Worthless Remains (23 page)

I lay awake for a long time, watching the moon shadows creep across the wall.

Despite worrying for what seemed like hours over whether I had given away the blackmail payment to a lucky remote-control model enthusiast by mistake I woke early, feeling refreshed. It was much cooler this morning than it had been and a fresh north wind was blowing. Stoneking was the only one at the breakfast table.

‘Reduced service this morning; Carla was feeling too ill to make breakfast,' he said. ‘There's eggs and bacon, that's all I can manage in the kitchen, I'm afraid. Emms was here a moment ago, looking ghostly. She poured herself some black tea and went upstairs again. No filming today and no digging, she said. Everyone feels too iffy or too tired. How's Annis?'

‘I left her asleep.'

‘Why didn't you tell me she was your girlfriend?'

‘Didn't I?' I hadn't at the time, not wanting him to think I was recommending her purely because of it.

‘You never mentioned it and I nearly made a fool of myself.'

‘Sorry, I thought I had.'

‘Never mind.' He poured himself more coffee. ‘Lucky bastard.' He walked to the window and looked out over the lawns. ‘I don't suppose she'll want to do any painting today and they'll not do any digging either. What am I supposed to do all day?'

‘Whatever you used to do before the circus came to visit,' I said and dropped an avalanche of crispy bacon across my scrambled eggs.

‘Mm,' Stoneking scoffed. ‘Not a lot, then. I suppose I could mow the lawn with the sit-on mower. Needs doing, with all those people trampling it down.'

‘Get some sheep. That's what we do. We borrow them from a neighbour.'

‘Ha! Sam would go ape if he thought I was going to replace him with livestock.' He was smiling now. ‘I'll think about it.'

‘You'll need a small flock of them for this place.'

After breakfast I took my mug of coffee for a walk through the grounds. Some diggers were queuing for breakfast at Delia's van. News of the unscheduled holiday had reached them and I thought I detected more than a pinch of
schadenfreude
in the enjoyment of those who had been excluded from the feast. Delia told everyone she had seen it coming. ‘She might be a good historian,' she said, ‘but I knew the minute I looked at her setup that food safety wasn't high on her list of ingredients.'

Julie and the goateed Adam were there, drinking tea and wolfing bacon butties, Julie with one eye on her paperback, Adam with both eyes on her. Neither of them had much sympathy for the suffering VIPs. ‘I'm glad you and Mark Stoneking escaped,' Julie said, squinting up at me against the sun. ‘But for the rest I like to think of it as karmic revenge for treating us as second-class citizens and always keeping all the perks to themselves.' She lifted her egg-and-bacon roll up high and waved it towards the house. ‘I hope they can smell this!'

‘I prefer brown sauce to fish sauce any time,' Adam added.

‘That's because you're an inverted middle-class snob who likes to pretend he has working-class tastes,' Julie said in a matter-of-fact tone. She put down her paperback and turned to me. ‘The nighthawks were back last night. There's two holes dug in the woods and two more on the lawn as well. We'll need to organize a night watch.'

‘I'll give it some thought,' I promised.

‘They're very strange nighthawks,' Julie said. She reached into a breast pocket on her jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. As she held it up for my inspection I could see it contained a coin and what looked like a bent piece of wire. ‘I found that in the spoil from the holes they dug. A third-century coin and the bronze pin from a brooch. I don't know if they found something and left this behind or never even saw it, but it seems rather odd.'

‘I'll give that some thought too,' I said and moved on. As I did, Adam took up what sounded like a well-rehearsed argument between the two.

‘Inverted middle-class snob? I think what you meant to say was . . .'

I left them to it and walked on, right around the Hall, stopping from time to time to sip my coffee and admire. I wondered how long it would take me to get bored of a huge house, ninety acres of land, swimming pool, sports car and Rolls Royce, as Mark Stoneking so obviously was. Just deciding on which bit of your football-pitch-sized lawn to laze around would surely kill some time.

