Classic Mistake

by Amy Myers

  Thanks to Betty Wilson I could now contact Matt Wright at least, although I was still somewhat uneasy that everyone I met in connection with Carlos seemed very affable. They all seemed ready enough to provide facts, but the picture these presented remained fuzzy.

  When I rang Wychwood House, Josie, however, was once more far from welcoming. ‘Why do you want to meet Matt?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘Same reason as I wanted to meet you, Josie.’

  A long pause, then: ‘He’ll be here tomorrow doing the garden.’

  So once again I drove to Wychwood, and once again I had that weird feeling as I passed through the woods. This was no pleasant shady summer scene. There was still a heaviness about it that made me even gladder that my home was Frogs Hill. Perhaps it was merely a reflection of my mood, I told myself. I was no nearer to that magic point at which I sense I have nailed a problem down, even if it wasn’t yet solved. On the contrary, I was all too aware that in Holloway women’s prison Eva was on remand awaiting trial, and so far I had no real leads to give Brandon (even if he hadn’t asked for them).

  A white van was in the forecourt and so was Josie’s Polo, which was a reassuring sight. As before, there was no sign of Ambrose in the house as Josie, looking practical in jeans and a tank top, led me through to the large kitchen, which overlooked the garden.

  ‘Matt’s out there,’ she told me, and through the window I could hear the lawn mower thundering along and see the man behind it. Matt was tall, in his fifties, with thinning hair, a paunch and a general air of hopelessness even about the way he shuffled his trainers over the grass.

  ‘He’ll be coming in for coffee any minute,’ Josie told me. She looked slightly more human when I told her I had enjoyed meeting Tony and her mother yesterday, although I thought ‘enjoy’ was a relative word considering Tony had served a long sentence for murder.

  ‘I’ll go out to meet Matt,’ I told Josie. I wanted to speak to him alone, not because I expected any great revelations man to man, but one never knows.

  The garden was overhung by trees at its rear and on one side, which gave it a closed-in effect that the regular flower beds and neat bushes did little to alleviate. Perhaps its lack of personality stemmed from the fact that Ambrose had been divorced from life for many years. A garden can tell when it’s not of much interest to its owners – I gathered that from Louise when she saw mine, save that mine was not regular and neat but had taken the opposite course to Ambrose’s.

  Matt gave me an impersonal nod when he saw me coming, and I watched as he finished mowing the lawn and sweeping up the cuttings. He took great care over this task, as though by so doing he gave himself a reason for living.

  ‘Josie says you’ve come about Carlos,’ he said as he finalized the last bag of grass. ‘He got his comeuppance, that’s all,’ he added, without waiting for a word from me.

  ‘It’s a tough comeuppance, despite what he did to you.’

  He disregarded this. ‘Your wife’s in for it, isn’t she?’

  ‘His wife, no longer mine. Yes. She’s on remand.’

  ‘You’d reason enough to do him in,’ Matt commented dispassionately. ‘So did I. Only, I never did.’

  ‘Nor me. But I haven’t harboured a grudge against Carlos all these years.’

  ‘I have.’ Matt scowled. ‘Look at me. Odd-job man. I was a fool to believe him. Number One in the charts, he said. That’s us, the Charros. In our dreams.’

  ‘And you were the first, weren’t you? His friend before the band existed.’

  ‘Thought I was. Went to hear his dad’s band when I was still a kid, got to know Carlos, and when he came back to Kent he stayed with me and my parents. Told me I was great on the guitar. I was with another band then. After we started the band, Carlos rented an annexe we had. When he was with Josie it was fine, but after your wife got her hands on him – well, he dumped the lot of us.’

  ‘Did you play for anyone else afterwards?’

  He snorted. ‘Never had the chance. The band I was in before I joined the Charros hit the charts a year or two after the Charros split up. I could have been with them. All very well for Jonathan. He had other skills to fall back on. But me? No way. Done for in the music world, done for outside. And look what happened to Neil. He bore a grudge, as you call it.’

  ‘Clive’s done well with Jonathan though.’

  ‘Yeah. Jon picked him up after his year inside.’

  ‘That wasn’t Carlos’s fault.’

