The big detective looked weary and unshaven. He greeted Melissa formally, addressing her as Mrs Craig, and immediately took charge, fixing Clegg with his characteristic, unwavering gaze while the two uniformed officers made their report. There was a hard set to his features as he was shown the remains of the bottle, and suppressed anger in his voice as he said, ‘Take him down to the station and get what you can out of him. I’ll talk to him later, when I’ve had a chat to Mrs Craig.’
He followed the three men out to the car, still giving instructions. When he came back, Melissa was leaning out of the open window, drawing in gulps of fresh air.
‘What was the idea of getting him to take his boots off?’ he asked, grinning.
She felt suddenly foolish. ‘Er, I suppose, to stop him running away.’
‘I think he’ – Harris nodded towards Khan, relaxed now and happily snoozing in front of the Aga – ‘could have taken care of that. You know your trouble, Mel? You read too many detective novels.’
She gave a watery smile, closed the window and slid on to a convenient chair. ‘If I did what you’re always telling me to do, stick to writing them, this wouldn’t have happened, would it? That’s just to save you the trouble of saying it,’ she added quickly.
His manner was unusually gentle as he said, ‘You look all in. Why don’t I make a hot drink? I could use one as well.’ He was already at the sink, filling the kettle. ‘What’ll it be – tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please.’
‘You were trying to contact me earlier, before your visitor turned up. Were you expecting him?’
‘Oh, no. It never entered my head … although I should have been more careful, after …’ This wouldn’t do; she must explain things coherently, in the right order.
‘Where d’you keep the cups and saucers?’
‘In the top cupboard. You’ll have to open a fresh bottle of milk.’
‘Got them. Right, go on with what you were saying. Come on, Mel,’ he said, as she hesitated. ‘I know you’ve got something to tell me. After what?’
‘After what happened to Stumpy Dart.’
‘Stumpy?’ Harris spooned tea into the warmed pot and poured on boiling water. ‘You said you thought he’d been warned off, but …’
‘I’m talking about the second warning. His caravan was burned out some time on Wednesday night or early Thursday morning.’
Harris froze in the act of pouring milk into teacups.
‘I don’t remember seeing a report.’
‘He didn’t report it.’
‘So how come you know about it?’
‘I went to see him on … after it happened. It was so sad.’ She had a momentary vision of Stumpy, crushed, bewildered and terrified as he contemplated the wreckage of his home. ‘The van was just a shell.’
‘Did he say it had been fire-bombed?’
‘Did he hell. He insisted the fire had been caused by an exploding gas bottle, but I was certain he wasn’t telling the truth. He was scared witless.’
‘But not hurt?’
‘No. I guess they must have lured him outside first. I imagine those two jokers who came here tonight were planning to do the same. It wasn’t a murder attempt, just a warning.’
‘Why would they feel a second warning was necessary, I wonder?’ Harris’s tone was reflective, but she knew it was all part of his technique. He was waiting for her to supply the answer. He put the two cups of tea on the table and sat down opposite her. ‘From what you told me on Friday, he’d already got the message.’
‘Yes, well, I’m afraid I wasn’t being exactly straight with you.’
‘I rather gathered that. So now you’re going to tell me what you’ve been up to, to merit a similar warning.’ His voice was ominously quiet. He shovelled sugar into his tea and stirred it, slowly and deliberately, not taking his eyes off her for a second.
She recalled the expression Mitch had used when speaking of Will Foley: ‘like he could see the inside of your skull’. This was the moment she had been dreading. She picked up her cup, took a sip of tea, put it down again, looked at her watch, fidgeted with the spoon – anything to avoid meeting that unnerving gaze.
‘Well?’ said Harris, in the patient tone of one who has unlimited time. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘You remember I told you I went to see Stumpy Dart about that dummy silencer?’ she began.
‘I remember.’
