The wall clock behind the bar chimed six.
‘Poor chap,’ Kingston said, for about the third or fourth time, shaking his head and taking another draught of beer. ‘I wonder how his aunt’s taking it.’
‘Poor Graham is right. In spite of everything, I’d never have wished that on him.’
‘I wonder what happened? Beyond the obvious, of course,’ Kingston said.
With his index finger, Alex traced a question mark in the thin slick of beer on the polished oak table. ‘Who knows?’ he mumbled.
‘We were fortunate the sergeant believed our story.’
‘I know. For a while there I was certain we would be thrown in the paddy wagon and taken down to the station. Kate would have loved that. Coming home to find us both in the nick!’
‘You know, Alex, we may not be completely in the clear, yet.’ He paused, then said, ‘Well, you, that is.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if the police ferret out a copy of Stanhope’s letter – which is highly likely – and put two and two together–’
‘I’m a prime bloody suspect.’
‘Of course. What better motive.’
Alex stared glumly into the foam on his beer. ‘I’m wondering if the police really did believe us. I’m surprised they didn’t ask us why we didn’t just leave the books under the porch, which would have been the obvious thing to do.’
‘Hard to say. At least we were able to show them the journals in the boot and we did tell them that they were important to Graham.’ He looked at Alex squarely. ‘If it turns out that Graham was murdered, they’ll certainly want to question us again.’ Kingston reached for his glass and took a gulp of beer. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions that somebody bumped him off. Poor bugger could’ve simply had a heart attack.’
‘There’s always that possibility, I suppose.’ Alex cleared his throat and paused, as if preferring not having to utter the next words. ‘But let’s not kid ourselves, it’s far more likely that this has something to do with the rose,’ he said.
‘I have to agree,’ said Kingston, tipping back his head and swallowing the last of his beer. ‘That being the case, the most likely scenario is that someone was at the house before us and either got into a fight with Graham and accidentally killed him, or simply did him in.’
‘Yes, but why – and who?’
‘The only two people who come to mind are Wolff and Tanaka.’
‘But we have nothing whatsoever to connect them to Graham.’
‘I know. Even if they’ve been following your every single move there’s no way that they could have learned about Graham’s having the formula, is there?’
‘I can’t see how,’ Alex replied, with a shake of the head.
There was a brief silence between them as a noisy young couple sat down at the next table.
Alex scraped his chair, making a point of turning sideways to them. ‘I wonder what will happen about Graham’s claim to the rose, now? Do you think Mrs Cooke will pursue it?’
‘Hard to say. You’re going to have to ask her, I suppose. Either that or call Stanhope. In either case, the decent thing to do is to wait a few days.’
The chatter and laughter from the bar was growing louder as more customers started to arrive.
‘Kate should be home soon,’ Alex said, glancing at his watch.
‘You should give her a call.’ Kingston tapped his glass. ‘Want another?’ he asked.
‘No, this is it for me, thanks.’ Alex yawned. ‘God, I’m almost afraid to go home these days. There’s no knowing who’ll call next.’
Kingston shifted his position on the hard seat and crossed his legs. ‘I promised I’d tell you more about this Wolff fellow, Alex.’
‘The American rose grower.’
‘Right.’
‘Let’s have it, then,’ said Alex.
‘Well, soon after you got that first call, I phoned an acquaintance who now lives in California. Bob Jackson’s his name. He used to hold down a top management position with one of the largest garden supply companies in the States – on the West Coast. I asked Bob to do some sleuthing for me to see which companies – or individuals, for that matter – would have the wherewithal and also be the most likely to have interest, or the most to be gained, from acquiring a blue rose.
‘Well, Bob did a painstaking job. Not only contacted many of his old friends in the business but told me he spent countless hours on the Internet and in the library, poring over newspaper stories and trade magazine articles.’
‘And all roads led to Wolff, I take it?’
Kingston ignored the question. ‘That’s the good news,’ he said. ‘But you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you next because it’s pretty heavy stuff.’
‘You make it sound like a bad movie.’
‘It could well be. First, let me make a quick comment about the world in which this man Wolff operates – the world of commercial horticulture. We all know it’s all about nature, pretty flowers, beautiful gardens, seductive catalogues and nurseries – all that kind of stuff. But most of all, it’s about money. It’s a hard, tough, competitive business, where the big fish gobble up the little fish and the sharks devour the big fish. Believe me, Wolff is a shark. And right now, I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s circling The Parsonage waiting for the right moment to strike.’
‘Oh come on, Lawrence. This isn’t Jaws, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Don’t dismiss this too lightly, Alex. Jackson’s letter and clippings contain tangible evidence of a near pathological personality. They paint a very damning picture of our Mr Ira Wolff.’
Kingston then proceeded to recount what Jackson had told him about Wolff ’s history of personal failures and dubious business enterprises.
