The Blue Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  One last attempt to reach Compton from a phone in the lobby proved unsuccessful.

  They left the comforting warmth of the hotel and stepped into the cool breezy silence of the morning. The sky was a seamless canopy of grey. A street-cleaning vehicle droned its way up the High Street. Otherwise, it was too early for the first rumble of traffic that would later clog Lewes’ steep and ancient streets. They crossed the narrow road to the hotel car park, where Kingston slipped a metal token into the machine at the gate and the red-and-white striped barrier creaked upwards. Kingston struggled into the Alfa and closed the door. Once comfortable, he looked at Alex. ‘Baldie, was that the watchman’s name?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Alex replied.

  Emma had told them to watch out for the day watchman – Archibald, Baldie for short. She’d promised to leave a note for him, to let him know that Alex and Kingston would be there Sunday morning.

  The sound of the Alfa’s high-strung engine reverberated between the walls of the old Georgian buildings as they motored up the narrow street. Alex sighed, a long sigh of relief. Finally, they were on their way.

  Alex brought the Alfa to a skidding stop on the gravel, facing Compton’s rustic front gate. He glanced at his watch. It was nine forty-five. The trip had taken them longer than he had estimated. Kingston was about to get out of the car but Alex insisted they wait for a few moments. On the drive from Lewes, Alex had told Kingston that he was not going to take one step out of the car until he was absolutely, positively certain that Tyson was chained up or had been given the day off. He’d been bitten as a young boy, he said, and had a scar to prove it.

  To satisfy Alex, they waited for a couple of minutes. The only sounds came from the far-off lowing of cows and the uninterrupted birdsong. The sombre sky appeared even more menacing. Alex wondered what had happened to the promised ‘sunny intervals’.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ Kingston said, getting out of the car, swinging the long wooden gate open, following its path along the arc that the bolt had gouged out of the dirt. Alex drove through and pulled into the same spot as the day before. Two other cars were parked nearby, a mud-daubed Land Rover and a shiny black new BMW. Kingston closed the gate behind him.

  ‘Ten to one that’s Compton’s Land Rover,’ said Alex, eyeing the cars. ‘I somehow don’t picture him as the BMW type.’

  ‘Who belongs to the BMW, then?’

  Kingston nodded. ‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’

  Alex took the camera case out of the Alfa and slammed the door closed. ‘You really think we’re going to need this?’

  ‘You may want a couple of pictures for your scrapbook,’ Kingston replied. ‘Let’s see if Compton’s in the office.’

  ‘More likely at the house, I would think, after a long flight. Didn’t Emma say it was close by?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ Alex frowned. ‘I should have parked the car facing the other direction, just in case we have to make a quick getaway. Maybe we should have left the gate open.’

  ‘No, you never leave gates open in the country. The watchman chap, Archibald, would close it anyway.’

  ‘Talking of Baldie, that must be him.’ Alex was nodding towards the old barns, forty feet away. An elderly man was approaching. He wore a crumpled Barbour coat that reached to his shins. On either side of his checked cap, puffs of white hair protruded like candyfloss. He was wiry, with a face resembling a worn leather glove, and walked with a slight limp. As he came closer, they could see he had a shotgun under one arm.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ Alex whispered. ‘An armed guard.’

  ‘You don’t need to whisper. Emma said he’s deaf.’

  ‘You must be Archibald, ‘Alex shouted.

  ‘That’s me. You don’t have to shout. I’m not deaf, you know.’

  Alex glared at Kingston.

  Baldie gestured towards Alex’s camera case. ‘You must be them fellers from London?’ His accent had a rural singsong charm.

  ‘Yes, we are,’ said Alex, trying to sound as urbane as the three words would allow.

  ‘Emma said you’d be here to meet the boss. That’s his car over there,’ he said, pointing to the Land Rover. ‘But I ain’t seen him around yet.’ He tapped a bony finger on his temple, as if to jog his memory. ‘That’s what it was. Emma told me to tell you she took the dog with her – so no one’s going to bother you.’

