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

by Amy Myers

  ‘Tell me about it, Jack,’ Jessica said at last when the wine bottle was empty, our stomachs full and some of the evening still stretched ahead. I took her at her word, leaving out Shaw’s name, and she listened intently.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she observed.

  ‘My thoughts entirely. What line was the Old Bill taking with you today?’

  ‘He had a photo of this man and questions, questions, questions. Did we know him? Had we seen him around Old Herne’s? Could he have had access to the keys?’

  ‘He was concentrating on the car theft then.’

  ‘Yes, not much about Mike.’

  ‘Did he talk to Tim?’

  ‘He did. Tim’s so besotted with his new role that he’d have been furious if he’d been omitted. He’s getting one over Glenn, as he sees it. He said he thought he’d seen the man in the photo before, but he wasn’t certain where. The only person who thought he recognised him was Ray Nelson.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘High House.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘Not really. The chap he saw was delivering logs.’

  Let-down, so I switched topics. ‘How’s the Glenn arrangement working?’

  ‘Early days. He and Fenella are being careful not to upset me, and vice versa. We’re all trying not to upset Arthur. I still have to button my lip every time Fenella shows me some of her crappy designs for the clubhouse, even though she pretends to take in what I’m saying. Glenn actually does listen to me about bookings and catering.’

  ‘Has Hedda departed from the bar?’

  ‘Yes. She and Tim are getting on like a house on fire. He orders her around, she takes no notice, and he loves the results. So it works a treat. The bar has two staff now as well as a couple looking after special events.’

  ‘How about Peter? Still waiting in the wings?’

  ‘I think he’s bored with it. Fenella is repelling all advances, so he’s decided to be a knight in shining armour; he’s keeping Arthur informed of every step, even about Ray and Boadicea. She seems to be progressing.’

  The rest of the evening swam by in a romantic haze. The time was ripe for romance. We ceased talking about murder, we even ceased talking about Old Herne’s, and as the last of the light faded we retreated into Frogs Hill. I took Jessica’s hand and led her upstairs. My bedroom is at the rear of the house and so fortunately we didn’t have to overlook the crime scene, which was deserted save for a guard.

  As I took Jessica in my arms, however, my eyes fell on the bed – but for the wrong reasons. My head began to swim, and by the time we both reached the bed, romance had vanished. I must have fallen asleep instantly because when I woke up it was long past dawn. Someone was shaking my shoulder, who in my dream I thought was Brandon castigating me for attacking Jason with a tyre iron. It wasn’t Brandon, it was Jessica to tell me that breakfast was ready.

  I groaned as my humiliation came back to me. ‘Sorry.’ It wasn’t much of an apology for the night now past.

  She laughed. ‘Don’t be. There’s always next time.’

  I pulled myself together and as soon as Jessica had set off along the footpath I remembered the outside world and what aspect of it lay closest to me – the crime scene. Before I could get any further, the phone rang. Not Dave, not Jason, not Len or Zoe.

  It was Jennifer Ansty.

  It wasn’t hard to guess why she was ringing. ‘You’ve heard about Simon Marsh?’ I asked. In the back of my mind a faint bell was ringing.

  ‘Yes, Jack. They want me to formally identify him as the man who sold me the car. Would you come with me? It’s today.’

  Her voice sounded strained and I could see this was going to be an ordeal for her. No problem. Of course I would go with her – especially as it meant I could get away from the crime scene. Soon, very soon, I hoped, it would be lifted and I could return to the Frogs Hill I loved, although that wouldn’t be easy.

  I drove to the police mortuary at Charing, where I had arranged to meet Jenny, as she wanted to get the ordeal over first before having the lunch I’d suggested. She arrived only a few minutes after me, and Dave joined us right away. ‘I won’t come in,’ I told her, ‘but Dave will look after you and I’ll be here when you come out.’ I didn’t think I could face seeing Shaw again, and Dave was an excellent substitute. We were honoured. He didn’t often work at weekends.

  Jenny seemed happy with this, though she was definitely not the merry widow I remembered from Burwash. Dave, a solid family man, clearly saw her as Mum from his protective body language with her. They weren’t gone long, and when they emerged, I had a discreet thumbs-up from Dave and a nod from Jenny

  Dave left us rather regretfully and I took her to lunch at the Plough Inn at Stalisfield Green on the Downs. The pub and village are a long way from anywhere, but the food is so good that it feels like the centre of the universe. I hated to spoil their welcome and brilliant fare with work but I had no option. Something wasn’t adding up.

