Classic Mistake (13 page)

His face was transformed with fury. ‘It was her.
It wasn’t there.
It’s
there.
Do you hear me, sir?’

I was at the wrong end of the garage as he advanced on me, lug wrench in hand raised high.

I
was trapped. This was no idle flourish. Ambrose meant business, and I was his target. My best chance was to make a dash for it along one side of Melody while he advanced up the other, but even then he could hurl that iron wrench at me, and the demented have a power that often seems beyond their normal physical strength.

The problem was that Ambrose did
not
advance. He stayed where he was. Lug wrench poised. The hunter waiting for his captive prey, knowing he has all the time in the world. He just smiled – not a smile for me but
at
me, as though not sure what he was doing or who I was. I could be there all day, I realized, while he played this game and I yelled in vain for Josie or Matt. Somehow I had to make a move. Attracting attention would bring swift retribution from Ambrose, so I’d take it very gently, step by step …

‘Not bad these Moggies, are they?’ I began chattily, using the Minor’s nickname in the hope of showing him I was an aficionado. ‘Of course, they have a few faults – the rusty floor pans, bonnets that fly up without warning – and I do like this Rose Taupe colour. Not too good on the gearbox but one can overlook that because of the durable engine.’ I gave Melody a casual pat, and I was relieved to see that at least Ambrose appeared to be listening. ‘I’m not surprised you like this car so much,’ I continued. ‘Do you belong to one of the Minor clubs?’

Silence. I was past Melody’s bonnet and almost at the door handle, inching my way along, and Ambrose had not yet moved.

Nor had the wrench in his hand.

He was watching me very, very carefully. Another foot – perhaps a bit more – and I would be able to make a successful grab for the wrench. Inch by inch. Eyes first on the car and then slightly turning to him. One more time should do it …

Too much, too soon. A screech of fury, and the wrench crashed on the concrete floor where I had been standing but no longer was, thanks to a speedy jump backwards. It missed me by millimetres, but even as I recovered he had leapt round with amazing agility to grab hold of it again. He swung it back up in the air once more and waved it around.

‘I am Egbert,’ he crooned. ‘King of Kent …’

I bowed my head, desperately thinking of my best response. Try the innocuous. ‘And I your loyal subject,’ I tried.

Another screech. ‘You are a traitor, Cousin Ethelred. You seek my crown.’

Not good. Ethelred had ended up as a corpse together with his brother somewhere under the royal Saxon palace floor. I scrabbled in my memory for the rest of the story. It might be my only lifeline.

‘Great King –’ a small detached part of my mind was listening to this charade, not mocking but urging me on – ‘you then regretted your actions in killing me and gave land to Ethelred’s sister to build a nunnery.’ Or was it an abbey, or a minster? Or was she Egbert’s sister or aunt or niece? I couldn’t remember. Oddly, this seemed of the utmost importance, and so it might be if he took it so seriously.

Ambrose stared at me for a moment, clearly debating my words. Then – I could hardly believe it – the wrench descended and he conceded in a relatively normal voice: ‘That is true.’ He seemed slightly puzzled. ‘Are you seeking gold, young man?’

No prizes for the answer to this one. ‘No,’ I said promptly.

‘But you know where they lie?’

‘No.’ I was less certain of the answer this time.

‘A pity. Gold is the greatest gift the earth gives us.’

Except life, I thought to myself, thankful that I still had mine. For how long was not yet certain.

‘The earth gives,’ he continued, ‘and it takes back in grave goods. Gold gleams still – earth cannot tarnish it. It will emerge from its hiding place, as shining as the day it left when buried. It is his belt-mount, given to me, Egbert.’

‘Where is its hiding place?’ I ventured.

The wrench rose again although not so immediately threatening. He was more intent on gold.

‘It is
mine.
I am King of Kent, not you, and I am dead and shall retain my own. The burial place is known only to me. So you, young man, can’t have it.’ The wrench was laid aside again and I inched closer to a point where I could make a stab at preventing his grasping it once more. ‘We have a duty to the grave,’ he continued earnestly. ‘A duty to protect its whereabouts. Eastry – kindly take me there, young man.’

‘Not in this car,’ I said firmly. Melody was staying where she was. Again I’d made the wrong move, however. I’m always lousy at chess. I braced myself as he looked so furious that the wrench became an issue again. ‘This car doesn’t work,’ I added hastily. ‘Is it yours?’