The roof repair team had arrived. They were a specialist outfit that had expertise in the repair of manor house and cathedral roofs and charged specialist prices, Stoneking had told me over breakfast. I could see them now, chatting to each other on walkie-talkies, workers on the roof, boss on the ground, Stoneking standing next to him. My mobile rang. It was Giles Haarbottle from Griffins insurance. ‘How are you progressing with Mike Dealey?' he asked.

‘I'm sticking to him like glue,' I said. ‘I'm watching his front door at the moment, been here for an hour already. Nothing's moving but I don't think he has spotted me watching his house.'

‘Well, he would find that rather difficult since you appear to be standing in front of Tarmford Hall drinking tea from a blue and white mug and chatting to me on the phone. I'm the chap sitting in his grey VW waving at you.'

‘Ah.' I looked up. Sure enough Haarbottle was there, parked on the gravel next to my Citroën. I put my mobile away and walked over, frantically trying to think of a plausible explanation. I failed. This was one lie I couldn't explain away. His window slid down and I leant jovially on his car roof for a chat. ‘What are you doing here?' I asked.

‘This pile of tottering masonry is insured with us. I've never been here, so I grabbed the chance to meet the famous man and have a look around. I had no idea
Time Lines
were digging the place up. Now explain why you are hanging around out here instead of watching Mike Dealey's every move?'

‘I'm looking after Guy Middleton while they're filming the dig here.'

‘How long?' he asked menacingly.

‘End of the week. Then I'm back, full-time, shadowing Dealey.'

Haarbottle grunted doubtfully. ‘What's Guy Middleton like, then?'

‘Bit of a pain.'

‘Celebrities can be, I suppose. Mind you, Mr Stoneking seems very nice, but then we are handling his claim for the roof. Honeysett, have you ever actually been to Mike Dealey's place?'

‘Oh, absolutely. And there's nothing to do here today so I'll go over in a minute and have another shot at him.'

‘You do that.' He started the engine. ‘And for pity's sake keep in touch, Honeysett. Do call, even if it's only to lie to me.'

‘I promise.' I put on my most sincere face and watched him drive away with my empty coffee mug on the roof of his car.

I was true to my word. I told Annis I'd be away for a while and set off towards Bath with good intentions. These were soon somewhat diluted by the realization that I had no thermos of coffee to keep me company and also needed to stock up on munchable items to keep the hunger at bay and to keep my teeth from getting bored, which they frequently did when staring at houses out of the car window. I swung by the Thoughtful Bread Company in Green Park Station, got sidetracked into browsing for pickles while buying French butter and milk in town, dropped into Goodies deli in Larkhall for Parma ham and some goat's cheese and by the time I fell through the door at Mill House with my shopping it was time for lunch anyway.

Annis had been right, there was nothing but pinto beans left in the cupboards. My fat pay cheque from
Time Lines
would soon take care of the larder and an equally good-looking cheque from Griffins Insurance – always assuming I found Dealey was faking it – should make sure that it remained well-stocked for a while. In the meantime there were now four mouth-watering sheep standing in the meadow and I wondered if I should make the farmer an offer for them when I got paid.

I rescued some of the herbs they hadn't eaten, added them to some sweated onions, poured in three beaten eggs, dropped in a few pinto beans and crumbled goat's cheese over the top. I left it on top of the stove until it was beginning to set then shoved it under a hot grill for a couple of minutes. Simple stuff really, this cooking lark. While I lunched on my frittata I called Tim at work.

‘How is your rock ‘n' roll lifestyle?' Tim asked.

‘Not all it's cracked up to be,' I said with my mouth full.

‘What are you eating?' he demanded to know. I told him. ‘Sounds nice. It's anaemic ham and cheese sandwiches here,' he complained, ‘and there were no ketchup sachets left. I had to use tartare sauce to disguise the taste and half of it ran into my keyboard and now I have a bit of gherkin between D and F that doesn't want to come out.'

‘Another tough day at the office.'

‘Is this just a courtesy call?'