  ‘What are you doing with the gun?’ Alex asked, now more at ease knowing that Tyson was no longer a threat.

  Baldie put a cupped hand to his ear. ‘Eh? What was that?’

  ‘The gun. What’s with the gun?’ Alex mouthed the words as he said them.

  ‘Gonna see if I can get me a brace of rabbits up in the spinney in back of the village. You like a couple, too?’

  ‘That would be very nice,’ Kingston answered. ‘We’ll check the office then.’

  ‘You do that,’ said Baldie. He gave them a half-hearted wave and started toward the gate.

  Alex and Kingston walked over to the office and knocked on the door. They waited for a moment, then Alex turned the doorknob. It was locked. Kingston put cupped hands up to his temples and peered into the window. ‘Nobody home,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have a look at Sapphire.’

  A ground fog had moved in, cloaking the area in a fine mist. Alex shivered, glad that he’d brought the scarf. Not surprisingly, the gate in the fence that circled the paddock was secured with a new padlock. Alex was relieved that they wouldn’t have to go in for a closer inspection after all. Kingston motioned to him with a beckoning movement. ‘Pass me the camera case, would you, Alex,’ he said.

  Alex handed it to him, watching with curiosity as Kingston opened one of the outside pockets, fished around and produced a Swiss Army knife. He held it aloft for a moment and winked at Alex. ‘One of the world’s greatest inventions, me boy!’ he said, starting to probe the lock with the tiniest screwdriver Alex had ever seen. ‘Good – it’s not a tumbler type padlock. Shouldn’t be much of a problem,’ Kingston muttered as he probed with the miniature tool. Alex heard a click and the lock fell open. Smiling smugly, Kingston replaced the little screwdriver back in its ingenious housing inside the corkscrew tool, folded up the knife and put it back in the camera case.

  ‘I would never have guessed that burglary was among your many talents, Lawrence,’ Alex said. ‘You never cease to amaze me.’

  The gate swung noiselessly and easily on its galvanized hinges and they entered Sapphire’s sanctum. A rabbit scurried along one side of the fence looking for a way of escape. The sudden movement made Alex flinch.

  They had now reached the planter box. Alex lowered the camera bag gently to the ground. Kingston walked slowly around the box, studying the rose from all angles, occasionally bending down for closer inspection. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he stood back and folded his arms. ‘Doesn’t seem credible, does it, Alex? That something so innocent-looking could be capable of such evil. I’m not sure why we need them, but we might as well take a couple of pictures while we’re waiting.’

  ‘The light’s very bad,’ said Alex, ‘but what the heck.’ Taking out the Nikon, he put it up to his eye, framed the rose in the viewfinder and adjusted the focus. Just as he was about to take the shot, Kingston walked into the frame, bent down and picked something up from inside the planter box. ‘You’re in the picture – what’s that?’ Alex asked.

  ‘A marker of some kind.’ He held it at arm’s length attempting to read it.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ a loud and commanding voice barked.

  Alex spun round, lowering the camera, to see two men walking toward them across the paddock.

  The shorter of the two had slick black hair, a well-groomed beard and wore a long trench coat. As they came closer Alex could see that his features were slightly Asian. ‘I bet you anything that’s Tanaka,’ Alex whispered to Kingston.

  Kingston nodded imperceptibly.

  The other man was balding with greying sideburns and ruddy cheeks. H
e wore a sleeveless leather jacket over a khaki rib-knit sweater and corduroy trousers that were tucked into his boots.

  ‘I’m Charlie Compton,’ he said in a measured tone. ‘You must be the two chaps that Emma mentioned – from the magazine.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Kingston said, stepping forward. ‘She mentioned us, then? About wanting to interview you?’

  ‘She did,’ said Compton.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not the case.’

  Compton looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say, none of it is true. We told her that as a cover, to gain access to your property to search for this rose,’ Kingston said, nodding in the direction of the rosebush. ‘By the way, I’m Dr Kingston and my friend here is Alex Sheppard.’

