Classic Cashes In

by Amy Myers

  And that meant there was still a factor missing from this story.

  We drove back to Frogs Hill and Zoe rejoined her battle with the Morris Oxford. I wasn’t even as lucky as that. I found a message on the landline from Pen to ring her. I am economical with the number of people I give my mobile number to and dear Pen is not one of them, resent it though she may. She didn’t sound happy.

  ‘That you, Jack?’ she said, when I called her back.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. Her voice sounded very odd, croaky and somewhat slurred. Pen doesn’t do drink, so it couldn’t be that.

  ‘You owe me.’

  ‘What for?’ I didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘Your chum John Carson beat me up.’

  ‘Carson did?’ I was appalled. Grumpy old man or not, I didn’t put him down as a physical assailant by nature. What on earth had Pen done to deserve that?

  ‘Maybe it was his son, then.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like Richie Carson’s style either.’ I was getting even more alarmed.

  ‘His mob then. Must have been.’

  That was possible, with or without Richie’s approval, though Timothy Mild might also have access to a suitable mob. ‘Tell me what happened, Pen.’

  ‘When I got home last night. Waiting for me. Trashed the car and then went for me. Wham in the face. Told me there’d be more where that came from if I didn’t stop pushing my nose in. They’d push it in permanently.’

  This was way over the top and effectively I’d set her up for it. ‘Are you sure it was the Moxton story set it off?’

  ‘As sure as the date of Christmas. A story about a garden. That’s what you said.’

  Guilt flooded over me. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Joan Moxton wasn’t too bad. Rattled on endlessly about some antiquated pleasure garden, so I asked her how her brother’s death contributed to the story and did she think anyone on the estate could be responsible?’

  I groaned. Typically tactful of Pen. Start with the bulldozer, then steamroller it later if she felt in a kind mood.

  ‘You knew there was more to this than a garden, Jack.’

  ‘Not this, Pen, not this.’

  ‘Who else could have done it?’

  ‘It could stem from your harassing Timothy Mild, Pen.’

  A pause. ‘I hear what you say, Jack. But that old goat at the lodge – he wasn’t in chatty mode, and I had a feeling there was someone tailing me home. Laddie, I was right.’

  ‘Did you get checked out at the hospital?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll live to make your life hell.’

  I ignored this. ‘Did you get a story?’

  ‘I’ve got one all right. It’s me, Jack. I’m the story. Vicious Assault on Gazette Journalist working on the Philip Moxton case.’

  I wasn’t too sure this was wise, but Pen wouldn’t be stopped.

  ‘So what I want from you, Jack,’ she continued, ‘is the real story. What’s your line? What’s the case against Carson?’

  I had to put her off and quickly. I thought fast and perhaps too fast. ‘There is none, Pen. Richie Carson wouldn’t risk a GBH charge to protect himself from a Volkswagen theft.’ He might for his father’s sake, I thought, if the Moxton murder was the issue, but no way did I want Pen digging in that direction. Brandon would tear me to little pieces and jump on them.

  ‘I hear a silence, Jack.’

  ‘You hear correctly. You’ve been warned off the Carson line, if you’re right about Richie’s dad. That doesn’t mean that either of the Carsons is the answer to Moxton’s death, merely that they don’t want you poking into their little racket. Give it up, Pen, and whatever other line you might be pursuing. I’ve news of the robbery you asked about. I know you’re on to that. That’s why you tackled Timothy Mild.’

  She didn’t bother to contradict me. Instead I heard a sigh of satisfaction, much to my relief. I therefore told her most of what I’d found out and she listened entranced. I couldn’t see any harm in telling her. It was well in the past and if she made deductions from it they could be helpful to both of us.

  ‘Bless you Jack. You’re a good mate.’ And with this doubtful compliment, she put the phone down.

  ELEVEN

  I gave myself six out of ten as regards Pen. I’d given her a new line to play with but I’d no great hopes it would keep her happy for long. She’d be back sniffing at the mental gates I’d closed on her as regards the Carsons and Mild. I was finding it hard to think straight over that, however – indeed over anything. Having Louise at Frogs Hill was in danger of clouding everything else from my mind. Instead of a threesome at Frogs Hill we were now, blissfully, a foursome.

