Brought to Book (21 page)

He shrugged. ‘This coffee's not up to much.'

‘We can have some when we get to the cottage. First, though, I want a word with Doris at the Mini-Mart.'

But Doris wasn't much help. Yes, Mr Harvey had used to do his own shopping – such a nice gentleman. Then he was taken ill, and she sent his weekly order up to him at Mile End Cottage. And he must have found it more convenient, because the arrangement continued after he was well again.

‘Mile End?' Max queried. ‘I thought it was farther away than that?'

‘Depends where you're coming from,' Doris replied with a twinkle. ‘But it would be a country mile, wouldn't it, sir, and they're always longer.'

‘I wonder if there's any hope of getting Myers's address from the formidable Dick,' Rona mused as they returned to the car.

‘If he's a druggie, I should steer well clear of him.'

‘I wouldn't learn much if I took that attitude,' she retorted. ‘Anyway, he intrigues me; as May said, it's odd that a man like that should associate with Theo. I wonder what the police made of it.'

With luck, he'd find out, Max thought, but volunteered nothing.

‘The most likely thing would be blackmail,' Rona added, ‘but they can't have found any evidence of it, or they'd have arrested him.'

They drove out of the village with its narrow streets and small, stone-built houses, and took the road indicated by Meriel Harvey, which rose steeply and soon degenerated into little more than a track. On either side, rough grassland spread away, broken here and there by clumps of gorse and small, stunted trees. There were sheep in the distance, and a couple of horses grazing. Here, the wind was stronger, buffeting against the sides of the car.

‘It must be very bleak in winter,' Max said. ‘No wonder it was conducive to writing – there can't have been much else to do.'

As they rounded a bend, a small house came into view, tucked into a windbreak of straggling trees. Max braked. ‘Is this it?'

‘I don't think so; it should be a mile or so farther on, and there's no pub in sight.'

‘Could be the Bromsgroves' place, then. It looks a bit primitive, but that's what some people enjoy on their holidays.'

The road dipped, rose again, skirted a small copse, and there, ahead of them, was their destination. On their right, set about a hundred yards back from the road, was a more substantial house, built of stone and with a steeply gabled roof. There was a picket fence round it, enclosing a small section of land that looked no different from the surrounding ground cover, and two gates, a small one bearing the name ‘Mile End Cottage', beyond which a path led to the door, and a double gate opening on to some hardstanding where, presumably, Theo had parked his car. Some quarter of a mile farther on, at the foot of the hill, the roof of the pub he'd frequented was just visible.

‘Home sweet home,' Max said ironically. He got out of the car, opened the double gate with some difficulty, and drove through.

The cottage was built as a cube, of which the main room, into which the front door opened, comprised half. It was comfortably fitted out with easy chairs, a small dining table, a desk and a television set. A cupboard in the corner revealed telltale rings where bottles had been stored, and there were some shelves, also empty, above it.

The bedroom was about ten feet square and almost wholly taken up by a large double bed covered with a bare mattress. A wardrobe-cum-dressing table stood in one corner, which must have held such clothes as Theo had with him.

‘At least we won't have to sleep on the floor,' Rona said.

The remaining quarter of the cottage was divided between a minute shower room containing lavatory and basin, and a tiny but fully fitted kitchen, that boasted a pocket-sized washing machine and a fridge, standing with its door open. Rona switched it on. ‘It'll be useful for the milk and booze,' she said, ‘but remind me to turn it off before we go.'

Max meanwhile had located the central heating boiler in a wall cupboard, and that, too, hummed into life. They unloaded the car, dumping sleeping bags and pillows on the bed and the provisions on the drop-down table in the kitchen. Gus, who had been exploring the garden, pattered in after them, sniffing at the new surroundings.

‘It's nearly one o'clock,' Max said. ‘How about a pub lunch down the hill? The Saturday drinkers should be in by now, so you can embark on your initial interrogation. Then, after lunch, we can have that walk we promised ourselves.'

They set off along the rough road leading down the hill, Gus trotting busily ahead of them.