It appeared that Wolff ’s ascendancy in the business world of horticulture started with his acquisition of Baker-Reynolds. Jackson had been unable to find any news stories or dig up any gossip about Wolff ’s activities prior to that time. It was as though, until he purchased Baker-Reynolds, Wolff hadn’t existed. A front-page Wall Street Journal story on the B-R takeover was terse and objective. Other than the fact that the journalist in question had voiced his suspicions over the absurdly low price Wolff had paid, the story contained no overtones of improbity. Clippings from other sources supported the perception that the sale was nothing other than a straightforward transaction.
Comments and opinions from individuals within the industry, however, offered an opposing viewpoint. Among the contributors to Bob’s explosive package of information there was nearly a consensus that Wolff had indeed employed underhanded tactics to acquire the company. One industry insider wrote that it was the general opinion, within B-R’s top management at the time, that incriminating skeletons in the partnership’s family closet – some, of a highly prurient nature – led to the forced sale of the company. Another offered an opinion that to acquire the company Wolff had orchestrated a diabolical scheme – partly based on fact, partly contrived – whereby he could substantiate repeated acts of blatant insider trading, stock manipulation and other fiscal chicanery. Rumour had it that more than one board director was implicated.
Another writer recommended that a search of the records of the Washington State Attorney General’s office be undertaken for the period during and after the sale of Baker-Reynolds. He maintained that the resulting evidence would prove that the sale was hotly contested, not only by suspicious B-R shareholders but also by many other concerned people close to the company and within the industry. Despite the flood of angry complaints, no legal or government action was ever taken to investigate the case or to hold up the sale. Later, there were even rumours that Wolff had bribed several officials high in the Attorney General’s office.
The man’s personal life read like a sensational tabloid. Wolff had been married – and divorced – four times. Each wife became more costly. In addition to a two million dollar spread on Mercer Island and several luxury automobiles, his f
irst wife, Mary Jo, had walked away from the marriage with a cool twelve million dollars. Wife number two, who filed charges accusing Wolff of extreme physical abuse as part of her lawsuit, became fifteen million dollars richer overnight. She turned around, a month later, and married the owner of one of Seattle’s most successful restaurants.
Two months later, that husband’s mutilated body was fished out of Lake Washington. The case was never solved. Wives three and four further depleted Wolff ’s bank balance by another thirty million dollars. A graphically written, one-column clipping, taken from the Tacoma News Tribune, reported Wolff ’s involvement in an altercation in a local nightspot. After a heated exchange of words Wolff had severely beaten one of the other customers, who was incensed over Wolff ’s inflammatory comments about his girlfriend. There were no clippings reporting the outcome of the case.
Kingston sighed. ‘Not a pretty picture, is it?’
Alex pushed away his empty beer mug. ‘Jesus, what a piece of work!’
‘Here’s the worst part, though.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it could get much worse.’
‘It does. From all accounts, Wolff is in trouble right now. Short of a miracle, his company is about to go under. If it does – if it goes into bankruptcy – then a number of felony crimes perpetrated by Wolff will almost certainly be uncovered. According to Bob Jackson, Wolff could go up for a long, long time. In his words, “Wolff ’s in a corner and he’s very dangerous. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants to save his skin.”’
‘Lawrence, if you’re trying to scare the shit out of me, you’re succeeding.’
‘I just want you to be aware of what kind of man you’re dealing with, Alex. That’s all. The man’s pathological and unstable.’
‘I won’t be dealing with him, thank God. That’s for certain.’
Before they left the Coach and Horses, Alex called home. There was no answer.
‘She’ll probably be there by the time we get back,’ Alex said, as they got into the car. Within twenty minutes they were back at The Parsonage.
As Alex stepped out of the TR4 on to the gravel drive, he could hear the faint ringing of the telephone in the hallway.
‘That’s Kate, I bet,’ he said to Kingston. He ran to the front door, unlocked it, and dashed down the hall to the phone.
‘Hello,’ he said, a little short of breath.
‘Alex Sheppard?’
A hollow feeling gripped him. It was the American man.
‘I asked you not to call again,’ Alex said.
‘That’s hardly a polite English greeting now, is it, Mr Sheppard? Not what I would call exactly friendly.’
‘I’m not feeling in a friendly mood.’
‘That’s most unfortunate – particularly since we have some business to take care of.’
‘I have no business with you. I thought I’d made that clear before. So, if you’ll excuse me–’
‘You do have business with me, Sheppard,’ the man countered. ‘You have something we want – the rose. And we have something you want.’
‘Really?’ Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think–’
‘We have your wife.’
‘You what?’ Alex screamed.
‘We have your wife. Now if you want her back–’
‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’
‘Just calm down.’
‘What – what kind of lunatic are you? You’ve actually kidnapped my wife?’ Alex’s mind was spinning uncontrollably. Everything that Kingston had just told him came rushing back.
‘Calm down and listen, Sheppard. Get a pen and paper because I want you to write this down.’
‘You go to hell! I’m not going–’
‘Do as I say, Sheppard, or it will just make it harder on your wife. Much harder.’
‘You bastard, the minute you hang up, I’m calling the police.’
‘That would be a huge mistake, believe me. You don’t seem to understand – this is not a fucking game. You don’t have any choice. Now write this down.’
Alex said nothing.
