Glastonbury

by Brian L. Porter

  “Lucius, I just hope you're right,” said Cutler. “What you say makes sense, but there's still a risk to Sally whichever way you put it.”

  “But don't you see, Joe, that's just what I've been saying. Sally is already at risk, but that risk is hardly compounded by us contacting the authorities, because Graves needs her, and as long as we handle things my way there's little or no chance of him even knowing that the police are involved.”

  “What do you think, Winston?” asked Joe.

  “I gotta say I agree with the professor. I know I was against it from the start, but his plan seems to be our best option if we want to beat that bastard Graves and get Sally back in one piece.”

  “Okay, Lucius, make the call,” said Joe.

  With the agreement made, Lucius announced that he would phone Sir Marcus Farthingwood from his own room when they parted and set things in motion. It would be best, he hinted, if Marcus was the one to contact the chief constable. His name, reputation and title could all help to open doors that might otherwise remain locked to other mere mortals. Cutler agreed to leave that decision in Lucius's hands.

  Winston suggested a drink before Lucius went to make the call and Joe Cutler removed a bottle of single malt whisky from his bedside cabinet. He poured each of them a large measure of Scotch. While Joe poured the drinks Winston switched on the television. The evening news had just begun. Lucius proposed a toast to success and they all sipped from their glasses. Joe Cutler suddenly looked aghast as a picture appeared on the TV screen.

  “Turn the sound up, Winston,” he ordered. “I know that face.”

  Photographs of two women were being shown on the screen. The newscaster had already begun the story, but the men were soon able to catch the essence of it.

  “…were found today in a cottage in the picturesque village of Stretton Sugwas near Hereford. The cottage belonged to Jennifer Lees, and the second body was identified as that of her cousin Charlotte Raeburn, who was visiting her at the time. Miss Raeburn was the secretary to multi-millionaire businessman Malcolm Capshaw, who, when interviewed at his office in Stratford-on-Avon this afternoon, was said to be distraught at the news of his employee's brutal rape and murder, and that of her cousin. Police inquiries are continuing.”

  “Bloody hell!” Joe exclaimed. “That's the girl who showed me into Capshaw's office. I met her, talked to her, now she's been murdered.”

  “I think that we must assume that the poor woman's death is not just coincidental to whatever is happening here, Joe,” said Lucius. “Somehow she must have incurred the wrath of her employer and I fear that Miss Raeburn has been silenced to protect Capshaw's interests, or that of the Maitlands.”

  “Lucius, I don't want to appear paranoid, but I really think you should put the whisky down and go and make that phone call.”

  “Why did you have to kill them both, you fucking idiot?” Boris Maitland ranted at his brother. “I told you to make sure she didn't talk to anyone until the job was over, I didn't mean for you to murder the bitch, or her bloody cousin. Do you realise what a hornet's nest you've stirred up? I thought you had more brains than that brother.”

  “She was asking for it, Boris. She was nothing but a whore, and so was that cousin of hers. They could have been sisters to look at them, and by God, they were fucking scared before I did them I can tell you.”

  “And what about Malcolm? Do you think he's going to be pleased that we offed his secretary and his mistress? Jesus, Karl, we need him on our side, not against us.”

  “Oh come on, Boris. Little Malcy'll do just what we tell him to, you know he will.”

  “I just hope for your sake that you're right because we're too close to the prize now for anything to go wrong.”

  Malcolm Capshaw picked up the telephone with a trembling hand and dialled the Maitland mansion. Boris answered the phone on the second ring.

  “Boris! What the hell's going on? You said you'd take care of Charlotte, not bloody send that brother of yours to rape and kill her, or her cousin. Don't deny it, Boris. It was that little shit of a brother of yours, wasn't it? He's been after Charlotte for ages and this has got his sadistic stamp all over it.”

  “Malcolm, for God's sake calm down. Yes, it was Karl, and no, I didn't order him to do it. He acted on his own initiative to solve a problem for all of us. It might have got a bit out of control…”

  “A bit! Do you realise that I'm going to have the cops crawling over this place in the next couple of days, just when we're getting close?”