‘He denied all knowledge of it, but I was sure he wasn’t telling the truth, so Chris and I went back to his workshop later that night to look for it. Then Stumpy found us. There was a bit of an argument’ – Melissa had made up her mind that she was not going to go into details that might land Chris in trouble – ‘but we insisted we only wanted to see it, not take it away, so he agreed to show it to us. He told us all he knew about the man he’d made it for – he swore he hadn’t given his name, but we’re sure it was Vic. He also mentioned a woman driving a blue Renault that we thought might be Vic’s wife, Kim.’
‘You’ve seen Kim in a car like that?’
‘I’ve never actually seen her driving any car, but it seemed logical.’
‘All right, I agree everything points to them, but you can’t prove any of it, can you?’ Harris’s voice was dry and matter-of-fact, pointing out the fundamental weakness in her case.
‘We can’t prove anything – that’s what I’ve been trying to get through to Chris. If we’d come up with one piece of real evidence, I’d have been on to you like a shot.’
‘But you reckon you found some tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. Go on.’
The next part of the story was straightforward and told without interruption: her encounters with Mrs Clifford and the ‘ghostly’ emanations that had upset Dandie; the walk that had led to the discovery of the quarry garage; the pursuit of the blue Renault and its handover in the multi-storey car park in Stratford-upon-Avon; her subsequent call on Stumpy in the hope that he might recall some details of the car that had accompanied Vic Bellamy and her horror at seeing the wrecked caravan.
At this point, Harris interposed with a question. ‘You said you thought Bellamy or his wife must have listened in on your telephone call to Stumpy and warned him not to tell you anything. How do you suppose Bellamy – if it was Bellamy – found out about your second visit?’
‘He must have seen the mud on my shoes, guessed where I’d been and gone back to the workshop himself to find out what had been going on. I suppose Stumpy admitted he’d told us all he knew and it was decided he needed a sharper lesson, to make sure he wouldn’t tell anyone else. The police, for example.’
‘And later, it was decided to teach Melissa Craig not to poke her nose into what didn’t concern her.’ Something that might have been anxiety flickered across the impassive features.
Melissa stared down into her empty cup. ‘I guess so. Vic must be a pretty ruthless man.’
‘Go on with the story – I take it that isn’t the end?’
‘Not quite.’ She told of her second encounter with the blue Renault and her visit to the premises of antique dealer Antony Purvis. He made a few notes and interposed the occasional question, without showing any particular reaction.
‘That brings me to tonight. It was real cloak-and-dagger stuff.’ She made a conscious attempt to sound light-hearted and risked a half-smile; he responded with a frown and a tightening of the mouth that said, as plainly as words, ‘Just get on with it, will you?’ He looked exhausted; she felt a pang of guilt, remembering that he must have been out late on another case and that she had dragged him out of bed. She herself had gone through the fatigue barrier; an hour or two ago she had been ready to drop, but now she was alert, the adrenalin flowing strongly as she recalled the episode in the quarry garage.
‘There isn’t much more,’ she said.
As she described the night’s adventure, his expression went through a series of changes that she later described to Iris as ‘like a pan of stew c
oming to the boil’. Quickening interest fused into alarm and incredulity as she explained how they had stumbled on the correct combination and opened the concealed door. When she revealed what lay behind it, he sat for several seconds, open-mouthed and speechless. His eyes widened in horror and his normally ruddy features became almost purple as she went on to tell how near they had come to being caught.
‘Will you never learn, Melissa?’ he exclaimed in a voice thick with emotion. ‘You might have been killed!’
‘Well, I wasn’t, was I?’ She felt better now that it was over. ‘And I have taken the lid off a big art scam, haven’t I? Don’t I get even one Brownie point?’
‘Brownie point? Of all the nerve … !’ He thumped the table with his fist, sending the cups dancing on their saucers. They both heard a movement as Khan sat up, alert and watchful.
‘I’d keep calm if I were you. He’s very protective of me,’ said Melissa demurely.