  ‘Search my property?’ Compton folded his arms across his chest and glared at them. ‘You’ve got a hell of a bloody nerve! That’s all I can say.’

  ‘I apologize for the deception,’ said Kingston. ‘But there was no other way.’

  ‘This had better be good,’ Compton grunted.

  ‘Don’t worry, it will be,’ said Kingston. He paused. ‘Actually, that’s not entirely true,’ he added. ‘You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.’ He glanced at Tanaka. ‘Particularly you. You are Kenji Tanaka, aren’t you?’

  Tanaka’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s none of your business who I am.’ He turned to Compton. ‘These two have no business here, they’re trespassing. I think you should tell them to leave.’

  Kingston ignored Tanaka’s remark. ‘Compton, you should know that this rose is stolen property. It was taken from the garden of a friend of ours in Market Drayton over a week ago.’ He nodded at Tanaka. ‘Taken by him.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Tanaka snapped. ‘I purchased this rose for a client of mine. Legitimately. Mr Compton–’

  Kingston didn’t let Tanaka finish. ‘This rose belongs to Alex Sheppard, and you damn well know it.’

  Clearly upset and lost for words, Compton scowled at Tanaka, then at Kingston.

  ‘It’s all true,’ said Kingston, quietly.

  Tanaka, his face screwed up in frustration, searched Compton’s eyes. ‘Surely, you’re not buying this,’ he said. ‘It’s obvious what they’re trying to pull. Can’t you see that they want the rose for themselves?’

  Compton looked at Tanaka again. ‘Come to think of it, Ken, you never did mention who you bought the rose from,’ he said.

  Tanaka didn’t answer. Not a muscle moved on his face. His dark eyes went slowly from Kingston, to Alex, then back to Compton. His voice was unexpectedly calm. ‘I bought that rose over there from a man named Graham Cooke. It was his uncle who hybridized it, in fact. Isn’t that correct, Sheppard?’ He paused, now looking at Alex. ‘You know it is, don’t you?’ he snapped.

  Alex looked quickly at Kingston out of the corner of his eye. ‘We believe that might be the case, but–’

  Tanaka cut in before Alex could finish. ‘You see, Compton, he admits it. This has nothing to do with them whatsoever.’

  Compton looked more confused than ever.

  Tanaka’s tone became angry, his voice louder. ‘Look, we have a lot of work to do, Compton. I’m starting to get impatient. Just tell these two to get the hell out of here, before it gets nasty.’

  Compton said nothing, nervously rubbing his chin.

  ‘Well, do something, man, don’t just stand there,’ Tanaka shouted.

  The four of them stood by the rose, each waiting for the other to say something. Instead, another voice, strident and menacing, broke the eerie silence.

  ‘Stay right where you are. All of you.’

  Alex spun around. That voice. American. At first he thought he recognized it. But no, it wasn’t the man who had been phoning. He’d know that voice, anywhere. A tall man wearing a dark windbreaker zipped up over a black turtleneck stood at the entrance to the paddock. He was gripping a sinister-looking small black pistol in his right hand.

  ‘That rose doesn’t belong to any of you. That rose is mine,’ he said, starting to walk toward them.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Someone said that God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

  Sir J. M. Barrie

  When Marcus and Kate arrived back at the farmhouse two cars were parked in the courtyard, but there were no signs of the other men. Marcus locked her up immediately in a much smaller room than before.

  Few words had passed between them since she had stepped out of the phone box. During the drive she had tried to remain calm, trying to convince him that she and Alex no longer had the rose, that it had been stolen. Then, losing patience, she had questioned him angrily, but Marcus was very short on words.

  She had been lying on the bed for less than an hour when Marcus returned. Saying nothing, he escorted her downstairs. Seated in the kitchen, she was given a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of mineral water, and a bruised apple.

  ‘Try to do another runner and you’ll end up a cripple,’ he said, leaving the room.

  After ten minutes, he returned. A hollow sensation started in her stomach and rose up into her chest when Kate saw he was holding a dark-coloured scarf and a length of nylon cord in his hand. Commanding her to remain seated he knotted the scarf around her eyes and expertly tied her wrists with the cord. Leading her outside, he bundled her back into the Jeep – she recognized the same air freshener smell – and slammed the door behind her.

