Classic Calls the Shots (13 page)

‘As perhaps she was meant to, but I need your take
before
I start jumping to conclusions.'

‘The buck stops here.' Roger made a wry face. ‘Too right. But I've so many bucks pulling up here at present that cars don't seem that important. But shoot away.'

‘You've got four very expensive motors out there. Is the insurance side of things in order?'

‘That's done through Nigel Biddington. I've had enough to do over the Auburn in recent days so I know there's nothing wrong with his service. The insurance company is secure enough. The fact that the car was undamaged cheered them up, but not me. It suggests it was pinched out of spite, which might put the others at risk. The company is happy with the precautions so far.'

‘Could the thief have it in for Oxley Productions?'

‘Oxley?' That stirred him up. ‘That's a crazy idea. Why?'

‘It's worth taking seriously.'

He stared at me as though I was the last straw in person. ‘I'll step up security even more. I'll have guards sleeping in those damned cars if need be.'

‘What insurance do you have for Car Day?'

‘Twenty-four hours only. Nigel's taken care of it.'

‘Is Oxley itself insured?'

He took my point. ‘Uninsurable for that degree of risk. Loss of the day's filming could be covered but not all the attendant problems. A nightmare in fact if we can't film. But it won't happen, Jack. Maybe Bill misheard what Angie said.'

I supposed that was just possible, but I had to go on. ‘She died, Roger. If not over the cars, what else? Tom?'

‘The police think so. They've hauled him into the station twice, but he's not been charged. Anyway I gave him a job, so it would have blown over. Motive gone.'

Time to tread delicate ground. ‘I gather your wife was close to Angie. She must have been very upset.' This might be an implication too far, but I had to ask it.

He didn't seem to take offence. ‘Yeah. They were both background performers on
Running Tides
– that's what brought them together. Maisie was brought up in the States and movie-mad, so she pleaded with her folks to let her see what the movie world was all about at first hand. She was real keen on Bill's films, so that's what she chose to go for. She met Angie and stayed friendly. Maisie's a peaceable woman and dropping old friends isn't something she'd do lightly.'

Peaceable or not, I thought, Maisie and Angie had managed to clutch the producer and director respectively, I reflected. Not bad going.

He was a smart man. He must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘During
Tides
Bill was a single man, and I was mid-divorce. Bill had been divorced for some years. No problem. I married Maisie in due course and here we are ten years later, no intention of changing the situation. Bill wasn't so lucky. He never even noticed Angie on set – that came later – but he was obsessed with Margot, and that was a problem.'

‘That led to her suicide?'

He hesitated, then said, ‘She was what I guess you'd call fragile. She was married, had a bust-up with her husband over Bill, but wanted to continue in a threesome with both husband and Bill. Husband was reluctant but prepared to go along with it. Bill wasn't. He wasn't trying to blackmail her into choosing him – not his style – he just decided he should go. She couldn't take the shock of being rejected, as she saw it, and that was it. Bill took a long time to get over it. As for the Auburn, she and Bill very publicly went around in it all the time. Because she was the more public face, it became
her
car in a way.'

‘And later Angie's,' I pointed out.

‘Yeah. Angie's
and
Bill's. Don't take that too far, Jack.'

But I did. A token of victory for Angie. Margot Croft's car. Margot Croft's man.

As I drove back to Frogs Hill, I thought more about Angie's death and where I (and Brandon) should be looking. There was undoubtedly a fork in our road ahead. The cars were one angle, the one I was officially following up. There must have been a reason for Angie's words to Bill. Roger, however, had found nothing amiss with the insurance, so unless he was involved in some kind of fraud – which seemed extremely unlikely – there was no immediate way forward on that front. Saturday would be the day that might produce another lead.

As for the second angle, scratch the surface of the
Dark Harvest
company and there could be quite a few who wanted Angie Wade out of the way, although that was a long way from using murder as the solution. Louise had pointed out that the past was indeed past, and people killed for reasons stemming from the present. That brought me back to happy-go-lucky Tom again, who had been ousted from the job he loved and suspected that he might not be saved another time. I had little doubt that Brandon was hot on his case. Apart from Brian Tegg who was teetering on the brink of losing his role of Lord Charing, there were no other obvious candidates in this category. I needed to scratch deeper.

