Angel Confidential (32 page)

‘You knew what I wanted a couple of hours ago,' she said, not sure whether to step closer or not.

‘That was exercise.'

That got a reaction, but not much more than a brief flare of colour in her cheeks.

‘Then thanks for the work-out, if that's all it was. But you're still here, driving us. Why? What's in it for you?'

‘Estelle? Ready to go?' Veronica yelled from her room.

‘Someone's got to watch over her,' I said. ‘She doesn't get out much.'

‘That's a crap reason,' Stella hissed as Veronica approached.

‘It's the best you're gonna get,' I hissed back.

I didn't want to tell her that the phone call I hadn't made might just result in even more trouble for us.

 

Veronica had changed into jeans, a padded anorak and sensible flat shoes. A week ago she probably wouldn't have dressed down so much to go gardening.

Outside the office, Stella and I climbed into Armstrong while Veronica locked up. She had trouble getting the key out of the new lock, and by the time she started towards Armstrong, I had the engine running, so I only faintly heard someone shouting: ‘Hey, Miss!'

In the wing mirror, I saw Veronica stop as if to talk to someone, and I turned my head to see
that she had been hailed by Crimson's mum, Mrs Delacourt.

I decided to leave them to it, and they chatted for a minute or so, then Mrs Delacourt pointed at Armstrong, saw me looking at her and waved. I waved back. Then she dug in her handbag and brought something out, which she gave to Veronica.

‘What's going on?' Stella asked, turning to look herself and blocking my view.

‘A satisfied customer, I hope,' I said.

Veronica waved a cheery goodbye to Mrs Delacourt and climbed into Armstrong, holding out a while envelope for me.

‘That Mrs Crimson is a really nice lady,' she said chattily. ‘I didn't know you knew anyone round here. She said to give you this and to say she could start cleaning on Monday. I told her I didn't know what she meant and that I wouldn't be here long, but she said she'd fixed it all up with you. Were you planning a bit of a surprise, Angel? Was that it?'

‘Something like that,' I said, pocketing the envelope.

‘She told me I should be careful, as well.'

‘That's always good advice,' I said.

‘She said it was a really, really rough area and I had to watch out for myself. She said three young black kids were beaten up last night, just in the next street somewhere. One of them got a broken arm and had to go into hospital. But her son told her they were up to no good and were selling drugs to the local school kids. So I suppose we shouldn't feel sorry for them, but isn't that just a terrible state of affairs?'

‘Terrible,' I agreed.

Thanks, Crimson. Thanks, Chase.

 

The traffic heading out of London up the motorway was weekend heavy and it took longer than I had expected to reach the intersection that would lead to Great Pardoe. At least that gave me some thinking time, and about four miles short of the village, I pulled over and took Carrick Lee's mobile phone from under my seat, flipping it open and punching the power button.

‘What are you doing?' they asked together.

‘Checking the lie of the land,' I said, hitting numbers. Bobby Lee answered on the second ring.

‘Angel? Jesus Christ, I've been ringing you every 20 minutes since this morning. Where are you? What's happening? Did you switch the phone off?'

‘Yes, I did, and I'm sorry I haven't been in touch, it's been one of those days.' And it wasn't over yet. ‘Where are you?'

‘At the Lodge, on car park duty at the antiques roadkill show here.'

‘Is Sir Drummond around?' As I asked that, Stella moved onto the rumble seat behind me, close enough for me to smell my shampoo on her hair.

‘He's in the Lodge. Buck was here earlier. He left burning rubber, but he didn't go home. I thought I'd better stay here.'

‘You did right.'

Stella was screwing up her face, trying to hear what Bobby was saying. That's why people hate mobile phones. It's not because they disturb you in restaurants or on the train; it's because you can hear only one side of a conversation and you're dying to hear the other half. If someone was in a phone box and you couldn't hear anything, you wouldn't mind.

‘What time do you close up?' I asked him.

‘Seven o'clock, but we haven't had a punter for over
two hours.'

‘Can you keep it that way? Not let anyone else in?'

‘Sure, won't be a problem. What are you up to? How did you get Carrick's phone?'

‘We're on our way to see Sir Drummond. We need a word with him, but
don't jump to any conclusions
, Bobby. Okay?'

‘I won't,' he said curtly.

‘You've told him, haven't you?'

‘Just that you had Carrick's phone,' he said, and when I said nothing, he added: ‘He's coming down. On his way. I had to.'

‘Yeah, that's okay, Bobby. ‘Course you had to. See you soon.'

I closed the phone, then opened it again and dialled the same number but changing the last digit to 0 from 2. The card Carrick Senior had given me had three consecutive numbers on it. Job lot, he'd said.

The phone bleeped four times then connected, and a voice said ‘Hello?' then, ‘Bobby?' through an awful lot of static and the distinct throb of the sound of heavy traffic.

I closed the phone on him without a word.

‘I think we ought to hurry,' I said.

 

Armstrong complained almost as much as the two women in the back as I drove across the lawn to the Classic Car Centre, keeping its aircraft-hangar proportions between us and Sandpit Lodge itself. I didn't know if it would give us much of an advantage, but every little helped.

As I parked alongside the Centre, Bobby Lee saw us from his sentry box in the car park near the house and began to walk towards us. There was no sign of Carrick Senior, nor a Land Rover Discovery in sight. In fact, the car park was deserted.

‘Come on.' I led them into the car museum, clutching my Ann Summers carrier bag and Carrick's phone.

