by Greg Miller
“Maybe I’ll get a blueberry one.”
“Mmm,” she said, licking her lips. “That sounds really good.”
“Or maybe I’ll get a doughnut today. They have really good doughnuts, too.”
She knitted her brows again.
“And what flavor coffee would you like?”
Emily crossed her eyes, grimacing.
On the way to the coffee shop, they headed past the side street by Gavin’s dealership, and saw an old and faded brown Mercedes parked off to the side.
“Gus beat us here.” Gavin chuckled. Then, behind it, he saw the police car in his usual spot.
He jerked the steering wheel, the tires chirped, and Emily was thrown against him as the Morgan made a near right angle turn and came to an abrupt stop in front of the showroom window.
Emily’s mouth dropped open.
Detective Terrick and another officer were speaking with Gus in the open garage doorway.
“What in the hell’s going on?” Gavin said, unbuckling his seat belt and jumping out.
CHAPTER 6
Gus and the Detective did a double take as Gavin rushed past them. He stopped halfway into the shop and breathed a sigh of relief. The Jaguar was still there, resting on jack stands with its wheels off.
Emily’s sneakers pattered on the concrete floor as she ran up from behind. “Oh, thank God!”
“Let’s not tell Detective Terrick any more than we need to.” Gavin leant toward Emily’s ear as he spoke.
She nodded, thinking, as she stared at the floor.
“Come on,” he said. “We’d better go talk with him.”
Emily scanned the shop as they walked back toward the entrance.
Terrick closed his notebook and looked up. “Good morning, Mr Campbell … Ms Van Der Hout. You’ve had a break-in.”
Gavin nodded. “Is anything missing?”
“Yeah,” Gus said. “They took the MIG welder and our new air tools.”
“The little green tool box that was behind the MG is missing, too,” Emily said softly.
“Is it?” Gus strained his eyes looking back into the shop. “Damn it! That was my Stahlwille socket set!”
Gavin sighed. “Hopefully, the insurance will cover it all.”
“You should take an inventory,” Terrick said, writing in his pad, “and provide me with the full list of missing items. Any thoughts as far as who might have done this? Notice anyone suspicious hanging around?”
Gavin shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
Terrick looked toward the street. “If some delinquents are looking to sell the stuff there’s a decent chance we’ll catch them. Petty criminals are always getting arrested for one thing or another and, when they do, we usually find evidence of their past crimes.”
Gavin ran his fingers through his hair. “I hope so.”
“Well,” Terrick said. “I think I’ve gotten everything I need for right now. But I’d recommend upgrading your alarm system as soon as possible, Mr Campbell. Those old door sensors are easily defeated and pretty close to useless.”
“Thanks,” Gavin replied. “I certainly will.”
They watched as Detective Terrick got into his car and drove away.
Gavin pulled the overhead door down halfway, taking a moment to look at the damaged latch and dented sill where it had been pried up. Then, he slammed it shut against the floor.
Emily cringed. “Can I show you something?”
“Sure,” Gavin replied.
She led them to the back of the shop where she stopped, pointing at the concrete floor in front of the Jaguar. “That chip wasn’t there yesterday.”
Gus bent over to see. “You sure about that?”
Emily wrinkled her nose and adjusted her glasses, looking at him.
“Well, I mean … I know you realized that my tool set was missing, but that’s a pretty small chip.”
“I notice little things like that,” she said. “And I also happened to sit meditating in that spot yesterday.”
Gavin took a deep breath. “So there really isn’t any doubt then.”
Gus squinted at him. “Doubt about what?”
“That someone tried to steal the car. They must have gotten angry and thrown their crowbar down when they saw it was up on jack stands.”
“Are you still on about that?” Gus frowned. “Just because it’s an unusual color and might have originally been right-hand drive? Why did they take all the other stuff?”
“In order to divert attention,” Emily said. “To make their attempt to steal it look less obvious.”
“There’s actually a little more to the story than I got to tell you yesterday.” Gavin sighed. “Let’s go in the office. I’ll make some coffee and fill you in.”
“I’m still not convinced,” Gus said, leaning back in the office chair. “I’ve never heard of this ‘legendary’ E-Type, and I think it’s pretty far-fetched. But, for the sake of argument, let’s suppose someone really did want to steal the car, and that someone really did ...” Gus stopped short, looking at Emily who was reclining on the couch.
“Did what?” she asked.
“Murder Andrew,” Gavin said softly.
She looked from side to side. “Oh.”
“Then that would put the two of you in serious danger,” Gus continued. “If you want my advice, you’ll get rid of it. You have a business to run and that car’s nothing but a big distraction. I don’t know, maybe it’s just bad luck. But you don’t need to waste any more time on it. Sell the damn thing.”
Gavin glanced at Emily who was sitting up straight with pouty lips and wide, blinking eyes. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I have to see this through, it’s a matter of principle now.”
Gus shook his head. “I guess there’s nothing else to say then – if your mind is made up.”
“Sorry.” Gavin sighed. “I know you’re concerned about us.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Gus said, and left.
