by Amy Myers
‘So Glenn wouldn’t have wanted to rush out and kill Mike,’ I said firmly. Glenn, if driven into a corner, could murder someone, I thought, but not in the way Mike had been killed. Glenn was too fond of his own skin. I came round to the obvious. It was much more likely that whatever drug it was had been put into the wrong teacup. Glenn had been sitting next to Boadicea at the picnic as well as at the track.
Obvious? I did a double take. What was obvious was that I’d been a blithering idiot. Of course it hadn’t been the wrong teacup! It was the intended one.
Boadicea had been as pleased as Punch at the afternoon’s events. Punch, who had battered his wife – just as surely as she had swung the axe at Mike, climbed into the Crossley and run him down. Just as surely as she had probably dropped her strong sleeping pills into Glenn’s tea to further her own imagined claim to run Old Herne’s.
‘I’ll be back,’ I told Arthur as, groggy with shock, I forced myself into action.
Brandon – find Brandon. Where the hell was he? In the clubhouse? I tried his mobile. Voicemail. I’d not seen him since the ambulance had left. But then I caught sight of Dave. Wonderful Dave, who listened and acted.
‘Get going, Jack,’ he said. ‘I’ll find Brandon. Trust me.’
I did.
I found Jason and Boadicea sitting peacefully in the window seat of the bar with Hedda temporarily back in her old job. I told Hedda to go to the track to look after Arthur and then went over to the window seat to join them. Jason was silent and Boadicea was happily chatting about the events of the day. Then, when she saw me, she broke off from her rhapsody about cuddly animals. ‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped.
‘I’ve been enjoying the Punch and Judy show,’ I said in as normal a voice as I could manage, and sat down in an armchair that would block her exit if need be.
Jason must have caught the tone of my voice because he looked up sharply.
‘I’ll be staying some time, Jason,’ I continued.
His eyes went to Boadicea and then back to me. ‘Is anyone joining us?’
‘Several people,’ I told him.
He nodded. ‘I’ll stay too.’
Boadicea didn’t seem to notice anything strange as she chatted on about ghosts and animals. Even when Brandon arrived with two female constables she didn’t query their presence. Even when they asked her to come with them for questioning and led her to the waiting car.
Neither Jason nor I went with her, and afterwards I let out a long sigh of relief. ‘Did you realize she killed your father, Jason?’ I asked, when he still said nothing.
I had discounted Boadicea because I had reasoned she had nothing to gain from murdering Mike, but she had. Oh yes. She was, as Jason had said, not a clever woman. She’d planned the theft of the car and its destruction, banking on the fact that she and Mike would have the insurance money. But then on the eve of Swoosh Mike had announced that he would put that into Old Herne’s. That, combined with the lunch at which Arthur had said Mike would go on running the club, clinched it.
So how did the attack on her fit in? I’d probably been right about the blackmail, but not about the reason for it. Shaw knew she was responsible for the theft of the Porsche, but if he’d also known or made a lucky guess over her guilt for Mike’s death then how much more she would have had at stake? But she couldn’t pay, and she knew who Shaw was. Which meant that his private enterprise could get back to Doubler. And Doubler didn’t like being double-crossed …
‘I suspected she’d killed my father,’ Jason answered me at last. ‘Eventually, Arthur did too, but like me he couldn’t quite believe it. He was still afraid Glenn was guilty. Whoosh was a way of bringing it to a head.’
‘A risky one,’ I said.
‘We had to play with the cards in our hand. I hoped and hoped it wasn’t true because of Ray. He was the grandfather I grew up with, and although they fought like cats and dogs, he and Anna managed to get on in a weird way.’
‘And now?’ I asked.
‘Arthur and I will look after him. And, I suppose, after Anna too. She’s quite mad, you know.’
I was worried about the effects on Arthur, but Jason assured me he could cope. Boadicea was duly charged, and for once Brandon talked to me for quite a while about the case.