When I reached Frogs Hill again, I went straight to the Pits. It had not escaped my notice that there might not be enough in the kitty to pay the mortgage at the end of the month unless my work force was galvanized into meeting a few deadlines.

To my surprise neither Zoe nor Len was there. I could see that they
had
been there, but nothing otherwise. Abducted by aliens? This was surely the only thing that would drag them away from their precious grease pit. I went outside again, and this time noticed a familiar car tucked round at the side of the Pits barn. I was glad it was out of sight. To have that monstrous canary-coloured horror desecrating the forecourt of Frogs Hill would put off potential customers.

‘Harry?' I roared.

No reply. Had Zoe and Len taken him into the farmhouse – not the Glory Boot, I hoped. Was he already ransacking it? Valuing it? I rushed straight to it, but thankfully it was undefiled by Harry. So where was everybody?

There was only one place left. Grimly I went into the garden and out of the side gate to the barn-cum-garages where we keep Charlie (our old low-loader), my treasured Gordon-Keeble, and the Lagonda. Sure enough, there were my staff and Harry, who was puffing away like a chimney before the clean air act.

‘Nice old jalopies.' Harry grinned at me.

‘Anything I can do for you?' I enquired.

‘You could do a lot for this place. I've been telling Len here and Zoe – good team you've got, Jack. I'd look after them like a shot.'

I gnashed my teeth in frustration. Len looked a bit sheepish, but Zoe looked as though Harry were a knight in shining armour.

‘We could work up a nice little business here,' Harry kindly offered. ‘You need capital, Jack. Don't forget that. Spend money to make money. Any time you want to talk it over—'

‘The only thing I want to talk over with you, Harry,' I countered pleasantly, ‘is Shotsworth Security.'

He went rather pale. ‘What about it?'

‘You have the contract for the Gladden estate car park, haven't you?'

‘So?' he ventured cautiously. ‘I don't run Shotsworth. I just co-own it. Heard you found your Auburn at Gladden though, so you owe me.'

‘Permitting property on the stolen list into the car park? I don't think so. Especially if there are others.'

There was a strange silence. ‘Stolen, Jack?' Harry said at last. ‘I'm told it was a practical joke. Someone working there.'

‘Told by whom?' I pressed. ‘Nathan Wynn, one of the security guards at Gladden?'

Harry decided to put up a defence. ‘So what? They've been doing their job OK. No fiddling books there.'

‘Making anything on the side, though?'

‘Watch it, Jack. I've got witnesses,' Harry pointed out virtuously.

Bless them, Zoe and Len were chattering furiously to each other, thus rendering themselves incapable of bearing witness. Their dialogue drowned my next words too, which was just as well. ‘If you're mixed up with anything, Harry, it won't look good for you. Not with Dave Jennings after you. I've looked after you so far.'

Harry promptly got down to business. ‘You know I'm straight, Jack.'

‘Within wavy lines,' I agreed.

‘Keep in touch. I'll look into it. If I find there's a glitch –' he gave me a sideways glance – ‘you won't hear about it, but the problem will go away.'

At least
he
went away. That was a start. Indeed he almost ran, and I wondered where his next destination would be.

I knew where mine was – and hoped I didn't meet Harry there. I took a brief detour to the Pits whither Zoe and Len condescended to return to tell them I had a date with Gladden Car Park, but I'd be back to discuss work schedules. Rob was hanging around so the word ‘schedules' ran like water off a duck's back where Zoe was concerned, and Len merely nodded and commented that the Porsche 356 just brought in needed attention.

Later, I promised myself. Right now, there was something that needed my urgent attention at Gladden.
Before
Harry was able to have a chat with Nathan Wynn.

Nathan wasn't on duty when I drove into the car park and I didn't recognize the new guard. He was big, and unlike Nathan didn't even pretend jollity.