‘We must call him to heel before we get to the bottom,' Rona warned. ‘There seems to be a main road between us and the pub.'

The dog had veered off the path and was sniffing amongst the shrubs. After lifting his leg against a bush, he set off again, only to disappear a minute later to the accompaniment of a splash. They watched, smiling, as he scrambled out again, shaking himself vigorously.

‘My God!' Rona said suddenly.

‘What? It's only water.'

‘That must be where Theo died; he was found between the cottage and the pub, remember.'

They left the path and stood looking soberly down at the stream. It was wider than they'd expected, some six or seven feet, and was flowing fairly strongly, its pebbled, muddy bed clearly visible.

‘Come on, love,' Max said quietly after a minute, and, taking her arm, led her back to the road.

As Rona had noticed, the moorland track ended at a T-junction and a main road separated them from the Plough public house directly opposite. With Gus safely leashed, they had to wait some minutes for a gap in the traffic. There were several cars parked outside the pub, together with a couple of bicycles, and as they went inside a clamour of noise assaulted their ears. They made their way through the crowded public bar to the saloon, where two or three tables were occupied by couples eating lunch, and waited at the bar until the landlord, apologizing for the delay, came to serve them.

Max ordered drinks and their lunch, then added casually, ‘We're spending the night at Theo Harvey's cottage. I believe you knew him?'

The man raised his head, subjecting Max to a long, hard look. ‘Family, are you?'

‘No; Mrs Harvey has lent it to us because my wife is writing his biography.'

The shrewd brown eyes switched to Rona. ‘Oh yes?'

‘He was one of your regulars, I believe?'

‘He was.'

‘Hey, Jim!' called a voice from the public bar. ‘What do you have to do to get a drink around here?'

Max put a hand on the man's arm as he turned away. ‘I can see you're busy, but perhaps when you have a moment we could have a word? And in the meantime, is there anyone through there who knew him and might be prepared to talk to us?'

Jim hesitated. Then he said briefly, ‘I'll ask.'

They had barely seated themselves when three burly men appeared in the doorway, a couple more craning over their shoulders.

The one in front cleared his throat. ‘Someone asking about Theo Harvey?'

Max put up his hand. The first three came over, collecting an extra chair en route, and joined them at the table. They were locals by the look of them, men in their forties with spreading thighs and wind-burned faces, and their hands, gripping thick glass tankards, were large and work-stained. The other two still hovered in the doorway, listening avidly as Rona launched into the opening questions she'd prepared.

‘Rum business, that,' said the man who'd introduced himself as Al. ‘Right as rain one day, like a hermit crab the next. Despression, they said it was, but there'd been no sign of it coming. Must have lasted a couple of years, and we never got to the bottom of it.'

‘Was he particularly friendly with anyone around here?' Rona asked. ‘Either before his depression, or later?'

‘Wouldn't say friendly, exactly. He'd chat to us all, tell jokes and so on and stand us drinks, but we never met him anywhere else.'

‘Did anyone particular drink regularly with him?'

Al was shaking his head, but one of the others broke in. ‘There was that odd bloke he met now and then. From another planet, by the look of him. Appeared out of the blue, about a year ago.'

The mysterious Myers, no doubt. ‘Do you know who he was?'

‘Called himself Gary,' said Al, who seemed to have appointed himself spokesman. ‘Beat us what the two of them had in common, and Theo never seemed at ease with him.' He took a swig from his tankard. ‘I mind the first time he came in; made a beeline for Jim at the bar and asked straight out for Theo Harvey. It was clear Theo didn't know him from Adam; seemed to think it was one of his fans, like. But this bloke takes him to a corner table and starts talking, and old Theo goes white as a sheet. Then the bloke finishes his drink and off he goes. I was about to check Theo was OK, but he was up and out before I could get to him. We didn't see him for about ten days, and when he did appear, he'd closed up again. We thought the depression had come back, but this was different.'

‘Did you ask him about Gary?'

‘At first, casual like, but he clammed up, and since it wasn't our business, we let it drop.'

‘And Gary came back?'

