Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery

by Amy Myers

  Brandon frowned. ‘You think he’s at risk?’

  ‘I did – but this has thrown me.’

  ‘The forensics on Mike Nelson aren’t throwing up a clear line yet, but I’m concentrating closely on the families involved, especially the Howells. That might fit in with the attack on Anna Nelson but not with a threat to Arthur Howell.’ A pause. ‘Could the staff, paid or unpaid, be involved?’

  ‘I can’t believe—’ I stopped. What I believed was immaterial. Those who didn’t know Old Herne’s had been reprieved with no change of management, and who desperately wanted it to be saved, had just as much reason to want Mike out of the way as those that didn’t want it to go on, if they saw Mike as the root problem. A new manager might achieve wonders.

  Did Boadicea fit in with that scenario? If she knew who the killer was, yes, or – it occurred to me – if she herself had a genuine claim to Old Herne’s.

  I shivered although the day was already a warm one. There was a chilliness about High House for all its red-brick solidity and sheltered position. Houses reflect those who live in them, and this one had fared badly with Ray and Boadicea, at least since Mike’s death. Perhaps it, too, was in mourning.

  ‘Does Ray Nelson get on well with the victim?’ Brandon asked.

  ‘Far from it, but they’re dependent on each other so it’s unlikely that either of them would go too far, even if Ray were physically capable of such a blow, which I doubt.’

  ‘And the rest of the families? I have the impression the victim wasn’t universally loved.’

  ‘She wasn’t. There was enough family ill will around to stoke a lot of fires.’

  ‘There was more than ill will here last night,’ Brandon observed.

  ‘She’d been hinting openly that she might have a stake in Old Herne’s future, but Arthur Howell doesn’t seem to agree and he should know.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him again. This attack looks planned. Someone either knew her regular evenings out or went out of their way to discover them.’

  ‘Ray Nelson had been complaining about people traipsing in and out of High House so that could have been one way her movements became known.’

  Brandon’s gimlet eyes stared thoughtfully into mine. ‘If she dies who would it materially affect?’

  ‘No one as far as I can see, unless this claim of hers was significant. Arthur keeps all his cards close to his chest to say the least, but he told me the trust doesn’t include Anna Nelson.’ I gave him a run down on its provisions.

  ‘So why this claim of hers?’

  ‘I don’t know. Arthur says he told them all on the evening before Swoosh what the situation was. When he died, the person who would take over would be Mike’s wife—’

  ‘You just said no one would gain by Anna Nelson’s death,’ Brandon broke in.

  ‘No, his first wife, Lily.’ Then I groaned. ‘That’s it! Arthur told them the successor was Mike’s wife under the trust agreement. That was drawn up in 1991, but Boadicea didn’t know its provisions and assumed the wife he referred to that evening was herself. It wasn’t – it was the first wife.’

  ‘Careless of Howell not to redo the agreement when they were divorced.’

  ‘Maybe Mike didn’t want to change it. But even if Anna Nelson insisted it was her, she must have realized that Arthur could revoke the trust at any moment, so it wouldn’t take her far.’

  ‘She didn’t strike me as the brightest of individuals,’ Brandon said, and he was right. Boadicea could easily have convinced herself she was taking over Old Herne’s, and if Arthur died she might think …

  But that didn’t make sense. Arthur might be at risk, but it was Boadicea who had been attacked. Nevertheless, if I were in Arthur’s shoes I’d forget about staying on here for three months and get right on the next plane back to the US, before his Someone Up There was forestalled by someone a lot closer to home.

  I spent the rest of the day with Jessica at Old Herne’s, mainly because – understandably – she was jittery. There were few people around, and no one in the clubhouse except for Hedda indefatigably serving at the bar. She had brought in some life-saving pizzas which, coupled with a drink, served to occupy our minds for a while.

  By the end of the day, however, the news was good. Ray was back home with a carer and Boadicea was off the danger list. Jessica and I decided to walk over to High House to check how Ray was, but security seemed likely to thwart us. There was a guard at the door, and when it opened a firm looking nurse informed us that there were to be no visitors.

  Ray thought otherwise, because his voice rang out: ‘Let them in.’