  ‘Who do you think put him inside, then? Carlos shopped him. Didn’t they tell you? Carlos took the dope himself and then split on Clive to get out of paying for it. You didn’t find that out – and you call yourself a cop?’

  ‘I don’t, in fact, but thanks for the information.’ Time to look again at Clive Miller. True, he was in a happy business relationship with Jonathan and had a family life, but if he had met Carlos on a dark night on a towpath and they fell out …

  ‘And Neil,’ Matt added with satisfaction, now he thought he had got the better of me. ‘He had a grudge all right. Gave up his postgrad course to follow Carlos’s drum.’

  ‘Was his father around at the time?’ It would be interesting to find out if Neil’s parentage was generally known.

  ‘Eh?’ Matt stared hard at me. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘His father was Frank Watson. Met him?’ I held my breath. Those lunches … .

  ‘No,’ said Matt simply. ‘Know the police have been to see me about Carlos, do you? Wanted to know where I was that night.’

  ‘It’s not surprising. They’re interested in all the Charros.’

  ‘I was at home. My mobile palace,’ he told me with satisfaction. ‘Alone. But if I’d known someone was going to have a go at Carlos, I’d have gone along to help. I had a grudge, you see.’

  I ignored the sarcasm, and Matt, highly pleased with himself, walked off to get his money and coffee. I followed him, only to have the door shut in my face. I wasn’t going to leave without speaking to Josie again, and perhaps Ambrose too, so I decided to hang on. Memory is a strange thing. On buried treasure and gold, Ambrose could still be spot on, and that meant that his memory might still be intact about Carlos and the May Tree.

  To pass the time I wandered round the side of the house where the sun did not reach. It felt chilly and forbidding. By the pricking of my thumbs … I thought of the witches’ chant in Macbeth – or should I say the Scottish Play, for fear of bringing bad luck my way? My thumbs were pricking too, which was ridiculous when I had only to walk through that kitchen door to be in the house with at least three other people. But I didn’t do it. Instead I decided to wait until Josie was free and have a wander round while I did so. I might find an old car or two. All sorts of such buried treasures lie in barns and sheds, unused and unloved, when their owners have grown old or replaced them with newer models. There are plenty lying hidden to make car lovers drool in ecstasy if only they could catch sight of them. Keeping cars in barns is like keeping a precious art painting on one’s private wall.

  As I reached the front of the house I could see the doors of the double garage were open and Ambrose’s Renault inside. It was an Espace and dated (judging by the number plate) 2001. Then I strolled over to a track through the woods on the far side of the house, and my spirits rose as I saw fresh tyre marks in the mud. Hidden classics? Then I realized no one here would be driving a classic. I toyed with the idea that one might be hidden in the half shed, half barn that I spotted some way along the track and decided it was worth a look. The barn was side on to me as I mooched up to it to satisfy my curiosity. The wooden door was ajar and I couldn’t resist. I went to peer inside. An old Bugatti, maybe?

  I froze. No Bugatti. It was a Morris Minor 1000. I remembered the photo of the Morris Minor that had belonged to Ambrose and his wife, but this one did not look neglected. Far from it. It was shiny and polished and loved. And then I did a double take. I’d been asleep at the switch.

  It was pinky-grey, I was facing i
ts rear end and there was no number plate. Feeling as though I were taking part in a fantasy nightmare, I forced my way past the side of the car to the front to see if there was a number plate there. Not only were my thumbs pricking, but my whole body had joined them. I was also uncomfortably aware that if those doors closed on me, I might be done for. In this weird household no one would bother to search for me. I’m not usually claustrophobic but a sudden surge of life made me want to be out of here – and fast. I bent down and saw a familiar number plate.

  I’d found Melody.

  I had no time to think about my discovery, no time to contemplate, because a shadow fell across the car and a pleasant voice said: ‘May I help you?’

  It was Ambrose Fairbourne who stood blocking my path out, and I had to fight irrational panic as I saw his vacant eyes and the non-focused smile on his lips.

  ‘I was just admiring your wife’s car,’ I said, thinking this might appease him. It didn’t.

  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.

  SEVEN

  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 physi
cally 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.