‘I doubt if she’s even fit to plead,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t wait to tell me about her wonderful day with the animals. It took some time to get her on to whether she killed her husband. No problem then. She was amazed that we seemed shocked. Of course he had to go. First he wouldn’t sell the car, which is why she had to arrange its theft. Second, he wouldn’t listen to her advice on how to run the place properly. Didn’t he realize they would be penniless? And then Arthur Howell had the cheek to say Mike could stay on, and after pouring his salary into the old place Mike said he’d use the insurance money too. She’d seen the accounts; they’d be out on their ear in a few months or a few more after that if the insurance money went in. So she’d asked Mike to talk it over with Arthur Howell in the hope of his giving them more capital, but Mike wouldn’t do it. Said he’d rather put all his salary in or take a cut, so he had to be stopped immediately.
‘She went to talk it out with Mike one more time in the hangar, but Mike wasn’t interested. Said the Crossley was playing up and he had to get it to the track, so could she start it while he opened the bonnet to check the engine. She saw the axe and the greatcoat in the Crossley when she climbed up and realized what she had to do. Put on the coat to take the blood, swung the axe as he closed the bonnet, then got back in to make doubly sure of the job. Then she shoved the coat in that storage cupboard and hurried back to High House to change clothes and shoes. Came back, went to the track to join Arthur. Just like that.’
‘And Glenn?’ I asked, sickened.
‘She said she knew he had to go because that would mean Arthur having to put Old Herne’s back into the hands of the Nelsons, preferably her. Sleeping pills, just like all the best detective stories. Glenn Howell has pulled, through by the way.’
That was good news. ‘And how does she explain the attack on her?’
‘She doesn’t – though she admits there was someone trying to extort money from her. We’re still after your chum Doubler. Dave says you might have some more ideas on tracking him down.’
‘I haven’t a clue now the Huptons line is closed. I gather the price is on his head for Shaw’s murder?’
‘There is. And other matters.’
I didn’t expect to see Doubler again, though, and I didn’t. About a week later, however, I had a phone call. When I picked up, no one spoke. There was only a whistled tune which I recognized all too well. It was ‘John Brown’s body’.
‘You can’t go on for ever, Doubler,’ I said.
The tune promptly changed. This time I couldn’t put a name to it. It was only when the caller rang off that it clicked with me. It was a First World War troop song:
The bells of hell go ting a ling a ling
For you but not for me.
Which left me with Arthur and the Old Herne’s situation to consider. The latter was currently under Jason’s control with Jessica’s help, and Arthur asked me to go there to meet him – ostensibly to take the Morgan for a spin.
Not surprisingly I ran straight into Jessica before I even reached the garage. By unspoken assent we had not spoken since Whoosh. She looked neither pleased nor sorry to see me, merely busy. I think we were both surprised that it had been so long since we met. Two weeks. As the song says, smoke gets in your eyes. Mine had cleared now, and it seemed hers also.
‘Lunch?’ I suggested, for want of anything more romantic to say.
‘Take a rain check?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m leaving Old Herne’s, Jack.’
I said the right thing. ‘That’s bad news – except, I hope, for you.’
‘You’re right. It’s good for me.’
‘Who will run Old Herne’s?’
‘You’ve got another job?’
‘Yes, one that’s right up my street. Big hotel in West London. Jack,’ she said, softening, ‘it was great while it lasted.’
‘It was,’ I said gratefully. ‘Have you something to save at the new job?’
‘Could be. Maybe it’s myself. You know, it wasn’t really Old Herne’s I was interested in saving. It was you, Jack.’
I froze. ‘Me?’
‘I couldn’t break through. You’re still lost somewhere.’
I watched her go, stunned. Some enchanted evening, I thought, one can easily make a mistake. Ah well. Everyone does once in a while. But lost somewhere? That was a conundrum. I pushed it aside in favour of the immediate, remembering with gratitude that it was time to meet Arthur and the Morgan.
Tim proudly drove up in the Morgan just as Arthur and I reached the track. ‘Here she is, Arthur, good as the day she was born,’ he announced.
‘You too, Tim.’ Arthur gave him a bear hug, and I could see tears in Curator Tim’s eyes.
