in their power to avoid
publicity of this.”

“And where does that leave you Miss Fitzgerald?”

“My position is equally complicated. If this case unfolds
as I imagine, or should I say dread, then at some point I likely will be called
upon to aid the family. You see, in my home town of Brighton I operate as a
private detective. And before you smirk again inspector, I shall have you know
I have already solved two murder cases this year. If you doubt me you may
contact Inspector Park-Coombs of the Brighton constabulary, who will inform you
of my credentials.” Clara dug a business card out of her purse and wrote on the
back in pencil the number for Inspector Park-Coombs, “I’m sure he will be
completely honest with you and will not hold back from outlining my faults, but
so be it. As I say, no doubt at some point my job shall be remembered by the
Campbells and I will be called upon to assist. I would, therefore, appreciate
it if we could get off on the right foot.”