by Amy Myers
‘Dean, this is Jack Colby,’ Zoe reluctantly introduced me. ‘I work with him.’
Two brown eyes stared firmly into mine. I’d been going to describe them as frank but then changed my mind. Not sure why. He seemed harmless enough, but overconfident, as if he was convinced he was the next Ferdinand Porsche.
‘I’ve heard of you,’ he informed me. ‘And Zoe’s been telling me more.’
I wondered what this might have been, but murmured something appropriate, and then added, ‘Alf’s death must have been a great shock for you.’ I meant it. ‘Did you find him?’ If so the sight that greeted him must have been a gruesome experience.
‘No, I’m always off on Wednesday afternoons. If I’d been there it might not have happened. As it was, I got a phone call from the police that evening. Some delivery chap found him.’ Dean looked so genuinely distressed that I realized I’d misjudged him.
‘The nut could have gone at any time,’ I pointed out. That was so, whether it was accident or murder. I made a mental resolve to institute a double-check system by two people in Frogs Hill before our car lift was used. We have every procedure we’d been able to think of in place at present, but a double-check of them would do no harm.
‘It could have been you, not Alf.’ Zoe shivered.
‘I know. That’s what makes it so bad.’ Dean looked even more forlorn. ‘I keep thinking Doris wishes it had been.’
‘She’s far too upset to be thinking anything of the sort,’ Zoe replied practically.
I quickly changed the subject. ‘What will happen to the business now?’ Not strictly my affair but it could be relevant.
He hesitated. ‘Not sure yet. I hope to take it over. I know a chap who might come in with me.’
‘Not Harry Prince?’ I asked with foreboding.
‘No.’
Well, that was good news. I temporarily put conspiracy theories on hold. ‘How long did you work with Alf?’
‘Four years or so.’ Another hesitation.‘I heard you’d been asking around about De Dion Boutons.’
‘True enough.’ Who had told him that? I wondered. Zoe?
‘Alf was interested in De Dions. He worked on one or two before I joined him.’
‘What did he say about them?’
‘Nothing much. He only got talking about them a couple of months back because some chap had come in asking if he could bring his De Dion along. I never saw him and it turned out to be a no-show. Alf told me there were some in the London to Brighton rally most years and that De Dions had started off motor races in Britain in the 1890s when they were only motorized pedal cycles. Know that?’
I told him I didn’t – which pleased him. ‘I’d be interested to see his records of the cars he worked on,’ I said.
Dean started to say something but then looked over my shoulder. I sensed someone approaching. ‘Here’s my new potential partner,’ he said.
I turned round to see the nondescript man who had been talking to Harry Prince. He came straight up to me.
‘I heard you’d been asking about me, Jack.’
‘Have we met?’ I asked.
‘We have now. My name’s Connor Meyton.’
THREE
So much for Connor Meyton being nondescript and self-effacing. There was always the chance that Harry was wrong and that this wasn’t the new kid on the car-crime block, but Harry doesn’t get jittery for nothing. I sized Meyton up – and remembered a chap rather like him whom I’d run across in my oil days. Thanks to him my company lost the biggest concession that had appeared for many a year. All in a day’s business? Not when half my mates on the geological survey disappeared without trace – or in the case of one of them with only bloody traces evident. His death was put down to bandits, but the grin on the guilty joker’s face had told me a lot – and so did his future upward career path.
‘Were you a friend of Mr King’s?’ Meyton asked me when Dean left us together. The eyes were snake-like and the tongue darted hither and thither as if in search of food (in my case I hoped only information). I was sure that Meyton knew exactly who I was. I didn’t want to chat about Alf’s death and Len’s distress with him, so I simply replied, ‘Yes. And you?’
‘Yes as well. I met young Dean when I brought a car in and he introduced me. A good business, don’t you think?’
‘Alf’s knowledge is going to be missed.’
‘I’ve a pretty good team to bring to the party.’