‘What you need is protection from yourself,’ retorted Harris. He drummed on the table with large, powerful fingers, his lips compressed, his expression grim. ‘These people are dangerous and they’re playing for big stakes. If you’d been caught in that place, I doubt if you’d have got out alive.’
‘You knew about this already?’
‘We’ve known for a while that there’s a sophisticated ring of art thieves working the area. Private collections as well as museums and galleries have been looted, antique dealers’ shops raided – you read the Gazette, you’ve seen the reports. The stuff’s been vanishing into thin air and we reckon a lot of it’s been pinched to order and probably goes abroad. We’ve been making enquiries for months and getting nowhere … it’s as if there’s a conspiracy of silence … and you sit there and calmly tell me how you’ve taken the lid off “a big art scam”.’ In sheer exasperation, he dug his fingers into his scalp and tugged at his thatch of iron-grey hair. ‘Melissa, I could shake you!’
‘Sorry, did I shoot your fox?’ It hadn’t been such an ordeal after all; in fact, she was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘Shall I make some more tea? Or could you use something stronger?’
‘No, thanks. I’ll go now and we’ll talk again tomorrow. I need time to think this over.’ With a wary eye on Khan, he stood up. ‘Mel, it looks as if you may have uncovered the lead that’s been eluding us, but I’m warning you, keep out of it from now on. For your own safety, first and foremost, but any wrong move now could louse things up. I’ll want to talk to you again, and to your Mr Mitchell, to make sure he and this fellow Bright don’t get any more clever ideas.’
‘Oh, Chris doesn’t have ideas – well, not often,’ said Melissa reassuringly. ‘And I’ve already warned Mitch not to breathe a word to anyone. He’s promised not to, but he’s bursting to see you.’
‘I expect to give him that pleasure very soon.’ At the door, Harris lingered for a moment. ‘After tonight, whoever was behind the attack will assume you’ve told us all you know so there’d be no point in having another go at you. Just the same, if you’re scared at being left on your own …’ She waited for him to finish but he left the remark hanging in the air. For a moment, the official policeman’s mask had slipped, revealing a man who was unsure of himself, almost embarrassed.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured him. ‘I have Khan to look after me.’
‘Yes, of course.’ It was difficult to say if he was relieved or disappointed. ‘I’ll give you a call in the morning, after I’ve interviewed Clegg.’
‘I’ll be here.’ She felt certain he had been on the point of offering to stay with her, and wondered how she would have reacted if he had.
Twenty
‘I want to make it clear at the outset,’ said Detective Chief Inspector Harris, ‘that nothing, nothing at all of this conversation is to be mentioned outside these four walls – not even the fact that it took place. We’re up against some very clever people and we want to keep them in the dark as far as we possibly can.’
The walls in question were those of the sitting-room of Mitch’s country home. It was Sunday morning; Mrs Wingfield had served coffee and withdrawn to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Melissa sat beside Mitch on a sofa facing the fire and the two dogs lay at their feet. Chris had made for his usual seat in the corner, but Harris, with a great show of affability, had insisted that he move closer to the others. This he did with obvious reluctance; knowing his history, Melissa suspected that he was not entirely at ease in the presence of the law.
As usual, Harris had settled on an upright chair, from which he now surveyed his small audience, a notebook on his knee and a pen in one hand. Observing him, Melissa thought afresh how much better he looked without the surplus pounds. One could never describe him as handsome, of course, but now he’d lost some of that heaviness round the jowls … She jerked her mind back to the matter in hand as he reiterated the need for confidentiality and they all nodded vigorously, impatient for him to proceed.
‘From what Mrs Craig told me last night, it seems she and Mr Bright may have located the hiding-place of a quantity of stolen property,’ he began. ‘If that is the case …’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Mitch. ‘Why “if”? There can’t be any doubt about it. I always knew Vic Bellamy was up to no good – I had this gut feeling, didn’t I, Chris? – so why don’t you just go in and nick him?’
