Classic Calls the Shots (16 page)

‘So? Security's his job, not theft.'

If only life were that simple, I marvelled. ‘Anyone could have asked him about local car parks.'

Nigel eyed me as though I were the idiot I sounded. ‘And anyone could have driven around the area and found it for themselves.'

‘That's true.' I tried to look crestfallen. From what I'd seen neither the cast nor crew had spare time on their hands to cruise around looking for opportunities. If they did, I reasoned, they'd be hunting for big Maidstone or Ashford multi-storey car parks, not ones that primarily served a smallish housing estate. I'd stick with someone having heard of it at the studios or who knew about it through living locally.

Like Nigel, I thought wistfully. I remembered Joan Burton lived locally and could well know about Gladden, and the ‘female driver' angle popped into my head again. I pushed it right out. She had no reason to start a dirty tricks campaign or steal the Auburn and certainly I didn't see her as a murderer.

A 1934 Adler Trumpf Junior trundled in, with an elderly driver obviously relieved to have survived ordeal by Kentish lanes, and Zoe took over the marshalling duties.

‘That Adler is a beauty,' I said admiringly to Nigel. ‘From an agency?'

‘Yup. Most of these are.'

‘I've seen that one before.' I pointed to a 1935 Jensen-Ford Shooting Brake.

‘Quite possible. It's reasonably local.'

‘One of your clients?'

‘Yes. John Pursey. He was bursting to get in on the film act, although he didn't like the news about the Auburn's disappearance. He'll be keeping an eye on it. By the way, I spotted your Lagonda coming in. Want to drive the charmer on film today?'

‘Can't, alas. It's a 1938.'

‘Might be possible. Insured are you?' When I nodded, he grinned. ‘Hang around hopefully and I'll see if it thrills the great DOP's eyes. If so, he might use it. Louise told me there's a sort of valediction scene set in 1938.'

‘Terrific.'

Fame at last. With this tempting prospect before me, I cheered up. Nigel was a good sort in my book – temporarily at least.

For the next hour or two I absorbed everything that was going on around me, starting off with the mouth-watering array of delectable classic cars ranging from the early to mid 1930s. It was exciting to see it all come to life, like the mythical village in Scotland immortalized in
Brigadoon
, shaking off the sleep of a hundred years and emerging out of the mist into glorious technicolor. I saw Chris wandering by as a stiff von Ribbentrop; Joan bustling past in her black outfit; elegantly clad extras strolling around in midnight blue or black dress coats and dinner jackets; chauffeurs with polished boots and caps chatting with women in close-fitting evening gowns and brocade wraps, all picking their way to the Manor forecourt. I saw Graham, currently an exquisitely tailored Prince of Wales, having a quick canoodle with a chauffeur, and Lord Charing arguing with Bill over something I could not hear. He must have seen me, because he came over when Bill had finished with him.

‘I told Angie that line wasn't going to work,' Brian grumbled. ‘Now even Bill wants me to keep it. I ask you. How can I say to Julia, “Come along and see me sometime, darling”? I'd sound like bloody Mae West. Bill just says try it.'

‘Bill usually sees things straight,' I said sympathetically.

‘Maybe. Trouble is Angie always had to know best, because she couldn't forget she was once a humble background performer like the rest of us. Once an extra, always an extra deep down.'

‘That's not the image of Angie that came over to me,' I said.

‘Of course not. But scratch the surface and there she was, quivering. You ask Tom.'

He wandered off, and I set off to admire a late arrival in the classic car line-up: a Delage cabriolet.

But then I saw her. The vision – the nightmare. The inimitable Pen, busy chatting up Joan and Chris at one of the tables in the catering field. She was wearing jeans, a tank top and a flowering hat. A typical Pen outfit. I strode over to her in the hope of minimizing damage.

‘Morning, Pen,' I said dangerously.

She glanced up, nose twitching. ‘Sweet of you, but no need to join us, Jack.'

‘Thanks, I will,' I returned, sitting down at the fourth seat. ‘My job is to look out for suspicious characters. How did you get in?'

Joan and Chris looked mystified, so I introduced them. ‘Meet the Lady of the
Kentish Graphic
,
Pen Roxton. You can congratulate her on her shrewd vitriol.'