‘Police,' I told him, flashing my pass, but he seemed uninterested. I drove on down to the lower level and parked. I then had a look around to see how many cars were under wraps today. There was a Focus parked where the Auburn had been, shining and sparkly clean. No wraps on that. Three cars were covered, however, so I went to investigate them. The Jag I had seen earlier was either no longer here or had moved to another place before donning its veil of tarpaulin. Of the three under wraps, one proved to be an ancient Renault that hadn't moved since they stopped walking before cars with a red flag. It had on it a licence that was out of date by five years, and it had lost a wheel. Maybe the owner was never coming back or didn't need a car up in paradise. The next one was an Aston Martin DB4, and the third—

I never got a chance to find out. I was vaguely aware of two shapes whirling out of the shadows, then I was seized from behind with a hand round my throat and another one punching my stomach. Then I was on the hard concrete floor and saw a large boot heading straight for me.

A
& E in a large hospital late in the evening invites no sympathy for its patients – to staff and other sufferers I was just a middle-aged lout who'd been in a punch-up. By the time I was unloaded from the ambulance, however, I was past caring about anyone save what was left of myself. In due course I was given various tests delivered with icy glances, kept in overnight for a further X-ray, and duly written off the next morning with severe bruising and a couple of busted ribs. My feelings weren't noted on the official record.

‘What happened, Jack?' Zoe asked when she duly picked me up in her old banger – a twenty-five-year-old Ford Fiesta. She looked concerned so I knew I did not present a handsome picture. It takes a lot to stir Zoe's compassion – unless you're Rob of course.

‘Someone objected to my strolling through the Gladden car park.'

‘Why go back?' Zoe asked. ‘You'd found the Auburn.'

‘Wondered what else might be there.' It would have sounded weak to anyone but Zoe. She was on my wavelength.

‘Did you find it?'

‘Not sure.'

‘Typical,' Zoe said kindly. ‘Try harder.'

‘You try harder with three busted ribs.' I had added one for luck. ‘I sniffed round cars under wraps, but don't know what they told me.'

‘Old age, she said even more kindly.

I tried to be more specific. ‘The Jag I saw the other day had gone. And under the other wraps were an ancient Renault Tourer with only three wheels and an Aston Martin DB4. There was another one I didn't get to see. That's why I'm not sure. OK?'

‘No common denominator. I told Rob you were going—'

‘Rob?' I interrupted, horrified. My fate in Rob's hands? ‘Zoe, he's a chum of Nigel Biddington,' I croaked. She isn't usually such a dope.

‘So?' She looked startled, and I remembered that I'd had to keep Angie's doubts over the car scene to myself. As far as Zoe knew, Nigel was merely the insurance-broking son of the upright Sir John. Which of course he might be, I was forced to concede in fairness. Nevertheless, even if Nathan Wynn had been one of my assailants, there was another one to account for. Maybe Nathan kept a tame hit man for such events as my arrival, because someone had clearly known of my movements. I doubted whether Harry Prince could have got the message through in time, although I suppose it was theoretically possible.

‘Not wise to spread my movements around,' I said as mildly as I could.

She looked at me scathingly, as we drew up outside Frogs Hill. ‘You think Rob would stoop to bashing you up? Or Nigel? Have a look at the
Kentish Graphic.
It was published yesterday. She fished around on the back seat and produced one of the local rags. The front page blared out that the full story of the tragic death of film director's wife Angela Wade could be found on page five. Page five, baulked of hard news on the said death, considered whether the theft and miraculous recovery of ‘her' stolen and valuable car could be a clue to her killer. It was, the story cunningly continued, an interesting fact that the man who found Angela Wade's body also found the missing vehicle, said to be ‘priceless'. It also provided ‘the man's' name and address. Mine.

I groaned and slumped back in the car seat.

‘You always wanted to be on the front page and now you've made it,' Zoe said encouraging. ‘Anyone in Kent could have been following you around yesterday.' Then she glanced at my face and became more human. ‘You toddle off to bed,' she offered, ‘and I'll heat up some soup or make coffee or something.'