A Cat to Kill For

by Greg Miller

Gavin furrowed his brow. “Where’s your car?”

  “Don’t worry, I parked it around the corner.”

  “Okay.” Gavin shrugged, and led her back into the shop. “I guess you can hide in the spray room when he gets here.”

  They walked to the far side of the shop and stood by the spray room door.

  “You know,” Emily said, giving his tie a pleased smile. “I’ve been reading up on these cars, and they do have a very interesting history. You were right that all kinds of famous people have owned Jaguar E-Types. Did you know that Frank Sinatra had one of the very first?”

  Gavin nodded. “I think I’d heard that.”

  “Brigitte Bardot had one, too. I love old movies so I was fascinated to learn that they featured in a great many films from the 1960s, and that a lot of the movie stars from the era also drove them in real life.”

  Gavin lifted his eyebrows, nodding.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t know that David Bowie owned a green one in his later years?”

  “No,” Gavin said. “That’s surprising, he didn’t really seem like a car guy to me.”

  “And here’s something interesting – Tina Turner had one and it mysteriously went missing. Isn’t that interesting?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it was a convertible, so I don’t think it could be this one.”

  “No,” Gavin said, beginning to smile.

  “And did you also know that one is on permanent display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”

  “I did know that, actually.”

  “Am I going on too much? I hope I’m not going on too much, I know I do that when I’m nervous, so please stop me if I am.”

  “It’s okay.” Gavin chuckled. “I’m impressed that you’ve done so much research.”

  “Oh good, because I’ve really been learning a lot, and I know all about the Series 1, 2, and 3, as well as the different configurations.”

  “I think that’s great,” Gavin said.

  “Now, I do have to agree with the general consensus that the Series 1 was the nicest, but –”

  The air horns sounded again.

  Emily ducked, covering her ears, then looked toward the doorway. “He’s here?”

  “I think so. Now go and hide, and stay there until I come and get you.”

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes widening as Gavin guided her into the spray room.

  Upon entering the showroom, Gavin saw the back of a man in a suit looking at the Shelby Cobra. “Hi. Al, is it?”

  “Hello Mr Campbell,” the man replied, turning to show his face.

  “Detective Terrick?” Gavin said with surprise.

  “I said I’d be following up with you – is this a bad time?”

  Gavin made a pained face. “Well, actually, I’m expecting a client at any minute.”

  “This shouldn’t take long. If your client comes, I’ll stop back another time, alright?”

  “I suppose.” Gavin glanced out through the showroom window at the Detective’s unmarked – but fairly obvious – black police car.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I have spoken with some members of Andrew Van Der Hout’s car club.” The Detective walked over to where Gavin was standing and stared at his tie. “But,” he said, looking back up at Gavin’s face, “we’ve gotten the forensic report back, and there really isn’t any doubt that it was an accident. I do, however, want to thank you for coming in and speaking with me. It’s always a good thing for citizens to do when something like this happens.”

  “Certainly,” Gavin nodded impatiently.

  “While I’m here, and since your client hasn’t arrived yet, I was wondering if I could take a look at this car? Just out of curiosity.”

  “It’s really not the best time,” Gavin said, glancing back out at the street.

  Detective Terrick frowned.

  Gavin sighed. “Right this way.”

  As Terrick was led into the shop he looked up at the ceiling, at all of the automobile banners and signs. They passed Gus, who had the Alfa up on the lift with the oil pan resting on the floor. He gave the Detective a curious glance.

  “This is it,” Gavin said as they approached the Jaguar.

  “Hmm,” Terrick grunted. “I always see a few of these things around during Vintage Grand Prix week. I was always more into American muscle, though, if you know what I mean.”

  Gavin winced.

  “Not much into muscle cars, I take it?” Terrick grinned.

  “They’re not really my specialty.”

  “So what’s supposed to be in this, a four banger?”

  “It’s actually supposed to have a V12,” Gavin replied, staring at the car.

  The Detective jerked his head. “Really? These things must go like hell.” He glanced over the car for another moment. “Oh, one last thing – was that Emily Van Der Hout’s car I noticed parked around the corner?”

  Gavin frowned, thinking for a moment. “Most likely.”

  Terrick looked down his nose at him. “Well, is she here?”

  “Yes, she’s around here somewhere, did you want to speak with her? Emily,” he called, looking over toward the spray room, but her head popped up from behind the MG, in the front corner of the shop, instead.

  “Sorry. I was practicing my yoga meditation,” she yelled back. “Do you need me for something?”

  Terrick rolled his eyes.

  “Yes,” Gavin said. “Detective Terrick wants to talk to you.”

  “No, no,” he sputtered. “I don’t need to speak with her again. I was just wondering why she was here.”

  Emily stood up beside the MG, tilting her head to the side.

  “Never mind,” Gavin called, then turned back to Detective Terrick. “This is her car now. She wants to sell it so she’s here to meet the client I’m waiting for.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see,” Terrick stammered. “Well, I thank you for your time Mr Campbell. Have a good day.” He turned and walked back through the shop. “It’s good to see you’re doing better Ms Van Der Hout,” he said, passing Emily as he hastily left through the open bay door.