Pen just laughed, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. It probably wouldn't. She is the original ice queen when at work. As I had no doubt she was now.

‘Bill Wade said I could sit in on the filming,' she stated.

‘Did he know who you were?'

‘Friend of his wife.'

‘Were you?'

‘Saw her once. Last week, I think. Nipped in to see whether there was any mileage in the Auburn theft. Told to see her, but she was arguing with that chap over there.' She waved a hand towards Nigel Biddington. ‘I tried, but I couldn't hear much of it. They stopped when I came in.' She sounded aggrieved. ‘Something about thirty, that's all.'

‘Pieces of silver?' I asked sweetly. ‘You'd know about that.'

‘They must have been talking about the cars coming today,' Chris ventured as a pointless peace offering. ‘Thirty's the magic number, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' I said, storing the information about Angie away. It might be interesting if Pen could be relied on – and she could. It wasn't the facts that were the problem – it was what she did with them.

‘Probably nothing,' Joan said. ‘Angie often rowed with Nigel. I heard them too.'

I was about to enquire further when Pen barged in with all guns blazing.

‘Then I went to see Bill. I asked him about Margot Croft.' Pen said blithely. ‘He clammed up.'

‘I'm not surprised.' Joan looked aghast. ‘What did you ask him?'

‘Whether Margot had killed herself in the Auburn – nice story if she did, with it going missing now and all that.'

All three of us sat stunned. Especially me. This was going it a bit, even for Pen. None of the reports I'd read of Margot's death mentioned the Auburn. ‘Very tactful,' I replied at last. ‘Did Bill reply, or did he get you thrown out?'

‘He's a gent. Unlike you, Jack. Knows how to behave. He told me she killed herself in her own car, a Lancia.'

‘Happy now?' I asked ironically.

‘Not yet.' She grinned and I groaned.

‘So what comes next? Whatever it is, I doubt if it will win you a free seat at the
Dark Harvest
premiere.'

‘Maybe it's more fun not to have one.' Pen turned purposefully to Joan and Chris. ‘You said you were around for
Running Tides.
You must have been extras, like Angie. And Tom Hopkins was there too. She sacked him last week, didn't she? Why? Knew too much, did he? Did Brian Tegg? Or that wimp Graham East? You knew Angie when she was an extra. Extras always fancy bigger parts. Wanted to play Ramble herself, did she?'

‘Yes, but not—' Joan yelped, but Pen swept on.

‘Jealous of Margot Croft, was she?'

‘That's enough,' Chris shouted. ‘Pure nonsense and it's not true. It's not. Margot was a star, a
real
star and Angie was a beginner. She couldn't—'

Pen shrugged him off like an annoying ant. ‘Star? Because she slept with the producer, or in her case director, maybe both, to get the part?'

Joan rose trembling to her feet. ‘I will not listen to this. I
will not.
Come on, Chris.'

Chris needed no urging after this attack on Margot's integrity, and followed her, leaving me poleaxed with a complacent Pen. ‘Touched a nerve, didn't I? I've got a theory, Jack,' she said confidentially, although that isn't a word that sits easily with Pen.

I struggled to keep listening, on the basis that I have – odd though it might seem – respect for Pen in some ways. I like the way she pulls no punches; I hate the way she prepares them. On one level she's trustworthy, but on all the others, put on your hard hats because concrete rain's going to fall.

I put on the hard hat this time. ‘What is this theory, Pen? Tell me the worst.'

‘Bill Wade killed Angie.'

‘
What?
' This was worse than even I could take, much worse. ‘You can't go with that.'

‘I can go with what I like,' she said with dignity. ‘I put two and two together.'

‘And made forty-nine,' I whipped back. ‘What on earth makes you think Bill would kill Angie? He adored her.'

‘Granted. At one time. Suppose dear Angie was involved in Margot Croft's death? Plenty of extras have it in for the stars, especially if they're turned down for the big parts. And I bet that's what happened. Angie thought her career path should go straight up, but she wasn't good enough.'

I was hypnotized by the ludicrousness of Pen's suggestion that Bill had murdered his wife. ‘Where does Bill come in?'

