The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1) (22 page)

“I’d like to 'elp,” replied Wyndham, his smile slowly returning.

Having thrown some essentials into the van, Greg patted Red gently on the head.

"You won’t let him out of your sight, now?” he asked with concern, though he knew the dog was in safe hands. “If I’m delayed, you’ll look after him, won’t you?” 

Chapter Fourteen

A rosy twilight descended as Greg headed southward, though he lacked the composure to savour the frail beauty of late winter in the countryside. Few signs were yet evident of one of the warmest spring-summer seasons ever recorded. As he left Hereford, Greg glanced towards the edge of the Welsh Black Mountains, softly illuminated in the fading light. The snow-kissed blue hills stood in soft contrast to the watery sky; graded nuances of pastels, one undulating contour painted ever darker over another in gentle progression to the foreground.

“Strange to think Nigel's trekked most of these hills,” he muttered absently, "he doesn’t come across as an outdoor type, yet he reckoned he could draw a map of the whole..."

Greg stopped mid-sentence and drew breath. “A map!” he gasped aloud, as he thumped his fist hard on the centre of the steering wheel. “A map reference: I bet that’s what it is!"

Greg didn’t have a decent map with him - the only one he owned was somewhere in the caravan - but he was familiar with the universal number-letter grid system. He was delighted when, a mile or so on, he saw a
gift station
- Greg’s nickname for a service stop that sold everything but essential motoring aids
. I doubt if they'd bother selling fuel if enough people pulled in to buy all the other crap. Bound to have maps, though: between the cuddly toys and a bewildering array of throat sweets.
He took a large-scale Collins atlas from the rack, paid the money over and almost skipped back through the door – much to the amusement of the sleepy-eyed cashier, who'd put the value of the map above that of Greg’s van. He pulled off the forecourt into a parking space and thumbed feverishly through the book, delighted to find support for his theory: The ‘SO’ grid on the index covered the Worcester-Hereford area.

“Can't wait to try the trip reading,” he muttered.

The journey seemed forever, though Greg was glad it was dark and quite late when he arrived back in Trevelly: he'd be far less likely to be spotted at night.

He drove to the cabin first. It was good to see it again, even in darkness.

“Who is it?” called Jan in response to his gentle knock. She opened the door timidly when he answered - almost in disbelief. “It
is
you!” she cried as she threw her arms around Greg and squeezed him tightly. “I thought you’d
never
come back.” A finger to her lips, she led her visitor quietly into the living room, in darkness but for a small table-lamp. Jan still looked tense as they seated themselves.

"I've been worried sick about you - and the future of the cabin here. We really need to get organised if we're to stay on track - you're back for good, I hope?”

“Not yet but, with luck I should soon be,” replied Greg, and he went on to recount all that had happened as Jan sat open-mouthed, dismayed that he'd given himself such a rough time.

“You're
stupid!
” she exclaimed when he'd finished. “I’ve been having nightmares about you never coming back: we start repaying a loan on this place shortly, remember.”

“Don’t upset yourself,” assured Greg. “I’m hoping to get things resolved within a few days. Have the police been asking about me?”

“No, not at all - I’m sure they haven’t even linked you with drugs… and from what I hear, it was a false alarm anyway. Whole business seems to have blown over."

"I'm not at all sure of that." Greg frowned deeply.

"Strange really. We haven’t heard a murmur since Nigel was questioned. You were probably wasting your time racing up there in the first place.”

Greg sighed. “I wish I had your confidence, Jan.” The pair discussed the cabin for a while, until Jan could contain herself no longer. She switched on the main lights and gazed proudly around the room.

“Wow… fantastic!” said Greg as he surveyed the extra decoration she’d done, and at her request he followed her into the café.

“Bloody hell, you’ve a lot more flair that I gave you credit for.” Greg marvelled at how much she'd achieved in his absence. “It’s great! I love the local scenes, and it all looks so professional.”

Having scoured charity shops and so on, Jan had decorated the walls with inexpensive though appropriate pictures and nautical charts, together with enough features to make the room interesting but uncluttered.

“Marvellous!” bubbled Greg, as he hugged her and planted an unexpected kiss on her cheek. “I can’t
wait
to get going.” Greg then told Jan he'd to visit Sarah… and could have sworn he saw her face drop. “I want to see Nigel as well," he added reassuringly. "There are things I'd like to ask him.”

“He isn’t living at Penmaric any more,” said Jan, “he’s moved to a flat in Plymouth.  Go and see Sarah then have some supper here before you leave.”

“Thanks - see you in half an hour or so.”

Sarah was delighted to see Greg; but although concerned for his safety, she was more realistic than Jan, and not of the opinion that the matter had
blown over
.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked, pointing to the chesterfield.

“No thanks, I’m on the wagon for a while. Still have a
few
vices though.” he said, pulling her close and kissing her passionately.

The pair didn't lose an instant making up for lost time. Exhausted but relaxed afterwards, they sat back and grinned at each other.

“I’ve so much to tell you,” said Greg, the most urgent of his needs temporarily satisfied.

Sarah laughed. “I’m glad you got your priorities right.”

He then told her of his encounter with the tramp, and his confidence that, with Nigel’s help, he could uncover Penmaric’s secret. “But I need to see Nigel right away.”

“He’s living with Jacky in Plymouth.” Sarah sat upright and looked seriously at Greg. “If you’re going to trace that
fortune
you’d better move - the sale’s going through within days.”

“Is there no way you can play for time?”

