The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1)

by Loy Ray Clemons

  He paused for effect before proceeding. “As you know, the bookstore has a history of presenting questionable publications. Publications I feel are damaging to the reputation of our most prominent and illustrious citizen, Mr. William Shakespeare, and in turn to the well-being of Stratford”

  Once again, scattered yells erupted from the crowd. The mayor and a few members of the council shifted uncomfortably in their chairs as Forestal waited. No effort was made to interrupt their demonstration.

  Forestal continued after the noise subsided. “That said, I will now present the plan prepared by the applicant.” He pointed the laser light beam on the boards and proceeded to describe the technical aspects of the project.

  Freddie whispered in Thorne’s ear who the supporters and non-supporters on the council were. Thorne studied the faces of the mayor and council members. All had seen the presentation numerous times before and were thankful this would be the last.

  Forestal concluded his remarks. “In light of the applicant’s compliance with presentations of required drawings and documents, the Architectural Review Board concludes its deliberations. As Director of the Board, I recommend approval for the work on the castle—and recommend disapproval for the use of the castle as a bookstore.”

  Thorne smiled at the arrogance of the man. After all, he was the town’s architect and had no business injecting himself in the politics of the bookstore’s relocation.

  Forestal sat down, and the Mayor Dell once again appeared at the lectern. “Thank you, Mr. Forestal, for that excellent presentation. Now we will hear from the applicant.” He looked in the direction of Bada and Bada shook his head, declining the offer. Dell immediately said, “The applicant has declined to make additional comments or presentations.

  “Now, prior to the final vote, we will recognize those individuals who wish to ask questions or make comments. You’ll find a microphone in each aisle, so please form a queue behind each microphone, and please limit your comments to two minutes.” He waited for the lines to form behind the microphones.

  The first in line at one of the microphones was a large man in a dark blue pin-stripe suit and a bright red club tie that stood out against a crisp white shirt.

  Freddie whispered, “There’s our man, Linsdame.”

  Roger Linsdame was a heavy, red-haired man with intense light blue eyes set close together over a large bulbous nose. There were two distinct vertical furrows in the middle of his broad forehead, the result of a permanent scowl. He wasn’t more than forty years old, but projected an image of an older, more experienced man.

  The portentous Linsdame stood erect, raising the chin of his square head and pulling his shoulders back. He placed his hands on his hips and didn’t lean into the microphone, but began in a voice loud enough to be heard without the microphone. “Well, so much for Bada Corporation altruism.”

  He glanced around the room, packed with his supporters and strategically sprinkled throughout the audience to appear greater in numbers. He returned his attention to the head table. “While I’m not an architect, even I can see this is far from a well-thought out project.” His supporters arose in unison and began yelling at the mayor and the council. He continued, “I hope all of you see how much support this proposal has—none!”

  Thorne had to laugh. He’d seen this type of crowd organization numerous times before to support or oppose a proposal before a town council, but he had to admit Linsdame was good at it.

  Linsdame ranted on describing his background as a major figure in the Stratford community. He described his expertise in design and construction of his own projects, telling everyone the castle was in disrepair and was unsafe. He then added vitriolic comments about how this would damage the economy of Stratford. He cajoled and offered veiled threats to the council, even though he knew they were going to support the proposal.

  Linsdame gave no indication he was beat, and from his victorious swagger back to his seat, one would have never known it. His minions lined up before each microphone, but Thorne read the disinterest on the face of each council member. They knew what the votes were and just wanted it to be over with.

  The mayor, the consummate politician, kept up a strong front and a big smile during the onslaught. He wasn’t obligated to vote, and even though he knew the resolution would pass, decided he would be charitable, and listened patiently to both sides before calling for the vote. It passed seven to two.

  Gilbert Bada made a few perfunctory remarks thanking the town council and describing how the project would benefit Stratford.