Pen gripped me by my bad arm, the darling. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold, you know.'

‘And what does that sinister remark mean?'

‘
Dark Harvest
, the Auburn and Angie Wade. They all add up to Bill Wade's revenge.'

‘For what, for heaven's sake?'

Pen was on a roll now. ‘He discovered the truth about little Angie and Margot Croft. Suppose Margot did die in the Auburn? He might even have moved the body himself. He might have felt responsible in some way. Or maybe, yes, this is better, suppose he just found out recently?'

‘Found out what?' I hissed, conscious that others were in earshot.

‘That Angie murdered Margot Croft.'

I was no longer mesmerized. Voice and brain got together at last. ‘Do you have one scrap of evidence, be it hearsay, third party, a loose thread – or better, DNA – to back this up?'

‘No.' Pen grinned. ‘But I will. It will make a damn good story.'

‘Pen,' I said through clenched teeth, ‘you print anything like that and I'll personally see every libel lawyer in town will be at your throat.
Get lost.
'

P
en did get lost – or at any rate appeared to do so. I saw her marching to the car park, so I hoped for the best. Her daft ‘theories' dreamed up out of nowhere could do real damage if spread around and I was glad that Chris and Joan had left by the time she really got into her stride. Should I even waste time in considering what Pen had so cheerfully suggested? Reluctantly I supposed I should, but first they needed digesting. Pen could whistle down the wind for a while.

Luckily Nigel appeared and asked me to move the Lagonda out of the general parking area to a position nearer the compound. Zoe would guide me there. Would she indeed, I thought. Zoe was clearly rising in the ranks from park attendant to film crew. The Lagonda couldn't be in the compound itself because that was where the overall shots of the Jubilee guests' cars were to be filmed. The idea was to indicate that all nations were together – temporarily. ‘One of Bill's crazier ideas,' Nigel said vaguely.

Looking at Nigel, I decided my money was on Bill. Many ideas sound wacky when spelled out, but in the hands of a master prove to be magic. I couldn't make Nigel out. He had one of those pleasant faces that tell you nothing. The English when they choose can be every bit as inscrutable as the Chinese. If Angie had been right and there
was
something going on with these cars, then it would be hard to believe that Nigel wasn't involved, simply because of his advisory role here combined with his day job. To me he didn't look as if he could organize his way into an empty garage, but I've had enough surprises in my life not to bet on it.

Zoe duly ushered the Lagonda to a parking spot at the side of the house, beyond Roger's temporary office, and the first person I set eyes on when we returned to the compound was Dave. He isn't really a classics man so seeing him here was surprising. He was talking to Nigel, but broke off to walk over to greet me. ‘How's it going, Jack?'

‘Still aching.'

He regarded me pityingly. ‘Talk sense. I can see you're back on your feet. I meant how's the job?'

He already knew about Angie's words to Bill, so I told him that both Pen and Joan had indicated there was trouble between her and Nigel and that I would be following up that lead. So far, I told him, the insurance angle seemed OK, so assuming that was the case there must be something I or we were missing.

‘With Biddington involved?' he asked.

‘Jury's out. He seemed ecstatic over seeing the Auburn back, which doesn't suggest funny business on his part.'

‘Unless he forgot to insure it. Inverted commas round the “forgot”.'

‘According to Roger Ford, he didn't. And don't forget I was attacked
after
the Auburn was found.'

‘Coincidence. Opportunist mugger or a righteous owner thinking you were up to no good,' Dave retorted.

‘If so, there were two righteous owners and muggers. Anyway, I don't believe in chance. Nathan Wynn has vanished, posted elsewhere.'

‘Right. My info is that he's still with Shotsworth Security, but at an estate car park between Faversham and Whitstable, called Helsted.'

‘I'll follow that up.' I had a feeling there was a loose connection that I wasn't making. ‘Harry Prince might be owner and Mark Shotsworth doing the dirty work.'

‘Maybe, but I don't see how that ties in with the attack on you. Still looks like a straight mugging to me.'

‘Nothing straight about it,' I said with feeling. ‘They didn't pinch anything for a start, except maybe my mobile.' Then I grasped the loose connection. ‘Missing classics, Dave. Remember that Jag XK150 I told you about?'