Gavin turned to the computer.
“I’m glad you didn’t listen to him,” Emily said. “Even though he’s probably right.”
“Gus looks like a gruff guy, but he’s really a big worry wart.”
“It was a good thing that you had him take the car apart yesterday, don’t you think?”
Gavin stared at the screen, unresponsive.
Emily frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry. Just checking my email. I got a reply from the Jaguar Heritage Trust.”
“Oh,” she said, moving forward on the couch. “Well don’t keep me in suspense – read it.”
“Okay, let’s see.” Gavin’s finger traced the screen. “Dear Mr Campbell, thank you for bringing this unusual tag to our attention. Jaguar is believed to have produced half a dozen or more XK6-engined Series 3s, most of which are lost and unaccounted for.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting,” he said, looking up. “So it’s definitely not just a myth. There are a few of them around.”
Emily nodded, smiling.
He continued reading: “Based on the early manufacture date and chassis number we believe it’s quite possible that this is one of the lost cars. However, Jaguar was testing the V12 motor at the same time so it’s impossible to know for sure without the engine present.”
Gavin ran a hand over his head.
“And you said that if it had the V12 it wouldn’t be anything special, right?” Emily said.
“Right. It would be, pretty much, just an ordinary Series 3.” He looked at her, and a smile grew across his face.
She smiled back. “But it can’t have had a V12. Because then the car wouldn’t be a motive for murder, or for attempted theft.”
Gavin nodded, turning back at the screen. “Should you locate the missing motor and it turns out to b
e one of the lost six-cylinder cars, we would be very interested in the opportunity to purchase it for our collection.”
He leaned back in his chair. “This is really good. Now we don’t have to tear it apart looking for stashed diamonds or something.”
Emily snickered. “So, what do you think our next move should be?” she asked.
Gavin thought for a moment. “After work, maybe we’ll pay Peter Harrington a visit. You said he didn’t live very far away, right?”
“Seventeen miles,” she replied. “I checked it last night.”
Gavin chuckled. “I just need to stop at home first.”
“To get your pistol?”
Gavin nodded.
They drove down a lonely back road in the twilight, passing homes that were few and far between until they came upon a picturesque spot. Set back behind a low stone wall at the edge of the road was a Cape Cod-style home with a long, stable-like garage off to the side. A new, white Range Rover was parked in the driveway. Gavin pulled in behind it.
Getting out of the car, they gazed at the vine-covered trellis, wishing well, and winding brick path which led to the house.
Gavin led the way up the path. As they reached the front step he paused to adjust the gun in his jacket pocket. Emily peered around from behind as he pushed the doorbell.
It wasn’t long before the hanging lamp came on. The front door opened to reveal Peter, standing slightly hunched, in a cream cardigan.
“Good evening. Can I help you?” he asked, wrinkling his already creased forehead.
“Yes,” Gavin said, “I think so, I –”
“Nice car,” Peter interrupted, spotting Gavin’s Morgan in the driveway behind them.
“Thanks.” Gavin canceled his smile.
Peter’s face was aged but for his bright youthful eyes, which revealed no hint of surprise.
Peter cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Peter Harrington, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied, looking between Gavin and Emily.
“We’re sorry to bother you but we found you listed on the Jaguar Car Club’s website as the club historian and thought you might be able to help us.”
Peter nodded. “Go on,”
“I’m trying to locate a six-cylinder engine for a Series 3 E-Type,” Gavin said.
Peter jerked his head, then squinted into Gavin’s eyes. “Who are you?”
“Gavin Campbell. I was restoring an E-Type for a client who was, we believe, murdered.”
“What?” Peter grimaced. “Are you talking about Andrew Van Der Hout?”
Gavin nodded.
“Murdered?” Peter asked.
“Yes,” Gavin said. “This is Emily, Andrew’s sister.”
Peter took hold of the door frame, staring at her. “I think you need to tell me more. Please come in,” he said, waving his hand. They stepped into the small foyer which had a ticking grandfather clock, a large vase with dried and dusty flowers, and numerous botanical paintings.
“Let’s talk in my study,” he said, leading them along a narrow hall.
The dimly-lit room was a veritable shrine to Jaguar cars. On the oak desk were Jaguar paperweights, coasters, and novelty items. Along the packed bookshelves were countless Bburago toy Jaguars, and, hanging on the walls, a myriad of framed photos and illustrations of Jaguars, as well as a portrait of Sir William Lyons, the marque’s founder.
Gavin and Emily stood just inside the doorway as Peter shuffled to the other side of the room.
“I was most sorry to hear about your brother,” he said, glancing back at Emily. “He was one of the few club members I honestly liked. Can I offer you some coffee or tea?”
Emily shook her head.
“Thanks, we’re fine,” Gavin replied.
Peter opened his hand toward the leather couch. “Please sit; make yourselves comfortable.”
They remained standing.
“So,” he said, taking a seat behind his desk. “Please tell me what this is all about.”
