Glastonbury

by Brian L. Porter

  “So, boss, you're sure the guy is carrying a gun?”

  “Like I said, I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I could almost swear to you that it was a gun of some kind.”

  “Maybe it was something else,” said Sally. “There must be other things that could look like the handle of a gun, Joe.”

  “Like what, Sally? I can't think of anything that springs to mind.”

  “I'm sure I've read of things like cameras that have pistol grips,” Sally suggested.

  “I think you're clutching at straws, Sally girl,” said Winston.

  “Well, even if it is, he might have a good reason for having it,” she continued.

  “Oh yeah, sure,” Cutler intervened. “I can't think of a single valid reason why a history professor should be walking around the wilds of Somerset carrying a handgun, can anyone else?”

  “Why don't we ask him about it?” asked Sally, somewhat naively.

  “I can just imagine it,” said Cutler. “Excuse me, Mr. Graves, but could you please tell us why a nice, innocent history professor like you is walking around with a nasty big handgun under your jacket?”

  “There's no need to mock, you know,” said Sally. “It was just a suggestion. The whole thing sounds preposterous to me, that's all.”

  “It sounds preposterous and potentially bloody dangerous to me,” Winston added. “Like the boss says, Sally, I think we might have reason to be more than a little suspicious of Mr. Graves.”

  “You said earlier that you had an idea?” Sally asked, looking hopefully at Cutler.

  “Yes. First thing in the morning I'm going to call Mavis. I want her to run a thorough check on Mr. Walter Graves. Perhaps she can find out something about him that'll throw a bit more light on why he's sporting a weapon when he's supposed to be here conducting a search for a historical artefact. We all know how resourceful she can be. She seems to know everyone who's anyone and has a whole load of internet connections. If there's anything shady about our historian Mavis will find it, I'm sure of it. Secondly, I want us all to keep a close watch on Graves while we're on-site from now on. He doesn't seem to do much apart from talk on his mobile phone so if any of us gets the chance to do a spot of eavesdropping I won't be complaining about their bad manners. I'm also going to get Mavis to send copies of Gareth's Chronicle and the map to various trustworthy bodies that might be able to give us a second opinion on the potential authenticity of the documents.”

  “Wow, you really have been thinking this through haven't you, Joe?” Sally said, obviously impressed with her employer's reasoning and proposed course of action. “Anything else?”

  “Whatever we do, we mustn't let Graves think for even a minute that we suspect him of anything underhanded or malicious. Above all, we mustn't give him any reason to prove to us that he really does have a gun in his pocket, so please, both of you just go about your jobs as though nothing's changed. Be nice to Graves, or at least in your case, Winston, a bit respectful. It wouldn't do to suddenly change and become his best friend. I'm sure he knows you're a little unsure about him anyway.”

  A big grin burst across Winston's face at this last remark.

  “Oh no, boss, and there was me thinking I'd been the epitome of friendliness from the moment we met the great Walter Graves,” he said in mock horror.

  The laughter that followed from all three of them helped to lighten the tension that had gripped the little band of surveyors from the moment Joe Cutler had mentioned the gun.

  “Are you sure Mavis will be up for a bit of private eyeing, boss?” Winston continued.

  “Up for it? Bloody Hell, Winston, she'll be like a dog with a new bone if I know Mavis. There'll be no stopping her when she gets the bit between her teeth, you wait and see. I feel sorry for Graves if he is a bit shifty. Mavis'll track down any skeletons in his closet like a veritable Miss Marple.”

  There were more giggles, this time from Sally who suddenly put on a thoughtful face and asked: “You don't think it'll put Mavis in any danger do you, boss?”

  “Hell no, Sally. She'll be doing it all from the safety of the office. What possible harm can come to her there?”

  “Maybe the man's got connections,” said Winston.

  “Who with, the Mafia?” laughed Joe.

  “The C.I.A.?” said Sally, joining in the frivolity.

  “Maybe he's a drug baron,” volunteered Winston.

  “What the hell would the C.I.A. or a drug baron want with Excalibur?” asked Cutler, still in a humorous mode.

  “Well, what would the Mafia want with it?” asked Sally

  “Touché,” said Cutler, a wide grin on his face. It was as though all the tension he'd been feeling had now fully lifted.