I took the wheel, and Arthur and I had our spin in the Morgan. The day was sunny, the canvas top was down, the breeze blew and the Morgan’s familiar growl echoed in our ears. Arthur was silent, but I could imagine the conversation in his head. For him it was not Jack Colby at the wheel, it was himself, with Miranda Pryde beside him. Perhaps to him this was the ’thirties Morgan, the year was 1944, they were laughing and enjoying the taste of first love when all looked bright for their future. Or was it this very same Morgan, in 1965, when she told him of Mike? The Morgan, Miranda and Mike – all three went together.
Then Arthur did speak. ‘Time for a quick talk, Jack?’
I didn’t want to spoil this idyllic drive for him. ‘Tea in the clubhouse first?’
‘After,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s grand out here in the fresh air.’
So we stopped at the far end of the track from where we could see the whole of Old Herne’s spread out before us.
‘You, me and Miranda,’ he said. ‘What would she have made of this nightmare, Jack?’
‘She’d have been right with you, Arthur.’
‘I reckon she has been. It was a shock about Anna, but I can tell you I’m mighty glad it wasn’t Glenn. He needs roots and wanted them so bad. He’d set his heart on being here in England. I’d had Miranda, but Glenn’s mother is no longer with us and he’s divorced from his wife. I knew he was mad at Mike being left in charge of Old Herne’s but I thought I could cope with that. Then I feared I was wrong.’
‘He’s recovering well, I heard.’
‘Sure, he’s as chipper as the day is long. Had some help though. From a lady.’
‘Fenella?’
‘No. My granddaughter is as mad as hell at my new plan. Glenn’s real happy though. He’s met a lady he fancies. She was at the hospital day after day and now the house.’
‘Who is she?’
‘We both know her, Jack. Lily Ansty.’
I laughed at the pleasant surprise. ‘She told me she’d met a merry man. That’s good. It may bring Jason and Glenn closer too.’ I hesitated. It was time for the big question for us car lovers. ‘And how about the future of Old Herne’s? You’re not closing it down, are you?’
‘There really would be a threat to my life if I did that. Tim would be on the warpath. But I guess you’ve noticed he’s got one big smile on his face.’
‘So is it Glenn in charge or Fenella? Is that why Jessica’s leaving?’
‘That young lady sure is impatient. She’s driven by an overheated engine, Jack. No, not her, not Fenella and not Glenn. Lily and I are sorting something out for him. But Old Herne’s is going to be in good hands, Jack.’
‘Jason’s?’
‘As trustee, but he’s not managing the place.’
‘Who is then?’
‘Hedda.’
I felt as though I’d been kicked off my feet. ‘Hedda? But she’s far too young.’
‘That’s what it needs, Jack. Youth. And she’s got help. From Peter.’
I was poleaxed for a second time. ‘Peter as number two? She won’t stand a chance.’
‘Won’t she? I know Hedda, Jack. She’ll be the making of Peter Nelson.’
‘Does he realize that though?’
‘I reckon he does. This business over Anna has shaken him up. He thought management was just politics. Now he sees it’s more than that. It’s a matter of caring. Caring for cars, caring for people.’
‘Are you sure he’s capable of doing the job?’
‘He’s sure about Hedda. Wait till it’s your turn.’
I tried to laugh it off. ‘Getting late for that. Tried it once and didn’t like it.’
‘Never too late,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m ninety, Jack. Miranda and I are still an item, and Mike’s around somewhere. And I can tell you they’re both whooping for joy about Old Herne’s.’
The Pits was still open when I returned to Frogs Hill. I went in, ostensibly to give Len and Zoe a report on how the Morgan was running after its retune. I told them just fine, but I was aware that wasn’t the real reason I’d come. I needed company. I needed to chat to them, to tell them that everything was fine at Old Herne’s. That it was all settling down, that Tim was happy and therefore, it followed, that Old Herne’s would be happy.
They made suitable noises of pleasure. Then Zoe said: ‘And are you happy, Jack?’
‘It’s a great solution,’ I parried.
‘You, not Old Herne’s.’
My weariness returned. Jessica had gone, but I didn’t mind about that. I was back at Frogs Hill and that was all that mattered.
Or was it?