  Soon she heard footsteps on the gravel. Two people got into the front seats. The doors slammed and the engine started. ‘We’re going for a long drive,’ Marcus said, snapping his seat belt buckle. ‘You might as well settle down.’

  ‘This looks like it, boss,’ said Marcus, slowing at the sight of the green and gold Compton’s Roses sign. He pulled the Jeep over on to the grass verge a few yards before the closed gate.

  ‘Good,’ said Wolff. ‘So far, Sheppard’s not lying.’

  Kate sat in darkness in the back seat, listening. She had concluded earlier that the American man with Marcus must be the ‘Ira’ they’d referred to at the farmhouse. The man who was going to ‘make the deal’ with Alex. Her wrists were sore from the chafing of the cord that was also tied to the inside door handle and covered with tape. It had been a long drive but thankfully – for part of it at least – she had involuntarily drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

  She heard the passenger door open and slam shut as the man got out. Next, the grating of a bolt followed by the metallic squeal of a gate being opened. The Jeep eased slowly forward for several yards, then stopped. Marcus turned the engine off and got out, slamming the door hard, shaking the car.

  Kate could hear Marcus and the other man talking outside but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Next, the door beside her was opened, the tape was cut, and the cord attached to her wrists was untied from the door handle. It was then knotted around her waist preventing her from moving her hands. ‘Get out,’ Marcus said.

  Kate slid across the seat and, without assistance, got out of the car. The turf was springy beneath her feet. She felt the mist dampen her cheeks. A smell of manure was heavy in the air, the nearby sound of bleating sheep, muted. With Marcus gripping her upper arm, they started walking in silence.

  After a minute or so they came to a halt.

  Despite the scarf covering her ears she could hear faint voices. It sounded as though an argument was taking place. She couldn’t be sure if it was just two people or whether more were involved. She strained harder but the voices were sufficiently distant to make the exchange unintelligible.

  Her concentration was broken by the American man’s voice. ‘You stay here with her while I go and see what’s going on. And for Christ’s sake keep her out of sight.’

  Still gripping her arm, Marcus walked her several paces until they were up against a building of some kind. The argument must be over, she could no longer hear the voices. Or perhaps it was because they were now shielded by the building.
For the first time since getting out of the car she felt very cold. She shivered, wishing that she wore a heavier jacket. It had gone awfully quiet. The sheep had stopped bleating and there were no other country sounds – for that was surely where they were. Even the chirping of birds was eerily absent.

  Kate heard Marcus clear his throat and spit. She was glad she couldn’t see the despicable man. She thought back to the voices, the argument. It was more than likely that Alex was one of them. She was now getting increasingly concerned for his safety. These men were dangerous and set on a mission. The thought of Alex getting into any kind of confrontation with them was frightening. It comforted her to realize that Kingston would probably be with him. She doubted that Alex would have come alone.

  She thought she heard a slight rustling noise behind her. It couldn’t be Marcus because she knew he was off to her right. Perhaps it was a dog or a cat. She was about to dismiss it when a voice broke the silence. It was an incongruous and unexpected voice – a rural accent, spoken in a loud whisper. ‘You, over there, stand very still and turn around slowly. You, miss, step back four paces.’

  Kate felt a hand behind her head unknotting the scarf and removing it. When she opened her eyes they hurt. She closed them quickly; the light was too bright. After opening and closing them a few times she was gradually able to see clearly. The black scarf was on the ground in front of her. Facing her, ten paces away, was Marcus, still wearing dark glasses despite the dismal weather. He stood motionless, a grim expression on his face, his eyes glued on whomever was standing behind her. She half turned and looked over her shoulder. Standing just a few feet away was a scruffy old man with a deeply lined face wearing a weathered raincoat and cap. He was gripping a shotgun at his waist, pointed directly at Marcus’s midriff. It looked like he knew how to use it.