  “You're in a better mood now than you were ten minutes ago that's for sure.”

  “I know, Winston. Maybe it's the whisky, or maybe the company, or maybe I'm just feeling a little foolish at my wild theories about Mr. Graves.”

  “Hey, you just listen,” said the big Jamaican, reaching out and placing his paw of a right hand on Cutler's arm. “You ain't saying nothing that I haven't been thinking myself. Maybe not in quite the same way as you thinking it, but it's been there anyway, in the back of my mind. Something about Graves doesn't add up, and I agree with you, it needs checking out.”

  Sally suddenly thought of something.

  “Can I just say one thing?” she asked.

  “Go on, Sally,” said Cutler.

  “Well, Joe, you went to Stratford and met with Mr. Capshaw, didn't you? You told us he'd had Strata surveys checked out before offering you the job, yes?” Cutler nodded. “You'd think therefore that he would also have had Graves checked out before hiring him, wouldn't you?” The nod again. “The point I'm getting at is this. If Graves checked out, and he must have done for Mr. Capshaw to hire him then we're left with only two options.”

  “Which are?” asked Winston.

  Sally continued. “Well, first of all, if we assume that Graves is really who he says he is, then Mr. Capshaw could well be aware of the fact that he carries a gun, which would raise one or two questions about Mr. Capshaw if you don't mind me saying so.”

  Sally paused and took a deep breath as the two men seemed to hang on her words, waiting with baited breath for her to continue. They both leaned in towards her as she continued, and her next words really did take their breath away.

  “The second train of thought that I came up with is the really scary one, though. What if our Mr. Graves isn't the real Mr.Graves?”

  You could have heard the proverbial pin drop around the table as the two men allowed Sally's words to sink home. A full twenty seconds passed before Joe Cutler broke the silence.

  “Phew. That's one hell of a theory, Sally. Your mind certainly works in a devious way sometimes, I have to hand it to you.”

  “Just one thing, Sally girl,” said Winston. “Why the hell would anyone want to impersonate Walter Graves? That's what you're suggesting isn't it, that our Graves is an impostor?”

  “Why, to get their hands on Excalibur, of course,” she exclaimed. “Someone could have killed Mr. Graves, taken his briefcase with the papers and documents, and be using us to locate the sword so that they can steal it for themselves. You know, maybe someone being paid by an unscrupulous art collector or something like that.”

  “Wow, Sally, that one sure came from left field,” said Cutler. “Just to be on the safe side I think I'll ask Mavis to try and get hold of a picture of the real Walter Graves. That might satisfy us in that respect at least.”

  “And what about Mr. Capshaw? Shouldn't we let him know that there might be something not quite right with Mr. Graves?”

  “Whoa, now hold on, Sally. Let's not go quite so fast, okay? You said yourself that Capshaw might know that Graves has a gun, and if he does that tends to suggest that Capshaw might be a bit on the crooked side, too, doesn't it?” asked Fortune.

  “Good point, Winston,” said Cutler thoughtfully. “Listen, I don't think we
can do anything until we know a little bit more. I did have Mavis get some details on Capshaw before I went up to Stratford to meet him, but maybe I'll ask her to dig a little more while she's looking into Graves.”

  “You know, I don't like to say this, but things are becoming a little scary right now,” said Sally.

  “Hey, look, Sally, I'm sure it's nothing really. Maybe I just overreacted to something I thought I saw today. Let's not jump to any conclusions until we know more, alright?”

  “If you say so, Joe,” she said, her eyes darting from one man to the other as worry lines appeared across her brow. Sally was sure she'd stumbled upon some dark, hidden aspect to the man they knew as Walter Graves.

  Taking her silence for acquiescence to his last statement Cutler moved to bring the evening back onto an even keel.

  “Come on, let's eat,” he said, draining the last of the whisky from his glass.

  The others followed Joe quietly into the dining room, but the meal that evening was eaten almost in silence. It was as though an air of gloom and despondency had descended upon them that wouldn't lift until they'd solved the riddle that bore the name of Walter Graves.

