Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery (19 page)

I left Zoe and Len with Tim while I went back to the clubhouse. However much I felt for Tim my priority today had to be the meeting. All seemed quiet from the outside, but directly I walked in the main door I could hear voices. Lots of them, angry ones. There was already a slanging match in progress, and I thought it might be wise to take a quick intelligence recce before I entered it. Hedda would be ideal, so I nipped into the bar.

‘What's going on up there?' I asked her.

‘Merry hell,' she replied cheerfully. ‘My dad's up there too.'

‘He's not a shouter.'

‘No, but the rest are. Ray, Glenn, Fenella, Boadicea, Peter, the lot. Jess too.'

‘What are they arguing about?'

She shot me a look. ‘Better find out yourself, boyo.'

The door was open and no one noticed me enter. The assembly was too intent on what was going on. I could see Ray Nelson's back, Peter next to Fenella on an uncomfortable looking sofa, Jason standing by the window with a slight smile on his face, Jessica and Boadicea both looking flushed and angry and Glenn sitting by himself on a managerial-type chair. Knives were obviously not only out but being flourished (metaphorically, at least).

Then Ray's voice rang out loud and clear over the general uproar. ‘I've had enough of this. He wasn't even my bloody son, Arthur spawned him.'

The noise stopped dead and I tried to gather my wits. This beggared belief. Surely Arthur could not have been expecting this? Mike's parentage would be the last subject he would want discussed publicly. And worse, what if Glenn and Fenella still did not know the truth? There was nothing I could to help, however, and I awaited the repercussions with foreboding. When the silence was broken, it was by Glenn showing a chilling calmness.

‘You telling me that jerk was my brother, Ray?'

Fenella's face had abandoned inscrutability for sheer horror, and Peter put his arm round her. She didn't seem even to notice. Looking at Peter, I wondered whether this revelation was news to him or not, as his face remained impassive.

Glenn spotted me, but swept on after a dismissive glance. ‘That kind of explains the drain on the family fortunes. Blackmail, was it, Ray? A touch of your saying you got my wife in the family way, Arthur Howell, so how about you give me an easy ride for the rest of my life?'

I was here as Arthur's representative but I couldn't speak for him. How on earth could Arthur not have told Glenn before this? All I could do now was play observer.

Ray was purple in the face with fury, as though the pent up emotions of years were spilling out – spitting out would be a more accurate description. ‘A drain on family fortunes, that's rich. What have you ever added to them? I brought up his son.'

‘By my grandmother,' Peter smoothly observed. He must be between a rock and a hard place: should he support his family or keep in with the Howells? Either way, Miranda Pryde was his best card.

‘Keep out of this, Peter,' Ray snapped.

‘It seems to me,' Fenella said coolly, ‘that he and I are very much part of this. We're the inheritors of this mess.'

Glenn came right back at her. ‘No Nelsons are going to get in my path.'

‘Not yours,' Fenella retorted. ‘
Ours
, Dad, and incidentally Peter's included in that. I've hired him as a consultant.'

Had she indeed? Peter's waiting game must be over.

‘Then I'll fire him again,' Glenn shot back.

I caught Jessica's eye and prepared to weigh in on her side if she needed it but that didn't seem to be necessary. She was well below the parapet in this battle.

I was wrong, though, because she bravely intervened. ‘Aren't we getting away from the future of Old Herne's and how it can be saved?'

It was a good try, but it failed.

‘I'll decide what its future is,' Glenn said in his quiet I've-won-thousands-of-boardroom-battles-and-not-lost-one voice.

Boadicea then entered the ring, and with some dignity. ‘In the light of my husband's death, it's up to Arthur to decide what happens next. He could surprise you all, when he has had time to reflect on
my
legal position with regard to Old Herne's.'

She seemed quite confident, and I wondered whether she was playing her own version of castles in the air or whether she did indeed have some firm basis for this?

‘Meanwhile, Anna, I'll manage this place as long as I choose,' Glenn shot back.

Then Jason at last stirred lazily into life. ‘Actually, Glenn, for as long as my grandfather and I choose.' He was no longer smiling.