  “Look, Malcolm, you had nothing to do with her death, so you just play the bereaved employer, all sympathetic like, and let them run rings around themselves. We'll get through this, don't be such a worrier.”

  “I can't help but worry, Boris, but I hope you're right, that's all, because you know that if I go down, you go with me.”

  “I hope that wasn't a threat, Malcolm, because I don't take kindly to being threatened whether you're an old friend or not.”

  “I'm not threatening you, Boris, just stating a fact. We're too closely tied together on this job and if the cops find out about me they're bound to figure out your involvement, that's all I'm saying.”

  “Good, as long as that's clear,” said Boris. “Now you just go and carry on as normal and leave everything else to me.”

  Malcolm Capshaw replaced the phone on its cradle and realised that he was shaking all over. This wasn't how he'd intended for things to work out.

  In the Maitlands' home Boris who had defended his brother's actions to Capshaw now turned the full force of his vehemence on his brother, who by his actions had put the job, and everyone involved in it in serious jeopardy. It was nearly an hour before the shouting in the library stopped and Karl Maitland stormed out of the house and drove off at breakneck speed in his yellow Ferrari, dust and gravel joining with his exhaust gasses to form a cloud in his wake.

  A lot of people were reaching boiling point, and very soon the lid would have to blow on the mystery surrounding the search at Glastonbury.

  Chapter 40

  Despite her fear and anxiety Sally was relieved to hear Graves's footsteps as he returned along the tunnel. He had a light with him, a halogen powered emergency lantern, and as the beam shone in her eyes Sally blinked against the glare.

  “How are you, Sally?”

  “What do you care, Graves?” she retorted angrily, adrenalin fuelling a bravado at odds with her inner fears.

  “Ah, poor little Sally. Let me say that I care far more than you think young lady. Hopefully it won't be long before your friends find what we're looking for and you can go home.”

  “Liar,” she snapped. “You intend to kill us all, don't you, you miserable bastard?”

  “As you wish, my dear,” he replied. “We really must do something to make you more comfortable, my dear Miss Corbett”

  Graves bent down to where Sally was shackled to the wall and removed a key from his pocket. In seconds, her wrists were free of the heavy burden of the iron manacles and she winced as Graves manhandled her to her feet. Her legs were shaky from having been confined in a sitting position for so long and her feet tingled as the blood rushed to them through her previously constricted veins. The burning sensation lasted only for a short time and she stretched her toes in her shoes as full feeling returned.

  “Come with me, young lady,” said Graves as he took hold of Sally by the left elbow and began to propel her along the tunnel.

  “Where are taking me?” she demanded to know, “or are you going to finish me off now?”

  “Wait and see,” said Graves, “Just wait and see.”

  In the bar, and over dinner that evening, Lucius Doberman filled Joe and Winston in on the gist of his phone call to Marcus and his subsequent talk to the Chief Constable of the county.

  “Marcus was in total agreement with me, and called Chief Constable Harvey at his home, (don't ask me how he got the number) as soon as we finished talking. He called me back a few minutes later. Seems the
chief constable was most accommodating when Marcus explained the situation to him. He asked Marcus to request that I phone him straight away, which I did, and Harvey was very attentive when I explained the situation to him. Obviously, the Maitlands are known to the police even out here in the shires, and Harvey would love to help put them behind bars. He's liaising with the Met in London, and putting together a covert surveillance operation. Plain clothes detectives will be on hand within the next hour to keep a watching brief on all of us and to tail Graves from his hotel wherever he goes. If he's got Sally hidden anywhere nearby, which is likely, the police will find the location and release her as soon as Graves leaves her unattended. Harvey is also getting in touch with the police in Stratford so that tabs can be kept on Malcolm Capshaw, and I think we can safely assume that the net is gradually closing on our bad guys.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?” asked Joe.