  The meeting broke up and the mayor went to Roger Linsdame and they both laughed as the mayor said something behind his hand. The mayor waved as he exited the hall amid the shouts, a fixed smile still on his face.

  Linsdame stood amid a coterie of supporters shaking hands and smiling. He glanced once in the direction of Bada, Freddie and Thorne, and his smile disappeared momentarily. Thorne saw something dark and foreboding in Linsdame’s light blue eyes. Linsdame turned back to his supporters, and continued shaking hands and smiling at well-wishers.

  Chapter 26

  Outside the hall, Bada and Freddie were talking to two well-dressed men in suits. Freddie pulled Thorne aside and handed him the keys to the car. “I’m afraid I have to go to a meeting with Gil. You take the car; I’ll get a ride home with Gil. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The parking spaces on the street had been filled when they arrived, so Freddie had parked the car two blocks away in a small parking lot. A light snow began to fall as Thorne wrapped his wool muffler around his ears, and trudged through the slush the two blocks to the car. As he approached the car, two figures appeared from the front and rear of the car, boxing him in.

  The first man was wearing a heavy top coat, and moved around from the hood of the car. “Cold night out, ain’t it?” said Victor Roberts

  Thorne recognized both men. The first was as the man who tailed him in London. There was no mistaking the other, the big, foul-breathed man who attacked him in Phoenix. Roberts chuckled and glanced to Kelly who was now leaning against the rear fender on the driver’s side.

  Thorne knew it was useless to talk, and tried to play for time. “Look, I don’t know—“

  “Well, Mike,” Roberts said with a puckish grin, “it looks like the Yank doesn’t know he’s not wanted here. He had his right hand in his pocket and moved closer to Thorne. I think he’s used up all his luck.“

  Kelly moved forward and pulled a pistol and suppressor from his pocket. He screwed the suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol. ”Let’s talk to him in the van, Vic.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Thorne saw Kelly was no more than an arms-length away. Thorne slipped both hands into the pockets of his coat and grasped a roll of pence in his right hand. Without looking at Kelly, he jerked his hands from his pockets and his right hand shot up, catching the heavy man in his midsection. The heavy leather jacket Kelly was wearing cushioned the blow, but the force of the blow to his solar plexus momentarily knocked the breath out of him. As he leaned forward against Thorne, he gasped for breath, the pistol dangling loosely in his hand.

  Thorne pushed him back with his forearm and readied to hit him again when he felt a hand on his shoulder and the ring of a heavy metallic thud on the back of his head. He reeled along the side of the car and fell in the slush.

  He lay there, still conscious, his head ringing from the blow. He glanced up just as Kelly delivered a kick to his ribs. He grabbed his side and winced in pain as he waited for the next blow.

  The blow never came. Instead, he heard Roberts’s soft voice. “Come on, Mike, that’s enough. Let’s get him in the van.”

  Mike grinned menacingly, his yellow teeth showing. “I’m not sure, Vic. Maybe he needs another.”

  Roberts said, “No. I think we need to drive him somewhere quiet and private.” He looked up and saw groups of people arriving at the parking lot. They were looking in his direction and Roberts leaned over Thorne, grasping the lapel of hi
s coat. “Next time.” He dropped Thorne back into the slush, and both men ran to their van parked on the far side of the lot.

  Thorne grasped the door handle of the car and pulled himself to his feet. A man came over and asked if he could help, but Thorne shook him off. “Thanks, anyway.”

  He twisted the key in the door lock and crawled inside the car. He reached over and flipped the door lock switch, and all four doors clicked. Glancing across the parking lot, he saw the van, speeding out of the lot.

  Thorne sat for a moment touching the back of his head and winced as he put the keys into the ignition. He was not sure he wanted to continue with the job unless he had protection

  He decided he would correct that situation tomorrow.

  Chapter 27

  The morning following the attack in the parking lot, Thorne put on a stevedore’s cap and a windbreaker over a heavy sweater, and drove through heavy snow to Birmingham. He found a rough section of town and drove around until he saw a pub that looked rundown.