Interesting. He was taking it for granted I knew about his aims for King’s Restorations, but how much more did he know about me? And even more pertinent, how much did Alf know about Connor Meyton? If he’d known too much about his four-by-four operations, that could have provided a motive for the loosening of that nut – especially as Meyton could have known it was Dean’s half day off if he was already courting Dean’s goodwill.
‘My line is four-by-fours,’ he added blandly. ‘New and classic.’
In the oil business you learn how not to blink and it’s a skill that comes in handy. ‘A fashionable line,’ I replied. ‘Not a fan myself. An Alfa’s good enough for me.’
‘And a Gordon-Keeble, I’ve heard.’
Something in his voice made me cold, very cold. If he targeted my Gordon-Keeble . . . Keep still, very still, I told myself. Like animals faced by a snake. Play it deadpan.
‘Right,’ I said.
‘I gather De Dion Boutons are more your style. And a very special one. Peking to Paris?’
I managed to look pleased. ‘Right again. Peking to Paris. Where did you pick that up?’
‘The word goes round. It might have been from Alfred King.’
Play it his way for the moment. ‘Any ideas on where it is – if it is?’
‘Do you have a client for it?’ he whipped back. ‘I doubt if the Car Crime Unit would be in the market.’
He was good. It isn’t general knowledge that I work for Dave, because neither of us broadcasts the fact, but it can hardly be a secret in car circles. What is secret is my list of contacts, which I go to some lengths to protect for obvious reasons. Connor Meyton was slithering into my affairs expertly camouflaged.
‘Are you in the market yourself for this De Dion?’ I joked. ‘Not exactly a four-by-four, is it?’
He played it deadpan too. ‘I might be.’
A cheery approach needed now. ‘I thought so. Dean Warren said that Alf King had been talking to him about De Dions. Someone had come in a month or two back claiming to have one to restore but it never appeared. That must be why.’
A cool hard stare. ‘You work out near Pluckley, don’t you, Jack? Piper’s Green. Place called Frogs Hill? I’d be interested to see it one day.’
It came over as a threat.
When I’d left Frogs Hill that morning I’d assumed that the Mad Major’s curious quest and Alf King’s death were in separate compartments of my working life, but I was beginning to wonder if that was the case. Could the two be connected in any way? It was a wild leap from one to the other and I knew I should not hare off down that route too far or I might miss the correct one. If I did, then doing a U-turn might be tricky. Nevertheless I wasn’t going to ignore the possibility.
I could see Dean once again with Zoe and her body language clearly sent out a signal that no one should interrupt this nice chat again. So I interrupted it.
‘Hi there,’ I said breezily. ‘Great chap, Connor Meyton. Enjoyed talking to him, Dean. I gather he’s interested in De Dions too. Just like Alf.’
Dean flushed, shifting awkwardly as though wondering whether he should be off. Zoe glared at me. Neither of them spoke, though, so I pressed home my earlier attack. ‘These De Dions that Alf worked on . . .’ I paused for the moment of maximum impact. ‘Any chance of seeing those records?’
Dean seemed to find the grass at his feet fascinating. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll have a word with Mrs King and ask if I can look through them then. You never know, it might turn something up.’
No comment f
rom Dean. So now, as the Americans say, we were cooking with gas.
We drove back to Frogs Hill almost in silence, Len because he was too choked to speak, Zoe because she was dewy-eyed over Dean, and I because I was reluctant to break into their thoughts. I used some of the journey home, when I wasn’t negotiating the finer points of the motorways, to assess my two tasks and decide how I would take them forward. The call to Doris was top of the list because I didn’t want Connor Meyton vetoing my visit. I had briefly paid my respects to her at the funeral but I doubt whether it registered. If not, I couldn’t decide whether Helen or Dave was my best way of smoothing my path with her.
Apart from inspecting all the old barns and garages of Kent, there wasn’t much more I could do for the Major’s commission, save further investigation as to what might have happened to the two Dion Boutons after the Olympia Motor Show of 1907. I could, however, pursue Alf’s death. Having heard the tributes to him at the funeral and seen the grief his death had caused I was determined to push forward on that front.
