John remained silent. Sam's hand moved to his shoulder in an apparent show of comradeship. A friendly squeeze with just the slightest pressure.
'But you can help my mood by telling me what really went on between you and the late Geoffrey Compton.'
John flinched at the hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Sam. What he saw didn't fill him with confidence. Sam's eyes were blazing. His jaw was set firm. He had a graze above one eye, a bruise under the other and small cuts elsewhere on his face. His hair was a mess, and a damp smell emanated from him. Most unnerving for John was the stare. As though Sam was looking into his very soul.
'Please, Sam, move your hand and we'll talk.'
'Okay,' said Sam, slowly withdrawing his hand. 'Talk.'
John sighed deeply.
'When I moved in next door to Geoffrey five years ago, Benjamin asked me if I'd keep an eye out for him...knock on his door every so often and check he was alright. Benjamin was away a lot, and as his father was a certain age, he left me a key in case of an emergency. I'm a member of the local church. We consider it everyone's duty to help the more vulnerable in society.'
Sam wished John would help him by getting to the point.
'A couple of weeks before Geoffrey died, I called on him one evening. I could hear him in the front room, talking on the telephone. He sounded upset...'
'And?'
'When he came to the door, he looked really down, as though he'd just had some bad news. When I asked if everything was alright, he told me it didn't matter anymore and shut the door in my face.'
'It didn't matter anymore? What did he mean by that?'
John shrugged.
'I don't know. He was often grumpy when I called round, but that was the first time he had ever shut the door in my-'
'What did you do?'
John looked embarrassed all of a sudden.
'I was so annoyed by his ungratefulness that I threw away my key to his cottage...chucked it into the bushes at the top of my garden. All I had tried to do was help, and he constantly threw it back in my face. That night was the last straw.'
'You kept this from Benjamin, didn't you?'
'Yes,' replied John, nodding his head sadly. 'I was too ashamed. When I calmed down, I realised it was me who was being unreasonable. Geoffrey was an old man on his own. I needed to be more understanding. After that, I made sure I kept my patience.'
John shook his head in remorse.
'If only I'd hung on to that key,' he groaned. 'I might have been able to help him the night he died.'
Sam noticed Benjamin walk across the room and exit out the back door. Sam saw his opportunity to resolve another pressing matter. Getting up, he gave John a pat on the back. A much friendlier gesture this time.
'John, give yourself a break,' he said quietly. 'There was nothing you could have done.'
With that, Sam followed Benjamin out the door. He found him on the patio, staring wistfully up at the pale blue sky. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a muggy atmosphere.
Benjamin did a double-take and raised his eyebrows when he saw Sam's appearance.
'What happened to you?' he asked.
Sam saw little point in beating around the bush.
'I had a run-in with the man who broke into your father's cottage. He was at the cemetery for the funeral.'
Benjamin's eyes widened.
'Sam, I asked you to-'
'He also tried to run me over a couple of nights ago.'
Benjamin was lost for words, struck down by trepidation.
'He's the reason you called off the investigation, isn't he, Benjamin? It was nothing to do with anything your brother said. This man got to you and persuaded you to forget all about your father's death, didn't he?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Sam could see Benjamin was struggling to maintain the conceit.
'He wanted your father dead for some reason, Benjamin...and now he's after somebody else.'
Benjamin shook his head, consumed by fear and confusion.
'Sam, I really don't know what-
'Benjamin, listen to me. I honestly believe somebody else is in danger from this man. So, tell me the truth, if only to prevent somebody else from getting hurt.'
That did it. Benjamin's body posture changed. His shoulders slumped in resignation.
'He followed me back from the cottage the evening before last. He broke into the bungalow...sneaked up on me in my own home...'
Sam felt a pang of guilt at his own spot of trespassing.
'What happened?'
Benjamin's looked at Sam forlornly.
'He grabbed me from behind. I couldn't get away...he was too strong...'
Sam could vouch for that, remembering how he had literally bounced off the man back at the cemetery.
'He wanted to know where my father was. He threatened to hurt me if I didn't tell him. So, I told him the truth. He didn't believe me at first. In fact, he only accepted my father was dead when I gave him the details of the funeral. He told me that if I was lying, he would come back for me.'
'Well, that's good news for you.'
'How?' asked Benjamin, perplexed.
'It means you're not his next target. You wouldn't be here now if he wanted you dead.'
Benjamin pulled a face.
'What makes you think he's after somebody else?'
Sam told him about the man's fascination with the mourners as they left the cemetery. He also repeated the two small words whispered in Sam's ear.
Not you.
Somebody else.
'So, who is he after?' asked Benjamin.
Sam shook his head.
'Well, it's plainly not me,' he replied. 'I'm just an annoyance...somebody getting in his way. It's the same with you. You're just a source of knowledge and nothing else. No, this bloke has got particular targets.'
Sam was struck by a thought.
'All this still doesn't explain how he knew we were looking into your father's death?'
Benjamin looked at him sheepishly.
'He was watching the cottage the day he followed me. He saw you leave...wanted to know why you were there.'
Sam raised an eyebrow.
