Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) (23 page)
Read Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Online
Authors: Jean G. Goodhind
Ashwell Bridgewater was hardly the handsomest of men, but being bouncing-bean happy helped lift his looks. He’d done the deal and was driving back to his little terraced cottage in Northend. No more Mr Nice Guy, he thought to himself. Using his syrupy voice over the telephone was a thing of the past. He patted the small brown leather case sitting in the passenger seat. Faraway places with strange sounding names beckoned him. Red sunsets, dusky maidens, and plum-coloured cocktails would be
de rigueur
in the future he’d planned for himself.
Daydreaming was never a good idea when driving down a dual carriageway. Worse still when he was overtaking a bus at the point where the dual carriageway became single. The bus, full of seniors on a trip from Germany, had no chance to swerve and hit the car head on. There were two tour guides on board. Their first duty was to the party of tourists in their care.
‘Just cuts and bruises,’ said one to the other. They looked out of the big front windscreen to where the bus driver stood running his hands through his hair.
The car was squashed, a single arm trailing out of the driver’s side window.
Cameron Wallace poured himself a drink, downed it in one then poured himself another. He swiped at the sweat on his forehead. He hated sweating. Other people sweated and stunk. Never him. Until now. Where the bloody hell was she?
The sudden sound of the desk phone sent him striding across the floor. Just as he picked up the phone, his office door sprang open.
‘You can’t go in!’
The sound of the receptionist’s voice was echoed on the telephone receiver.
‘Yes, I can.’
The voice had authority. He recognised the policeman. He recognised the woman with him.
Without thinking, Cameron Wallace blurted out the uppermost question in his mind.
‘You’ve found her?’
Doherty weighed him up. There were a few reasons for him disliking the man. Money – as in Wallace’s – was one. Secondly, he didn’t like the over-groomed façade. This was likely a man who eyed up his own reflection more than a woman did.
‘If you mean Miss Lisette Fraser, then yes, we have found her.’
Wallace looked troubled. ‘Tell me the rest. Is she dead?’
‘Very. Do you know anything about it?’
Wallace shook his head. ‘No! She didn’t turn up for work this morning. It’s unlike her.’
‘Didn’t exactly send out a search party,’ said Honey.
Doherty shot her a warning look. She’d promised not to poke her oar in. Difficult that. She was really keen on poking oars in.
She left Doherty to it. The open bar area to the side of the big glass mural looked interesting.
Doherty was in agreement with Honey. Wallace was nervous. His gut feeling told him the man had something to hide. What was he not saying?
‘I don’t believe you. Now let’s have the truth.’
Faced with Doherty’s accusing look, Cameron sunk on to a corner of his glass and stainless-steel desk. He looked disconcerted, even frightened.
‘Did he kill her?’
Honey paused, her head just about to peer behind the mural.
Doherty congratulated himself .
‘Who would be likely to do that?’
Wallace swiped nervous fingers over his face. ‘Jan Stevensen. Tall, skinny chap…’
Doherty looked blank.
Honey remembered a tall skinny chap from the ghost walk – but he’d been named Kowalski. Were they the same person?
A good cop didn’t betray his ignorance. ‘Go on. What’s he been up to?’
‘Lisette went to see him on my behalf.’
‘With regard to the film reels.’
‘That’s right. The reels are absolutely authentic; a unique record of the
Titanic
’s maiden voyage right up until the ship began to sink. The cameraman had perfected a sure-fire filming system he intended patenting and selling in America. Then the famous sinking. Somehow, I don’t quite know how, the reels were passed to a passenger from first class – they had better access to the lifeboats. I think the cameraman must have been in steerage.’
‘An immigrant,’ said Doherty.
Honey stood holding on with both hands to the edge of the coloured glass, fascinated by the chain of events.
Wallace nodded. ‘He wanted money for them. A lot of money.’
‘Where did he get them from?’
Cameron Wallace shrugged broad shoulders beneath a pure cotton shirt. ‘I’ve no idea. I didn’t care. All I wanted was the film reels.’ He looked down at the floor and cleared his throat, a picture of embarrassment. ‘The
Titanic
is an obsession of mine, as are all things nautical. But the
Titanic
most of all.’