  I’d warned myself that a foursome here might not be easy, even though Len and Zoe were big fans of Louise, but we seemed to be slipping into gear quite naturally. We’d come a long way in the two or three days she had lived here. Sometimes she would be there, sometimes she wouldn’t. We’d even evolved a household plan. Sometimes I would cook, sometimes we would eat out, sometimes she would cook. I had been surprised to find she didn’t like seafood. She couldn’t understand my addiction to pasta. Even so, she had had a go at cooking carbonara and when I produced my (and Elizabeth David’s) method of cooking scallops she did her best to enjoy them (well, she ate the pieces of bacon and it’s the thought that counts).

  We both knew daily life would be a roller coaster, and I had to school myself never to assume she would be there, only to be glad when she was – especially on the rare occasions she had the day off when she wasn’t needed on set. The current film, a weird (to me) modern thriller based loosely on Shakespeare’s The Tempest, was scheduled to end by the end of October in about three weeks’ time, and then there was a big question mark over what came next for Louise, apart from a booking for a Christmas run of Twelfth Night. But we didn’t look that far. Rejoice unto the day, eat drink and be merry – and especially the latter.

  I had to tread carefully over the Philip Moxton case too, where Louise was concerned. Emma Herrick was her friend and theoretically Emma and her family were involved in the case. Philip’s foundation plans gave them all a motive for wishing him out of the way quickly. Furthermore if Pen was going to be poking around about the robbery, it wouldn’t take her long to tie it in with the Moxtons at least. I needed to be ahead of her. Knowing Pen, once she’d recovered from the shock of the attack, she would be back on any trail she fancied.

  It was time to tackle Barney Moxton before Pen reached him again, as he was a central player in this case. I was sure Timothy would have warned the Herricks that I was in the picture over the foundation plans and therefore ensured that Barney knew I was coming. The news would then spread and the family react.

  I duly drove over on Friday morning, parked and walked up the hill into the busy Rye town centre. Forget the modern traffic and the posh restaurants of Rye, just look at the outlines of the roofs and the upper storeys of the buildings and the old Rye is still to be seen. As I turned corners and then into the lane where Barney’s emporium lay, nothing seemed to have changed in five centuries save that there would have been a lot more smells then.

  I was mighty pleased to find that the news of my arrival had indeed spread. Barney had a shopful of tourists – and his mother. Gwen was sitting at the till doing her best not to see me as she chatted with a customer. No way could that be the case. Those sharp eyes had registered my presence from the very moment I came in and I wasn’t going to be welcomed.

  When the customer had left, Gwen opened battle with a decidedly frosty reception coupled with an air of resignation indicating that she knew she couldn’t keep me away. Or, correction, she could, but that wouldn’t look good when I reported back to Brandon and Dave Jennings.

  In fact, Dave seemed to have retreated into the background. There had been no news of the Packard’s registration details or of anything else. Odd, because Dave likes to be in the foreground, and preferable in the saddle, of every case on his books.

&nb
sp; Gwen spoke first, once the shop at last emptied. ‘I heard you were thundering down the warpath, Jack, so I’m the reinforcements.’

  In my opinion Barney could fight his own battles, and he must have agreed because he grinned at me. ‘Do I need them, Mum?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Gwen shot back. ‘But I’m here anyway if only to look after customers while Barney is being grilled. Or vice versa if I am. Though grilled on what escapes me.’

  I doubted that. Gwen was a tough cookie, as perhaps when she’d been Philip’s wife she had had to be.

  ‘What brings you here this time, Jack?’ Barney seemed mildly curious rather than defensive.

  ‘Still your father’s murder,’ Gwen briskly answered for me. ‘So the sooner we can persuade this indefatigable bloodhound that we had nothing to do with it the better.’

  Barney looked surprised. ‘I don’t mind talking to Jack. We talk to the police, don’t we?’

  ‘The police sniff around the crime scene, darling, but Jack seems to think that digging up the past with all four paws and then examining the rubbish heap will produce some kind of bone for which the police will pat him on the head.’

