The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) (14 page)

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—”

            The first voice snapped, “Keep that torch steady. You’ll have him splitting his thumb open.”

            The second voice had stopped speaking but Thorne thought the high-pitched voice sounded familiar.

            Was it Freddie Hollister?

Chapter 29

He couldn’t be sure. He still couldn’t make out the identity of the man with the lower voice, or the man with the hammer and chisel. The sledge continued to strike the wall for the next half-hour, and the only thing Thorne could hear was the first voice telling the other to hold the torch steady.

            The first voice said, “It’s almost five o’clock. We need to stop for now. The workmen will be showing up in less than an hour.”

            Another voice broke in. It was evidently the voice of the one working with the sledge. “I only have five or ten minutes more. It’s ready to drop out . . . are you sure you want to stop?” He spoke so softly Thorne could barely make out all the words.

            The first voice responded, “Yes, there’s no need to rush. We want to take our time here and be thorough. Make up mortar and put it in the joints. It’ll still be soft enough to break out tomorrow night. Hide the hammer and chisel in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet in the Great Hall.”

            The second high-pitched voice said, “I can’t be here tomorrow night. I have to be out of town on business and can’t be back before the following day.”

            The first voice responded, but the words were unclear.

            The second high-pitched said, “Well, then I guess we’ll have to talk about what we find when I get back.”

            The first voice turned in Thorne’s direction and he was able to make out what was being said. “We’ll meet here again tomorrow morning at four o’clock. I’ve contacted our man in Antwerp who has an interest in the same goods you’re primarily interested in. He will be coming, too. We’ll go directly from here to his hotel and complete the transaction.”

            The man with the hammer and chisel said, “I’ll get the mortar made up and a trowel from a file cabinet in the office.” There was movement as the figure descended the stairs to make up the mortar.

            Thorne tried to stand in the cramped space, but couldn’t stand up straight. His rubbed his cramped legs, and tried to straighten them.

            He heard water running as the mortar was being mixed, then footsteps walking back up the stairs. There were short snatches of conversation as the mortar was being applied and, upon finishing, the three went back down the stairs and out to the side gate.

            Thorne cracked open the pantry door and heard muffled conversation, and after a few minutes, the two cars started their engines and drove off. He stepped out of the pantry and stretched his legs. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past five. In less than forty-five minutes, the workmen would start to arrive. He had to move fast.

            He went immediately to the file cabinet where the hammer and chisel had been hidden and picked up the pail of unused mortar and trowel. Rushing up the stairs to the landing, he shone his flashlight on the plaque.  It was the same plaque he’d seen on his earlier inspections, but now it took on an almost magical quality in the intense light of the flashlight’s beam.

            He could now plainly see it was a representation of a bouquet of flowers—poesies.

            He began to scrape out the fresh mortar with the chisel. In ten minutes, he hit the original mortar and began to hammer out the rest of the joint.

            Ten minutes later, he felt the plaque move and none too soon. The flashlight was intermittently blinking off and on. He looked at his watch. In less than twenty minutes, the workmen would be arriving. He grasped the twenty-inch square stone plaque and slowly began to work it from its four hundred year resting place.

Chapter 30

Thorne lifted the heavy stone plaque out gently, set it on the floor and looked inside the ten-inch deep cavity left by the stone’s removal. Through the dimming light of his flashlight, he peered inside.