‘Wait, stop, there’s my car!’ Claire said, a couple of hundred yards down the road.
‘You can’t go on your own,’ Rob said.
‘Why, you think I need a strong man to protect me?’ Claire said scathingly.
‘No,’ Rob said. ‘I think you need someone to show you the way.’
Claire sat back and folded her arms with an angry huff.
‘Where first?’ Chris said. ‘Pierson’s or Ashleigh?’
‘Pierson’s,’ Claire said instantly. They were approaching traffic lights; Chris indicated to make the turn. The blue van was not following; Rob wondered if Crewcut was going straight to Ashleigh. He thought that perhaps they should have split up, he going to Pierson’s with Claire and Chris to Ashleigh, but it was too late.
The roads were busy with Saturday afternoon shoppers. Chris took back roads where he could, but traffic calming schemes were as likely to slow them down as heavy traffic.
‘Is there any suspension in this heap of rust?’ Claire griped as they bumped over speed humps.
Even before Chris stopped the van outside Pierson’s house, Rob could see Laura’s car parked in the drive. At least she had got so far safely, he thought. Claire almost pushed him out of the passenger door in her hurry to get out. Laura’s car was unlocked, but there was nothing in it to give them any clue to where she was. Claire slammed the driver’s door, dug in her bag for her mobile phone, and dialled.
‘Switched off,’ she said after a moment. ‘She often doesn’t have it switched on. Doesn’t even always have it with her.’
There were no other vehicles on the drive. The garage door was closed; it was impossible to see if there was a car inside. Rob rang the doorbell, but did not seriously expect anyone to come. Claire tried peering through the windows.
‘Where is she?’ she said. Rob thought she did not really expect an answer, but Chris said,
‘He must’ve taken her with him.’
‘Why?’ she said.
‘Well, he must know that we’ll be heading out to Ashleigh, if Laura’s told him she’s let slip she knows him,’ Rob said. ‘She’ll be useful – ’
‘As a hostage!’ Claire snapped.
‘Come on,’ said Chris. ‘We stay here any longer, one of the neighbours will think we’re here to burgle the place, and call the police.’
‘What if we call them?’ Claire said.
‘What would you tell them?’ Rob asked. I mean – He hesitated, trying to find a tactful way of putting it. Chris said it for him.
‘He means, your Laura might be in this up to her neck and if you call the police you’ll be dropping her right in the shit.’
‘Laura isn’t a criminal,’ Claire flashed at him. Rob and Chris said nothing. Claire sighed.
‘But all right, yes, she’s been pretty damn stupid and it might not look so innocent to the law.’
‘So we go to Ashleigh?’ said Chris.
‘Yes. Now we go to Ashleigh.’
Claire was tense and silent on the drive. Rob kept a look out for the blue van, half expecting an attempt to run them off the road. From the frequency with which Chris checked his rear view mirror, Rob guessed that he had the same idea.
Chris stopped some distance from the church, pulling into a lay-by by a field gate.
‘Are we there? Why have we stopped?’ Claire demanded.
‘If he’s already there, we don’t want to tell him we’re here. We want to check things out.’
‘And we don’t want to just charge in. We need some sort of plan,’ Rob added.
‘Go on, then. You’re the one with all the ideas,’ Chris said.
‘Thanks.’ Rob thought for a moment. ‘All right then, what are our objectives?’
‘Get Laura away from the bastard,’ Claire said instantly.
‘Stop him doing whatever it is he’s up to, and get him off our backs,’ Chris added.
‘And find out if Richard Plantagenet really is buried there,’ Rob concluded. He thought some more. ‘We’ll need to get into the church. We’d better get the key from the pub.’
‘Pierson will already have got it, if he’s ahead of us,’ Claire said.
‘He might not. He won’t want to advertise what he’s up to.’
‘And the bloke at the pub don’t like him,’ said Chris. ‘Don’t think he’d just hand the key over to him. OK, you go and get the key, we’ll – ’
‘You’ve been there more recently, he knows you better,’ Rob pointed out.