Honey took a step forward. ‘That shop was yours, wasn’t it? Marine Heritage.’
It was sheer guesswork, but one look at his expression and she knew she’d hit the jackpot.
Doherty had been about to tell her to butt out, but clocked that look and remembered. He clicked his fingers. ‘You came out of that shop on the day of the murder. Why the disguise?’
Wallace shrugged. ‘It was my secret world away from all this.’ He indicated the sumptuous office with a wave of his arms. ‘There’s no law against it.’
Doherty’s jaw stiffened. ‘Disguises make me suspicious. They’re used by people with something to hide.’
‘I did not kill Lisette!’ Wallace thundered.
Doherty shook his head. He was thinking of the young woman lying with her neck broken. She might have fallen. She might have been pushed. He was obliged to tell Wallace this.
‘Nothing’s been confirmed. I await reports. If it wasn’t an accident I’ll have some questions to ask.’
Wallace had turned defiant. ‘I had nothing to do with it. I told you, she went to meet Stevensen.’
‘I heard you the first time. Where can I find him?’
Wallace shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He found us.’
At Doherty’s insistence, they took the glass-enclosed scenic elevator back down. ‘Helps me think,’ he said in response to Honey’s amused expression. ‘Gives me a wider perspective.’
‘Only of the city. Tell the truth. You’re a big kid at heart. You like fairground rides too.’
‘What was so interesting behind that picture?’
Honey recognised a parry when she heard one. OK. She’d oblige.
‘It was like a shrine to the
Titanic
. That’s what he collects. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much a collection like that is worth. There must be hundreds if not thousands of collectors who …’
The elevator doors opened. So did Honey’s mouth. She gulped.
‘That’s it!’ She barely controlled the urge to jump up and down. ‘That’s it! That’s it!’ She jumped up and down and kind of bunny hopped out of the elevator.
The glass doors huffed shut behind them. The sun was out. The alloy wheels on Doherty’s sports car gleamed like small suns.
Doherty leaned on the black cloth roof. ‘Elucidate!’
He’d fully expected her to congratulate him on using such a grown-up word at midday. She didn’t.
She was standing with her arms poker stiff at her side, eyes wide, face lit up with excitement.
‘I was right. Everything goes back to the ghost walk. Mary Jane was told that the ghost walk proper had been cancelled. The organisers hadn’t expected anyone to turn up in that weather, but they did.’
Doherty couldn’t resist a jibe. ‘And let’s face it: anyone who did turn out had to be nuts or there for a purpose …’ Then it clicked. ‘They were all there to bid for the big one.’
Honey nodded, almost too excited to breathe. ‘Except for Mary Jane and yours truly …’
‘Who are known to be nuts …’
‘Thank you very much. So us, and the Australian women who were just out to have a good time.’
Doherty fast-tracked. He got out his phone and issued orders to make sure that each of those interviewed were specifically asked about an online auction. Honey phoned Lindsey and got her to surf the net. She wasn’t long coming back. Honey flipped the control to loudspeaker so Doherty could listen in.
‘Yep! I spoke to a few friends who know more about the Net than I do. It seems that a coded message was sent to individual collectors inviting them to a closed auction, subject to a ten-thousand pound registration fee. The dice were rolled and just six people were selected.’
Doherty’s jaw dropped. ‘Hells bells! How many people registered?’
‘Hundreds, I should think. If not thousands.’
‘Who instigated the auction?
‘Someone calling himself “Sir Prancelot of the Cake”.’
Doherty arched quizzical eyebrows. ‘Hamilton George?’
Honey shook her head. ‘Someone lardy – and a total nerd. Simon Taylor.’
Doherty was miles away, his fingers drumming on the car’s soft top. ‘Simon Taylor was employed by Associated Security Shredding, which is owned by Cameron Wallace, an avid collector of anything to do with the
Titanic
.’ He looked up the office frontage, his gaze focusing on the rooftop penthouse suite. He slapped the soft top. ‘That bastard!’
‘Simon was also working for Hamilton George and, as his late departed wife explained, there was nothing her husband didn’t know about computers.’
Doherty gunned the engine into life. ‘Where to first?’ he pondered. The decision was made for him. His phone rang.
