by Amy Myers
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 very 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.
Belinda picked up immediately and sounded amused. ‘Me? Rescue Melody from a fate worse than death at Wychwood? Good gracious, Jack. That sounds such a delightful scenario, but I am afraid I have to disappoint you. And, it seems, Daisy.’ A pause. ‘Did you say that you’re at Wychwood now?’
‘Yes, and so, I believe, are the Charros, all present and correct.’
‘Not quite,’ she reminded me briskly. ‘Don’t forget Neil.’
She was right. Neil, the unseen but much remembered Charro. As I turned down the track again I began to feel like the goodie cowboy riding into town to face the baddies lined up waiting for him. Unlike a cowboy, however, I was part walking, part running because of the rain, and all I had to face was a former singer, a gardener, two interior designers and Ambrose. It didn’t sound too bad, put that way.
This time the door was opened so promptly that I wondered if Belinda had warned them of my arrival. Perhaps she had, because an unsurprised and stony-faced Josie barred the entrance.
‘It’s not convenient,’ she informed me.
‘I’m not here to see you or your guests, Josie. I’d like to speak to Dr Fairbourne.’
‘You can’t. He’s with us.’
‘Police work,’ I reminded her gently. ‘This missing Morris Minor.’
She glared at me for a moment, but then said: ‘You’d better come in, I suppose. We’d more or less finished, anyway.’
What they had finished she did not explain as she led the way to the living room, where Ambrose was indeed present. He was comfortably huddled in front of an unseasonal fire and looked very pleased to see me. Perhaps it was only the boiling temperature of the room that made the others seem uncomfortable at my arrival.
‘Good to see you all again,’ I told them cheerily.
This welcome did not seem to be reciprocated. Matt was slumped on the sofa with Josie, and Clive was perched tensely on the edge of an armchair. Jonathan had taken an upright chair as befitted what I assumed he thought his role: leader of the pack.
‘Just an impromptu get-together to plan the anniversary lunch,’ he told me graciously. ‘Time is marching on and the ninth of July is less than a month away.’
I murmured something appropriate without implying that a lunch for half a dozen or so guests could hardly take that much planning. Then I turned to Ambrose. ‘Do you attend the lunch too, Dr Fairbourne?’ I gave myself a mental pat on the back for a rare neat chess move on my part. Ambrose had no reason to be involved in this discussion, so why was he here? I awaited his or someone else’s response. What’s more, where was Belinda if this was about the lunch?
A beaming vacant smile from Ambrose was the only response I received.
‘What can we do for you this time, Jack?’ Jonathan enquired with only a slight emphasis on the ‘this’.
‘I’m here about the disappearing Morris Minor.’
A look of relief on their faces. They all seemed to know about it because Clive immediately sprang to the defensive: ‘Nothing to do with us.’
‘Of course not,’ I murmured. ‘I just needed to check with Josie and Dr Fairbourne on the exact time we were together in the barn with the car.’
‘Why?’ Josie snapped. ‘You were there. You know.’
I shrugged. ‘Form-filling. You’re witnesses.’
‘Josie told us it was Rose Taupe,’ Jonathan commented. ‘Great colour, great car.’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘You had a Morris Minor once, Dr Fairbourne, although I know the one we saw in that barn wasn’t yours.’
‘Did I have one?’ Ambrose looked puzzled.
‘You had several, judging by your photos.’
‘Photos?’ Then he sprang into life. ‘Yes, I had a grey one. Muriel and I used to drive it to Eastry. And I had a blue one too.’
‘But never a Rose Taupe Minor?’
‘No.’ A pause. ‘And it wasn’t hers either.’
‘His wife’s,’ Josie amplified.
Ambrose’s words about the Minor had been slightly different earlier, I recalled, which implied he must have several stories running through his head at the same time. ‘Is the barn usually locked?’
‘No. Usually nothing in it to steal,’ Josie replied. ‘Police told us to padlock it. Security. I’ll let you know if that car turns up again. You can have the key if you’re bothered and check it yourself.’
‘Best kept with you. Thanks anyway.’
Matt sniggered. ‘Anything to oblige, Mr Sort of Policeman.’
The general bonhomie was out of place for this group, as if they knew they were winning. But winning what?
‘We wouldn’t hear it even if it did come back,’ Josie commented. ‘We sleep tight, don’t we, Ambrose?’
‘Don’t like Rose Taupe,’ Ambrose broke in. ‘Josie, why was that thing in the barn?’
No one answered, and their faces were devoid of any expression. If anyone here knew the answer to Ambrose’s question I wasn’t going to hear it.
I was afraid I might find Daisy when I reached Frogs Hill again, but fate was kind to me. Very kind. It was my daughter who was awaiting me in the farmhouse, albeit an unhappy looking Cara.
‘My day has suddenly brightened up,’ I told her.
‘It has a long way to go for me.’
This didn’t sound good. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘I didn’t know I was, until Eva summoned me.’