‘Yeah, but you’re the one who’s interested in local history and old houses.’
‘Will you two stop this – this back and forth double act thing you’ve got going?’ Claire exploded. ‘It’s like watching a tennis match. This isn’t a game. Laura might be in danger, she’s probably terrified.’
‘All right, I’ll get the key,’ Rob said.
‘Take the van,’ said Chris, passing over the keys.
Chris and Claire headed down the lane towards where the square grey tower of the church could be seen above the trees. Claire hurried ahead, so that Chris had to lengthen his stride to keep pace with her. Before they reached the church, he turned down a footpath.
‘Why are we going down here? The church is that way.’
‘We don’t want him to see us coming, do we? This way we come in the back.’
The path entered the churchyard on the north side; the entrance to the church was on the far side of the building. They could not see it, nor see if anyone was there. Chris moved forward, until he was close up against the wall of the church. It was impossible to move silently. There were fallen leaves, brambles snaking between the railings of overgrown plots, broken fragments of gravestones half-concealed in the long, wet grass. Chris edged forward, trying to get near enough to the corner of the building to look, without being seen himself. Claire leaned forward, trying to see round him.
‘Are they there? Can you see Laura?’
‘Get back and keep quiet,’ Chris said, trying to keep his voice low. She was as daft as her sister, he thought. Before he could say or do anything more, they heard a woman’s voice.
‘Stop it – stop it – no – let me go – let me go! It rose to a near scream, before being abruptly cut off.
‘Laura!’ Claire pushed past Chris and stormed off around the corner before he could stop her.
‘Get your hands off her, you great oaf!’
Chris could think of a lot of things he might call Pierson, but oaf was not one of them. Did he have one of his thugs with him? Flattened against the church wall, Chris did not dare sneak a look around the corner to see.
‘Miss Leighton. How nice to meet you at last.’
That was Pierson, speaking in the smarmy voice that made Chris want to give him a smack in the mouth.
‘But I suppose you prefer to be addressed as Ms, don’t you? And where is the rest of your merry band? Hiding round the corner?’
Chris looked back the way he had come. The trees at the edge of the churchyard were not dense enough to hide in, even if he could have got there before they came looking for him. He did not want to be caught running away, or skulking here like he was up to no good. He sauntered around the corner, trying to look as if he was out for an afternoon stroll. Pierson was there. One of his thugs was standing a few yards away. Not the one with the blue van they had seen earlier, the other one. He was holding Laura firmly by the arms. Pierson was between them and Claire.
‘Ah, my dear Chris, how good of you to join us. And where is the last of you? Where is Rob?’
‘Not with us,’ Chris replied.
‘Come now, you surely don’t expect me to believe that?’
‘Please yourself. You can go and look, if you want.’ He looked down at Pierson’s expensive leather shoes. ‘If you don’t mind getting your feet wet.’
Pierson hesitated, glancing at the thug, as if thinking about sending him. Then he said,
‘Hold on to her.’ He walked past Chris and around the corner of the c
hurch. The thug twisted Laura’s arm behind her back. She cried out, in fear as much as pain, Chris thought. She seemed almost out of it, head dropping, hair falling over her face. Chris looked at the thug, considering. If he rushed him, the man would have to let go of Laura to defend himself. Chris probably could not take him on his own, but Claire looked as if she could knee a bloke in the balls. Could the two of them put this one out of action before Pierson came back?
Claire had guessed what he was thinking. She hissed,
‘Don’t even think about it!’
‘We could take him,’ Chris muttered.
‘I’m not having my sister hurt just so you can show off how macho you are!’
And then it was too late. Pierson was back. Chris was pleased to see that he had mud on his shoes, and his trouser legs were wet around the hems.
‘Told you he wasn’t there,’ Chris said. Pierson looked him up and down, the sneer obvious. ‘Well, since you’ve chosen to come here and inconvenience me, I shall now inconvenience you. Your mobile phones, please.’