‘Doesn’t work? A strange way of putting it. Everything belongs to the king, but you may have this car if you so wish.’

‘Now?’ I couldn’t believe my luck.

‘No. After we have been to Eastry.’

Back to square one. ‘In this car?’

Another screech of fury was the answer to that. ‘No. It’s not the right one.’

‘I’ll return in my Gordon-Keeble and then we can go.’ I was secure in the knowledge that he would not remember this offer.

His eyes lit up. ‘An excellent choice, Ethelred. A car fit for me, King Egbert.’

On this harmonious note, however, the cavalry belatedly arrived in the form of Josie, who was clearly relieved to see her charge. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Ambrose.’ Then she took in my presence – and Melody’s. ‘What’s
this
doing here? Ambrose?’ She turned back to him accusingly.

‘It’s not mine,’ he said, visibly cowering. ‘I don’t think so anyway. It’s his.’ He pointed to me, and I shook my head when she turned back to me.

‘Have you ever seen this car here before?’ I asked her.

‘No. The barn’s falling down and I never come here. What are you so interested for?’ She glared at me. ‘This is none of your business.’

‘It is very much my business. It’s a stolen car, and it’s a case I’ve been working on for the police.’ Credentials estab-lished, I turned to Ambrose. ‘Do you know how long the car has been here, Dr Fairbourne?’ Not a chance that he would, of course.

He simply stared at me and shook his head. At least King Egbert had vanished.

‘And you’ve no idea how it came here, Josie?’ I continued. ‘Have you ever seen it before?’

Ambrose forestalled her. ‘I have. At Eastry. It’s King Egbert’s car.’

‘He hasn’t a clue,’ Josie said wearily – but kindly, I thought.

‘Would you have heard if it had been driven here during the night?’ I asked her.

‘I might not have done. My room’s at the back of the house,’ she said. ‘If I’m in the garden I don’t always hear cars arriving. Or if I’m out, of course. I can leave Ambrose quite a bit of the time without having to get a relief or drag Mum over here. He’s physically safe enough and doesn’t play with fires and that sort of thing. And, anyway, there’s a back way to this place – the track eventually joins the lane to Chilham. The car could have come that way.’

I know enough about the workings of rural communities to appreciate that however deserted and remote a place might seem somebody will always know every detail about it. Even so, the ‘somebody’ who deposited Melody here would either come by the back route or Josie would surely have to be involved, otherwise the risk of being seen would be too great.

‘I’ll have to report this to the police,’ I explained to her. ‘Then they’ll come to collect it.’

‘Good,’ said King Egbert decisively. ‘Have a word with the court steward too. Ask for Thunner.’

I recalled he was the chap who looked after the slaughter of King Egbert’s victims, so I thought I’d pass on that one. I wondered whether to bow in thanks to His Majesty, but settled for a nod instead. Ambrose Fairbourne didn’t even notice me pick up the wrench and carry it off with me.

The Visitors Centre at Holloway prison in London proved a welcome stepping stone to facing the ordeal of my first visit to Eva. It was a Saturday, and with children playing, refreshments and friendly staff it seemed like a family gathering – which I suppose it was. Different rules apply to remand prisoners, but I’d booked an appointment to visit Eva for three fifteen in the afternoon. Here in the Centre, however, it still seemed unreal. That all changed when I finally got to see Eva. I’d wondered how her ordeal was affecting her. Would she still be the same overbearing flamboyant egocentric woman I had known so well or would she be in total collapse? She was neither. For the first time I could see in her the girl I had fallen for hook, line and sinker, when I was twenty or so. Since our divorce, I had assumed that I’d fallen for her only because of her sex appeal, but nothing is ever as simple as that. Now I remembered the loving loyalty, her courage, sheer warmth and love of life – not that they were visible today, but without the outer shell the human being could be glimpsed. Or so I told myself when I saw her drawn face, devoid of her usual heavy make-up. Her opening remarks were not encouraging.

‘When do you get me out of this place, Jack?’

‘As soon as the police drop their charges.’ I didn’t think using the word ‘if’ was a great idea.

‘You find out who did it. You promised.’ Her voice rose, and I hushed her.

‘I promised to try and I’m doing so. But you changed your story, Eva, and even now I’m not sure what the true story is.’ This was not the best of places for an interrogation but I had to make a stab at getting some kind of ‘truth’.

