Classic Mistake (14 page)

There was no Daisy. The sun was beginning to sink towards its bed in the west, and I felt flat. There was no loving human being to welcome me, and for once the Gordon-Keeble and Lagonda failed to work their magic. If Louise … No. Stupid to think that way. Louise had moved on in her life, and so should I. In a way I had, but not fast enough, and seeing Eva again had set me back a few notches.

I checked the landline, even though it was a weekend and was rewarded by finding two calls. Cara? I thought hopefully. She’d been very quiet. No such luck. The first was from Dave. I assumed it was merely to say mission accomplished over Melody and hopefully that he had another commission for me. It was not. Dave was hopping mad. Instead of his usual laconic, ‘Call me, Jack,’ his message came over loud and clear and
very
annoyed.

‘What the blazes is going on, Jack? When the team got there, the bird had flown. Barn was empty. No one there knew a thing about its going – or said they didn’t. You sure it was there in the first place? Neither the woman nor the old man seemed too sure of anything. Can’t go after them for theft in the circumstances, but we’ll keep an eye on them. Don’t call me back. Just leave the job to us for the next few days. OK?’

Melody vanished? I was completely flummoxed. Just what could the link between Wychwood and Melody be? Only, it occurred to me, Belinda Fever who was hardly likely to be playing a joke by nicking her own former car from her granddaughter. Had Ambrose pinched it from the Black Lion car park and taken it to Wychwood under the impression it was his? Highly improbable, especially as he wouldn’t know how to dispose of it unless Josie had helped him. One step further. Had she helped him nick it just to please her employer by arousing his memories of old times? Not very likely. Had Ambrose forgotten Melody wasn’t his and taken her on a jaunt somewhere? If so, where was Melody now? I conceded that it was possible to lose a car even when one is in one’s right mind, let alone in Ambrose’s state, but if he had just abandoned the car somewhere, how did he get back home? Had he and Josie disposed of Melody altogether? If so, where? And more importantly why? Had she driven it to give him the jaunt to Eastry he wanted? If so, why not tell the police?

Then I remembered the second call, and sure enough, it was from Daisy. A simple message recorded twenty minutes before I arrived: ‘In the pub, Jack.’

I took one look at my lonely kitchen and the possibilities presented by my fridge and freezer for eating that evening and left for Piper’s Green. That’s where our terrific and only pub is. As I walked in, I expected to see the whole bar in rapt contemplation of Daisy’s beauty, but I didn’t. This might have been the case if Daisy had been alone, but Justin was with her, looking more miserable than ever. Even Daisy looked downcast.

‘It’s not my fault,’ Justin said instantly as I approached.

‘I know that, Justie,’ Daisy said patiently.

‘I take it that you’ve heard the news and that Melody isn’t back in Huggett’s barn,’ I said as jovially as I could.

Justin wasn’t doing jovial today. He shook his head.

‘The police said you’d found her, Jack.’ Daisy’s lovely eyes looked accusingly at me.

‘I did, but I wasn’t authorized to drive it away then and there. The police have to do that.’

‘I think,’ Daisy informed me crossly, ‘that there’s something seriously weird going on.’

‘I agree. It’s possible that the owner of the house has something to do with it, because he’s elderly, has Alzheimer’s and loves Morris Minors.’ Even if he had, I remembered he had shown no sign that he thought Melody was his.

Daisy’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you going to talk to him or shall I?’

‘Not you, Daisy. And the police have told me to steer clear of it.’

‘They can’t tell me to do that,’ she said with a beatific smile. ‘Or Justie.’

I froze. ‘Don’t either of you go anywhere near him.’ I spoke so sharply, they actually paid attention.

‘Why not? It’s my car,’ Daisy said mutinously.

‘Because,’ I told her, ‘the case is in police hands. Secondly, it may have links to a murder case, and thirdly, the owner is unpredictable to the point of danger.
Keep away.
’

Daisy considered this. ‘All right. I’ll keep away from where Melody was found, but I won’t keep away from you, Jack.’ Another beatific smile – or rather a triumphant grin.

‘And nor will I,’ Justin said valiantly, but he was disregarded. I got the message. Daisy was on the warpath and would continue to haunt me – and not for my blue eyes or manly build.

