by Amy Myers
The Major did arrive, albeit fifteen minutes late and looking truculent rather than abashed.
‘What’s this all about?’ Truculence gave way to wariness as he took in my presence. ‘What are you doing here?’
There was little to be gained in reminding him he’d commissioned me to find a De Dion Bouton. ‘Neutral observer,’ I replied.
That seemed to shut him up, surprisingly. He didn’t even enquire what I thought I was observing. Julian came straight to the point. ‘What the hell were you playing at yesterday, Stanley?’
The Major had had time to prepare his defence, of course. ‘Easy enough to explain. Victoria felt intimidated by seeing so many of you and preferred to talk only to me. Quite understandable.’
‘In preference to speaking to her own daughter?’ Helen said caustically. ‘Not so understandable.’
The Major exercised his option, if not his right, to remain silent. The best plan, probably. The Victoria Drake I had met wouldn’t be intimidated if she met a roaring tiger.
Julian immediately launched a second salvo. ‘You knew each other. That was quite clear. Have you been stealing a march on us by ferreting her out as soon as you knew where to find her? Have you already put in a bid? If you’ve scuppered my chances of buying that car . . .’
The Major did a good job of appearing shocked. ‘Good grief, no, Julian. I wouldn’t do that. I met Victoria once or twice way back in Paris. Name rang a bell when Jack mentioned it. Nineteen sixty-eight it was, year of the student riots. Haven’t been back since. Victoria must have remembered me. Just had a chat about it with her, that’s all.’
‘Was she one of the rioters?’ Julian asked drily.
‘No idea.’ The Major glared. ‘Quite a shock hearing her name after all this time. Thought to myself, wonder if that’s the woman I met.’
‘I doubt if it could have been,’ I pointed out. ‘Drake was the name of her second husband.’
He turned purple. ‘I know that, you fool. I put two and two together. Name Victoria coupled with De Dion rang the bell. I was just making it simple for you.’
I don’t think any of us believed him, but there would be no budging him.
‘What did she want to chat to you about yesterday, apart from old times?’ Julian demanded. ‘Does she or does she not possess a De Dion Bouton and could it be the one we’re looking for?’ A sudden thought must have struck him because his face became a picture of horror. ‘You went out with her yesterday. Where? To see the car?’
‘No.’
His face was flushed and he wasn’t looking us in the eye. Julian didn’t believe him and nor did I. ‘No? Where then?’ he asked.
‘To a pub for lunch. She wanted to get away so that we could have a quiet talk.’
‘She had the whole house to herself for a quiet talk,’ Julian snapped. ‘She’d just thrown the rest of us out, if you remember.’
The Major collapsed. ‘It’s no use,’ he blurted out. ‘I did my best for us. I pleaded with her to at least show us the car even if she won’t loan it to us.’
‘But she didn’t agree?’ Helen said.
‘Not show, not lend. I took her to lunch to soften her up, but she wouldn’t be softened.’
A stupefied silence while we all assimilated this, although I don’t know why this should have shaken Julian and Helen so hard when this had been Victoria’s position all along. I suppose we took it for granted that the Major had softened her heart.
‘Are you sure she won’t loan it to us if her own grandson drives it?’ Helen asked.
‘She won’t.’ The Major’s voice grew very clipped.
‘But what is the story behind the car? Does she have any documentation for the provenance? Where did the family get it from and when?’ she persisted. ‘Could we talk to that journalist? That might put pressure on her.’ She sounded distraught and I realized how much they had all banked on this bonus for the rally.
‘She told me nothing more than we know already,’ the Major shouted. ‘Fact is . . .’ He paused.
What the fact was we weren’t privileged to hear because when Helen pressed him to continue he merely finished, ‘I don’t think she has anything in the way of proof.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ Julian said. ‘There’d be family photos of it at least. I’ll ask that daughter of hers. Or have you done that, Stanley?’ he demanded.
‘No.’ A very definite negative from the Major. He must have seen the look on our faces because he added, ‘Wanted to. Victoria wouldn’t let me.’
‘So that’s that,’ Helen said.