  ‘You’re sure it was Marsh, Jenny?’

  ‘Positive. One hundred per cent,’ she snapped. ‘OK?’

  ‘Understood. So why do you still look so tense?’

  She looked taken aback. ‘There’s the paperwork, I suppose, and – well, it takes time, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What does?’ I asked flatly. She’d accepted my offer for a purpose, I suspected.

  ‘Let’s finish lunch, then I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Why not now? Has the merry widow found a merry man?’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly.

  So I took the hint. Simon Marsh, Alex Shaw, Jason, the Porsche – and Jenny. The mix of ingredients was beginning to cook. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t gain anything by pushing too hard, so all talk of murder, car theft, and fraud was suspended while we chatted about the glories of Burwash and Piper’s Green. She insisted on a large dessert and cheese, and I suspected that these were delaying tactics as she left half the dessert and only had a minuscule slice of cheese.

  ‘So what are you here to tell me, Jenny?’ I said firmly as tea and coffee arrived.

  She toyed with the teaspoon, avoiding my eyes. ‘It’s difficult.’

  ‘So let me help.’ My turn to get exasperated.

  ‘You’ll have to, that’s the problem.’

  I didn’t like the word problem. ‘I’ve got enough of my own,’ I said unchivalrously.

  I don’t think she even heard me. ‘I said I’d be coming to see the family about the Porsche,’ she continued. ‘I meant it, and I’m here.’

  I stared at her. ‘Now? Now is not the time to talk compensation. You must have heard that Mike Nelson’s widow is in hospital, victim of a vicious attack, and the new owner of the Porsche is Mike’s son Jason, also grieving.’

  ‘I know that, Jack. It’s Jason I’ve come to visit.’

  ‘But he—’

  ‘My name isn’t just Jennifer Ansty,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s Lily Jennifer Ansty.’

  Lily? Where had I heard that name – and then I remembered.

  She nodded. ‘Jason’s my son. I was Mike’s first wife.’

  FIFTEEN

  Caught off-guard, it took me a moment or two to adjust, but then many things began to click into shape. And an unpleasant shape it was. Jenny gave me a faint smile.

  ‘Sorry to do this to you, Jack.’

  ‘Was Jason behind the theft of the Porsche?’ I shot at her, but answered my own question before she could reply. ‘Of course he was. It was a set-up up job, wasn’t it, because he was afraid Boadicea might inherit the car. Was Mike threatening to rewrite his will?’

  She looked appalled. ‘Absolutely not. It was nothing like that.’

  ‘Then what was it like?’ I felt a rare anger. I’d been used in a game I wasn’t aware was being played – although perhaps I should have been. I remembered what had triggered that faint bell in my mind. Jason had mentioned Alex Shaw at a time when he should not have known the name. So he had undoubtedly been involved in the
theft. ‘What was so important that you had to string along not just me but the police too?’

  Her turn to get angry. ‘If you’d taken time to think before you spoke, you would have remembered that the car was stolen before Mike’s murder.’

  I calmed down, but only slightly. ‘True, but you’ve both had time enough to put the record straight without having half the Kent and Sussex police on its trail.’ At the back of my mind, reassessments were flashing through at Formula I speed. Boadicea attacked, future health not yet known; Arthur, ignorant of what his family was doing behind his back; Glenn, set on vengeance on his brother who’d held Arthur’s heart; and Fenella, intent on feathering a swansdown nest for herself. ‘Mind telling me why we’ve not been honoured with this information before?’

  She winced. ‘Yes, I do mind. It’s not my story. It’s Jason’s. He’s expecting us, if you can spare the time. I told him I intended to break the news to you.’

  ‘Hold the horses, Jenny. If this story of yours has anything to do with Mike’s death I’ll have to call the case officer right now. Has it?’

  ‘Not directly – but maybe indirectly. I don’t know, Jack. That’s why I had to tell you who I am.’