  It was a few hours later and Gavin was sitting behind his desk with stacks of invoices and receipts on either side of him. He stopped typing and looked up from the computer as Emily poked her head around the corner.

  “What now?” he asked in an annoyed voice.

  Emily’s lower lip dropped.

  “I’m sorry.” Gavin sighed. “I really hate paperwork. I didn’t mean to snap. Come in. Please. I’ve had enough of this for today.”

  Emily cautiously entered the office as Gavin dumped the stack of papers into a drawer and pushed it shut.

  “I don’t think he’s coming,” she said, taking a seat on the couch.

  “I don’t either,” he replied, looking over at the clock.

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know, but that damn Detective parked right in front of the showroom. Maybe Al saw it and got scared off … if he ever intended to come at all.”

  “Damn Detective,” Emily grumbled. “So what do we do now?”

  Gavin shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. If this guy wants the Jag that badly, maybe he’ll be back.”

  “But what if he did see Terrick’s car and got scared off? What if he doesn’t come back? Are you going to give up on the investigation?”

  “I’m not sure I’d call what we’ve been doing an ‘investigation.’” Gavin chuckled. “But I just don’t know.”

  “Do you think that guy who sold Andrew the car would know anything?”

  “I doubt it,” Gavin said. “He told me his father had bought it with the Chevy engine, and that it had been in the barn for about twenty years.”

  Emily dropped her head. “What if I paid you to contin
ue? I don’t have much money right now, but I’m supposed to get a little from Andrew’s life insurance.”

  “I don’t want any money.” Gavin smiled sadly. “I just don’t know what we could do next. I’m not a detective, and we can’t go around questioning people and seeing if they have alibis.”

  “But I want to know if my brother was murdered,” Emily said, with tears coming to her eyes. “And if he was, I want whoever did it to pay. I just wish we could figure out why someone would kill to get that car.” She sniffled.

  Gavin glanced at the ceiling. “You know, you’re right. I mean, I keep feeling that there’s something I’m missing. We know someone wants it, which must be the key to this whole thing – let’s turn our attention back to the car.”

  Emily wiped her tears, looking up. “Okay, when?”

  Gavin shrugged. “How about right now?”

  “Great!” She smiled.

  They went back into the shop. Emily watched as Gavin walked around the Jaguar studying every feature from the slats in the hood, to the gas filler door on the back fender. Then she watched as he walked around it again. Eventually, he sat on the floor, staring at the car.

  Emily cleared her throat. “I’m going to take a look inside.”

  Gavin closed his eyes, nodding.

  Opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat, Emily took hold of the large steering wheel and looked over the row of gauges and rocker switches which ran across the black dashboard.

  Reaching across, she opened the glove box and found it empty. She opened the ashtray which was empty, too. Then, she squeezed her hand down between the side of the seat and the transmission tunnel, edging along, until she felt something against her fingertips. It took her a while to work it forward and out onto the floor.

  Emily climbed back out of the car, holding up an old leather key fob with a faded enamel badge. “What’s this? I remember seeing this name when I was doing my research.”

  “Ah, yes.” Gavin chuckled, reaching out to take it from her. “British Leyland. They were the company that took over Jaguar, along with a lot of other British car makers, in the late sixties. They were nationalized by the government, but lost so much money and gained such a terrible reputation that they were eventually dissolved, and the car makers were privatized again. Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find anything else.”

  Gavin got down on his hands and knees, feeling around beneath the seats. Then he went to the rear of the car, opened the back hatch door, and started pulling up the carpet.

  “Finding anything?” Emily asked, peering over his shoulder.

  “No.” Gavin sighed, backing away from the car. “Tomorrow, I’ll tear this whole thing apart: door panels, seats, carpets, and all. But,” he said, “I can’t help feeling the answer has to do with the car itself, and not with anything we might find in it.”

  Gavin bit his lip for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. He opened the driver’s side door, and got in to pull the releases. He climbed back out and lifted the hood forward.

  “What is it?” Emily asked. “Did you remember something?”

  “I think so,” Gavin replied, gazing down at the empty engine bay. “I noticed it when we pulled the Chevy engine out, but didn’t really think anything of it at the time. Hey Gus!” he called. “Can you come take a look at this?”

  Gus left the MG he’d been working on and came over.

  Emily anxiously looked back and forth between Gavin’s face and the empty engine bay.

  “What do you think about that plate on the firewall?” he asked, stepping aside so Gus could see.

  “Why? What do you mean?” Gus frowned.

  “It’s black. Why isn’t it the same color as the car? Shouldn’t it have been painted with the rest of the body?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Gus shrugged. “But that’s just typically shoddy British Leyland era work. They probably left it off, and just stuck that one on after.”

  Gavin tipped his head. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yeah, why? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking this was originally a right-hand drive car, intended for the British market.”