  “Like I said, Joe, just carry on as normal. Let Graves think he's still got the upper hand. You and Winston should be able to drag the search out long enough for the police to locate and release Sally, then they can move in on Graves and the others.”

  “Man, I just hope this works out for us and for Sally,” said Winston, shaking his head from side to side. “I really hope it does.”

  “Trust me,” said Lucius, “it will.”

  The telephone rang in Walter Graves's room at Meare Manor. He reached across the bed and lifted the receiver. He wasn't pleased when the voice of Boris Maitland boomed down the line at him.

  “I presume you've heard the news, Graves?” he asked.

  “I heard,” said Graves, waiting to hear what Maitland had to say rather than volunteering an opinion.

  “Karl was impetuous, but it's done now. I want you to step on the gas down there. Get Cutler and his people working flat out, at gunpoint if necessary. I want it found tomorrow. Just to be sure, I'm sending Karl down there, when he gets back from his sulk. I tore him off a strip earlier.”

  “Too right,” said Graves, again keeping his conversation with the crime boss to a minimum.

  He wondered why Maitland was being so open about his displeasure with his brother, then realised that Boris was trying to let him know that he would have Karl under control by the time he reached Glastonbury.

  “I'll have him there sometime tomorrow so be sure you're ready for him when he arrives,” said Maitland. “He'll want to see some progress.”

  “I'll be ready,” said Graves in the same monosyllabic tone he'd used throughout the conversation.

  “Good,” was all Maitland said before ringing off and leaving Graves holding a silent phone in his hand.

  “Hmm. Looks like things are going to get very interesting in the morning,” he said to the unlikely guest sitting relaxing in the chair in the corner of his bedroom.

  “We're going to need all the sleep we can get tonight.”

  The other simply nodded in agreement as Graves rose and poured two large brandies.

  Chapter 41

  Morning arrived in a haze of mist, damp and vaporous as a cloud. It seemed to cling to the fabric of everything living or artificial, plants, people, buildings, cars. The forecast was for a fine sunny day, and it would be once the sun had burned the mist off, but for now, Glastonbury was grey and quiet, as though the souls of the monks whose sandaled feet had trod the Abbeys' vaulted halls so many years before had returned in the night to haunt the streets of the ancient little town.

  Joe Cutler shivered as he pulled the curtains open and looked out upon the mist shrouded vista of the street that met his eyes. Was there malevolence in the air? It certainly felt like it to Cutler. He couldn't say why, but he just knew that something was going to happen that day and there would be trouble before the sun set in the evening.

  The same all-pervading air of gloom and despondency seemed to have infected his two companions as they sat together around the breakfast table. Winston was as quiet as Joe could ever remember him being, and even the normally effervescent Lucius was more subdued than Joe had previously witnessed.

  “Whatever's going to happen, it's going to happen today, I know it is,” said Joe as he sat endlessly stirring a cup of coffee that had long ago turned cold.

  “I think you're right, boss,” said Winston. “I've got a bad feeling.”

  “You're letting the dismal weather cloud your judgement,” said Lucius. “I agree that things are looking as if they're coming to a head, but we must remember that the police are going to be tracking you every inch of the way. I'm sure everything will be alright.”

  “I just hope you're right, Lucius,” Joe said thoughtfully.

  Little more was said as the two surveyors took their leave of Lucius Doberman and set off for Maiden's Farm. They agreed to phone and inform him of any developments that took place as soon as they happened during the day. As he had on his first day in Glastonbury Lucius Doberman stood on the street outside the Rowan Tree and watched as the van carrying Cutler and Fortune disappeared from view. He turned and walked back into the guest house and within minutes was involved in a surprisingly long telephone conversation with his friend Sir Marcus Farthingwood. What Marcus told him that morning would significantly change Doberman's view of the whole scenario in which he'd found himself.

  Walter Graves answered the knock on his door, wondering who could be disturbing him this early in the day. He wasn't due to set off to meet the surveyors for an hour and he wanted to complete his preparations for what could be a difficult day ahead.

