Classic Calls the Shots (6 page)

Charden is the far side of Pluckley almost in the Ashford suburbs, and Harry's home is next door to one of his garages. This one was his original investment, and the house was like his choice of cars: big, monstrous, showy. The only difference is that the cars are classics and the house is modern. Once I'd fought my way through the technology that guards his house from those who would like to put Harry in his place, he greeted me quite affably. I like his wife, but there was no sign of her today.

Harry, as I said earlier, is first in line to write a cheque for Frogs Hill Farm and the Glory Boot in particular. He too is on the big showy side. He's also an old rascal, but when the chips are down he can be surprisingly straight. It's when the wheel's still spinning that one has to watch him.

‘What can I do for you, Jack my lad?'

Jack his lad seethed, but I needed his help. ‘Auburn 1935, left-hand drive. Pinched from Stour Studios last Thursday night.'

‘Yeah, I heard about it. Shouldn't be hard to find, even for you.' He sniggered.

‘What did you hear, Harry?'

‘Only that it had gone,' he said hastily. ‘Public knowledge.'

‘Nothing more?' I was suspicious.

Harry looked shifty. ‘Not our fault, Jack.'

I had been right to be wary. ‘
Our
fault?'

‘Security,' he said carelessly. ‘I've got an interest in the firm that runs it. Shotsworth Security. First class, they are.'

Harry has his fingers in so many pies it's surprising there's a crust left anywhere. ‘Well now,' I said. ‘Fancy that. I'll pop in and have a word with them. Nothing more you can tell me?'

Harry seemed oddly relieved. ‘No, and ain't that odd, Jack? You'd think I would have heard
something
.'

‘That's goodish news, Harry. If you haven't, it confirms what I think. It's a spite job. Someone at the Studios.'

He blenched. ‘I wouldn't be sure of that, Jack. Hearing nothing isn't always good.'

He actually looked quite worried on my behalf and he was still staring after me with a somewhat puzzled look on his face as I drove away. I had no doubt that he could have told me more, but had no intention of doing so. And that was bad news.

Next port of call was the hotel where the crew and some of the cast were staying, although not the stars, who were tucked away on the Downs. Some of the crew commuted to the set daily on a need-to-attend basis, as did the extras and a few of the cast. That still left quite a number to be put up locally and Oxley Productions had taken over a big hotel on the edge of Harrietsham, the next village from Lenham on the A20 towards Maidstone. The pleasantly rural name, The Cricketers, refers to the village's excellent cricket facilities in the early nineteenth century, which had fostered the career of Alfred Mynn, otherwise known as the Mighty Mynn or the Lion of Kent. The name was all that was rural about the hotel, which was large and modern and didn't even try to look ancient, though it sported a few tubs of flowers around its forecourt.

My guess was that whoever took the Auburn was probably staying here. Car commuters or local residents would face more problems over planning a theft such as that. From the hotel, however, it would be possible to walk to or from the studios, provided one didn't mind crossing a couple of fields. That would solve the need to leave one's own transport in the parking lot at Stour Studios. There was also, I'd been told, a bus that picked up those who needed transport in the morning and returned them at ten p.m. at the end of the filming day. That wouldn't cover anyone who was working late, which on Thursday night, the DOP's lists had told me, had included crew, extras and a few of the cast.

I ordered a coffee from reception as the bar was unattended. When it arrived it was lukewarm, but it served its purpose by giving me an excuse to wander round the hotel and stroll out into the garden at the rear. That makes it sound enticingly large, which this garden was not, although it was well tailored. My interest, however, was in the car park that lay behind it. I hardly expected to find the Auburn waiting for me, but there were two lock-up garages which I eyed thoughtfully, even though the chances of the Auburn being inside were virtually nil.