  We were conducted frostily to Ray’s bedroom where he was propped up on pillows looking remarkably good humoured.

  ‘How’s the old biddy then? Not this one –’ he pointed at the nurse – ‘the other one. In hospital. They won’t tell me.’

  ‘She’s doing well,’ Jessica told him.

  ‘Not safe in your own home nowadays,’ he grumbled.

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ the nurse said grimly, but she was ignored.

  ‘Are you worried about being here on your own while Anna’s in hospital?’ I asked him.

  ‘Won’t be on my own. Security. Courtesy of bloody Arthur Howell.’

  ‘That’s nice of him,’ Jessica said weakly.

  ‘Not if it was him who tried to do Anna in.’

  ‘That seems unlikely at his age.’

  ‘Sent someone. You probably.’ He glared at the nurse. ‘After me now, are you?’

  Did he really believe that? Possibly, I suspected. On a dark night, I reminded myself, a bush holds bears for most of us. The trouble with dismissing one’s fears is that sometimes the bush really does harbour a bear – and some bears might hunt at night.

  By unspoken assent, Jessica and I went our separate ways home to our separate homes, agreeing to ‘start again’ in the morning. When I reached Frogs Hill I realized I’d forgotten to check my mobile for some hours, and that and my landline has been busy. There were missed calls from, among others, Dave Jennings, but it was too late to call him back. This was briefly done on Wednesday morning, however.

  ‘Alex Shaw,’ he told me. ‘Broke his bail conditions and might have done a runner. Thought you should know.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked cautiously.

  ‘Might be after you.’ Dave didn’t sound bothered over this.

  ‘Me?’ That was a chilling thought, but then I struggled to reason it out. I couldn’t see that my visit presented any worse threat to him than HM’s justice system had. Then I remembered his oblique threat to me and mine, and thought the matter over more carefully. It didn’t look good, even though I couldn’t see what he would achieve by carrying it out.

  ‘You and Mrs Ansty both,’ he added.

  This was getting serious. ‘I didn’t think Shaw was vicious?’

  ‘He’s a cornered rat. On the books he’s violence free, but there’s always a first time.’

  ‘Very cheering.’ I knew Dave was right, and anyone as involved with Doubler’s affairs as Shaw wasn’t going to be squeamish at the sight of blood – nor at spilling it. Still, this seemed out of proportion. Vengeance in the form of violence isn’t a normal retaliation to being nicked for possession of stolen property. I’d put Shaw down as the front man doing the delicate jobs by day rather than the tough stuff at night. In Doubler’s world, however, nothing is certain. I met a hardened killer once and he was a real wimp to look at. Only his eyes were those of a murderer. What were Shaw’s eyes like? I stopped myself right there.

  I then tried to ring Arthur, who had also tried to reach me, but he was on voicemail, so I left for Old Herne’s where I waved at Hedda and bounded up the stairs straight to Jessica’s office as arranged.

  I stopped short on the threshold. Someone was sitting at her desk, but it wasn’t Jessica. It was Fenella, looking as though she was making herself at home and enjoying it. Ominous.

  ‘Well, hi,’ she greeted me. ‘Come in, Jack.’


  ‘Isn’t Jessica around?’

  ‘Can’t see her, but it’s a nice office. Better get used to seeing me here.’

  ‘Are you sharing it with her?’

  ‘No. Let’s say it’s a temporary rearrangement. I’m here to superintend the refurbishment.’

  ‘Does Jessica know about this?’

  She smiled (inscrutably). ‘Yeah. Not too pleased.’

  ‘Does Arthur know?’ I asked her.

  ‘Is that your business?’

  ‘Indirectly yes.’

  ‘Because you two are an item?’

  ‘Because the Porsche is an ongoing case and Jessica is involved.’

  ‘Her office arrangements don’t figure in that.’

  ‘Everything and everyone here figures in it, since the Porsche case is linked to murder and now attempted murder.’

  ‘Surely over-dramatic as regards my office affecting the issue. Is dear Jason number one suspect?’