Chris thought about his choices. He could walk away. Pierson on his own could not stop him, and if the thug wanted to try, he would have to let go of Laura. But Chris could not be sure that if he went, Pierson would not hurt Laura and Claire out of spite. And while he did not care as much about Richard Plantagenet as Rob did, he did not – he really did not – want to see Pierson get away with whatever he was planning.
Claire handed her phone over silently. Must make a change for her to be bossed by someone else, Chris thought. Hell, even his old nan would not have handed over her phone like that without putting up some kind of a fight. He did not have much sympathy for her. All right, she was worried about her sister, but it was her charging in that had got them into this. When Pierson held out his hand to for Chris’s phone, Chris said,
‘Haven’t got it with me. Left it in the van.’
‘Oh, please,’ said Pierson. He nodded to the thug, who gave Laura’s arm a vicious twist. She cried out. Claire started forward, stopping short at the look on the thug’s face.
‘Next time I’ll tell him to break her wrist,’ Pierson said. Chris handed over his phone. The best he could think of to do was play for time, hope that when Rob got there the two of them together could get the better of Pierson and his dogsbody.
‘Now you’re here, I might as well make use of you, Pierson was continuing. ‘You won’t, of course, expect any share of the profits, since you were planning to renege on our agreement. Or is that too big a word for you? You were going to double cross me.’
Chris snorted.
‘Like you wouldn’t have done the same. But you couldn’t, because for all your posh talk and big words, you couldn’t work it out for yourself.’
‘And yet, I’m about to walk away with the prize, and you and your friends are – not. But we mustn’t waste any more time on idle chatter. Bring that bag.’ He indicated a bag lying on the ground, that Chris had not noticed before.
‘I’m not your flamin’ servant. Carry your own bag.’
Pierson said nothing. He looked towards the thug holding Laura.
‘For God’s sake! I’ll carry the damn bag!’ Claire said. Chris shrugged, as if it was of no particular importance, and went to pick up the bag. It was heavy; he thought there might be tools in it. Perhaps there was something there he could use as a weapon, but the bag was fastened with straps and buckles. It would take too long to open it.
Pierson went up to the church door, taking a key from his pocket.
‘Where’d you nick that from?’ Chris asked.
‘I acquired it perfectly legitimately, I assure you.’ Pierson put the key in the lock, and turned it. He pushed the door open.
‘After you, Miss Leighton.’
When they were all inside the church, Pierson waved the thug with Laura over to the far side.
‘You two follow me,’ he said to Chris and Claire. ‘On the south side of the chancel, wasn’t it?’ He turned to the left and headed for the far end of the building.
Chris looked around as he followed, trying to see if there was any other way out, or anything that might help turn the tables on Pierson. The church had a chilly, musty feel, as if it was rarely aired or used. The walls were whitewashed. Chris saw plaster flaking off and damp seeping through here and there. There were no seats or pews, just a bare stone floor. There were some memorial tablets on the walls, and a bronze plaque, with the names of men killed in the Great War. Poor sods, Chris thought.
At the end Pierson was heading towards, where the big window was, there were a few steps up, and the building was narrower. Chris supposed Rob could explain it all. Where was Rob, anyway, he wondered. He should have been back by now, with or without the key. Of course, if he had arrived while they were all still outside, and seen Pierson, and the thug holding on to Laura, he was probably lying low somewhere. Chris hoped that was where he was, anyway. They didn’t know where the other thug had gone, the one in the blue van.
Pierson headed up the steps. There was only one tomb, on the left, near the wall. Pierson went straight to it. Chris followed, interested in spite of the situation they were in. The tomb was about chest high to Chris, of a white stone, and plain. Chris could see no inscriptions or figures. No effigies, he thought, remembering hearing the word somewhere. He was surprised no-one had been in and nicked the stone, but supposed, it being so far out in the country, the usual villains did not know it was there.
‘Bring the bag over here,’ Pierson directed. Chris dumped it on the floor. Pierson stooped and opened it. As Chris had guessed, it contained tools – hammers, chisels, a small crowbar. Pierson turned them over, now and again picking one up and weighing it in his hand. It was obvious to Chris that he was not used to handling tools.
‘What are you going to do?’ Claire asked.