  I weighed this up, and on balance decided not to call Brandon yet, although with the proviso that whatever she and Jason now graciously proposed to reveal they should be aware that I’d have to pass it on if relevant. And how, I thought angrily, could it not be?

  And so we set off, she in her Astra and I in my Alfa still seething with fury that I – we – had been led round and round the mulberry bush by Jason Pryde and his mother. A tiny question mark popped up in the shape of a red poppy, but that was a detail.

  Jenny had taken a different route to Friars Leas than I did, and so when I drew up at Nightmare Abbey and saw no sign of her I thought she’d done a runner. At least I was wrong there, for up came the Astra and we presented a united front at the door.

  Jason looked not a whit perturbed as he greeted us. I seemed to be his best buddy – I suppose that was thanks to the vigil we had kept on Thursday night.

  ‘Jack’s not pleased, darling,’ Jenny told him ruefully.

  ‘No,’ Jason said, still unperturbed. ‘I can see that. Have you told him why it happened?’ he asked as he led the way up the stairs.

  ‘Your job,’ Jenny said briefly. ‘Is Arthur around?’

  ‘No. He hit the roof when I told him the full story. Said he wasn’t going to sit through it all again, and he’d join us for tea.’

  ‘Very civilized,’ Jenny said brightly.

  ‘Neither of you,’ I said through gritted teeth, ‘seems to be aware you’re conspiring in a police murder case.’

  ‘Believe me,’ Jason replied, ‘I do. I merely did part of your job for you.’

  On this infuriating note we reached the turret room where the telescope provided an evocative reminder of what this was all about – or so I presumed.

  Jason followed my gaze and thoughts. ‘Mum and I are successor trustees, remember.’

  ‘I do. Do you?’

  Jason flushed. ‘Point taken.’

  I hadn’t finished. ‘Why steal the Porsche, Jason?’

  He looked completely thrown. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Then what the blazes is this all about?’ I asked in exasperation.

  ‘I knew who had nicked it. Would you have stood by and seen that Porsche destroyed, Jack?’

  ‘No, but who would be insane enough to do that? Not even Doubler – and I take it that he comes into the story?’

  ‘I don’t know, but that’s beside the point. That’s what would have happened to the Porsche if I hadn’t stepped in with Mum’s help.’

  ‘But in whose interests would that have been? The car was worth its insurance value and would have been sellable at the slightest hint it was on the market whether sold by Mike or Doubler. Who was behind the theft, Jason?’

  He still hesitated and Jenny answered for him. ‘Anna Nelson.’

  ‘Boadicea?’ I blinked. ‘She alone arranged it?’

  ‘Paid for it to be pinched with instructions for it be destroyed. Crazy that she believed anyone would do that, but she is crazy.’

  ‘She did it because Mike asked her to?’ Even now I couldn’t believe that.

  ‘No. For her own sake. Dad never knew, of course – he’d have gone ballistic. She did it for the insurance money they would have received. They were in debt and my father was putting the majority of his salary into Old Herne’s, which was going downhill so fast that it didn’t help. He had refused to sell the car, which was the only major asset they had.’

  I saw it now. It fitted. ‘But then Mike died and the insurance money would have gone to you if we hadn’t found the Porsche.’ I’d discounted Boadicea’s involvement because Mike’s death was the last thing that she would have wanted in her position.

  ‘She’s a very stupid woman, Jack,’ Jason said. ‘My father was alive when I discovered what she’d done, but I couldn’t stand by and let the car be destroyed or let her get her hands on the insurance. Nor could I tell my father.’

  ‘Question,’ I threw at him. ‘How did you find out Anna had been behind it?’

  ‘Not easily,’ Jason told me, ‘although I guessed it was her right from the beginning. We’ve never got on, Anna and I. But I couldn’t prove it, so I talked it over with Tim, who feels as strongly as I do about the Porsche. He reckoned Anna, not being too bright, would have gone straight to their regular garage, Huptons, so I went to them on a fishing trip. She – and later me – were passed down the line until we ended up with the same man.’

  ‘Doubler,’ I said.

  ‘If you say so. He called himself Guy Blunt when he strolled up here to see me one day.’

  ‘Undoubtedly Doubler,’ I said wryly. ‘Two Cold War double agents, Guy Burgess and Anthony Blunt.’ The man who didn’t like to be double-crossed didn’t seem above a spot of double-crossing on his own behalf – or rather the Porsche’s.