Bobby caught up with us inside the sliding doors and nodded to Veronica. I introduced him to Stella.

‘You're the daughter …' he said.

‘And you're the brother,' she answered. I looked, but there was nothing in her eyes.

‘We may not have much time.' I took command. ‘Will your father come here?'

‘Or straight to Buck's place,' said Bobby, not taking his eyes off Stella.

‘Right then, you take Veronica and stake the place out like we did. Do nothing, just keep your eyes open and keep in touch on the phone.'

‘Wait a minute,' Veronica blustered, ‘what are we supposed to be doing?'

‘Keeping his father away from her father's solicitor.'

‘And what will you be doing?' She was bracing her feet to make a stand of it.

‘Stella and I will be asking her
father some questions.'

‘And just how do we get him to answer them?' Stella drawled.

‘You told me how,' I said, holding up the carrier bag. ‘We're going to tie him up and torture him.'

 

 

 

 

 

Stella really was a natural actress. I did a run-through, explaining what I had in mind, and she just went ahead and did it.

Using Carrick's phone, she rang the house. She was perfect.

‘Daddy, it's Estelle. Yes, it is me. I'm here. I'm coming home, Daddy. I'm in your museum. Your sanctum. Remember when you used to call it that and I had to go away and look it up? No. No, come and get me, Daddy. I don't want to come up to the house by myself. No, not until I've had a chance to explain. Come down here, Daddy. I'm all alone. The visitors have gone. The gawpers, we used to call them – no, it was grockles, wasn't it. Hurry, Daddy. I've missed you.'

She snapped the phone shut and handed it to me.

‘Two minutes. Tops.'

‘That was very good. Now stand over here.'

I made her stand leaning against the driver's door of the first of the classic car exhibits on the left, a metallic-blue Alvis tourer. Then I took two pairs of handcuffs out of my carrier bag and slipped one pair into my jacket pocket. The others I opened with the key, then pocketed that. I slipped one cuff through the door handle of the Alvis and snapped it shut, leaving the other cuff dangling at the end of a six-inch steel chain.

Stella moved so that her buttocks and legs covered them from sight, reaching behind her to make sure she could grab the open bracelet.

‘Okay? Think you can handle it?'

‘Sure. Hey, these things are suede-lined!' she exclaimed, feeling the inside of the cuff.

‘So as not to leave bruises,' I said. ‘Some people think of everything.'

 

I was crouched down behind the Alvis in case she needed help, but she didn't.

Sir Drummond came puffing into the hangar, his circular face bright red, his lips and cheeks pushing out his white moustache as if he was trying to blow it away from under his nose.

‘Estelle!'

‘Daddy!'

She held out her arms for him as I had seen her do for me only that morning, and as he embraced and tried to kiss her, she turned into him and I heard the handcuff ratchet shut. It seemed a fitting sort of sound.

‘What the–? Estelle, what the devil ...?'

By that time, she had spun away from him and skipped out of his reach. She stopped, kissed the end of her right index finger and leaned forward to touch it to his cheek. Now that, I thought, was unnecessary.

‘We have to talk, Daddy,' she said, smiling.

He yanked at the handcuffs, bemused. Then he tried the Alvis's door handle and it opened, but it didn't do him much good. Stella took two steps further backwards.

‘Is this some sick joke, Estelle? I really ... You?'

He saw me as I walked around the front of the Alvis.

‘What do you want? What's going on? You work for Block, don't you?'

‘Strictly freelance, Sir Drummond. At the moment, if I'm working for anyone, it's for Carrick Lee.'

‘Remember him, Daddy?' taunted Stella.

‘I've been through all this with him.' He pointed with his right hand, his left gave the cuffs a tug. All they did was rattle. ‘I don't know where your gypsy vagrant boyfriend is.'

‘I do,' I said, watching his face. ‘He's in the cellar of 23 Lennard Street, Islington.'

The colour began to fade from his checks.

‘That means nothing to me,' he snapped, but he wouldn't meet Stella's gaze.

‘Don't you own it, Daddy? Connie – Constantine Smith, ring a bell? – well, Connie seemed to think you owned lots of places in London.'

He jerked the cuffs, causing the door of the Alvis to creak on its hinges.

‘Dammit, Estelle, release me. I refuse point blank to discuss family business in front of him' – he pointed an accusing finger at me again – ‘and with you when you're in this mood. Have you been taking something again? Is it like last time?'

‘No, it's not like last time,' she said, and she twisted her upper body at him like a child would, as she said it. ‘Last time was when Mummy died. I had an excuse.'

‘There's no excuse for this!' he bellowed.

He was wearing a clean white shirt and black trousers, as if he had been changing when she'd phoned. The shirt was already beginning to show sweat stains around the armpits.

‘Estelle!' he yelled at her. ‘I demand you stop this at once!'

She looked at me.

‘Told you we wouldn't get anything out of him.'

‘Okay, Phase Two,' I said as I walked by her. ‘Stand clear.'

‘Where's he going, Estelle? Estelle!'

I didn't turn around. I went out through the hangar doors and round to the side of the museum where I had parked Armstrong. I started him up and took a look around the grounds to make sure there were no late tourists. Over the fields, the light was beginning to fade. I dropped into first gear and swung out in a semi-circle and into the hangar, heading straight at the straining figure of Sir Drummond.

Of course, I stopped long before I got to him. Well, a couple of feet anyway. Then I got out and walked behind Armstrong and slid the hangar doors closed.

As I did so, he yelled: ‘What are you doing? Estelle, what's going on?'