Honey watched his expression change as he listened. ‘Keep him there,’ he said, and put the phone down. ‘Stevensen’s at the station,’ he told Honey. ‘He heard about the girl. He knows something about it.’
The moment she saw him, she recognised him. ‘You said you were Polish!’
Jan grinned sheepishly. ‘We thought it best to do so.’
‘You’re Swedish, like the other couple.’ Doherty glanced down at his list.
‘We are related. A number of us joined the online auction to retrieve what is rightfully ours. The reels belong to my great-great-grandfather, Lorne Stevensen. He was a passenger in steerage on the
Titanic
. Like most of those passengers, he could not get into a lifeboat, so he gave it to someone who could.’
‘Lady Templeton-Jones’s great-grandfather.’
He nodded. ‘The reels rightly belong to my family.’
‘Have you got them?’ asked Doherty.
‘No. Wanda’s cousin offered the film to me. My family had raised a certain amount, but Bridgewater wanted more. Wanda – Lady Templeton-Jones – had promised me that film. She thought it only right that it should be back with the family of the man who had taken the film. She was a very fair person. I began following Bridgewater. He was casting his net for a buyer. I thought I would approach whoever was offering and see if they would consider donating the film to a museum. Cameron Wallace was one of the last two players. I asked him. He refused. I also went to see Mr George at his hotel but wasn’t allowed in. His wife died there. I knew Bridgewater would do a deal shortly and followed. I was sure he was meeting Wallace, but he wasn’t. Wallace didn’t turn up, but the girl did.’ He shook his head vehemently.
Doherty screwed up his face as though he were sucking on something sour. ‘Excuse me for being a moron, but how come you didn’t declare that the reels were yours anyway? Why go through this charade, this online auction thing?’
Honey jumped in. ‘Because if a legitimate claim turned up the reels would have instantly disappeared. They’d never be seen again and become the stuff of legend. Did they exist or didn’t they?’
Doherty nodded. ‘I get you. But she didn’t have the reels that night, only a digitalised version.’
‘And someone lured her into the empty shop. There’s one other thing – those reels might be viewed as a national treasure. They’d have to have clearance before being allowed out of the country. It happens to paintings and stuff, so the same would apply to them.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Stevensen, his long legs stretched out straight beneath the interview table. ‘My family would have been willing to loan the film for, say, six months at a time. That would be only fair.’
Doherty shook his head. ‘It appears Her Ladyship tried to play fair but got killed for it. She’d decided to swap hotels for her own safety and she was looking to find a safe haven for the reels. Wisely, she didn’t take them with her on the ghost walk.’
Stevensen listened carefully, his calm grey eyes fixed on them. ‘She said she would get them for me. She said it was only right and was glad she’d come over to ensure they were returned to the rightful owner. We met up before she went on the walk. That’s when she made up her mind to do this. Her great-grandfather had survived the sinking, but other family members had not. She felt it a fitting memorial to their memory.’
Honey frowned. ‘Her great-grandfather came back from America sometime in the twenties and bequeathed the film to his son, her grandfather. He died a short while ago, that’s why she came over. She kept it pretty secret. Why was that?’
‘She didn’t want to draw attention. Rumours about why she was here could have caused problems.’
‘But you didn’t step forward when she was murdered.’
‘I was booked to fly back the next day. My grandmother was dying. I had to be there. When I got back I found out what was happening. I thought it better to keep a low profile.’
She recalled the list of possessions she’d inherited from her own husband, some stuff she never knew he had.
She’d have been surprised to see the reels. Perhaps she already had an inkling about them.
‘So why go to see Simon Taylor?’
‘There was a link between his Noble Present site and that for the auction,’ she said. ‘She stumbled on it and came raring over to put things right. They were among her grandfather’s possessions in Northend … Bridgewater. That snake!’
Doherty stopped her from dashing off to do serious injury to a guy she’d disliked on sight. The look on Doherty’s face told her this was not a good idea. At this point they were interrupted by a call for Doherty.
‘Our telephone cold-caller is as flat as a pancake.’ He gave her the rest of the details. ‘He was on his way along the A4 from the Bradford-on-Avon direction.’
The looks they exchanged said it all. Once Doherty had ordered backup, they hit the ground running.