¹
See
Classic in the Clouds

I
returned to the car park a frustrated man. The number of things I didn't know about this case was shooting up rapidly, and the number I did know was definitely under query. On my list for the ‘Don't Knows' was what Jason meant by Old Herne's not only being under Arthur's control but his too. Next came the question of what Arthur thought he was playing at over Old Herne's future. Top of the list of ‘Do Knows', however, had been my belief that the Porsche had at least some minor connection with Mike's murder, but now I wasn't even sure about that.

Apart from Boadicea, who might still be asserting claims on it, the bone of contention currently being torn apart by the family was not the Porsche but a power struggle. The meeting had abruptly broken up (or rather down) at Jason's declaration. Glenn had duly asked me to leave, and as Arthur's representative I had duly refused while they were still gathered there, whereupon Glenn declared it at an end. No one had moved – certainly not me – until at last they admitted defeat leaving Jessica and myself gazing at each other with glazed eyes.

Instead of the heart to heart I wanted she simply said: ‘I must go.' And to my surprise she did.

I had hoped to find Zoe and Len waiting in the bar but neither of them was there, which made me – unfairly – even more frustrated. When I reached the Alfa, however, I could see that someone at least wanted my company. Despite the fact that the car had been securely locked, Doubler was waiting for me in the passenger seat. The old raincoat he wore added the general air of insignificance that he seemed to favour.

I slid in beside him with resignation. True, I had wanted to see him, but not now, not here. ‘Can I stand you a cup of tea?' I asked politely.

‘That's most kind of you, Jack. I appreciate that. But I left my car at the Cricketers. Perhaps you'd run me back? We can chat there.'

‘A pleasure,' I told him, less than sincerely.

‘Run back, not over,' he said reflectively as we drove off. ‘Not like our poor friend Mike. Who committed that deed, Jack? Do you know?'

‘Not yet.' I wasn't crossing him off the list, not while the Porsche theft still held mysteries – although even if Doubler was still on my list, I didn't want to be on his.

It seemed strange to be walking into the hotel with Doubler, but he was clearly unperturbed. Another double for him, I supposed. The man who hid himself so carefully from prying eyes could walk with supreme confidence into public places. The raincoat only added to his aplomb. He reminded me of an acquaintance of my father's, who used to work for the intelligence services in the 1930s. No James Bond Martinis and flair for him. He had been another Doubler, small, slight, unremarkable and therefore unnoticeable. His sole effort at camouflage, so Dad had told me, had been to tip his Trilby hat over his eyes to avoid attention.

‘Business first, I think,' Doubler said as we reached the Cricketers bar lounge. ‘Then we can relax and enjoy our beverages. You wanted to see me?'

‘I did. As my message said, I'd like to return your property, but I don't have it with me.'

‘Remind me. What property is that?'

‘An artificial poppy.'

‘Dear me, is that all?' He looked quite disappointed. ‘It seems a trivial matter. It must have fallen from my pocket during our last pleasant meeting. I'm a sentimental person, Jack. Poppies for remembrance and so on. I'll pick it up some time.'

‘Excellent,' I murmured. ‘Remembering whom?' I had been about to add ‘Doubler' but stopped in time. He wouldn't appreciate that.

‘Shall we stick to more material matters, Jack?' A note of steel now. ‘For instance, I mentioned Mike Nelson. Are your police friends following up every line?'

‘I was employed by them to find the Porsche, not his murderer.'

‘But if the two cases are one?' he asked gently.

I froze. Was he probing for information or warning me to keep off? ‘I still wouldn't be in the loop. The Porsche case is over.'

‘But Nelson's murder is not. And that's a dangerous situation, Jack.'

‘Only for his killer.'

‘I disagree. When killers are frightened, they lash out, Jack. Had that occurred to you?'

I faced this one head on. ‘Are you hinting someone else might be attacked, or are you threatening me?'

‘Warning you, Jack. A friendly act. For my sake, keep a careful eye on the good guys.
Remember.
'

What on earth did he mean by that? And what good guys? ‘Who—'

‘Enough, I think. What else do you require of me?'

‘Alex Shaw,' I told him. ‘And the Porsche.'