  ‘Many a skeleton gets buried with the rubbish,’ I commented.

  Gwen ignored this. ‘Let’s get down to business. This is about Philip and his double life again, I suppose, so let me be clear about this. Philip only had one life and that was banking – whatever he chose to call himself.’

  I decided to steer this my way. ‘Like his father, Donald?’

  A pause. ‘Not entirely. Donald was quite different in character.’

  ‘Grandfather was fun,’ Barney contributed.

  ‘To you maybe, my pet,’ Gwen conceded. ‘His idea of fun wasn’t mine.’

  ‘What was that?’ I asked. ‘Gameplaying?’

  Gwen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Donald too was a banker first and foremost. Like Philip, like his own father, he wanted to win and he was just as ruthless – for all his fun. The difference between them was that Philip inherited his mother’s staid disposition. Though he was obsessed with getting to the top and staying there, he didn’t make bold moves. It was Donald who had the ideas and then handed them over to Philip to be developed in the years that they worked together. Donald was the adventurous one, but both of them moved people in and out of their way like chess pieces. People didn’t count except as pawns. Neither of them was malicious, but they thought anything went in business and, indeed, at home. I should know,’ she said wryly. ‘Donald was a role model for Philip because he bought banks like knocking over pawns on a chessboard, removing all human obstacles. Like me. His eyes were always on the crown.’

  ‘But you were the queen,’ I pointed out. ‘Your marriage to Philip must surely have crowned his game?’

  Bullseye. There was a long pause now. ‘Well, well,’ she finally replied. ‘Checkmate, Jack. Well done.’

  ‘I liked Grandfather,’ Barney interrupted, ignoring this exchange. ‘Everyone did. But I suppose even Caligula and Hitler could be good company if they chose.’

  Gwen sighed. ‘Your grandfather was hardly a mass murderer, Barney. In a way, Jack, Barney’s a throwback to Donald though, aren’t you, my dear? Luckily without Donald’s ruthlessness.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Barney looked anxious. ‘I don’t employ anyone of course, except for Lisa, who runs the shop at weekends sometimes.’

  Gwen changed direction. Perhaps she realized she had been playing my game. ‘So Mr Detective, what do you really want of Barney – and me, come to that?’

  ‘Information about the bank robbery in which Donald and Gavin Herrick were involved.’

  Barney looked interested, but Gwen’s face darkened. ‘You’ve been listening to fairy tales, Jack.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t, Mum,’ Barney said eagerly. ‘Grandfather told me about it. It was terrible. He thought he was going to be killed by the robber, just like all those stories of Bonnie and Clyde and John Dillinger in the States.’

  ‘So it was no fairy story, Gwen,’ I said.

  I remembered Philip’s words. ‘There is, however, every possibility that I shall shortly be murdered.’ Could that early episode in his father’s life have left a lasting fear? Had he blurted out an inner trauma that had no basis in the reality of today? If so, the fact that he was indeed shortly murdered must have been mere coincidence and yet I couldn’t believe that.

  Gwen did not comment. Wisely perhaps. She and the Herricks had clearly known about the robbery, no matter whether from Donald or Gavin.

  She switched tack. ‘You mentioned my father. How did he get into the story?’ She looked puzzled, but it was a last ditch attempt.

  ‘He was beside the Packard when it was robbed.’

  ‘Do you know that for a fact?’

  ‘I’ve good evidence. And Gavin must have talked about it.’

  ‘He said they met after the war,’ she shot at me. ‘When was this robbery?’

  ‘Before the war. But it had to have been the origin of the game.’

  ‘Why?’ She was sounding defensive now.

  ‘What else could it have been? The Packard was the symbol of the game, and it was that Packard that was used in the bank robbery in which Donald Moxton and your father were involved.’

  Barney was looking upset. ‘Do you think both my grandfathers were bank robbers?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said frankly. ‘But they were together when the robbery took place.’ Unless proven otherwise I was sticking to this line.

  ‘And both of them carried off its profits?’ Gwen asked drily.

