6.The Alcatraz Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  “Thank you, Emma. I must say, coming from you, I’m deeply touched and grateful for such sincere and lavish praise, though I’m not sure I deserve it. At the risk of sounding unduly sentimental, the coming days and weeks will be difficult for me, too. You’re right, though, we are good partners, and I must admit that I’ve been secretly wishing for some time now that our inquiry wouldn’t end. I’d even fantasized that we’d been engaged to solve another unsolved mystery.” He grinned. “A cold case that has the police stumped.”

  Emma chuckled. “You’re incorrigible. You’re worse than I am.”

  Kingston’s grin turned into laughter just as Clare Davenport appeared.

  “I can see you two are enjoying yourselves,” she said. “Good lunch?”

  “Couldn’t have been better,” Kingston replied. Emma nodded in agreement.

  “I think congratulations are in order,” Clare said, pulling out a chair and sitting. “You two have become celebrities of sorts. Quite an achievement by all accounts.”

  Kingston shrugged. “We were just lamenting that it’s all over. Our fifteen minutes of fame is ended, and we’re two jaded retirees again.”

  “By the looks of you, it can’t be all that bad.”

  Kingston smiled. “You’re right. The ending could have been quite different. As a matter of fact, there’s one last question that needs answering and it occurred to us, just today, actually, that you may be able to help.”

  Clare Davenport’s penciled eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

  “Yes. But first, a question: How long have you owned the Rose & Thistle?”

  “My husband and I bought it in 1995.”

  “Good. Now I’m going to test your memory, if I may?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “In 2003, a natural disaster struck the south of England, killing many people, felling millions of trees.”

  She nodded, her expression serious. “The Great Storm. It’s impossible to forget. We were hit pretty hard down here.”

  “Do you recall whether the storm damaged Reginald Payne’s house or property? Big trees destroyed?”

  “Yes, it did. Many trees came down at Beechwood that day. Lots of houses suffered losses. It was reported in the paper with photographs. Part of his house was badly damaged when a tree crushed the roof. Reggie was okay, though.” She paused. “I still can’t get used to his real name, I’m sorry. Anyway, he wasn’t injured. According to him at the time, it took almost a year to rebuild the rooms that were demolished.”

  Kingston looked at Emma. She met his gaze and simply gave a slight nod.

  “Thank you, Clare,” Kingston said. “You’ve been a great help.”

  And, he added silently to himself, you’ve helped change a young girl’s life for the better.

  Ten minutes later, walking side by side out the front door, Emma slipped her arm through Kingston’s. For an instant, he thought he was elsewhere, long ago, at another place, in another life. As quickly as it appeared, the memory vanished. He said nothing, and they both kept walking. It all seemed so natural—so right. Words no longer seemed necessary as they made their way toward the car.

  POSTSCRIPT

  Three weeks later, Chelsea

  THE LETTER THAT Kingston had been patiently awaiting finally arrived. He opened the envelope bearing the COUNTRY LIFE logo on the flap and, with guarded optimism, withdrew the one-page letter, noting another sheet of paper-clipped to it. He sat on the sofa to read it.

  Dear Lawrence,

  It was a pleasure to hear from you again after so long, though I have been following your exploits in the newspaper these past weeks, of course. I do hope that after your near miss in Staffordshire and now this last incident, you will start to consider a somewhat more passive pastime to satisfy your creative urges in the coming years.

  The enclosed copy, from our 12 June, 2001, issue, should certainly settle the question you raised about Japanese Nikko-style bridges in Western gardens. Please keep in touch and let me know if you require further information on the subject.

  With best wishes,

  Julian Cartwright, Deputy Editor

  As Kingston cast his eyes over the enclosed article, a wide smile spread across his face. Underneath a photo of a vermillion bridge spanning a small lake was the caption:

  Another splendid example of the sacred Japanese architectural feature in today’s British gardens is this bridge in the exceptional private garden at Beechwood in Gloucestershire.

  He put the article aside and stood, thinking of Letty. Her vague recollection could indeed have been based on fact—it was quite possible that she had visited the garden with her mother. For whatever reason, the bridge must have been destroyed, or moved in later years. Fiona McGuire had been at Beechwood. They were as close to closure as they would ever get.

  He crossed the room, still smiling, and picked up the phone to tell Emma.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  IN PART, THE Alcatraz Rose is based on an event that took place on Alcatraz Island in 1989. That year, a group of Bay-Area rose aficionados from the Heritage Rose Group visited the island to search for and collect cuttings of old roses.

  Two members of the tour, Gregg Lowery and Phillip Robinson, spotted an unusual rose in a weedy, overrun garden. Questioning its heritage, they took cuttings and cultivated the rose at their Sebastopol nursery at the time. Later, they identified it as the Bardou Job rose, among the rarest of about 100,000 known rose varieties and presumed to be extinct.

  The deep red, climbing rose, was hybridized in 1887 in the Pyrénées-Orientales region of Southern France and named after Jean Bardou. Bardou’s fortune came from manufacturing the famous JOB (his initials) cigarette papers. The rose is also recorded as once having been cultivated, 100 years ago, at St. Fagans Castle in Wales.

  Over a span of 30 years, the two Heritage rose authorities, cultivated more the 3,000 old and rare roses at their garden in Sebastopol, California. The “Lowery-Robinson” collection is now owned and maintained by The Friends of Vintage Roses. Rosarians world-wide consider the collection to be one of the most comprehensive multiple-class collections of old roses ever assembled. (thefriendsofvintageroses.org)

  Thanks for the inspiration Gregg. Without your discovery, I wouldn’t have had a story.

  While entirely fictitious, The Great Highway Robbery is based loosely on The Great Train Robbery (as described on Wikipedia), a similar grand robbery that took place in Buckinghamshire, England, in 1963. Belmaris Castle is modeled in part on Sudely Castle, Gloucestershire.

  Britain’s historic “Great Storm” occurred in 1987.

  A very special thanks to Alcatraz historian, Chuck Stucker, son of a prison guard, who grew up on the island throughout his childhood. Chuck was beyond generous with his time, during numerous phone conversations and letters, and without his profound knowledge of all things Alcatraz—his verbal recollections, detailed information and descriptions of island during the prison years—my story would not have the same authenticity or accuracy.

  Once again, kudos to the indispensible DC Claire Chandler, Hampshire Constabulary, for keeping me in conformance with U.K police procedural matters.

  As in the past, I am deeply grateful and consider myself exceptionally fortunate to have had the support of my brilliant team of editors, advisors and copy checkers: my plot guru/editor, Dave Stern, the remarkable editing talents of Cynthia Merman, the meticulous John Joss, and horticulturist, Mike Hegerhorst. Lastly, my keenest two collaborators and critics: my wife, Suzie, who keeps me on the straight and narrow ‘mystery’ track, and long-time friend and author, Roger Dubin. Thank you all. Your collective guidance, encouragement and keen eyes have breathed life and substance into my story giving it that all-important final luster.

  Last but by no means least, a heartfelt thanks to all my readers. Without you, there would be no Kingston and no future books. I will always remember that.

  br />