  Chapter 13

  Immediately after breakfast the following day Joe Cutler made a call to Mavis Hightower who as always was at her desk in the Strata Survey Systems office bright and early. After explaining to Mavis his exact needs with regards to Walter Graves and Malcolm Capshaw and receiving an enthusiastic and entirely expected response in the positive from his office manager, he turned his attention to the map and the chronicle supposedly written by Sir Pelleas's scribe Gareth. Not being in any way connected with the world of ancient history or historical artefacts, Cutler was faced with a dilemma. How was he to ascertain whether the documents were genuine or not if he couldn't find a reliable source of verification?

  It was Sally Corbett who came up with the solution he was seeking as he sat in his room explaining the problem to her and Winston Fortune immediately prior to them leaving to meet Graves in order to begin the day's search.

  “Lucius Doberman,” she exclaimed, almost as if Cutler and Fortune should know exactly what she was talking about.

  “Eh? Come again, Sally,” was all she received by way of response from Cutler.

  “Lucius Doberman,” she repeated. “He was a professor of history at university when I was there and he had, er, shall we say, something of a `thing' going for me. I wasn't interested, of course, and it would have been very unprofessional of him to become involved with a student anyway.”

  “But you weren't there to study history, so you could have got away with a liaison if you'd wanted to,” said Winston.

  “As I said, I wasn't interested in him in that way. He was tutor to one of my best friends, Helen James, and we used to meet socially now and then. He was very young for a professor, much younger than Graves, in fact, but he was thought to be something of a genius in his field. If I approach him he might be willing to take a look at the documents for you, Joe.”

  “Time is short, Sally. I haven't the time to go up to your old college and show them to this professor of yours. He'd have to work with fax copies or something like that and we need a fast appraisal.”

  “We can do better than that, boss,” said Winston. “All we have to do is copy them onto the laptop and send them to Doberman over the internet, right, Sally?”

  “Of course. Shall I ring him, Joe? As long as he gives me an e-mail address we could have the documents to him in less than an hour.”

  “We don't have a scanner with us,” said Cutler.

  “No, but I'm sure Mrs. Cleveley will have one in her office. If it won't work with the laptop she might let us use her computer to send the document via e-mail to the laptop and we can send it as an onward transmission to the professor.”

  “My God, Winston, the girl's a genius! Make the call, Sally. I'll go and have a word with our accommodating landlady.”

  Thanks to the co-operation of Annette Cleveley and the use of her scanner and computer, and following a call from Sally to Lucius Doberman who professed himself only too happy to help, the team were less than half an hour late in leaving the Rowan Tree for their rendezvous with Walter Graves, and the copied documents were probably already in the hands of Sally's old friend, thanks to that wonder of technology, the internet. Cutler had called the historian to explain that they had been delayed by a flat tyre on the van, and he'd had no hesitation in accepting Joe's excuse, merely suggesting that Cutler `got his finger out' and made his way to the prearranged meeting place as soon as possible.

  As Winston drove the van the ten miles to the days' scheduled search area the conversation turned to Sally's old friend Lucius Doberman.

  “So, old Lucius didn't take much persuading then, eh, Sally?”

  “None at all, Winston. In fact, when I told him what it was about he quite jumped at the chance to get involved.”

  “I don't suppose it had anything to do with the fact that the man still has the `hots' for you, did it?” asked Cutler, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “He probably does, that's true, but he's also quite brilliant, and he was relishing the chance to view what may be precious historical documents and give us his opinion on them. When I told him that there was the chance we might unearth Excalibur he was a little sceptical at first, but at least he's prepared to view the documents with an open mind. He's promised to get back to you as soon as he can, boss.”

  “What about his academic duties?” asked Winston. “Won't he have lectures or tutorials and stuff to deliver? He might not get a chance to look at them until later in the day, if at all.”

  “Universities aren't like schools, Winston. He doesn't work non-stop all day like a school teacher. Don't worry, he promised he'd look at them today, and he will.”

  “Did you mention Graves?” asked Cutler.

  “I thought it best not to.”

  “Very wise, Sally,” he continued. “You never know, they might know each other and that could make things awkward for us.”

  “I doubt they know each other, there isn't some big history professors club you know,” she continued, “but something just made me keep him out of it for now.”