  Inside, the lights were bright and the jukebox was playing loud heavy-metal rock music. He ordered a beer and began to pump the bartender for information about guns. He began with a bogus story about how he needed a gun for his wife’s protection.

  The bartender looked both ways up and down the bar, and pointed to two men sitting in a booth against the opposite wall. “See Jack, over there.”

  Thorne went over to the booth. “Which one of you men is Jack?”

  “That’s me, Mate, what’s your problem?” asked a small, lean, middle-aged man.

  “The bartender said you might help me. I need a piece. Small automatic—maybe a Walther P38.”

  “I don’t have one. How’s about a Glock 19? Four hundred pounds—I’ll include a box of ammo.”

  Thorne nodded his approval and Jack took him outside to a van. Inside the van, the gun dealer took a metal case from under the seat and put it on his lap. Inside the foam-lined case were five handguns of varying size. He picked out one and closed the case. He handed the gun to Thorne and retrieved a box of ammunition from the glove box.

  Thorne hefted the gun and nodded. He reached inside his windbreaker, took out his wallet, and handed Jack four one-hundred pound notes. He handed Jack an extra fifty pounds. “I might have to carry from time to time, so I need a shoulder holster, too.”

  He returned to the manor house in late afternoon and remained in his room for the rest of the day. He continued to think about Roberts and Kelly. Who they were working for? Who wanted him to drop the job and leave England.

  That evening, after dinner, Bada asked him to join, Andrea and Gweneth in the parlor. After retiring to the parlor Bada discussed the progress on the castle. Gweneth and Andrea sat at the other end of the room and discussed shopping and an upcoming dinner.

  Thorne began to see a depth of compassion and character in Bada he hadn’t recognized before, and was developing a cautious friendship with him. After a while, Bada and Andrea excused themselves and went to bed, and Thorne and Gweneth sat next to the fireplace.

  His relationship with Gweneth was becoming like that of second older brother and confidant.

  Gweneth’s conversation had gradually became more personal as she explained the automobile accident and her injury.” It was a silly accident. My young friend Daniel made a turn onto the highway, and I distracted him. While he was turning to me, a lorry came out of a side street and hit us. Poor Daniel died from his injuries, and I— well, except for not being able to see and a right leg that’s useless below my knee, I suppose I’m as normal as anyone else.”

  “I don’t think you’re just normal. I think you’re an exceptional person.”

  She blushed and reached out, and found his hand. She said, “You’re so sweet, David,”. “You’re a very sensitive man. I don’t know why, but I feel I can tell you things I can’t others.”

  Thorne didn’t know where his response came from, but he said, “Well, I guess that’s what big brothers are for.”

  She quickly said, “Tell me more about yourself, David.”

  Thorne had not talked to anyone about his personal thoughts since his divorce. The conversations with Tom Wilkins, the only person he would even consider being a friend, besides Freddie, were what men usually talk about. Definitely not about personal things. He tried to tell her as much as he felt appropriate of his more recent life. He realized he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—tell her about the recent threats.

  Gweneth told of her long relationship with Neville Forestal prior to them becoming romantically involved.

  Thorne was impressed how such a beautiful woman as Gweneth could be so open and kind. His personal past experiences with beautiful women were that they tended to be self-centered and selfish. Gweneth had none of those qualities. She definitely was a woman of compassion, deep integrity and strong character.

  He hoped Forestal realized how lucky he was.

  Chapter 28

  When Thorne returned to the castle the following Monday, it was crowded with extra workmen. He spent a lot of time wandering about and searching for anything that might relate to the phrase “where the poesies welcome” line, referred to in the Moldar letter he had read earlier on the plane. He realized it would be better to come back at night when he could have free reign to pry into areas without the workmen present.

  In his room, that evening Thorne sat fully clothed in the dark windbreaker, stevedore’s cap, and dark trousers. He waited until he was sure the house was asleep before turning out the lights and moving silently out of his room and through the dining room.