‘As for this Alex Shaw, I confess I'm bewildered. I heard a Simon Marsh was involved, and as you say the Porsche has now been restored to the owner's family.'

‘Restoration isn't your line, Doubler, however beautiful the object.'

‘What do you consider is my line?'

‘Power.'

He pondered this. ‘You may be right. Power, yes. I take exception to being double crossed, however. Remember that too.'

The pleasant smile that accompanied this failed to fool me. I would most certainly remember. ‘Were you double-crossed over the Porsche? The police files are still open.'

A long pause. ‘As to Simon Marsh – are you asking me for free passage if you find him?' Doubler asked.

‘Yes. I'll go carefully with him.'

‘In your shoes, Jack, I wouldn't go at all. I really wouldn't.'

When I arrived back at the Pits, albeit still in one piece, I was considerably shaken and wondering how I could best pull myself together. One solution might be to give the Alfa a good clean outside and in. It felt slimy from Doubler's presence even if the slime was only in my head.

As I drove through the gates, however, I saw I had visitors. Two cars. My spirits rose because one of them was Jessica's. There was no sign of her or of the other visitor so I made for the Pits. No one there, yet the doors were open and the Fiesta was back from Old Herne's so they were around somewhere. On a sunny day it seemed likely they would be outside, so I toddled off round the side of the farmhouse in case they were admiring the Lagonda and Gordon-Keeble.

No sign of them there either, but I could hear the sound of voices from the terrace so I opened the garden gate. There, sitting round the table outside the farmhouse windows, were Len, Zoe, Jessica – and Tim. They were engaged in such earnest discussion that they didn't even notice my arrival on the scene. Jessica was the first to spot me.

‘War strategy being worked out,' she explained as I sat down to join the conference.

‘Which enemy?' I asked cautiously. ‘The entire Howell family?' It was great to see her, especially as her presence indicated she was taking Tim's side.

‘No,' she replied. ‘It's Glenn's plans. The balloon's gone up with a vengeance. Tim is going to be fired and the place is to be given a blitzkrieg makeover. We can put up with makeovers but we can't do without Tim. We have to do something to stop this madness.'

‘What about Jason?' I asked. ‘He implied he stood above Glenn in the pecking order.'

‘I've no idea. He must just be trading on his good relationship with Arthur. Do you know what he meant, Tim?' she asked.

‘It's Mr Arthur pulls the strings,' he replied gloomily, ‘whatever young Jason says. You mark my words, I'm only the first to go. All of us old school will follow, you'll see.'

‘I'm here as umpire, Jack,' Jessica explained. ‘I'm taking Tim's case to Arthur.'

That was good news, but I wasn't sure she was going to get anywhere after this morning's showdown. ‘Are you going with her, Tim?'

‘Don't need to,' Tim replied with confidence. ‘Arthur and I see eye to eye, always have. I look after that Morgan of his, don't I? He won't want me to go, but I can't stay on to see the heart and soul ripped out of the place. That's why Miss Hart can speak better for me than I can.'

‘Not necessarily, Tim,' Zoe said – bravely, I thought. I suspected she was trying to hint that even Jessica had to consider her position.

‘Tim's the last reserve,' Jessica said. ‘If I get nowhere on common sense grounds then he can make a personal appeal.'

That sounded a good tactic. ‘Whose side are Fenella and Peter on?' I asked.

‘Their own,' Jessica replied promptly.

‘On a united front?'

‘Peter will make it look that way. He's hell-bent on trying to get rid of Glenn, whereas Fenella has her own agenda.'

‘Also to get rid of Glenn?'

‘No. To get rid of me,' Jessica said bluntly.

She could be right. ‘Don't move too quickly,' I warned her. ‘They can play a waiting game and drive you to crisis point in the meantime. You might try encouraging Glenn to make a mess of it and then pounce – before Old Herne's is wrecked.'

‘He's moving too quickly, Jack, and only Arthur can decide to pull the plug.'

‘Does Arthur know Tim's been fired?' I asked her.

Jessica looked embarrassed. ‘I'm afraid he does.'

I could see the shock written all over Tim's face.

‘Did you tell him or Glenn?' I asked Jessica steadily. This was looking very bad.