‘I’ll resign,’ the Major continued glumly. ‘You won’t want me after this.’
Julian said nothing, though the muscles in his cheek spoke volumes. Helen glanced at him and took charge. ‘No, Stanley. I’m sure Julian would agree that we need you for the rally. Victoria Drake might even change her mind if you try gentle persuasion.’
‘Offer her money,’ Julian said tersely.
‘Tried,’ the Major said. ‘Told her I had a buyer for it.’
Julian became very still. ‘And what was her response?’
‘Not for sale.’
I was sure on only two counts. Firstly that the Major’s story might represent the truth, but it most certainly was not the whole truth. The second was that desperate measures were needed. Then a third reason occurred to me. The fact that the Major knew that in 1968 Victoria was married to her first husband suggested that he believed her family owned the De Dion Bouton and not Robert Fairhill.
So why didn’t he tell me that when commissioning me to follow up the rumours of its existence in Kent?
I had a sinking feeling that I’d been taken for a gentle ride – and not in a De Dion Bouton. Could it be that the Mad Major had started those famous rumours himself?
SEVEN
Frogs Hill was a homestead at odds with itself. In the last week it had been transformed from providing a happy working environment for a team to a somewhat dilapidated farmhouse and outbuildings, inhabited by a grumpy elderly mechanic and a frustrated sleuth. The atmosphere was depressing. It kept reminding me that I had not yet managed to contact Rob Lane. I’d left several messages but they had been ignored. So had my emails. I’d even called at his flat without success. I guessed the reason. The Mighty Rob likes suppliants to approach on bended knee and messages to call me did not qualify in his book.
I know where his parents live, however, so I tried them. This was more successful. At least I knew that His Majesty was sailing in the Med. Of course. Where else? When would he be back? I asked. Next week, after the bank holiday. Should I text him, I wondered? No. I didn’t want to forewarn him. Next week it should be. Meanwhile Len soldiered (and soldered) on alone in the Pits, with some help from me – or hindrance as he would have it.
I was stuck. I was getting nowhere on the Alf King case. I’d been to police HQ to read the statements which included Dean Warren’s, that of the poor chap who had found the body and various people who had spotted other people. All cleared, save for a van or two delivering goods. What we were looking for was someone who had expert knowledge of car lifts, and no one fitted – except Dean himself. He claimed he’d been in Tunbridge Wells but there was no proof of that. Motive? With Meyton in the background as a partner, Dean had one. Proof of either of them being involved? Nil. Chance of tracking down delivery vans? Nil. Dean had no knowledge of any due to call that afternoon.
Then Helen called to tell me the latest. ‘Bad news on the De Dion Bouton,’ she told me.
‘What’s new about that?’ My initial glow at hearing her voice was promptly extinguished.
‘Julian went storming off on his own bat to see Mrs Drake.’
The worst. ‘She refused to let him in?’
‘She did let him in. The result seems to have been this: he blustered, she dug her heels in. He threatened her. She called the police. He exited in a hurry.’
‘Threatened her?’ I didn’t like the sound of that.
&nb
sp; ‘He said he’d take measures to see everyone knew where the car was, so she might as well give in now and discuss terms.’
‘Subtle move,’ I said in a hollow voice. ‘So that’s that. He didn’t physically attack her, I hope?’
‘No, or he says not,’ she amended. ‘He then toddled off to see dear old Brenda again, who was more sympathetic. Said she’d done her best but would continue to try to persuade Victoria to at least loan the car to us. I’m getting desperate, Jack. I can’t hold the publicity schedule up much longer. Next week we’ll be into June and so that’s my deadline.’
‘Given the situation, there isn’t a damn thing we can do, except hope Nick Morris or his mother can talk her round.’ I realized I continually said ‘we’ and not ‘you’. I was taking the De Dion hunt personally and not only because it was my main line for Alf King.
‘That’s doubtful. It looks as if I’ll have to forge ahead with the rally publicity without the De Dion. Julian won’t be too pleased and nor will Stanley but between them they’ve dug their own pit. All three of us agree we don’t want to cancel the rally, which means attacking the publicity from another angle. I’m working on it.’