I looked up at the North Downs rising gently behind the village. From here the Downs look green and pleasant and always remind me of the Psalmist's: ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my strength.' I know the Downs well. Narrow lanes that used to be smuggling and trading routes criss-cross them, and in between are hamlets and isolated farms aplenty. Any one of them could be hiding the Auburn. Beautiful though the Downs look, man has tampered with them; they have been fought over, dug up for quarries, and used to hide crime from prying eyes for thousands of years. They are timeless and they like you to know it, so it can be eerie up there as well as beautiful. Despite my addiction to cars, I love walking, but on the Downs, particularly in some areas, I often feel my steps quickening and it seems hard to realize that civilization – if one can call it that – is so near at hand. History and prehistory not only lie here, they shout at you.

I returned to reception and produced my police credentials. The receptionist was unimpressed – until I mentioned
Dark Harvest
and Stour Studios. It turned out she was a film fan, and it was seventh heaven for her to have the hotel full of crew and staff. Once, she told me with pride, Justin Parr himself had come in and was ever so nice to her. It took a while for me to get her back to solid ground.

‘Do the crew mainly use the bus?' I asked.

‘Sometimes,' she said helpfully. ‘It comes back about ten fifteen. The bar closes at midnight, but some of them are still sitting around long after that. I work the night shift every so often.'

‘Do many of them eat here?' From what I'd glimpsed of the menu I didn't think that the Roux brothers masterminded the Cricketers' kitchens, and it was far more likely that the film crew and cast ate at the Studios. The food on film sets is usually excellent.

‘Not often,' she conceded.

‘Were you working night shift last Thursday by any chance?'

‘Yes.' Her face lit up as she realized she could help me.

‘Anything special happen that night? Anyone come in during the small hours?'

She looked at me in wonder. ‘Of course. There's a lot of clubs in Maidstone.'

I realized I was going to get nowhere unless I had specific names. One last hope. ‘Do you have CCTV here?'

She brightened up again. ‘Not here. In the car park.'

That was something at least. I'd alert Dave to that one. ‘What's in the lock-up garages?'

‘I don't know.' Her face fell. ‘I could get Winston to show you.'

‘I'd like that.' I smiled at her, and she cheered up. Winston proved to be a lad of not more than twenty and spic and span in a uniform I recognized including the yellow jacket. The same firm as the Studios employed. ‘Shotsworth Security?' I asked as we set off through the garden. He nodded.

‘Good firm to work for. Why do you want to see the garages?' he enquired.

‘Part of a major crime investigation,' I assured him, as he unlocked the first padlock and threw the doors open. All that greeted me was an empty garage.

Winston thought this very funny. ‘No crime there, sir.'

‘Good heavens! The bird has flown,' I exclaimed solemnly.

‘Perhaps he's nesting here.' He chuckled as he unlocked the other one.

That too was empty. ‘Second bird flown too?' he asked.

‘You never know in my line of work.' To make him feel he wasn't being cheated, I carefully noted the clues of the empty garages into my Blackberry, and we parted good friends.

I spent the rest of the day locally, trying local pubs to ask residents and staff if they'd seen the car. Without success. All that told me was that it had probably turned left into the Lenham Heath road, which had fewer houses along it and connected with the A20 running between Ashford and Maidstone. The next step was obvious: the next morning, Wednesday, I would check out the security at the studios with the guard himself. I didn't want to run into Louise without some sort of trophy progress, but short of broadcasting an appeal to the nation, nailing down how and when and whither this car vanished was the pathway to finding it. I was reasonably happy with the ‘how' at least, and even the ‘when'. Now came the hard part.

Having checked in at the barrier, I decided to park first and then walk back, but the best of plans can be held up by a beautiful blonde. As I parked, a rather smart Bentley just drew up and the blonde was emerging from it. She looked familiar and I realized that I had seen her on my TV screen.

‘Would you be Eleanor Richey?' I asked.

She turned blue, blue eyes on me. ‘Why yes, I would. And you are?' She was cooing with all signs saying welcome, and her accent told me she was no English rose, but a fully fledged American beauty. The coo in her voice was not, I thought, a response to my charm but because it was her natural manner.

‘Jack Colby. I'm part of the police hunt for the Auburn.'

She looked impressed. ‘I love that car. I felt a million dollars driving it.'