‘Yes, three or four times, but he never stayed above a few minutes.'

Rona thought for a minute. ‘Did you see anything pass between them? Money, an envelope, anything like that?'

All three shook their heads. ‘Not that we spent our time watching 'em, mind,' Al added.

‘Was he here the night Theo died?'

‘Yes, early on; looking for Theo, but he didn't come in that night. We told the police later, and they looked into him pretty thoroughly but they couldn't pin anything on him. We heard he was miles away when Theo died.'

‘And he's not been back since his death?'

Al shook his head. ‘Nothing to come for, has he?'

Max went to the bar and bought another round of drinks. The men in the doorway had drifted away and the three at the table seemed to have nothing further to offer. When the landlord appeared with their lunch order, mutual thanks were exchanged and they returned to the public bar.

‘What do you make of that?' Max asked in a low voice.

‘Well, presumably Gary and Myers are one and the same, but it's odd, isn't it? If it wasn't blackmail, what could he have wanted with Theo? And why did he appear out of the blue like that?'

They idly discussed possibilities while doing full justice to the steak and kidney pie. When their plates had been removed, the landlord came back to their table.

‘Were the lads any help?'

‘Yes, thank you, they were.'

‘I doubt if I can add anything, I spend most of my time stuck behind the bar. Theo never confided in me, like some do when they've had a few. I was as shocked as everyone else by his sudden – withdrawal.'

‘And you don't know any more about this Gary character?' Max asked.

‘No, he just came and went without explanation. What I can tell you is that Theo was always on edge when he was here. I'd have liked to bar him, but I'd no cause to.'

He paused, looking at Rona reflectively. ‘It was me that found Theo, and it'll stay with me till my dying day. He was a good bloke. Happy to be one of the crowd, with no airs and graces about him. If while you're writing your book you can find out why he died, there's a lot of folk round here would thank you for it.'

He nodded and moved away. There seemed no more to say. Rousing Gus from his sleep, they made their way out into the bright, breezy afternoon.

B
y the time they returned to the cottage, tired and breathless from their walk, the wind had freshened, and the warm air that greeted them was more than welcome. Rona stood surveying their belongings, still where they'd been dumped on arrival.

‘Let's tidy up and make the place more habitable, then I'll make some tea and we can look at the diaries.'

Storm clouds were banking to the east, and Max switched on the lights. ‘Hope it doesn't rain,' he remarked. ‘I shouldn't fancy the walk back to the pub in a downpour.'

Rona looked up from shaking out the sleeping bags. ‘You think it's worth a return visit?'

He shrugged. ‘Up to you, but we'll need to eat somewhere. And as we said, there might be a different crowd in.'

‘OK. Never let it be said I missed an opportunity.'

It was with a feeling of anticipation that, ten minutes later, they sat side by side on the sofa, the diary for 1994 open in front of them. For the first time, Rona studied the scrawl that would become so familiar. Under the first of January, Theo had begun breezily:
Another year, another dollar – or several, one hopes. Wonder what 1994 holds in store.

‘More than he bargained for,' she said grimly. ‘Let's hope we discover what it was. The first thing is to find when he started writing in code; it must have been after August, when he was planning
Game for Fools
.'

‘Shouldn't be too hard to crack,' Max remarked, starting to riffle through the pages. ‘“E” is the most common letter in the alphabet, so a substitution soon becomes obvious. And if a letter stands alone, it must be either “A” or “I”. Once you get the vowels, it becomes much easier.'

‘Smart Alec!' Rona retorted. ‘Whoa – here's one passage, but it looks like the code he used in the book, so it's unlikely to be significant. Go on a bit.'

Max continued flicking through the pages, several of which had experimental sentences spelt out in the now familiar cipher. But halfway through October an entirely new configuration appeared.

‘Hell's teeth!' Rona gazed helplessly down at the string of letters, ugly in their dissociation, that spread across the page:
Wqrsn of fttr gy q hkocqzt egrt, royytktfz ykgd ziqz of zit wgga. Ziol ligxr rg.
Max, however, gave a whoop of triumph.