‘You’ve seen her?’ Gruelling though that must have been, it surely would not account for Cara looking so very miserable.
‘She called me. So I went, like a fool, though I was glad I made the effort. She’s not in good shape, and you know what the statistics are about people on remand. Depression and—’
‘Not Eva,’ I broke in. ‘However depressed she wouldn’t kill herself.’ Nevertheless, if I had needed any proof that speed was essential this was it.
‘She said she was worried you might have the wrong impression of what happened that night.’
Here we go again, I thought. ‘Which presumably she has now confessed to you was not true,’ I said grimly. ‘What’s the story?’
‘She isn’t actually sure t
hat Carlos did come down to Maidstone with a floozie or plan to meet one here.’
‘Nothing surprising there. Good job Brandon’s only arrested her and not a troupe of lap dancers,’ I said wryly.
‘Eva’s quite enough for him to cope with,’ Cara said fervently. ‘She told me she rang Carlos about an hour after he stormed out of the hotel restaurant and left for Allington Lock. He said he was on the towpath at the lock and wouldn’t be back that night because he was staying on a boat. She decided this deal included at least one woman for a rave-up, so she called a taxi and went to the lock. Couldn’t find him on a boat so she went over to the towpath and walked along it in the Maidstone direction. No sign of him there so she went the other way past the weir and found him dead. Out of shock she did a runner and was picked up by a taxi she called when she was nearly back at Maidstone. She was seen by a couple on the main road while she waited for the taxi. They identified her to the police.’
This was beginning to sound like the unwelcome truth at last. No wonder Brandon thought he had enough to charge her. She could easily have left trace evidence at the scene, and running away was not going to help her case one little bit. I only hoped it was the truth this time, and that she hadn’t had a row with him and killed him herself. ‘What about the gun?’ I blurted out to get all the bad news over at once.
‘She says she didn’t see one,’ Cara told me.
Not much help either way. If Brandon’s river search found nothing he would theorize that she had pinched Carlos’s gun and afterwards secreted it somewhere in the hotel or its grounds. Not good.
‘And what’s with you, Cara?’ I asked quietly. ‘Trouble at the farm?’ She was not her usual confident self.
She managed a grin. ‘Not exactly. Only a tiff with Harry. He says he needs my help on the farm at this time of year, not my rushing off to London every two minutes. My other boss is fine with it though.’
‘Does Harry have a point?’
‘You rushed after Eva. So should I.’
‘I only want to stop her putting her head straight into the noose – not literally, thank heavens, nowadays. I haven’t achieved much else.’ Yet, I told myself without conviction.
‘That’s why I’ve come. To help.’
‘Then Harry’s being unreasonable.’
She cheered up immediately. ‘The trouble is, Dad, I’m not used to being – well – tied.’
I thought of Louise, who had untied herself from me to follow her star rather than throw in her lot with me, and I wanted to do all I could to prevent its happening to my daughter. The roles were reversed in her case, but basically it was the same situation: two people who love each other apparently going their separate ways.
‘There must be a compromise between you two,’ I said. ‘You just have to find it.’ I’d never told Cara about what happened between Louise and me, but I did so now. I didn’t want the story plastered all over the tabloids, given that Louise is a celeb, but I could trust Cara.
‘Didn’t you try to work out a compromise with her?’ she asked when I’d finished.
‘There wasn’t time.’
‘Could you now?’
‘It takes two.’
I could tell Cara was going into control mood again. Sure enough, out it came: ‘Maybe I’d better go to see your Louise,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we could work something out together.’
‘Don’t,’ I said through clenched teeth, ‘do that, Cara. I’ll sort out my own problems.’
‘Or not.’
‘Then I’ll have to live with it. OK by you?’ I was getting rattled.
She studied me. ‘Now I see where I got it from.’
‘Got what?’
‘Obstinacy.’
‘So?’ I glared at her.
Cara sighed happily. ‘We’re having a row. Now I know I have a father.’
‘Try having one with Harry. Get it out on the table.’
‘I will. Thanks, Dad.’
I was so moved at not one but two ‘Dads’ that I ruined the moment. ‘And, my pet, we can both tackle Eva.’
Much happier – both of us – I waved Cara off on her way the next morning: first to London to see Eva and then back to Suffolk. I even felt up to tackling Daisy, so I took the Lagonda over to Burchett Forstal bakery. There she was reigning supreme amongst the farmhouse loaves and stuffed rolls, wielding her tongs like a sceptre.
I waited for a while until she was alone in the shop and took advantage of a brief lull to go inside.
‘Any news?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I have to give the old heap back to Justie’s dad soon,’ she pointed out, no doubt having read my expression correctly.
‘No news. I went to Wychwood yesterday but we’re no further on, and nor are the police.’
‘So why can’t you find her?’ she asked miserably.
‘Because a car detective doesn’t have a hidden magnet that draws us to the very car we’re looking for. We have to wait for sighting reports of abandoned cars or other unusual signs, plus keep up the watch on the ferries.’ Mistake.