  ‘That too seems unlikely, given their ages and the fact that Donald continued working at the bank.’

  Barney was looking worried. ‘Grandfather Moxton did buy Randolphs after the war.’

  ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s linked to the robbery,’ I said, rather regretfully. ‘Ten years had passed by then. Alfred Randolph could have been retiring, the bank could well have been making a thumping loss and so having lost heart, Randolph let Donald take over the ownership.’

  Barney looked doubtful. ‘I suppose that’s possible.’

  I changed the subject. ‘Your father must have been disappointed that you didn’t take to banking.’

  Gwen briskly intervened. ‘Irrelevant, Jack.’

  Use the accelerator. ‘It’s relevant to Philip’s intention to leave all his money to a foundation.’

  Gwen gave a strangled gasp. ‘That is it,’ she shouted. ‘Get out!’

  ‘No,’ Barney said quietly. ‘Stay here, Jack. I want to ask you something.’

  Gwen looked as surprised as I was but she impatiently waved him on as though disclaiming responsibility.

  ‘I want to ask if you would come to my father’s memorial service in London on Tuesday,’ he said.

  I was taken aback, to say the least. I would hardly have expected another request to attend a family event, but regardless of Gwen’s horrified expression I promptly accepted. ‘Thank you. I’d like to.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Now about this robbery: did it have anything to do with my father’s death?’

  ‘It could have done.’ I was struggling to come to terms with this unexpectedly assertive Barney. ‘It must have been the origin of the game and that’s a big factor in the case.’

  ‘My mother believes that Wendy Parks killed him.’

  Gwen raised an eyebrow, but didn’t deny it.

  ‘Any evidence for believing that, Gwen?’ I asked. ‘Have you even met her, apart from at that barbecue?’

  ‘No, but she made sure she could get as close to Philip as she could.’

  ‘How could you know,’ I asked, ‘unless you knew about his life as Geoffrey Green? Did you?’

  ‘No,’ she told me coldly, ‘but we saw your dear Wendy at the Staveley Open Day, and Joan said she had been there at other times. No mention was made of Geoffrey Green.’

  I found that hard to believe. It was news to me that Wendy had been at the open day, but it was qui
te possible, even though I hadn’t seen her. Indeed, even if I had I wouldn’t have remembered her from the scores of other people there.

  ‘What other times?’ I asked.

  Gwen sighed heavily and theatrically. ‘Joan saw her talking to John Carson one day. She’d been making enquiries as to who lived in Staveley House. Joan promptly saw her off the grounds but then your Wendy had the nerve to turn up at the open day too.’

  ‘And that makes her a murderer?’ I asked.

  ‘It could. She was obviously blackmailing Philip by threatening to reveal his secret life and name. I grant you it’s possible she’s too clever to have done it openly. She might have made a joke of it, suggesting he left her “something in his will”. It seems to have paid dividends.’

  ‘Unless all the money had gone to a foundation, which,’ I pointed out, ‘would have affected not just Wendy but all of you, given your private arrangements for the game.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded about the foundation,’ Barney broke in. ‘I told my father so.’

  Gwen’s face was a study. ‘You what?’

  Barney grinned. ‘I told him to go ahead, Mum. I did point out you’d all be upset, but he said he didn’t care about that.’

  I tried hard not to laugh, but it was difficult. So much for the game and gamesmanship.

  ‘But the new will didn’t get signed,’ Barney added.

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ Gwen snapped. ‘Someone wanted her pound of flesh out of poor Philip. Your Wendy, Jack.’

  So, I thought as I drove away from Rye, did the Herricks decide on drastic steps before all that lovely dosh left the game for ever? Nevertheless, if Gwen was right and Wendy had known who Geoffrey Green was, it did put a different perspective on his murder. I couldn’t ignore the fact that the use of the kitchen knife suggested that it had been an unpremeditated murder, which spoke for his having been killed as Geoffrey Green, not Philip Moxton. That meant Wendy would be in the frame, but she wasn’t sitting in it alone. There was another central player who linked the Moxtons, the Herricks and probably Geoffrey Green: Timothy Mild had his own reasons for wanting Philip out of the picture.