  I wasn’t getting drawn in on that. ‘Aren’t you jumping the gun on refurbishment? I understood Glenn, and therefore you, is only in charge for three months.’

  A flicker of emotion on the immaculate mask of her face. ‘Three months to prove we can make it work, then my grandfather will firm the arrangement up.’

  ‘With Jason in overall charge.’

  ‘Jason’s no problem.’

  I tried another tack. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Fenella, and intelligent and clever. Why knowingly bother to get on someone’s wick?’

  She came back just as smoothly. ‘Because nothing will be achieved by sitting back and doing nothing. That’s why Old Herne’s is where it is today – gasping for proper management.’

  ‘Why not win Jessica over to your side then? She wants to save Old Herne’s and she isn’t exactly a dinosaur.’

  ‘No,’ Fenella agreed. ‘If she was, I wouldn’t have to play offices.’ She looked as smug as though she had won game, set and match, but I was only pausing for the next game, guessing that Jessica had little to do with the root cause of Fenella’s ploys.

  ‘Why the need to play? Because you now know Mike was your father’s brother?’

  ‘Family business,’ she snapped. ‘Out of bounds.’

  ‘Well within them considering there’s been one death and another attempted killing.’

  ‘Why do reckon my grandfather put us, his own family, in charge?’ she flashed back. ‘Because he knows the Nelsons were behind Mike’s death.’

  ‘A ninety-year-old man, a woman who has just been nearly killed herself and Peter, your friend and admirer.’

  ‘How quaint,’ she whipped back at me. ‘Admirer indeed. Do you admire Jessica in bed, Jack?’

  Before I could answer with the words that came immediately to mind, Jessica herself arrived on the battlefield, quivering with rage.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said coolly. ‘Time to go, Jack.’

  No way. I’d unfinished business here. ‘You go, Jessica. I’ll catch you in the bar.’

  She must have seen the look in my eye because she went like a lamb. I then turned to Fenella and explained, so that she was in no doubt, that I was not going to fight on a personal level but when her three months was over I was personally going to have a discussion with her that would speed her on her way back to the States.

  She didn’t say a word.

  ‘Skinned alive, are you?’ Hedda asked cheerfully when I reached the bar, where Jessica looked pleased to see me.

  ‘I’m by way of being an amateur tanner myself,’ I replied, glancing at Jessica who gave a slight shake of the head. So she hadn’t been having a girls’ own discussion with Hedda. Good for her, she was keeping personalities out of it too.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ she said, when I joined her. ‘Humpty’s put together again.’

  ‘Good.’ I kissed her, then added, ‘I don’t hold much brief for the lady, but she doesn’t seem to me a natural biter.’

  ‘What other sort is there?’

  ‘A tight corner biter. Fighting to protect her own.’ Just like Alex Shaw? Now that was an unpleasant thought.

  ‘You mean the family name?’

  ‘Plus interests.’

  Jessica frowned. ‘Peter’s giving out signals that he’d like a quiet takeover in conjunction with me if they don’t make good in these three months. He’ll even help them not to make good.’

  ‘That doesn’t fit with the fact that Fenella was and still is his main chance. Perhaps he’s aiming to be a compromise candidate by knowing the ropes but not being part of the inner management.’

  ‘Like me, Jack?’

  Damn. Foot put right in it. ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘Not to the extent of exterminating the opposition,’ she said drily. ‘But I told you I wouldn’t be number two for ever, and I do have the advantage of knowing the ropes.’

  ‘So does Tim,’ I joked to lighten the atmosphere.

  She didn’t laugh. ‘Yes, and Arthur has told him his job is secure. And told me the same.’ A pause. ‘Even if I have been turned out of my office.’

  I thought I’d find Tim in the little cubbyhole with the Information sign above it when I went to Morgans Hangar to congratulate him. I once went to a car museum where the information guy kept me captive for three hours while he lectured me on the forerunners to the motor car from the Stone Age to Nicolas-Joseph Cugnot and Richard Trevithick. I couldn’t see Tim doing that – not yet, anyway.

  Tim wasn’t there, however, although a new sign, clearly painted in haste, read: Curator. Underneath was a printed notice that if he wasn’t here try Thunderbolts.