Both Len and Zoe lived near Pluckley, which apart from Piper’s Green is the nearest village to Frogs Hill. I dropped Zoe off first, hoping thereby to have a quiet word with Len, reasoning that he might not wish to speak in front of Zoe. I pulled up outside his home and went straight to the point. ‘Anyone you can think of who might have wanted Alf dead, Len?’
He knows the car trade grapevine as well as I do, but some gossip might have reached him that hadn’t come my way yet. Len promptly postponed his exit from the car, almost as though he had been waiting for this. ‘No, Jack.’
It isn’t often Len calls me by my name. That involves one more word and he doesn’t usually waste them, so I realized how deeply he felt about this. ‘No one I can think of. Couldn’t be cash involved. He earned peanuts, took too long over his jobs to charge properly for them.’
His voice was full of disapproval – which was ironic considering that Len does exactly the same and has taught Zoe to follow suit.
‘What about the business?’
‘Also worth peanuts without him at the helm. Agree?’
‘Yup. So if he was killed it was more likely because of something he knew.’
Len winced. ‘The bastard.’
He got out of my car and I sat there while he marched up to his front door. It occurred to me that I might have played into Dean’s hands by asking for those records. He, not Meyton, was in the best position to loosen any nuts to a lethal position, even if it had been at Meyton’s instigation. What reason would Dean have for wanting to kill the golden goose? Unless of course the golden goose had discovered something amiss with Dean or his work. Such as his collusion with Connor Meyton? Too far, too soon, I realized. Start thinking again with a clean slate.
What could Alf know that would in some pervert’s mind require his death? And did it have anything to do with the De Dion I was chasing? There were still a fair number of De Dions around, and Alf could have worked on any of them, if Dean was speaking the truth. The shadow of Connor Meyton made me wary of any such assumption. It could be complete coincidence that Meyton was interested in De Dions and Alf’s garage.
It was not until the next morning that I could get Dave’s all clear on approaching Doris. I received it, but decided it might be good procedure as well as enjoyable to ring Helen and ask her to smooth the path with Doris first, especially as it was only a theory that Alf might have worked on the De Dion Bouton.
When Helen’s warm voice answered I felt guilty about this strategy but she agreed she would contact Doris to give me a clean bill of health. Then I put my foot in it.
‘As soon as she feels up to it. Today if possible.’
A pause. ‘So you’re officially investigating Alf’s death?’
‘I am.’
Another pause, then: ‘Whoever did it, make sure you get him.’
The second time I’d been told that. Alf had a lot of friends. Helen arranged for me to see Doris that afternoon, a fact Zoe leapt on when I mentioned it in the Pits. It turned out that just by chance she wouldn’t mind dropping in on Dean, and so she would drive me over to Doris’s, wait there and then take me on to King’s Restorations.
‘Any ulterior motives around?’ I asked.
The sweet old-fashioned little girl blushed. Then she stopped blushing and retorted: ‘Go by yourself then.’
‘Together, dear Zoe.’
‘Done – with dinner afterwards if Dean doesn’t ask me.’
‘Done.’ That suited me admirably and I forbore to ask how I would get home if she was wined and dined by Dean.
Doris was on her own when I arrived at the house – a different experience today, with the garden quiet. There was no sign of her family although there were two cars parked in the driveway. She looked stronger than she had yesterday, which was a relief.
‘Helen says you’re from the police,’ she ventured.
‘I am.’ I produced my credentials but she waved them away.
‘If Helen says you are, then you are,’ she said simply. ‘It’s about Alf then. Not really this De Dion Bouton you’re asking about.’
‘Both in fact. Alf’s records might produce the answer, which is why I’d like your permission to see them. There might just be a dissatisfied customer or two.’
Doris looked at me sternly. ‘Helen says you knew Alf and Len Vickers works for you. You know there would be no dissatisfied customers. But I want you to look at them, just in case it gives you any clues. He would never have been so sloppy over the lift. Never.’ Her lips quivered.