Gavin took a deep breath. “Andrew bought a Series 3 E-type and asked me to restore it – he probably showed you the pictures.”
Peter nodded.
“Someone tried to buy it from him right before he was found dead.”
Emily grimaced at the words.
“Then,” Gavin continued, “someone tried to buy it from us right before my shop was broken into in an attempt to steal it. The car’s missing it’s original engine. We did some research and learned it’s an early prototype that, in all probability, had a six-cylinder engine. We can only assume that whoever wants the car has the original missing engine. Do you have it, Peter?”
Peter leant back in disgust at the thought. “What? Of course not.” He laughed.
“Do you know who does?”
Peter picked up an expensive-looking fountain pen and began fiddling with it. “What on earth makes you think that I would?”
Gavin lifted his chin. “You certainly seem to be the most likely person to have figured out what a rare car it was.”
Peter nodded. “That much is true.”
“Did you talk to Andrew about the car? Maybe tell him there was something special about it?”
Emily glared at him. “Did you murder my brother?”
Peter dropped his pen, and his hands disappeared behind the desk. Gavin thrust his hand into his pocket, taking hold of the gun. Emily stepped back as Peter opened a drawer. He pulled out an old brochure, unfolding it on the desk. Gavin’s grip on the gun loosened.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Emily,” he said. “But, you’re crazy if you think I have the engine, or had anything at all to do with Andrew’s death. I did, however, show him this.”
Gavin withdrew his hand from his pocket and moved closer.
“Andrew noticed the car’s early manufacture date and came to visit me a few days before he died.”
Looking down at the brochure, Gavin read from the cover: “The E-Type Series 3.” Then he glanced at the picture of the car. “I see it’s Sherwood Green.”
Emily stepped forward to look, too. Peter opened the brochure with a twinkle in his eye. Gavin picked it up to take a closer look at the picture of the engine compartment, and furrowed his brow.
“That’s not the V12.”
“No.” Peter smiled. “It’s the six.”
Emily looked back and forth between the brochure and Gavin’s face.
“That’s amazing,” Gavin said. “I can’t believe they actually produced a brochure showing it – Andrew’s car – with that engine!” He shook his head. “I don’t understand though. The guy I contacted at Jaguar Heritage said they probably made half a dozen of them. But why? And why put it in a brochure if they made so few?”
Peter chuckled. “That was originally going to be the standard engine, with the V12 offered as an option.” He leaned back in his seat. “I don’t think anyone knows why Jaguar changed its mind. It was probably a last minute marketing decision.”
Gavin looked at the back of the brochure. “British Leyland Motors, Inc. Leonia, New Jersey. Was that their US corporate headquarters?”
Peter nodded.
“I wonder what happened to their old records.”
“Jaguar Land Rover inherited them,” Peter said. “They’ve got loads of old filing cabinets at their new place in Mahwah, but no one’s ever gone through them. I asked for access to research the old racing operation but they’ve yet to reply.”
“If they ever had any information about the car I suppose it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” Gavin sighed. He put the brochure down and began wandering around the room.
Emily slowly retreated to the doorway where she kept her eyes fixed on Peter.
Gavin stopped to admire a framed cover, featuring a racing D-t
ype, of one of Peter’s books which hung above the couch. “And you say you don’t know where the engine is?”
“No,” Peter replied. “What makes you think it didn’t end up in a scrap yard?”
Gavin turned. “Because someone desperately wants the car, and the car has little value without the engine – someone must have it.”
Peter stared at his desk.
“I have to ask: if you knew it was Andrew’s car in the brochure, then why didn’t you get in contact me? Wouldn’t you want to write one of your articles, or even a book, about finding it?”
“Andrew didn’t tell me who was restoring it for him. Although, I can’t say the thought of trying to track you down didn’t cross my mind. But, as you say, without the original engine the car isn’t anything special.”
Gavin frowned. “It’d still be newsworthy to enthusiasts.”
Peter tipped his head. “I suppose. I guess that because of Andrew’s death I just wanted to put the whole thing out of my mind.”
“Did you tell anyone else about it? Any collectors or dealers? Any automotive authorities, like yourself?”
Peter shook his head.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes, absolutely sure,” Peter replied.
Emily frowned. “You mean you didn’t tell any other club member?”
“No,” Peter said. “I’m involved with the concours, but I rarely go to their Sunday brunches, and there was no club activity over the winter. I haven’t seen any of them, apart from Andrew, since the club’s Christmas party.”
Gavin exhaled a long breath. “We know Andrew only showed his photos to people in the club. Can you think of anyone who might know something about the car or the engine?”
Peter closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t think of anyone off hand, but I’m sure I must. If someone comes to mind I’ll let you know. I wish I could do more to help. Finding that engine and reuniting it with the car really would make for a great story.” He smiled, stroking his chin.
Emily glared at him. “I just want to find my brother’s killer.”
“Yes. Of course.” Peter cringed. “I apologize. I’m still having a little trouble believing that he was murdered. A detective visited me not long after – it all seemed very routine. Don’t the police believe it was an accident?”