‘Mr Mitchell, I accept that there is good reason to suspect Bellamy, and I compliment you on your perspicacity, but it isn’t quite as simple as that.’ Harris’s tone was mild and Melissa was impressed by his diplomacy, but she sensed his irritation at the interruption.
‘Okay, so what’s the problem?’ Mitch demanded.
‘In a nutshell, we have no proof at the moment that any of the pictures or other items in that gallery are stolen.’
‘Oh, come on. Why would anyone stash stuff away with all that security, if it wasn’t hot?’
‘Vigilant owners often go to considerable lengths to protect their belongings against thieves.’
‘You trying to tell me that’s Vic’s private collection, and all legit?’ Mitch’s face registered the incredulous dismay of a pools fan who has filled in a winning line but forgotten to post his coupon.
‘You may find this hard to believe, but it could very well be someone’s private collection, although I doubt if it belongs to Bellamy. There are plenty of eccentric characters in the art world, and some very wealthy ones.’
‘Do they go round chucking fire-bombs?’
‘Can you prove there’s a connection?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Go look for yourself, why don’t you? Take an expert who could tell you what’s been pinched and what hasn’t …’
‘Mr Mitchell!’ For the first time, Harris betrayed a hint of impatience. ‘Kindly allow me to point out a few difficulties of which you seem to be unaware. Firstly, to search that garage, we need a warrant. In the circumstances, we’d probably get one but it’s by no means certain. Assuming we did, and everything in it was clean, we’d end up with egg on our faces. Of course, if we were to find stolen property there – and I’m inclined to agree with you, sir, that it’s very likely – the owners would be happy … but we wouldn’t necessarily be any nearer knowing who’s behind the thefts.’
‘Arrest Bellamy, then – make him talk.’
‘On what charge? There’s a little thing called the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. It’s not so simple to arrest people on suspicion nowadays.’
Mitch was not going to give up easily. ‘How about “inviting him to assist you with your enquiries” – isn’t that what you call it?’
‘That could very well be counter-productive, by putting him and the people behind him on their guard. In any case, from what Mrs Craig has told us, it might be difficult to establish a direct link between Bellamy and that concealed gallery.’ Harris turned to Melissa. ‘You did say there’s no connecting door with the hotel cellar?’
‘I’m almost certain there isn’t. Vic went out of his way to let me have a
good look round. It was all done as if in response to Mitch – Mr Mitchell’s – request to show me the oldest parts of the building, but I can’t believe he’d have been so open about it if he had something to hide.’
‘Mr Bright, you had a glimpse of the two men who turned up just as you were leaving the quarry. Could you swear that one of them was Bellamy?’
Chris shook his head. ‘I said, it could have been him. He was the right build.’
‘You claimed one of them had a gun. How well could you see?’
‘Got a glimpse of it in the car lights.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘Waited till they went inside the garage and ran like buggery – we all did.’
‘All?’ Harris’s forehead crinkled.
‘Me, her and him.’ Chris gestured at Khan.
‘Ah, yes, the dog. So you caught the briefest glimpse of something that in near-darkness looked like a gun, but could perhaps have been a torch, or even a two-way radio.’
‘Here, whose side are you on?’ demanded Mitch.
‘I’m trying to point out the flaws in the evidence we have so far, and what any solicitor worth his salt would make of them,’ said Harris with what Melissa felt was admirable patience.
‘It’s what I’ve been saying all along,’ she said quietly, as Mitch sat back looking glum.
‘Are you telling me you’re just going to sit there and do nothing? After all Mel – Mrs Craig – and Chris have done to uncover this scam?’
‘I’m not saying anything of the kind. We have a very promising lead, but from now on we handle things our way. There’s to be no more private investigation – understood?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Mitch looked marginally happier, although it was plain that he had expected more immediate and more dramatic developments. ‘So what happens next?’
‘I’d like you to tell me how you came to acquire Heyshill Manor. I understand it belonged to the late Sir Hugo Stoneleigh-Pryor – how soon after his death did the executors of his estate put the property on the market?’
Murder at the Manor Hotel Page 20