I assured her that I would do my best to find out what had happened, and we became good friends.
‘I’ll ring Dean and tell him you can look at whatever you want,’ she offered.
‘I’d prefer to go unannounced,’ I told her.
Another stern look. ‘Alf thought the world of Dean. He’s a nice young man.’
‘Then he has nothing to fear,’ I said diplomatically.
When Zoe and I arrived at King’s Restorations it didn’t look as if it was exactly humming with work, although I could see Dean through the open door of the workshop busy with an MGB engine. I steeled myself to go inside to talk to him, and I suspect Zoe did the same. Inside was the car lift that had killed Alf. It looked innocuous enough in its down position, but all too easily I could picture what had happened that day.
Dean saw us looking at it. ‘Waiting for the firm to give it an overhaul,’ he said almost defensively. He too must be continually remembering what had happened. ‘My new partner says he’ll replace it with something newer though. Sounds good to me.’
‘Are you . . .?’ Zoe began, but couldn’t continue.
‘Using it?’ Dean picked up. ‘No way. Only taking jobs that don’t need it.’
She looked at him with starring eyes and I could almost see the chemistry working. Time to get real.
‘About those records, Dean,’ I said firmly.
‘Records?’ He looked at me blankly.
‘We talked about them at the funeral.’
Truculence replaced defensiveness. ‘I’ll have to ask Mrs King.’
‘If you wish. I’ve already spoken to her however, and told her I’m working with the police.’
‘Police?’
Either that or the fact that Zoe was fluttering her eyelashes at him suddenly persuaded him that nothing would be too much trouble. He put on a good show, leading us to the office with swaying hips, as if he’d just triumphed in a bullfight. I recognized an old coat of Alf’s still hanging on the door and I was glad that Len had not come with us.
Dean heaved out several large boxes full of files – no computer software for Alf obviously. Opening one at random I could see all the entries were in Alf’s neat handwriting. Each tax year was allotted a box of its own with neatly labelled files of expenses, income bank statements and so on. Everything I needed – if I had known what I was looking for. Any mention of De Dion Boutons of course, but what else? I’d no idea, but sometimes
ideas come best off their own bat. I settled down to the task, while Zoe entertained Dean, or vice versa. Zoe looked the keener as Dean shot worried glances in my direction every so often. He looked even more worried when I told him there was a box missing.
‘Which one?’ he asked.
‘Tax year 2006 to 2007.’
‘I’ve only worked here three years. Maybe Alf took that year’s records home.’ Dean clearly thought this exonerated him, but not in my book. I was fairly sure Doris would have told me if that was Alf’s habit.
‘Mr Meyton’s going to need it.’ Dean seemed anxious about this.
Unless he already has it, I thought grimly. ‘Has he moved in here yet, or is he going to wait until it’s official?’
‘Doris doesn’t want him to have any of the books until the lawyers give their say-so. That was my idea,’ he added with a touch of pride.
Zoe clearly thought this a masterpiece of business planning and it must have given him confidence to bluster. ‘Look, what’s this all about?’ he demanded. ‘Why are the police interested?’
And why are you sweating with nervousness? I wondered. ‘Lots of shady people around these days,’ I told him. ‘We just need to check everything’s in order when a death’s involved.’
‘Alf was as straight as a die,’ Dean said uneasily.
‘It wasn’t Alf I was thinking of,’ I said.
‘Me?’ Dean went white.
I tried to look shocked. ‘I meant customers, suppliers, gangs . . .’
He said no more, and I continued to skim through the files that detailed the cars that Alf had worked on. It was an impressive list. Together they could have formed a great museum and it made me all the sadder that Alf was no longer here to carry out his loving work.
To my initial excitement, I found two De Dions listed. One was a fifteen h.p. invoiced in 2002, and the other was a post First World War model. Neither could be the one I was after. The remote possibility that the De Dion Bouton of my quest had passed through Alf’s hands was ruled out – unless of course it was listed in the missing box file.