Back to my juggling act between Melody and the Carlos trail. I’d met the three surviving Charros and the singer. It seemed to me there was something missing, however. The bare facts of the relationships amongst them didn’t add up to a whole. I’d asked to see Clive on the Monday but was not totally surprised when I arrived that Jonathan was with him – on guard. That was obvious, for all the fuss they made of me by serving me an espresso and biscuits and chatting merrily on any subject other than Carlos Mendez.

‘About Carlos,’ I interrupted firmly.

Silence, then Jonathan took the stage. ‘I gather you’ve met Josie and Matt, so I presume you are now convinced that the remaining Charros are not operating a Mafia vendetta after twenty years?’ he said lightly but not mockingly.

‘That’s Sherlock country,’ I replied equally lightly. ‘I’m just trying to find out what happened.’

‘I’m sure,’ Jonathan said more seriously, ‘that only your Eva can tell you that. We don’t blame you for trying, however.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So what can we do for you this time? We’re at full attention, but only because we want to get this matter sorted out once and for all. Josie is pretty upset at having it all raked up again.’

‘It wasn’t me who killed Carlos,’ I reminded them, ‘so don’t blame me.’

‘Nor, believe it or not, was it any of the former Charros.’

‘You all knew he was back, and you all had very good reason to hate him.’

A glance at Clive, who sat sullenly mute, then Jonathan answered: ‘He made no secret of his return, because he knew he had nothing to fear from us. Not even from Josie, whose life was so badly affected by his actions.’

‘They affected yours and Clive’s too,’ I pointed out.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Clive growled.

‘I suppose,’ Jonathan said, ‘he’s heard the story that it was Carlos who gave you away to the police, Clive.’

Another growl. ‘Never knew whether he did nor not.’

‘There was no evidence of it,’ Jonathan told me smoothly. ‘Only suspicion.’

Suspicion can be a powerful driving force, I thought. Moreover, there were motives that went far beyond the mere dissolution of the band – motives that might be relevant to the anniversary lunch, now only a month away.

‘Did you know Frank Watson?’ I asked out of the blue – with interesting results.

‘
Frank
?’ No doubt about it, Jonathan was shaken.

‘Is he still alive?’ I asked.

He took a fraction too long to reply: ‘Neil died in 1992 when he was twenty-two. I imagine his father must then have been in his mid-forties. He could well be alive. I’ve no idea. Have you, Clive?’

Clive took his cue and shook his head.

‘The police file on the May Tree Shoot-Out must still be open,’ I commented.

‘Probably.’ Jonathan said no more, but for the first time I sensed I was in the driving seat.

‘Frank Watson is thought to have escaped from the shoot-out, taking the priceless Crowshaw Collection with him,’ I pointed out. ‘If he
was
back in this country or had never left it, then it’s possible that Carlos discovered that in the 1980s and decided he’d like some of it in the form of blackmail. You were living with Neil at the time of his death, so he must have talked about his father, and if he was around you would have met him.’

Jonathan had recovered his sangfroid now. ‘I don’t recall it, but it’s an interesting theory. The snag is that Neil was living with me and not at his home, wherever that was, and I don’t recall Neil telling me adventure stories about his father being a gangster. Anyway, Frank Watson was hardly likely to stick around in England if the police were still after him. Neil just told me his father took him to South America when he was about eight, and he lived there until he came back to Kent –
alone
– to go to university. He lived in lodgings and then with me.’

So Neil had kept mum about his father and Jonathan had obviously never made the connection – or had he? I tried a parting shot. ‘Frank Watson had every reason to want Carlos dead if he believed Neil had died because of him – and if Carlos was blackmailing him, even more reason.’

‘That,’ murmured Jonathan, ‘is true. The only problem with that theory is that you haven’t the slightest evidence that Frank Watson
is
back in England.’

I returned to Frogs Hill expecting to join Len and Zoe in a truly interesting quest to restore life to a Karmann Ghia, a car for which I’ve always had a special affection. Dad had an affinity with Karmann Ghias, and that’s important in a classic car. My plans were foiled – once again by Daisy. She was sitting on the wall, contemplating her smart black boots.

‘
There
you are,’ she said brightly. ‘This is my day off so I thought I’d come over. What’s the news?’

‘Nothing on Melody.’ I had rung Dave’s team early that morning, fearing she would be on my trail. ‘Too soon.’