“Too late for that, and do you honestly believe there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Be realistic, now.”

“I’m sure your late husband went to a lot of trouble for some reason,” replied Greg seriously. “Do you think I’d have risked coming here if I didn’t think it worthwhile? Do you…"

“Sorry,” interrupted Sarah, a finger to Greg’s mouth.

“Right then,” said Greg earnestly, “tell me again exactly what happened the day Lawson died.”

Sarah explained how Penmaric had been preparing for one of his monthly trips to Hereford on the morning of his death. He'd planned to start early on, as usual. “To avoid heavy traffic,” she explained. “He didn’t leave as intended, though, because he became ill. Not that I’m surprised: he'd sometimes be out all hours prowling the grounds. God knows what time he’d come in that night - or should I say morning.”

“Didn't you think that odd for a man of Lawson’s age?”

“He
was
rather eccentric, though,” explained Sarah. “I made a lot of allowances for his age. Terribly set in his ways.”

“Go on,” he urged.

“Well, when I saw how ill he looked, I insisted we call his doctor.” Sarah sighed deeply. “But the instant the doctor left, the stubborn fool insisted on calling
somewhere local
on business
.”

“Do you know where?” asked Greg.

“No, but he was gone for some time. When he got back he looked even worse. He went into his office, and collapsed shortly after. I recalled the doctor but it was too late - he was already dead. The doctor said it was undoubtedly a heart attack. He'd already impressed on Lawson that morning that he could go at any time if he didn’t ease up.”

“I don’t think it was as simple as that,” said Greg with a frown. “It's strange that he felt compelled to leave a message on the answering machine for Nigel. It seems that, wherever Lawson did go that morning, it was under duress.”

“You think he was being threatened? With murder?” said Sarah aghast. “Is that what you mean?”

“It’s no more than a theory, but if he
was
murdered, the killer had perfect conditions - there being no post-mortem necessary because he’d seen a doctor that day.”

“Should we call the police?”

“Not yet.” Greg looked edgily at Sarah. “I need more time. Before I leave, can I borrow the garage keys? I need to check something on the Ulster. Also, have you a diary I can borrow?”

Sarah sorted the keys from the bureau and handed them to Greg, along with a current pocket-diary.

“I’ll not be minutes,” he said.

Greg was pleased the Ulster hadn't suffered as a result of being searched. It was as he’d left it - apart from the fact that his forged passport was missing from the glove box.

“I hope no-one's interfered with the trip reading,” Greg muttered as he shone his torch on the instrument panel. “Sixty six, fifty five, no need to write that down.” He hurried back to the house, kissed Sarah hurriedly, and was about to leave when they were interrupted by frantic knocking at the main entrance. Jan stood in the porch, gasping for breath.

“I saw the youth - the one with the eye-patch,” she panted, “but he ran off.”

Greg hurtled through the trees to where he'd left the van parked near the cabin.

“The bastard’s stolen it!” he yelled as he stared around in dismay. Slowly, he focused on a ditch at the edge of the field. Barely perceptible in the shadows was the vague outline of the vehicle. He ran quickly to it. It was now more battered than ever; the whole front having crumpled as the van had run into a stout young tree.

“He’s done it on purpose – released the handbrake,” Greg gasped as Jan and Sarah joined him. “How do I get back to Bromyard
now
?”

“Well you
could
have taken the Ranger,” said Sarah, “If Nigel hadn't already.”

“I'll have to take the Ulster!”

“But you can’t Greg,” snapped Jan, “you’ll be recognised immediately,
and
it's almost certainly being monitored.”

"They missed that bastard, Jan!" Greg was adamant. “I can be back in Worcester long before daylight. I’m leaving now, but I'll call at Nigel's on the way.”

Both women protested to no avail, though Jan was more vocal:

"I hope they
do
lock you up Greg," she said tearfully, "for your own good!"

“The quicker I get going the better then - hope I’ll have more time when this lot’s sorted.” He kissed each on the cheek, and hugged Jan closely on leaving… never noticing her reddened eyes as he walked away.

Before collecting the Ulster, Greg took an immense risk by visiting the pub to see Eddy. He entered the tiny passage and tapped warily on a near-redundant off-sales hatch.

“Bloody hell!" Eddy was astounded. "What are you doing here? Best go through into the snug, there; it's never used. Be with you in a tick.”

Greg waited in the musty snug room for a few seconds before Eddy appeared from behind a tiny counter. “Taking a risk aren’t you, mate?”

“Yes, but there are things I need to sort.” Greg thumbed through the diary he’d acquired. "As discreetly as you can, will you and the lads keep a look out along the shoreline - especially over the next few nights? I've no idea of the date, but if you see a boat - or an inflatable moored a distance out - try to get some ID and notify police. But don’t call them too soon - if anyone gets wind, they may never be caught. And whatever you do be careful – they might be armed.” He paused for a second and added: “Sorry if I sound as if I'm teaching my granny to suck eggs, mate, but if things go well we might round up the drug ring and save the estate all in one go.”

"Greg, I don't want to sound as if I doubt you…"

"But you do!" cut in Greg forcefully. "I haven't time to go into everything, Eddy, but there
is
something going on here, and if you're half the bloke I think you are, you'll at least
try
…"

"Okay." Eddy saw the conviction in Greg's eyes. "I'll give it my best shot: there've been undercurrents here for years, long before I arrived, but it's always seemed a touch cloak and dagger to me…"

“It still seems that way to me, but please, if only as a favour, keep an eye out,” entreated Greg.