‘Does Pen Roxton enter your plans?’
A laugh. ‘She’s not too bad when you talk sense to her.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Not too bad at all. She’ll wait a while before eating you wholesale the first time you turn your back.’
‘Jack, you’re prejudiced.’
‘Helen, you don’t know her.’
‘So what were you thinking?’
‘That I’d like to see you again. Halfway?’
‘Halfway sounds fine,’ she said gravely.
Thus heartened I had a last shot at the De Dion problem. There were unanswered questions about Alf’s death, and some of them centred on that car. If Victoria Drake stood in the way of my seeing it, there was nothing to stop me from having an independent shot at finding it.
Would it tell me anything about Alf’s death? It might, but Alf had last seen it in 2006. I felt I was staring at a jigsaw puzzle with more than half the pieces missing. None of the pieces I held gave that satisfactory feeling that comes when one piece slides into another with an effortless click. Or had one just done so? Suppose Alf had been in touch with Victoria and the De Dion much more recently . . .
Click. Alf knew where the car was.
That jigsaw piece had safely locked itself home and now everything began to click satisfactorily.
Click. That’s why Victoria was at the funeral. She was still privately in touch with Alf over the De Dion, even if Doris had not been aware of the fact. Victoria’s husband had been a regular customer and then she herself had brought a car to him. It followed that Alf could well have known where the De Dion was.
Click. That might be somewhere near Alf’s workshop.
Click. Time for a trip to see Dean Warren and Doris – separately.
I decided on Dean first, even though this meant facing Zoe, whom I presumed was already working there. I was right. When I drew up, I could see her working on a Riley. I was delighted to note that she didn’t look happy, either because of the Riley or because of Dean, of whom there was no sign.
‘Hi, Zoe,’ I called casually, as I climbed out of the Alfa to her complete disregard. ‘Boss around?’ I needed to make it clear I was not crawling here on bended knee on her account.
‘Somewhere.’ She opened the Riley’s bonnet and peered at the engine with great care.
Fortunately the boss strolled out of the office looking less than pleased to see me. The Greek god looked like Zeus the Thunderer today. ‘Just a quick word,’ I greeted him mildly.
‘What about?’
‘Nothing ominous,’ I assured him. ‘You were in Tunbridge Wells the afternoon Alf died, so you’re in the clear,’ I told him mendaciously. ‘I’m here about a different case.’
He seemed to relax slightly although the body language between him and Zoe suggested there was trouble in the air as well as petrol fumes. ‘I’ve been told to check remote farm buildings that might be used as temporary storage for nicked cars. There’s been a surge round this area. Do you or did Alf have any garages or workshops anywhere that you aren’t currently using?’
‘There’s a storeroom at the farm up the lane,’ he told me unwillingly.
‘You’ve checked it. Know what’s in it?’
‘Yes.’ The Greek god looked wary.
‘Where is it? I’d like to see it.’
‘Not without a warrant.’
‘Something to hide?’ I asked amiably. ‘Did Connor Meyton ask to see it?’
‘He’s history but yes.’
Zoe looked up. ‘He’s still around. In a nice set of wheels too. An old E-type. Can’t remember where it was,’ she told me offhandedly.
‘Perhaps you should give a formal statement to the Kent Car Crime Unit. Pop into Charing tomorrow. I’ll tell Dave you’re coming.’
She held my gaze. ‘If I have to.’ Then she relented. ‘Down in the valley, Shoreham way.’
‘There’s a pub there he likes.’ Dean decided to join the cooperation party. ‘Took me there when we were mates.’
It was possible that Meyton might have other reasons for driving round here. ‘Do you have all Alf’s keys?’ I asked.
Wary again. ‘Yes, but you’re on to a loser with that storeroom. Have a look if you like. It’s full of old files and bits and pieces. Went through it for Doris’s solicitors.’
He was right. I followed him about a hundred yards up the track to the far end of the complex. Perhaps there was a gem I missed, but to me it was full of unsorted automobilia and not old De Dions. ‘Was Meyton interested in this lot?’