  “Probably safer for Doberman,” said Winston. “Where did he get a name like that by the way? Sounds a bit of a dog to me.”

  “You've got a thing about names haven't you, Winston?”

  “I just think it's humorous, Sally girl, that's all.”

  “That's rich, coming from someone called Fortune,” she grinned.

  “I think she's got you there, old friend,” said Cutler.

  “Okay, I'll shut up about it. I still think it's a weird name,” he mumbled to himself as his voice trailed off.

  “Next left, Winston,” Cutler shouted as they approached a junction, travelling a little too fast for his liking.

  Fortune quickly applied the van's brakes and the rapid deceleration threw the three of them forward, their seatbelts tightening as they held them in place in their seats.

  “Sorry, boss, my mind was somewhere else for a minute.”

  “Never mind, just get us there safely. It's about a mile along the road, on the left. There's a track that leads to a small wooded area. That's where we're supposed to meet Graves.”

  Five minutes later they pulled up in the designated place to find Walter Graves standing beside his BMW, which, despite the state of the ground still managed to look as though he'd just driven it out of the showroom. The black bodywork positively gleamed in the morning sunshine, the reflection of the suns rays gleaming in reflection from the highly polished metallic surface. Bearing in mind Cutler's view of the suspected weapon the previous day, it gave Graves the look of a Mafia hit man waiting for his victim to approach. Graves stubbed out the cigarette he'd been smoking on the ground in front of him and waved to the approaching survey team.

  “Morning everyone,” he called cheerfully to Cutler and the others.

  “Good morning, Mr. Graves
,” Cutler responded as the others nodded and grunted their own greetings.

  Cutler whispered to his companions.

  “Remember what I said. Keep it normal.”

  “What a beautiful day we've been given today. Who'd have thought we'd had all that rain just a few days ago. Look how green the trees are, and the grass. At least nature has taken advantage of the downpour.”

  “I didn't think you were much of a nature lover, or an outdoor kind of person, Mr. Graves,” said Sally.

  “Ah, there you go, Miss Corbett,” he replied. “I suppose you think I must spend all my time in dusty old libraries or my rooms at the college wrapped up in one or another historical research project and never seeing the light of day. In actual fact I quite enjoy the outdoors. I've even been known to enjoy the odd hiking weekend in the past, in the right company of course.”

  “I only meant…”

  “I know exactly what you meant, Miss Corbett,” Graves continued. “I assure you I'm just as happy out of doors as I am under cover. Not only that, but my knowledge of the natural world might serve to surprise you one day.”

  “I'm sure it could,” Cutler interrupted. “Don't you think that we should be getting on with the job in hand, though?”

  “Ah, I'm glad to see that you're keen to make progress, Mr. Cutler,” Graves smiled at Joe. “Here's a copy of the grid I've prepared for today's search.”

  He handed Joe a sheet of A4 paper on which he'd drawn a perfectly scaled map of the area they were about to survey. While Winston prepared the radar Sally and Joe removed the marker poles and central control unit from the van. The wooded area they passed through on their way to the new search area was small, as Cutler had indicated from the road map. Barely a hundred metres square, he guessed that the trees, a mixture of oaks and horse chestnuts had been planted to provide a protective windbreak for the open space beyond. The only way to reach that space was by following the well-worn path that led through the small area of forestry. As they emerged at the furthest point from the small parking space they were amazed at the panoramic view that opened up before them. Unseen from the road due to the lay of the land and the fences that prevented entry apart from the way they'd come, the view that presented itself was nothing short of breathtaking. As far as the eye could see a swathe of green stretched into the distant horizon. Fields, marshland and gently rolling hills merged into a vista broken only here and there by the ragged lines of hedges and occasional dry stone walls. Tiny patches of colour sprang from small clusters of wildflowers dotted around in the swathes of green, and as a gentle breeze washed quietly across the land and the grass stalks bent their heads in reverence to it, it was as though the grassland had become a waving, undulating sea of green. Suddenly, from the field immediately in front of them, a skylark rose from the deepest growth of long grass and soon hovered high above them, its song reaching out across the blue of the sky to enthral and entertain its tiny human audience. Seconds later, it turned and wheeled in the clear blue sky before quickly disappearing from view.