‘Wednesday, the day after tomorrow, I want you to go to the following address in Oxford. Come alone and be there at ten o’clock in the morning, sharp. A man will meet you there. He’ll have some papers for you to sign.’
‘What if I refuse to sign? What are these papers, anyway?’
‘Don’t interrupt. Just make sure you don’t screw up.’
There was a pause. ‘Here’s the address,’ the man said.
Alex listened and wrote it down.
‘I’ll repeat it,’ the man said. ‘Just to make sure.’
He waited a few seconds, then said, ‘Ten o’clock the day after tomorrow. Don’t bring anybody with you or mention this to anybody. You got that?’
‘Yes,’ Alex replied.
‘Okay, you do as I’m asking – sign those papers – and you’ll get your lovely wife back. Is that clear?’
‘Jesus.’ Alex rubbed his head. ‘You bastard! You’d better not hurt her, or–’
‘Sheppard, just answer the goddamned question.’
‘All right.’
‘Do what I’m asking and nothing will happen to your wife. She’s fine right now. One more thing. Don’t be foolish and call the police. Don’t talk to anyone about this. Do you hear me – nobody. That would be regrettable. And I mean very regrettable.’ He paused. ‘Meantime, take care of that rose! You understand?’
‘You’re a sick bastard. You’re mad!’
Kingston had come into the room and was staring at him.
‘I’ll be even madder if you don’t sign those papers. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll see your wife – in one piece.’
Alex heard a click and the line went dead. He stood, shaking furiously, the receiver still buzzing, gripped fiercely in his hand.
Kingston put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Good Lord! You look as white as a sheet, Alex. What on earth is going on? What the hell’s wrong, old chap?’
Alex sat down on the sofa, bowed his head and massaged his forehead. ‘It was the American. I can’t believe it – the bastards have kidnapped Kate,’ he said, almost whispering.
‘Oh, my God – oh, no!’ Kingston breathed.
Alex, staring down at the carpet, heard Kingston walk over to the sideboard. Next thing, he was handed a glass half-filled with cognac. Between sips he told Kingston exactly what the man had said.
Kingston listened, a grim look on his face.
‘Alex, I think the first thing is to make sure that Wolff – and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure, now, that’s who is behind this – isn’t bluffing.’
‘Bluffing?’ Alex exclaimed, his hands covering his face. ‘That bastard on the phone wasn’t bluffing, believe me.’
Kingston nodded and took a sip of the scotch he’d poured for himself. ‘All I’m saying is that we should make sure. First, let’s call Nell – find out when Kate left. That’s a start. Then, I think we should call the police. They know how to handle these–’
‘Christ, I told you, he warned me not to do that. Kate’s life is at stake.’ Alex leaned back, rested his head on the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Lawrence, half an hour ago you were telling me what a ruthless sod this Wolff is. That he’s extremely dangerous. Now you want me to call the police and run the real risk of having him harm Kate? I can’t risk it.’ He sighed. ‘I have no choice. He can have the damned rose.’
‘You’re forgetting. That might not be quite as simple as it sounds. What about Graham’s claim and the auction? I think we’d better call Adell.’
The phone ringing startled Alex. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, leaning over and picking it up. ‘What next?’
‘Hello, Alex,’ Nell said cheerily.
‘Oh, hello, Nell – we were just about to call you. Can you hold on a minute?’ He cupped the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand and looked at Kingston. ‘I’m not going to tell her about Kate. She’l
l call the police.’
Kingston nodded.
Alex put the phone to his ear. ‘Sorry about that, Nell. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Kate said she was going to call me when she got home. It’s been an awful long time now since she left – over five hours. I was calling to see if she got home okay. She is there, isn’t she?’
Alex felt the colour drain from his face.
‘She didn’t feel too well when she got back,’ Alex lied. ‘She went upstairs to rest.’ His voice sounded weak and unconvincing, even to his own ears.
‘Hmm,’ Nell muttered. ‘That’s odd. She was really upset about the rose – scared, she said – but she didn’t appear to be sick or anything. Well, I hope she gets over whatever it is. Would you ask her to call me tomorrow?’
‘I will, Nell.’
‘Are you all right, Alex? You don’t sound like yourself.’
‘I’m fine,’ Alex said. ‘Really.’
‘I know it’s upsetting, what happened to the rose, but I’m sure–’
Alex tensed. ‘What did you say? What happened to the rose?’
‘Didn’t Kate tell you?’
Alex thought quickly. ‘No, she just went straight to bed, but–’
‘It’s gone,’ Nell said. ‘Nothing but a whopping great hole in the ground. Made an awful mess they did.’
‘Christ!’
‘I’m sure it will work out all right, Alex. You’ll get it back.’
He gripped the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. ‘We’d better,’ he sighed. ‘We’d better.’
‘You’re sure you’re all right, Alex?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. But I have to go, Nell.’
‘Alex?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will ask Kate to call me?’
‘Of course I will, Nell,’ he stuttered. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, then.’
Alex hung up and turned to Kingston.
The Blue Rose Page 17