‘Don’t think so. He was going to buy the joint, that’s all.’
‘Not hankering after finding a complete De Dion Bouton?’
‘No way,’ he whipped back a mite too quickly.
‘And Alf had no other storerooms?’
Dean had tired of cooperation. ‘No,’ he yelled and stalked off back to the garage.
I was inclined to believe him and was also inclined to think that Connor Meyton had had no intention of buying Alf’s business. He’d merely wanted a passport to nose around and probably pinched those records. For the De Dion? If so, he might hold pieces of the jigsaw that I lacked.
‘Zoe,’ I began, but she too turned away.
I’d only been going to say she’d put the Riley’s bonnet catch on the wrong way.
Time to go. Zoe couldn’t possibly be happy working here, I thought as I drove away, unless she was so besotted with Dean’s prowess in their private lives that she was blinded to the fact that he was no Len Vickers. I could see that nothing on earth was going to shake her resolution, however, unless Rob Lane re-entered the scene. And even that wasn’t a cast-iron certainty.
Back to Doris and the De Dion. I felt uneasy about her now that I knew Meyton was still around here, and so might the car be, not to mention the Morrises and Julian with their keen interest in the De Dion. They weren’t going to remain cowed for long by two indomitable old ladies, one of whom was Doris. I might be seeing bogeymen where none existed but even so a warning to her might not come amiss.
I found her weeding in the garden and although I’d called out of the blue she didn’t seem surprised to see me – probably because Alf still occupied her waking thoughts.
‘Do you have any news, Jack?’ she asked hopefully once more.
‘Same answer, I’m afraid. Not yet, but I’m still working on it.’
‘I thought you must be,’ she said surprisingly. ‘Mrs Carlyle rang me a day or two ago. Remember her from the funeral, do you?’
The bogeymen moved a little closer. What was all this about?
‘She said she was ringing on Tom and Patricia Morris’s behalf,’ Doris continued. ‘Pat’s Victoria’s daughter, you know. They told Mrs Carlyle they were trying to persuade Mrs Drake to cooperate in this rally that dear Helen’s organizing and had
asked her to ring me as they didn’t know me. Apparently it could be very beneficial for Mrs Drake, but she, Mrs Drake that is, wasn’t very sure where this old car was. Her memory’s going, poor thing, so they said. Mrs Carlyle thought that Alf might have stored the car for her.’
I thought through the ramifications of this little surprise very fast indeed – and I didn’t like them. Especially not the bit about Victoria’s memory going. ‘What did you tell her, Doris?’
‘I don’t know whether Alf did or not. It was work, you see. I didn’t like to tell Mrs Carlyle anything without Mrs Drake’s permission. She is the owner, after all.’ Doris’s lips set together primly.
And thereby, I realized, Doris would unwittingly have given Brenda the impression that she knew all too well where Alf had stored the car. I didn’t like the idea of Brenda acting as a tool for the Morrises. The sooner the whereabouts of that car were established the better.
‘I think Alf did look after it,’ I said gently. ‘And so it must be near here. It could have something to do with his death, Doris.’
That did it. Her eyes shot wide open. ‘There was an old shed Alf used to work out of years back, before he had his present place. Nothing big or fancy. Then later he used it to store his dad’s old car. I never went there, but Alf did every once in a while.’
I felt excitement grip me like a cramp. His father’s old car might well be a cover for the De Dion. ‘Does Dean have a key to it?’
‘I don’t think so. He has all Alf’s business keys, but this wasn’t one of them. He kept it with his house keys. He may have had one cut for Dean separately but why would Dean need it?’ She paused. ‘Do you think Mrs Drake’s car might be there?’
‘I do. Would you let me have the key, Doris?’
She looked at me uncertainly. ‘You are the police, Jack, aren’t you?’
This time I showed her my ID and she relaxed. ‘I’ll give you the key then.’ Still she hesitated. ‘Will you be asking Mrs Drake first?’
‘I will tell her, but in case there’s any risk I need to check it out immediately – just to ensure it’s safe.’