‘He’s going to break into the tomb,’ Chris said.
‘No – that’s not just criminal, it’s – it’s desecration.’
‘Not at all, my dear Miss Leighton. It’s sound business strategy. I’m merely looking to maximise my profits. There are people who would pay a lot of money for something with such a direct connection to Richard III – a fragment of bone, a scrap of fabric, a wisp of hair even.’
‘You’re sick,’ Claire said.
‘No, just greedy,’ said Chris. ‘But you’re going to have to get your hands dirty, aren’t you? Break a sweat? Your – your – ’
‘Minion,’ said Claire.
‘Yeah, thanks. Your minion is busy.’ Chris nodded to the far side of the church, where the man was still holding Laura. Chris was keeping half an eye on him, on the lookout for any sign that he had relaxed his grip, or that Laura was ready to run if she had half a chance. But she hardly seemed to be taking any notice of what was going on.
‘So what’re you going to do?’ Chris said to Pierson. ‘I mean, I can tell you’ve never handled a chisel in your life.’
Pierson threw down the hammer he was holding and straightened up. He took his mobile phone from his pocket and made a call. Evidently there was no reply; he ended the call, looking annoyed. He waited a moment or two, pacing up and down the church, then tried again.
‘Your other minion not answering?’ Chris said.
‘He’s busy on another job for me. Didn’t I mention it? I hope you weren’t counting on Rob coming to help you out. Not that I think he’d be very much use. But in any case, I’ve sent my other associate to deal with him.’ Pierson tried the number again, then gave up, putting the phone back his pocket.
‘You – Chewbacca, or whatever your name is – come here. Bring her,’ he said to the man holding Laura.
‘I’m Chazza,’ he said. He pulled Laura, stumbling, across the floor. Pierson gripped her upper arm. Laura went rigid with disgust, turning her face away so she would not have to look at him.
‘Get the side of that tomb off,’ he said to the man.
Chris thought Rob should have arrived at the church by now
if he had done nothing but go to the pub to fetch the key. He had hoped that Rob was lurking outside somewhere, waiting for a chance to jump Pierson or the thug. But he was not surprised to hear the man in the blue van was on Rob’s tail. He hoped Rob could take care of himself, and, just as importantly, he hoped Rob could take care of his van. But it looked as if he might have to get himself and the girls out of this on his own. Claire and Laura could probably take Pierson, he thought. But that left the thug for him, and now the thug was holding a crowbar. As if reading Chris’s thoughts, the man hefted the crowbar in his hand and said,
‘You wrecked my van. I owe you for that.’
The man – Chazza – walked around the tomb, studying it. Chris could see that the sides were made of panels of stone, three on the long side, one on each of the short ends. Chazza dug the crowbar between two of the panels, and pulled, wrenching the slab from its place. It fell forward, crashing onto the stone floor, chips of stone breaking off and scattering. He bent down and stuck his head into the space he had made. Chris thought it would be too much to hope that the lid of the tomb would collapse on top of him.
‘There’s nothing in there,’ Chazza reported, pulling his head out and straightening up.
‘Of course there isn’t,’ Pierson said impatiently. ‘The bodies were placed in a vault underneath. Go down through the floor of the tomb.’
‘You want me to dig up bodies?’ Chazza said.
‘What did you think you were going to be doing? Get on with it.’
Chazza was clearly reluctant.
‘Can’t get the staff, can you? Chris said to Pierson, and to Chazza, ‘Hope he’s paying you enough.’
Chazza stuck his head and shoulders back into the gap he had made. He was evidently wielding the crowbar effectively, despite his squeamishness. He started throwing bricks out behind him. Then he emerged again, holding a piece of stone in one hand. It looked to Chris like the square slabs that formed the tomb, but much smaller.
‘Got something here.’
‘What? Let me see.’
In his eagerness, Pierson started across to where he was standing, trying to drag Laura with him. She pulled away, stopping him. Impatiently, he turned back to her, putting his hand under her chin to turn her face towards him.
The Plantagenet Mystery Page 20