  The blue-eyed belligerent figure of Karl Maitland pushed passed Graves and strode into the centre of the room. Graves hadn't expected Karl to arrive in town this early.

  “Well, well. Now who's this little beauty?” asked Karl, as he took in the sight of Graves' overnight guest sitting in the chair next to the window.

  “This is Miss Sally Corbett,” said Graves, “one of Mr Cutler's survey team.”

  “And very nice, too, if I may say so,” Karl leered at Sally. “Have you had the pleasure yet, Graves?”

  “Don't be disgusting, Karl,” Graves replied. “Miss Corbett is my guest.”

  “Oh, that's a new name for it. She's just another tart, like the others I saw off yesterday.”

  “You really are a disgusting piece of filth, aren't you, Karl?” said Graves with a look of hatred in his eyes.

  “Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, you slimy little bastard?” Karl thundered at Graves. “Just remember who pays your damned wages, you prick!” Graves stepped back as Karl Maitland pulled a handgun from the waistband of his trousers.

  “I'll show you who's in charge here,” the younger Maitland screamed at Graves. “I'll have this little beauty for a start and then we'll go and deal with her two playmates at the farm.”

  Karl took his eyes off Graves as he moved two steps closer to Sally. It was two steps too far.

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you,” said Graves with malice in his voice.

  Karl turned back to face Graves and found himself staring down the barrel of Graves's Ruger.

  Graves didn't say a word as he pulled the trigger. Karl Maitland staggered back in shock as a hole appeared in the centre of his temple, and the impending shock of his own impending death registered in his steel-blue eyes in the two seconds it took for the sadistic younger brother of the powerful Maitland clan to fall to the floor, his body slumped at the feet of Sally Corbett, who was too shocked and surprised by what had just transpired to even think of screaming.

  Graves made sure that she was alright before he picked up the telephone. He spoke softly into the phone and Sally couldn't be sure who he was speaking to, but he eventually replaced the receiver on its cradle and turned towards her.

  “I think it's time we finished this,” was all he said as he took Sally by the arm and led her from the room where Karl Maitland's body lay growing colder by the second.

  “What about him?” Sally managed to gasp as Graves closed the door behind them.

  �
��Room service will deal with it,” he grinned at Sally as they started down the stairs and out into the swirling morning mist.

  Cutler and Fortune had set off earlier than usual for the farm and were already scanning the terrain beneath their feet as the sun began to burn off the mist that lay like a flat horizontal cloud over the surface of the field. There was no sign of Graves, which puzzled them both, but they wanted to take advantage of his late arrival. Perhaps they'd find whatever they were looking for before he arrived. That would make the whole thing easier, and give them some leverage to use against Graves. If the treasure, whatever it was, were in their hands they would have something to trade for Sally's safety.

  As Cutler walked the second line in the grid they'd marked out he suddenly stopped and called to Winston in the control centre in the van.

  “Winston! Get down here and bring the spades.”

  “You reading something, boss?”

  “Yes, and it's big enough to be a grave.”

  “I'm coming, boss.”

  They began to dig and after half an hour of excavation Cutler's spade hit something solid.

  “Here, Winston, we've found something.”

  Together, they cleared the last few inches of soil from the surface of the object and slowly revealed a box very similar to the one that had held the body of James Hogan. They soon managed to excavate a channel around the find that allowed them to access the sides of the box. It was Winston who made the surprising discovery that there was a second box buried beneath the first one.

  “We're going to need something to prise it open, Winston” said Joe. “We'll have to check the first one before we access the lower box. Let's get the crowbar from the van while we get our breath back.”

  The two men were sweating profusely as they hauled themselves from the hole containing what they assumed to be the prize they'd sought for the last two weeks, even though the contents of the boxes were still a mystery to them. Shaking the dust and soil from their clothes and boots, they felt a degree of satisfaction that they were so close to solving the mystery.