A sigh of impatience. ‘I tell the lawyer I not go to the towpath. I go to the lock, then I go to the pub and Carlos not there, so I go back to hotel.’

‘That doesn’t seem like you, Eva. You’d go
on
looking for him. He told you where he was going, didn’t he?’

‘The lock. He not say more or when he leave.’

‘Brandon thinks he might have been meeting someone on a boat. Did you tell him that?’

‘I not know. Perhaps. He had woman there.’

I pressed on. ‘So you would have gone to look at all the boats moored around there.’

‘I go see the boats. I not see Carlos. He hiding under bed, perhaps. With woman. Not see, so I go across bridge but not to towpath.
Not see him.
’

‘Did you tell the police you checked the boats?’

‘They not ask.’

That I found hard to believe. ‘Carlos told you it was a business deal – did he give you any idea what kind of business?’

‘Woman business,’ she told me scornfully.

‘Why would he arrange to meet her on a towpath, Eva? A little unromantic, isn’t it? Even if he’d gone first to meet her on a boat, they’d hardly walk in the semi-dark along that towpath.’

‘Carlos afraid of me,’ she told me complacently. ‘Hide on towpath with woman. Perhaps a man too,’ she added placatingly. Eva was always good at adapting to what she thought you might want to hear.

I clutched my head. ‘Talk to your solicitor, Eva. Tell
him
the truth, even if you can’t tell me.’

‘Of course I tell the truth. Carlos met on boat with woman.’

‘But you said you didn’t know that for sure, and when you checked the boats he wasn’t there.’

‘No, he hide under bed – with woman.’

I was going round in circles, and I would get no further. Assuming Eva was not guilty, I had to go on digging away at Carlos’s past. I took a deep breath. ‘Where did you first meet Carlos, Eva?’

She beamed at me, so I was on safe territory. ‘I met darling Carlos in 1990 at May Tree. Lovely, lovely place.’

‘Did he ever tell you how he got to know about the May Tree?’

‘He went there with Matt. He build up band with him.’

I tried to remember Matt’s exact words. There was something I couldn’t quite get a grip on. Something he said about Carlos coming
back
to Kent in 1987, something about his father and his band. Belinda had mentioned it too. ‘Had Carlos visited the May Tree before going there with Matt?’

‘How would I know?’ She gave a shrug. I remembered those lovely shoulders of hers… . how I used to kiss them. To my dismay, I again felt a moment’s desire, but it was a desire born of memory not of today. Now I could only feel pity, not love or passion.

‘Did he ever mention knowing a Frank Watson?’ I asked her. ‘There was a lot of money missing –’ (the simplest way to put it) – ‘after the valuable haul from a raid in the seventies. There was a fight over it at the May Tree, and this Frank Watson ran away with the cash as well as with the landlord’s wife.’

Eva was always impatient when the conversation moved away from herself. ‘Yes, yes. Man in the Charros band.’

‘That was
Neil
Watson.’

‘Perhaps.’ Another shrug.

‘Did you know him well?’ It was like chipping at stone.

‘He was gay. Why should he be my lover?’

A typical Eva turnaround.

Another chip at the rock. ‘Did Carlos ever talk of the seventies’ raid or the missing money? Did Neil ever seem to have a father around?’

Eva had had enough and banged her still beautiful hand on the table.

‘How would I know his father, Jack? You talk stupid. What that to do with me?’

Aware of the guards’ interested eyes on us, I changed the subject but even so ended the visit defeated. Eva was still giving out the same familiar message from the ivory tower in which she had always lived – herself. Only, the ivory tower was now physical as well as emotional.

I had left another message on Dave’s voicemail as I left Wychwood House asking him to send his team over to pick up Melody, but there had been no reply by the time I left for London. That was frustrating in itself. I found a brief message when I had checked my phone after leaving Eva but it was only an irritated, ‘Call me, Jack,’ from Dave (he doesn’t believe in texts). I had tried, but the bird must have flown for the weekend.

Frogs Hill was deserted when I reached it that evening – rather to my relief, as I had thought I might find Daisy patiently waiting for me. I’d left her a message giving her the good news and telling her to wait for the police to contact her. Nevertheless, I confessed to a secret hope that she might have driven up in Melody to thank me. Len and Zoe leave at midday on Saturdays unless there’s a really interesting job – as they see it – such as rebuilding a carburettor.