  ‘Blunt came a week or so after the car disappeared and told me he’d been asked to destroy it, so we worked out this plan. I paid him not to destroy it as ordered, but to return it here the day before the insurance was due to be paid out in order to cause the maximum annoyance to my stepmother. Petty, but justified. I knew this would be tough on my father, but things weren’t great between us, so that didn’t worry me – until he died.’

  Jason stopped for a moment, and Jenny put her arm round him. ‘Then you turned up at Swoosh, Jack,’ he continued steadily. ‘So I had to move things along much more speedily than Blunt would have liked. Blunt had fixed fake paperwork and had the engine and chassis numbers slightly altered, then arranged though this man Alex Shaw to sell the car on and register it for Mum at the DVLA in Swansea, but we were going to leave it a week or two before its whereabouts became officially known. Then Dad died and you were nosing around so I knew we had to get our skates on. I told Mum to register it with the Porsche Club 356 Register, knowing they would smell a rat right away, so that you’d get things moving. Clever, eh?’

  ‘Very,’ I said sourly. ‘Thanks for crediting me with the wit to track it down.’

  ‘I wasn’t exactly thrilled to have the car landed on me,’ Jenny said, also sourly, ‘especially after Mike died. I was still fond of him, and we’d had great times during the good years.’

  ‘Were you still in touch with him?’

  ‘On the quiet, yes. Anna raised hell at the mere mention of my name. Mike did want me to continue as successor trustee, whatever Anna claims. He knew I understood Old Herne’s, and she didn’t. Arthur knows that too.’

  ‘Arthur does indeed.’ The man himself came in to join us. ‘I thought this is where you might be. Lily, my sweet.’ He gave her a bear hug. ‘I heard you’ve been involved in this iniquitous conspiracy.’

  ‘It seemed a good idea at the time, Arthur,’ Lily replied ruefully.

  ‘Understood. There are more important thing to fret over, pet.’ Then he turned
to me. ‘Good to see you, Jack. You’ve had a rough time, and yet you’re an outsider. That was, and still is, your value, if you stick around. My son’s death comes first, not his Porsche though.’ He walked stiffly over to sit in an armchair, looking tired, but in view of what he’d said, I had to go on.

  ‘Did you meet this Guy Blunt, Arthur?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Not under his nickname, Doubler?’

  ‘Nope.’

  I leapt the gap, desperately hoping I was right. ‘But he sent you a red poppy.’

  ‘He did?’ Arthur looked incredulous. ‘That was nearly three weeks ago, and it had nothing to do with the Porsche or Jason’s visitor or Mike’s death.’

  ‘What did it have to do with, Arthur?’ I hated to press him, but I had to know. ‘Jason’s visitor Blunt is known in the car underworld as Doubler, and we have to know.’

  Arthur still looked in two minds, and was clearly upset, but he gave way. ‘If it’s who I think it is, my family owed his. In the First World War my father was in the same infantry company as his great-grandfather, Tom Barney, in Forty-Seventh London Division on the seventh of June 1917 at the Battle for Messines Ridge. It was Tom who saved my father’s life. They became pals, and when my father later emigrated to the States, every year he’d send Tom a small thank you and Tom would send him back a poppy on the anniversary day. His son Robert carried on the tradition, so did Robert’s son Christopher, and I guess this man you call Blunt or Doubler could be his son. He’d be around forty now. One poppy still comes every year, no name no address, so I’ve no means of continuing the tradition from my side. When this year’s poppy arrived on the eighth of June – it had been sent to the Cricketers and forwarded – I reckoned Tom’s great-grandson must have read in the press that I was over here. I’m still by no means sure he’s this Doubler or Blunt though.’

  ‘If he is, he doesn’t seem to have followed the family tradition of saving life,’ I said drily. ‘Doubler is a prime candidate for the death of Alex Shaw.’

  ‘And the attack on Anna too?’ Arthur looked even more upset. ‘Do you reckon that’s down to him?’

  ‘It could well be. As for evidence that Doubler is your poppy man – and your mysterious caller of the night of Shaw’s death, Jason – Doubler called to see me at Frogs Hill and left me a poppy too.’