'I had to tell him, Sam!' exclaimed Benjamin, his voice desperate. 'I thought he was going to kill me. I told him I would take you off the case...that I wouldn't tell a soul. He promised he would come after me if I ever went to the police-'
'Hold on,' said Sam. 'Did you tell him where I lived?'
Benjamin shook his head vigorously.
'No, he never asked.'
'What time did he turn up at your bungalow?'
'About seven. Why?'
Sam tried to clear his head. The man couldn't have been in two places at the same time. Either he had an accomplice, or somebody else had driven that car at Sam the other night. Somebody with a grievance. He considered what else had happened recently.
Sam groaned in dismay. Alice's ex, Richard. He must have seen Sam drop Alice off at the apartment.
It appeared Sam had got himself involved in two entirely separate cases.
Chapter 17
Sam got on the phone to Archie. Being a Saturday afternoon, it took some time for the landlord to answer.
'Sam, we're rushed off our feet right-'
'Archie, this is important. Are Moira and Alice okay?'
'Yes, they're down here now helping out behind the bar.'
Sam told him about his near miss the other night.
'And you think that was Richard?' asked Archie in shock. 'Why didn't you-'
'Because I've only just worked it out,' replied Sam. 'If it was him, then he's even more dangerous than we thought.'
'Have you told the police?'
'Yeah, I've just come off the phone to a detective called Jackson. He was over at Moira's apartment yesterday, so he knows the situation.'
'What did he say?'
'Well, I couldn't give him a description of the car, so he's not got anything new
to go on, but he did promise he would step up the search for Richard.'
Archie fell silent. Sam could tell something was bothering him.
'Archie?'
'When Moira got back here earlier, she told me she had a feeling someone followed her on her deliveries. She just wrote it off as paranoia after what happened yesterday.'
A cold chill went down Sam's spine.
Suddenly, Archie's voice was distant down the line. Sam could hear shouts. Just as he began to fear the worst, Archie returned to the phone.
'Sorry about that, Sam. Your mate Jackson has sent one of his men round here to keep an eye on us. He's just arrived.'
Sam blew out his cheeks in relief.
'Well, tell Moira and Alice not to go out anywhere for now...and that means anywhere.'
***
Feeling slightly more at ease, Sam returned inside the club. On the far side, one of the wheelchair-bound ladies from the funeral was holding court. Several people, including Benjamin and Arnold, were listening attentively to her. Sam sidled up to Benjamin and discreetly pulled him to one side.
'Benjamin, I'm getting off. I just wanted to ask you one more thing.'
Benjamin clearly wanted to get back to the woman in the wheelchair, but he saw the seriousness on Sam's face.
'Go on...' he said hesitantly.
'Did your father ever mention a phone call a couple of weeks before he died?'
Benjamin shook his head.
'An upsetting call? Bad news?'
Once more, Benjamin looked at Sam blankly.
'Why?' he asked. 'Have you-'
'Benjamin!'
They both turned around. The lady in the wheelchair was beckoning them over.
'Who's your friend?' she called out. ''Bring him over so I can meet him.'
Benjamin took Sam by the elbow.
'Erica, this is Sam.'
She was an old lady, in her eighties or nineties, small and fragile looking, with curly grey hair, a toothy grin and a pair of eyes sharp with good humour.
'Hello, young man,' she said, squinting up at Sam, clearly struggling with her eyesight. Her voice was soft and light, enhanced by a gentle American accent. 'I don't suppose Benjamin has mentioned me...'
'Er, well-'
Benjamin saved Sam's blushes
'Sam, this is my mother's cousin, Erica Wright.'
Sam bent down and shook her hand lightly.
'We didn't know Erica was coming until she arrived this morning,' explained Benjamin. 'I'm afraid the family lost contact with her some years ago.'
'Have you come far?' asked Sam.
'Only America,' laughed Erica, her smile full of mischief. 'I was just telling the two boys about their father in his younger days.'
Sam glanced at the men in question. Benjamin was smiling sweetly at his elderly relative. Arnold was glancing at his watch.
'Did you know him well?' asked Sam, keen to get off himself.
Erica sighed reflectively.
'Yes, I did. A very long time ago. A gang of us used to knock about together in Newgate. We were in the same class together. Marjorie, that's the boy's mother, myself, Geoffrey, Billy Dunker, Joe Sale. We remained friends right through our teens. They were such wonderful times, but then the boys went off to war and nothing was ever the same again.'
Sam waited expectantly, drawn in by her velvet tone.
'My father moved us to the States in the late forties, just after Benjamin here was born. The last time I saw these two, they were sitting in prams, dressed in little booties.'
This caused a ripple of laughter.
'Anyway, Geoffrey was a lovely person...so charming...and such a gentleman-'
Arnold startled everyone with a sudden snort. Irritation was written all over his face.
'I'm sorry for my brother's rudeness, Erica,' said Benjamin.
Arnold bristled at his brother's reprimand. Perhaps he had just heard too many gushing compliments today about his father. Or maybe the alcohol was taking its effect. Whatever, Arnold wasn't hiding his feelings any longer.
'Don't make apologies for me, Benny. Our father was nothing like how she's describing-'
'Arnold!' cried Benjamin, scowling at his brother.