‘Not for me, Jack. Have you been out hunting for her?’

Honesty is the best policy. ‘I’m afraid not. The police—’

‘Then I’ll go and beard that old chap at – um – Wychwood, is it?’

‘
No
!’

She grinned at me. ‘Then you go, Jack.’

Actually, why not? I’d go.

My heart sank, but on the other hand I needed an excuse to go to Wychwood again. Preferably not now, it was true. But I faced reality with a grim determination. The mystery of the missing Melody needed my urgent attention.

I
planned to tackle Wychwood unannounced. At the very least, if both Josie and Ambrose were out I could nose around the old barn again to try to figure out whether I had indeed been hallucinating. I might have had Melody so much on my mind that I saw her everywhere. I dismissed that notion right away and concentrated on why it had been so necessary for Melody to disappear again. The most likely reason was that I had seen her. The next most likely was that Ambrose might have taken her on a solo local jaunt and forgotten to bring her back. I thought I could rule that out, however, as even in his demented state he had shown no liking for her.

So back to the first possible explanation. Why was Melody so precious that she had to disappear quickly in case I (or the police) removed her forcibly? She had looked a straightforward Morris Minor 1000 to me. In good nick, true, but then a great many Moggies could answer that criterion. The colour? Striking, but not so unusual that an enthusiast could not get any Minor resprayed in Rose Taupe more easily than by stealing Melody.

Tentatively, then, I put Melody’s disappearance down to my arrival on the scene. Which meant what? First, the possibility that someone did not want Daisy to have her car back – very unlikely – or wanted it themselves (more likely). The second possibility was that I represented a link to the police and – stretching it – to Carlos’s murder. That would mean that Melody had some kind of connection with Josie, her mother, Belinda Fever, and therefore the Charros. The drawback to that theory was that by the time Melody disappeared I had already seen the car and had had every opportunity to mull over its connections to Wychwood. The barn door was being shut
after
I had seen what was inside.

Could Melody be linked to Carlos’s death? He had been killed late on a Monday evening in mid May, and Melody had been stolen four days earlier – first, by Justin, whom I had great difficulty in imagining could be mixed up in a murder. It had been
after
Carlos’s death that Melody had disappeared from Justin’s friend’s ‘guardianship’. She could have been stolen for a day, perhaps, without the friend being aware of her absence from the car park, but could not have had a role in the murder because of the timing. What threat could Melody present now? Was someone’s DNA plastered all over her? Was Josie in the frame? How would she have known of the car’s theft in the first place, unless of course she was responsible for it? Presumably, Gran Fever did not know about Melody’s disappearance from the barn, and I did not want to be the one to tell her.

This case, I thought savagely as I drove to Wychwood through the rain, was, as Churchill famously said about Russia, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. I couldn’t even define the case itself. Was it Carlos’s murder? A hunt for the missing Crowshaw Collection? Or the theft of a Morris Minor?

Rain, rain everywhere. It dripped from the trees as I passed them, it fell on to the muddy track, it beat on the windscreen in triumph. Fields were becoming ponds, ponds could consider themselves lakes, the green leaves of June were battered with serious rain. No summer showers here. As I turned the last corner of the track, Wychwood House presented a dismal sight indeed with trees looming over two sides of it, encouraged by the late spring rain.

It was raining so hard that I ran from the Alfa to the door, pulling my jacket hood over my head and not pausing to look around me. There was no reply to the bell, and it was only then that I turned round and took in the significance of the cars parked there. I had not even noticed there were any as I arrived. I recognized Matt’s van and Josie’s Polo. The third car I had seen recently at the House of Lamb. It was Jonathan’s Bristol. Its presence was v
ery
interesting, and unless their owners had gone on a long country walk in the rain they were all in the house.

When there was still no reply to the bell, I persuaded myself that it was legitimate in the interests of the case for me to squelch up the track to the barn despite the fact that I would undoubtedly get even wetter. I regretted it the moment I got there. The door was padlocked. By forcing my way through the long wet grass and weeds I managed to find a crack through which I at least managed to establish that Melody had not returned to her temporary home. I harboured a vision of a fairy tale ending whereby Belinda had quietly ‘rescued’ the car to restore it to Daisy personally, and without much hope I fished in my pocket for my phone.