  “An E-Type? And one that’s been here as long as this one?” Gus shook his head. “I doubt it. It even has the American market ‘XKE’ lettering on the back.”

  “Wait a minute,” Emily interrupted. “What exactly would it mean if it had been right-hand drive?”

  “I don’t know yet. But it would be another unusual thing.” Gavin turned to Gus. “Do me a favor and see if you can find any evidence of this thing having been converted. I’m going to see what the numbers can tell us.”

  He pulled out his phone and took a picture of the manufacturer’s tag on the bulkhead, then one of the tag on the inner door frame. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Emily watched as Gavin left. Gus looked at her and shrugged his shoulders, then walked over to where the tool cabinets were, dragging back a large hydraulic jack. Emily sat on the floor. She crossed her legs and, gazing toward the ground, began to meditate.

  The Jaguar was up on jack stands, wheels off, part of the suspension and steering rack dismantled and hanging down.

  Gavin had a distant look in his eyes when he finally returned.

  “I’ve been doing my best,” Gus said, “but I don’t really know what I’m even looking for.”

  Emily uncrossed her legs and got up. “Did you learn anything? You’ve been gone for almost an hour.”

  Gavin nodded. Then he noticed the car’s dismantled front end. “Oh. Sorry, Gus, I didn’t realize you were doing all this now.”

  “It’s okay. So, what did you find out? It wasn’t right-hand drive, was it?”

  Gavin rubbed his temple. “Um … there’s an ‘R’ in the chassis number which does mean it was intended for the British market.”

  “Really? Did you try tracing the VIN?”

  “I tried, but the records don’t go back that far. I also sent an email to The Jaguar Heritage Trust – those museum people in England – to see what they think.”

  Gus nodded, then looked at the clock. “Well, it’s already past quitting time so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for staying late,” Gavin said. “Have a good night.”

  As Gus left, Gavin turned and stared at the car.

  Emily leaned forward, studying his face. “What’s going on? You’re acting really weird. Did you learn something else?”

  Gavin nodded. “Just let me close up the shop and we’ll go talk in the office.”

  She followed close behind as he walked to the front of the garage and padlocked the overhead doors. Then he turned out the lights, and locked the hallway door that led to the showroom. Finally, they went into the office.

  Emily sat on the edge of the couch as Gavin slid in behind his desk. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” she yelled. “I’m going crazy with anticipation. Tell me what in the hell you found!”

  “Okay, okay.” He chuckled. “After I downloaded the pictures, I took a closer look at this tag.” Gavin clicked the mouse and turned the monitor so she could see. “Let’s see how well you did your research. Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

  Emily leaned forward taking a quick look at the picture. “No, what?”

  “What year did Series 3 E-Type production begin?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, wiggling around. “I hate tests and I can’t think straight right now. Um, oh … 1971?” she blurted.

  “That’s right. Excellent.”

  She took a second look at the screen and read aloud: “Manufactured by Jaguar Cars Limited, December 19 … 70! Wait, what? It was built in 1970? I don’t get it. It’s actually a Series 2, not a Series 3?”

  “Oh no,” Gavin said. “It’s a Series 3 alright, there�
�s no doubt about that.”

  “But how can that be if it was –”

  “Built months before the Series 3 officially began production?” Gavin said, completing her thought. “It could have been a prototype. I mean, it must have been a prototype. I’m really hoping those Jaguar people I contacted will be able to give us more information.” He bit his lip, thinking.

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t hurry up and tell me everything I’m going to have a meltdown. And believe me, you don’t want to see me have a meltdown.”

  “Okay, okay.” He smiled. “But please keep in mind that we don’t know anything for sure yet.”

  She crossed her arms.

  “So,” Gavin said, “after seeing that manufacture date and pondering it a little, I remembered this guy I’d talked to years ago. He was a real Jaguar aficionado and he told me about this Jaguar myth, if you will, which says that the first Series 3 Jaguar produced still had the six-cylinder engine because they were testing the V-12 and it wasn’t ready. The guy told me that the car had long since disappeared and had probably been destroyed by the factory … but maybe it wasn’t.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “You think it’s that car?”

  He nodded. “I can’t imagine any other explanation, and that would certainly make it something special. The trouble is, the classic car world is filled with countless old myths and legends, so hopefully those Jag people will be able to tell us for sure.”

  “How valuable do you think it would be?” she asked, knitting her brows.

  “It’s hard to say. But I certainly think a lot more than any regular Series 3. Prices have been going up lately so I’ll have to do some research.”

  She leaned forward. “Well, what are some of the most valuable E-Types that have been sold?”

  He rubbed his temple, looking down. “There was a Series 1 that sold for seven million.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped open.

  “But that was a particularly special version with a racing history,” Gavin said. “Yours wouldn’t be worth that much. And, of course, to be of any real value to anyone, it would need to have its original matching-numbered engine.” He lifted an eyebrow. “So regardless of its monetary value, I think whoever wants the car must have the original engine.”