Erica piped up in her sweet voice.
'Benjamin, let your brother be...he's got good reason to feel the way he does.'
This stumped everyone. Erica held out her hands to the two brothers.
'Arnold, come here my lovely. You, too, Benjamin.'
Sam looked on in curiosity as the two men reluctantly took a hand each. Erica clasped them tightly in her own and smiled sadly at both men. They stared back with curiosity.
'I saw the change in your father after the war. He was no different to a lot of young men who went to fight. They saw too much...so much horror...and it changed them for ever. They left as bright young things and came back scarred and broken. It happened to so many of our men. Your father wasn't the only one...'
Sam watched Arnold's features visibly soften. A lifetime of resentment was dissolving at the hands of this little old lady. His perception of his father was finally being questioned.
'Now, let me tell you about Geoffrey when he was younger...'
Sam smiled and left them to it. Perhaps this was the day Benjamin and Arnold finally found some peace of mind at last.
***
Sam got out a street away from Lexbury Car Rental and tried to shake off the stiffness in his leg following the fifty mile drive. As he walked, he wondered if he had made the right decision leaving the gun back at the flat. It had been a long time since he had used a firearm, and he was wary of carrying one again on the streets. He kept it purely for self-protection, a back-up in case things ever went seriously wrong. Had the situation reached that point yet? Sam had placed the gun back in the cabinet, telling himself to rely on his wits for a while longer.
He turned the corner and spotted Lexbury Car Rental across the road. The forecourt was empty, devoid of anything but the odd stray weed. Beyond it stood a lengthy mobile office in dire need of a good lick of paint. Sam considered the place had seen far better days.
Inside, he found the small reception area full of waiting customers. Irate, impatient customers. A young man, barely out of his teens, appeared to be on his own at the desk. He was currently on the phone, a sour look on his face.
'Mrs Jones, if you'll just-'
The young man was being talked down. He tried again.
'But, Mrs Jones, I'm trying-'
Sam watched him sigh as he dropped the phone back in its cradle. He looked hot and bothered, at the end of his tether. To make matters worse, the waiting customers started berating him.
'I've been waiting over half-an-hour for my car...'
'What sort of place are you running here? I want my money back...'
'You told me my vehicle would be here by now...'
The young man tried to placate them, explaining he was only holding the fort until his colleagues returned from lunch. Could they just hang on a few more minutes? The reply was a collective grumble of resigned discontent.
All of which was music to Sam's ears. It appeared he had timed his visit just right. He squeezed past the queue of disgruntled customers.
'Sam Carlisle. Private Investigator,' he announced, holding his badge aloft. 'I'd like some information.'
The young man stared back at him, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
'Er, I'm not sure I can give you any-'
Sam ignored his protestations.
'I'd like to know how many cars you have of this description...'
Sam passed him a sheet of paper with the make and model of the hatchback. There was no point mentioning the number plate, not if it was false. The man gazed down at the piece of paper.
'Well, I suppose it won't do any harm...'
He looked on his computer and informed Sam that Lexbury Car Rental had just the one car matching that description. It was currently out on hire for seven days, du
e back next Tuesday.
'I need the details of the person who's currently got the car.'
The young man gave Sam a doubtful look.
'I'm not really sure I'm allowed to tell you that. If you could just wait-'
Sam leaned over the counter. He wanted to keep this discreet.
'Look, mate,' he said quietly. 'I need that information right now. If you're not going to give it me, I'll have the cops down here in two minutes flat with a warrant. I've got the authority to do that, and I don't think your boss will be happy if he comes back to find the place crawling with police, do you?'
Sam had no authority to do such a thing. But the kid clearly didn't know that.
'Okay,' he sighed. 'What exactly do you need?'
***
Returning to the flat, Sam laid the photocopies out on his desk. Three sheets of paper. A copy of the hire agreement, a driving licence and a utility bill.
Sam studied the photo on the driving licence. That was definitely his man, looking no less sinister with a mop of blonde hair on his head instead of the regulatory black hat. The steely blue eyes staring back at Sam were cold and remorseless. He recalled the man watching unwary innocents in the cemetery. A monster on the prowl.
According to the driving licence, his name was Stephen Smith. Born on the thirteenth of April, 1959. Current living at 2, Sherbourne Close, Newgate. Sam recognised the address as a cul-de-sac in the centre of town, only a few minutes drive from Geoffrey's cottage.
Staring at the driving licence, small details began to bother Sam.
The date of birth. It couldn't be right. If Stephen Smith had been born in 1959, he would be in his mid-fifties now. That wasn't possible. The photograph showed a man no older than himself, early forties at the most. And he hadn't looked any older close up.
Then there was the name. Stephen Smith. It didn't sit right with Sam for some reason. He couldn't say why. It was purely gut instinct.
Finally, there was the address, right in the heart of Newgate. Why had Stephen Smith hired a car when he lived so close to Geoffrey? If his intention had been murder, perhaps it was to dispose of the body. But why had the vehicle been hired from so far away? A hundred mile round trip? Sam could only think it was to throw anybody off the scent.
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