‘You mean Melody might have gone out to Russia or somewhere?’ she shrieked.
‘It’s possible, but I don’t think so in Melody’s case.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded hopefully. ‘Because she’s so special?’
‘Firstly because the Morris Minor is not much of an international car so demand would not be high, and secondly my seeing her at Wychwood House suggests it’s not an ordinary theft.’
‘No theft is ordinary to the victim,’ she said sulkily with a wisdom beyond her years.
‘That’s true. In some cases it’s not to the thief either.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at Justin, who stole Melody in the first place. Melody meant something to him because you mean something to him.’
A peal of laughter. ‘The idiot. Well, I don’t mean anything to this bloke at Wychwood House. I’ve never met him.’
‘No, but your Gran owned the May Tree and he was one of her customers.’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Maybe, but it’s all local, isn’t it? Everyone knows the May Tree.’
Including Josie and her mother and all the Charros. But I always came back to the stumbling block. Belinda Fever was not going to steal a car she’d given to her granddaughter. And yet … that seemed such a neat solution.
‘Fancy a ride in a Lagonda?’ I asked Daisy. ‘Lunch out?’
‘Cheers. Yes, if I’m quick. The relief comes in at twelve. Just us?’
‘With your Gran, Daisy.’
It was a perfect picture. A pub, a green, a duck pond – and the Lagonda. Not to mention the Thunderbird in which Belinda duly purred up. The purr was enhanced by a roar of approval from Daisy and me, both standing up to cheer her in. Daisy went one better and leapt on the bench to reinforce the message. The couple of ducks strolling around on land marked their disapproval by retreating to the pond.
Belinda then proceeded to do the perfect Gran act by tottering over, sitting down with a sigh and demanding a cup of tea – or a non-alcoholic beer would do, she amended. ‘To what do I owe this honour, Jack?’ she asked. ‘Merely doing your duty by a dotty old woman?’
‘Duty, yes. Far from dotty, far from old.’
‘That should be a compliment. What makes me think it isn’t? Why the duty, Jack?’ The thoughtful eyes met mine head on, although Daisy merely looked bewildered.
‘I found Melody in an old barn at Wychwood House.’
Daisy’s attention was immediately one hundred per cent on us both.
‘So you said,’ Belinda said calmly.
‘She’s vanished again.’
‘You said that too.’
‘Do you know Wychwood House?’
‘Of course, but I would hardly walk up there and run off with Melody.’
‘You know Josie and Ambrose well, though.’
‘As much as one can know him nowadays, yes.’
‘You knew him before the Alzheimer’s struck?’
‘He was a customer at the May Tree all the time I was there. That’s from 1980, which is a fair while ago. You know all this, Jack.’ Belinda was getting impatient.
Good. That meant I might get somewhere. ‘Do you know him well enough to ask him and Josie if Melody could be left there for a few days?’
Daisy was open mouthed with shock, but Belinda was right there. ‘I don’t know what planet you’re on, Jack, but it’s not the same one as I am. Steal Melody? You really think I’d upset Daisy by doing such a thing? I thought Justin had stolen her.’
‘Her disappearance from Wychwood is no ordinary theft, Belinda.’
‘But Gran had nothing to do with it, Jack,’ wailed Daisy.
Belinda ignored her. This was between her and me. ‘You’ve got a very strange bee in your bonnet, Jack, and it’s stung you this time.’
‘All the Charros were at Wychwood just after Melody disappeared. Why?’
She was looking at me with pity. ‘You’re trying hard, Jack, but you’re still way out. Look elsewhere. Not at me. And for goodness sake, let’s have lunch.’
I’d mishandled this discussion big time, even though we patched things up over lunch. I’d had a hunch about Melody and Belinda that had been punctured like a tyre on a bed of nails. Furthermore I’d upset Daisy and, worst of all, I didn’t know where I was going with this. The key lay in Wychwood, I was sure, but the key to what? Melody? Carlos’s death, or Frank Watson? Or perhaps all three. Just one would do at present.
If the key to this puzzle did lie at Wychwood, the odds were it included Ambrose as well as Josie. I didn’t know much about Alzheimer’s but I suspected it wasn’t a condition that left much room for considered deception. If, however, I could hit the right note and gain some rapport with Ambrose I might get somewhere – provided I could avoid that lug wrench.
I spent some time studying Eastry, since I reasoned that was the way to get Ambrose’s attention – even if he performed another reincarnation of King Egbert. I mugged up on its archaeology and history, discovering there had been no less than three major digs there in relatively recent times: one in late 1970 at Eastry House, which from its finds proved to be an Anglo Saxon burial ground, of which there are now several known in the vicinity of the village; the second dig was in 1980 at Eastry Court, next to the church. This was specifically in search of the Anglo-Saxon royal palace. The results of that were inconclusive from the finds; the palace might have been there, or it might not.