Zoe was looking at me uncertainly as though she wanted to say something more and didn’t dare. Len was devoting as much care to cleaning the wheel of his Vauxhall, as if he were deliberately avoiding looking at me.
OK. I got the message. I’d get out of their hair and go and cook myself some supper. Have a beer perhaps. Even go to the pub. I walked out of the Pits as though I had a plan for life in mind. Which I didn’t.
As I approached the farmhouse door, I saw a piece of paper lying on the step with a stone lying over it to weight it down. Doubler? Surely not. Who then? Without much interest, I picked it up and read it.
Twice.
Three times.
It read: ‘Just passing, Jack.’ It was signed: ‘Louise, with love.’
Somewhere beyond the clouds a rainbow shone.
The Car’s the Star
James Myers
Jack Colby’s daily driver: Alfa Romeo 156 Sportwagon
The 156 Sportwagon is a ‘lifestyle estate’, which means that it’s trendy, respectable to have on the drive, although it lacks the interior space of a traditional load-lugger. For those who value individuality, its subtle and pure styling gives it the edge over rivals such as the BMW 3-Series. It gives a lot of driving pleasure even with the smaller engines.
Jack Colby’s 1965 Gordon-Keeble
One hundred of these fabulous supercars were built between 1963 and 1966 with over ninety units surviving around the globe, mostly in the UK. Designed by John Gordon and Jim Keeble using current racing car principles, with the bodyshell designed by twenty-one-year-old Giorgetto Giugiaro at Bertone, the cars were an instant success but the company was ruined by supply-side industrial action with ultimately only ninety-nine units completed even after the company was relaunched in May 1965, as Keeble Cars Ltd. Final closure came in February 1966 when the factory at Sholing closed and Jim Keeble moved to Keewest. The hundredth car was completed in 1971 with leftover components. The Gordon-Keeble’s emblem is a yellow and green tortoise.
Jack Colby’s 1938 Lagonda V-12 Drophead
The Lagonda company won its attractive name from a creek near the home of the American-born founder Wilbur Gunn in Springfield, Ohio. The name given to it by the American Indians was Ough Ohonda. The V-12 drophead was a car to compete with the very best in the world, with
a sporting twelve-cylinder engine which would power the two 1939 Le Mans cars. Its designer was the famous W.O. Bentley. Sadly many fine pre-war saloons have been cut down to look like Le Mans replicas. The V12 cars are very similar externally to the earlier six-cylinder versions; both types were available with open or closed bodywork in a number of different styles. The V-12 Drophead starred in Jack’s earlier case, Classic in the Barn.
1965 Porsche 356 Carrera 2
The ultimate engine option for the Porsche 356 in the fifties and sixties was the Carrera engine, designed by Dr Ernst Fuhrmann. This remarkable engine featured four overhead cams, dual ignition and a complicated series of internal gears. Its prodigious power output ensured numerous race victories, but it was a complex engine to repair and keep tuned – not for the faint hearted!
Porsche offered the Carrera engine option for 356s for around ten years. The four-cam 1966cc Carrera 2 version produced 130-horsepower at 6200 rpm, and was red-lined at 7,000 rpm – powerful enough to propel the aerodynamic car to 130 mph.
1965 Morgan 4/4
For over a hundred years, the Morgan Motor Company has been noted for its traditional British sports and racing cars. Its famous three-wheeler was launched in 1910 and, including a short revival after the Second World War, was produced until 1950. In 1935 the four-wheeler, the 4/4, was introduced, and the Plus 4 added to the range in 1950. In 1968 the Plus 8 with the Rover V8 engine appeared and successfully continued until 2004 when it was replaced with the Roadster V6.
In 1920 the company had launched the Aero model, so-called in honour of the First World War flying ace Albert Ball, and the name has been revived in the twenty-first century with the Aero launched in 2000. Since then the Aero has been constantly updated by this remarkable company.
1940 Crossley FWD Airfield Fire Tender
The Crossley FWD (Four Wheel Drive) truck and tractor were manufactured from 1940 to 1945. The main customer was the RAF. The chassis was designed to meet the War Office’s specifications for a five-ton payload truck. The tractor units were frequently used to tow the large ‘Queen Mary’ trailers.