  A distant light at the front entrance shone through the large windows and slightly illuminated the dining room outer doors. He went outside and took a circuitous route, avoiding the regular path used for traffic between the manor and the castle.

  No snow was falling, but there was a chill in the night air. Thorne had hoped the Stratford winter fog would be present to cloak his movements, but there was none. He pulled the watch cap down over the top of his ears and put on his gloves. Fortunately, the heavy overcast blocked out starlight and the moon slid through when the clouds broke momentarily before closing again. In his dark clothing Thorne could not have been seen unless someone was within twenty feet of him. The dark mass of the castle was silhouetted against the lights of Stratford across the river. For a brief moment, he again thought he saw a flicker of light in the upper reaches of the queen’s Keep. He concentrated on the area where he had seen it, but there was nothing there.

  When he reached the castle, the miniature penlight on his keychain found the keyhole to the large padlock on the door of the south gate. He opened the door and entered the stable area that led to the huge interior courtyard of the castle. The faint light of the stars barely illuminated the courtyard, and he moved to the front door. Once inside, he took a small flashlight from his pocket and found his way to the kitchen. He adjusted the flashlight to broad beam, and lit the far wall. Without anyone else present, he could pry open door panels and scrape mortar from the stone walls without raising suspicions as he would have during the day.

  Suddenly, he thought he heard a slight scraping sound come from the direction of the Keep. He found a dark corner and sat completely motionless. After ten minutes there were no more sounds. He passed it off as a tree branch scratching against a wall.

  He carried with him a reduced size plan of the castle, and spent the next two hours concentrating on the kitchen area. A door from the kitchen led to a pantry lined with wood panels and heavy wood shelves where utensils or food would have been stored. The shelves were now filled with empty boxes. Inside the pantry, he tapped lightly on the walls, looking for cavities. Upon closer investigation, he found hidden hinges revealing a movable panel. The panel swung out, and a small alcove appeared in the thick stone wall of the Keep

  The space was just large enough for one person. On one wall was a low stone projection that would have served as a seat. When the panel was closed, the alcove was in total darkness
except for a faint glow from a hole in the stone wall facing the stairwell to the queen’s Keep. A concave indentation providing a space for one’s head, and a small hole the size of a roll of nickels was in the center of the indentation. From the completely darkened alcove, he could barely make out the area of the first landing of the stairs leading up to the top of the Keep.

  He chuckled at the thought of the voyeuristic Moldar secreted away in his personal alcove, observing everything that was going on in the queen’s Keep. While the man may not have been a wit or a convivial companion, he was a sly one who always looked for a way to get the upper hand. The insightful queen may have recognized this sly quality, and it may have been why she never trusted herself to be at his mercy in her Keep.

  Back in the kitchen, he continued his search for other hiding places. He was standing on the counter when he heard vehicles approaching at the south gate. His soft, crepe-soled shoes made no sound as he dropped to the floor and quickly retreated to the alcove behind the pantry. Through the small hole in the wall, he saw the interior of the Keep illuminated by flashlights.

  Three figures moved up the stairs on the opposite wall to the first landing of the stairs. They were over forty feet away, and he could only make out their outlines. The first voice was low and gave directions. He could only make out a few of the words if he placed his ear to the small opening

  The first voice said, “This is it. You—hold the torch for him.” Then to the other figure. “Are you sure you have a large enough chisel and sledge hammer to remove the mortar?” Thorne could hear no response.

  The first voice said, “I hope the information is correct.” His voice trailed off and was muffled.

  The second voice appeared to be coming from the smaller man who said excitedly, “Oh, I’m sure both documents are authentic. You saw them yourself. It spoke of the poesies, and this is the only plaque with a bouquet on it. I also had portions of the letters looked at by experts and they confirmed the word poesies. Of course I didn’t show them the sensitive information but—”