‘Of course.' I smote my head in mock disgust at myself. ‘You're playing Cora Langton, aren't you? I thought they weren't doing the car shots till next week?'

‘Angie let me try it, the sweetie. She knew I was nervous about it, so we took it for a drive last Thursday and let me take the wheel. We went into Lenham Square and back. Caused quite a stir.'

I imagined it had. Lenham's a good centre for exotic cars, being near the A20 and the Chilston Park country hotel, plus its being a stopping point between London and the Channel. I doubt if it sees many Auburn 1935s, however. The village has a magnificent central square, surrounded by picturesque houses from medieval days onward. Cars can park there, and the Auburn would have had the whole population gaping at it.

I wondered whether it was significant that the car had been taken on the Thursday night. Did I really think that someone had spotted it in the square, tracked it to the studios and arranged to pinch it that speedily? Not possible. Stealing a classic takes a bit of thought and planning. Even so I noted that the car had been in use that day.

Eleanor and I walked to the studios together, and I left her at reception to return to the security barrier. But then I ran slap into Bill Wade.

He was not amused. ‘What the sweet hell are you doing here?' he demanded. ‘Expecting to find my car? Got any leads on it yet?'

One has to be positive with the Bill Wades of this world. ‘I know how the car could have left the complex. Now I'm covering other ground.'

‘What ground, where?' he snapped.

‘First step the security guard and the DOP again – I need the list of who was on call last Friday.'

‘The car went Thursday night.'

‘I know.'

He held my glance, and nodded, professional to professional. ‘Good. Let's go see Greg. Roger will want a word with you about insurance after that.'

I didn't ask who Greg was. It had been Rick I spoke to yesterday. But I'd lose all credibility if I queried it. Instead I followed in Bill's wake as crew and staff scattered to either side like the waves of the Red Sea as he led the way to Greg's domain on the first floor of the admin building.

It turned out Greg didn't have the list; it was on somebody called Jackie's computer. Bill simply stood there. Greg got the message and the list shot through in double-quick time. He handed it over to Bill who skimmed it, and passed it to me. ‘Roger,' he reminded me. ‘Now. Talk to Ken later.'

So off we went again. ‘Tell me how my Auburn got out,' Bill commanded. I obeyed but he was not that impressed.

‘Good work over that hedge, Jack. But the joker still had to get into the garage to get those doors open.'

Time to win a brownie point. ‘Not if he went into the garage during the day and unbolted the rear door ready for that night.'

‘Still had to get in through locked doors.'

‘Not that day. Your wife was out with Eleanor Richey in the Auburn.'

‘Ahead of me there.' He brooded as we crossed the courtyard. ‘So it's someone here.'

‘Looks that way, but not certain.'

A piercing look came my way. ‘What are the chances of my getting it back?'

‘Soon or sometime?'

‘Both.'

‘Soon – slim. Sometime – fifty-fifty.'

‘As bad as that? Someone here has it in for the film, that what you think?' he shot at me. ‘Angie loves that car. Always has. I owned it before I met her, I was driving it during
Running Tides
, but I guess she reckons it's hers now, not mine. You'd best have a word with Angie. She thinks there's something odd going on about the cars for this production.'

‘If that's so, that does affect
Dark Harvest.
Any reason why it should be the target?'

‘No, but I've had security tightened. There are other cars to bear in mind – the Bentley, the Horch, the Fiat. Any or all of them could be next to go.'

That was a looming disaster that I hadn't thought of, but I did a good job of treating it coolly.

‘Could be,' I answered, ‘but the joker has made his point with the Auburn, so the others might be safe.'

‘I want that Auburn back,' Bill said drily. ‘It's special.'

I agreed. And there was something else that was special too: Louise. I caught a glimpse of her as we came out of the building, but she didn't see me. It was all I could do to refrain from rushing after her to demand what Nigel Biddington was doing in her life, but I managed it. In any case, Bill was frogmarching me to Roger's office so I had no choice.

His office was beyond the reception desk I'd visited on my earlier visit. Bill strode right by the desk and thumped on Roger's door. There was no reply.