  I duly did so, and had better luck. Tim was there, although as the information sign had not yet been changed, I wondered if this was the first time he had been here on his own since Mike’s death. He could still be plucking up the courage to make any change at all to a place that held such happy and tragic memories.

  ‘Good for you, Tim,’ I greeted him. ‘Glad to know you’re staying on.’

  ‘Just a misunderstanding,’ he told me complacently, forgetting that I knew all too well that it hadn’t been. ‘So as for that stuff I told Len you could have for the Glory Boot, no problems now. I’m keeping it.’

  ‘That’s good. I take it there’s been a change of heart over the refurbishing of the hangars at least.’

  ‘Another misunderstanding,’ he said firmly. ‘Now I’m curator I’ll have more say in things. No more misunderstandings, eh?’

  ‘Great.’ Then I switched topics. ‘You’ve heard about Anna Nelson?’

  ‘Couldn’t miss it. Bad thing after all that happened …’

  His voice trailed off, so I hastily asked, ‘Can you work with Glenn Howell at least temporarily?’

  ‘Sure, provided he keeps out of my way. I’m worried about young Hedda though.’

  ‘Jason told me she wouldn’t be affected.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Cunning, that pair.’

  He was right, so I returned to the bar before leaving. I could not believe Jason and Arthur would sanction hostile action against her, but anything was possible at present. I found father and daughter both in the bar, Jason sprawled in the window seat and Hedda sitting with him.

  She grinned at me. ‘You’ve had your last cup of coffee from me, Jack.’

  I was horrified. ‘You’ve been sacked?’

  Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Glenn wouldn’t dare. His own great-niece – how would that look in the management stakes?’

  ‘I’ve resigned before he could do it,’ Hedda said, straight-faced.

  I was still at sea. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Well …’ Hedda considered this. ‘I could apply to be Ray’s carer, I could ruin Dad’s band by singing in it – or I could be a Bond girl.’

  Still at sea. ‘A film extra?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Jason had that laid-back look of amusement that I was beginning to know well. It meant I was expected to use my brain. Which I did, and mad
e an educated guess.

  ‘Assistant Curator under Tim?’

  ‘Got it in two, Jack. He doesn’t actually know yet, so I’m off to tell him. See you.’ She swanned off with her shoulder bag swinging jauntily, leaving me with Jason.

  ‘You play a cool hand, Jason,’ I said with admiration.

  ‘Mostly,’ he agreed, then grew serious. ‘I have to. This attack on Anna has brought it home to me. I can’t play cool any more. There’s Arthur to think of.’

  ‘You agree there’s a risk to him?’

  ‘In a jungle you don’t know where the enemy’s hiding. Of course there’s a risk.’

  THIRTEEN

  The Downs, the villages lying at their feet, the chalk cross carved into the grassy hillside – I’d reached my haven. I sat on the grass taking deep breaths of air in the hope of relaxing. Even though Arthur seemed to be exercising some sort of control, I had driven away feeling that I was escaping from a net so closely woven around Old Herne’s and its politics that it was all too easy to be blind to what lay outside it. Such as that a murderer was on the loose.

  Old Herne’s itself seemed a mental fortress for those within it, while outside the barbarians hammered at Rome’s gates. Come off it, I told myself impatiently, we’re not in ancient Rome but twenty-first century Kent, a county that was accustomed to surviving against great odds. Surely I could manage this challenge measured against that yardstick. Hence my parking the car and walking along the Pilgrims Way track to the white cross carved into the hillside above the village of Lenham. The cross, a memorial to those who had died in the First World War, defined the village it guarded, a symbol of its history.

  As was the red poppy.

  A poppy like Doubler’s. Who was far too young to have been in the Second World War let alone in the First. His family perhaps? But family was not a word I associated with Doubler.

  Outside the core of Old Herne’s stretched tentacles that had led to Mike’s murder, the attempt on Boadicea’s life and the shadow that still threatened it. The first tentacle I should follow up, I decided, was Boadicea.

  I’d sought permission from Brandon to visit her and been given an ID pass as there was still a watch on her. She was well enough to talk, he told me, but so far had given little of value.