‘No. There's trouble up at the big house. Death threats, drugged whisky, poisoned food, blackmail and assorted night prowlers. Annis has been laid low with food poisoning but is recovering. It would be nice if we could see what went on in the dark up there.'

‘That can certainly be arranged. We have enough night-vision cameras to keep tabs on your prowlers. What are they on the prowl for?'

‘All sorts, I shouldn't wonder. Among other things they are digging unauthorized holes in the ground. I fell into one.'

‘Big holes. What are they digging for?'

‘Anything worth flogging, one assumes; it's now a known archaeological site. But there may be more to it than that, I just don't know what yet.'

‘Why don't I meet you after work? I could drop the gear off at Mill House or you could come round to my place.'

‘I'm not sure yet, I'll be spending the day watching Mike Dealey's house since there's no filming today; everyone's feeling too ill with a stomach bug. And anyway, you know I'm useless with electronic stuff, and Annis is feeling crap, so you will have to set the things up for us.'

‘Does that mean I'll get to see Stoneking's stately pile?'

‘Of course. Are you into Karmic Fire too?'

‘I loathe them with a passion. What an incoherent racket.'

‘I think Stoneking would agree with you but if you meet him don't tell him I said so. Can I give you a few names?' I rattled off a list of names I had copied from an insurance form left lying about by Cy. It included Andrea Clementi, the head archaeologist, Julie Rhymer and Adam Horspool, the two diggers, as well as some names from the production team. ‘See what you can find on them when you get a moment or two. I'll call you after work.'

The day remained cool and cloudy, perfect surveillance weather. The last thing you want is a bright sunny day where you get baked sitting in your car while your subject is lying in a deckchair out the back slurping iced drinks and going nowhere. I managed to find a space right at the top of Dealey's road from where I could just see half his bungalow and his Honda parked outside. PC Whatsisname had been persuaded to furnish me with Mike Dealey's ex-directory number. He answered with ‘Hello' on the second ring.

‘Hi, is Tamzin there?' I gushed in my best teenage voice. ‘It's Keenan.'

‘Tamzin? There's no Tamzin here, mate.'

‘Sorry, wrong number.' At least I knew he was in, or rather I knew
someone
was in, if I wanted to be scientific about it.

Three hours later and I had eaten the sandwiches, finished the flask of coffee, snaffled the bag of cough sweets the last owner had left in the glove box and was now contemplating the nutritional value of my bubble pack of antacid tablets, my last edible option inside the car. I had jumped radio stations
ad nauseam
, fiddled with my phone and rearranged my card wallet. I was bored bored bored bored bored and I wasn't even getting paid for this. If Dealey was genuine then I was simply wasting my time here. But just as I was getting the urge to bump my forehead against the steering wheel to see if the pain might alleviate the boredom there was movement.

A silver Astra arrived and squeezed itself behind Dealey's Honda on to the drive. A man got out. I took a picture, and a couple more as he rapped the door knocker on Dealey's front door, then immediately let himself into the house with a key. Carer? Family, judging by his build. I zoomed into the picture on my SLR's screen. Brother, I decided. Same hair, similar features but unencumbered by walrus moustache. I made a note of the car registration just in case.

Well, that was positively exciting compared with the last three hours. Gloom descended once more as I imagined the conversation inside the house.
Dealey: ‘Hi bro, fancy watching this entire box set of Downton Abbey?' Bro: ‘I sure do, Mikey. Let's just order in beer and pizzas and not move from the couch for days . . .'

Twenty minutes of frustrated sighs and groans later the door opened and out came the Dealey brothers, Mike in his wheelchair. I started the engine and sank low in my seat as they got into their respective cars. Mike in his red Honda was leading the way, his brother followed and once they had passed my car I did a hasty three-point turn and tagged along. Hoping this would not be a five-hundred-mile run I kept a respectful distance from the silver Astra since even when sprayed a sensible black, a forty-year-old Citroën would make an unusual sight in their rear-view mirrors. But I needn't have worried; we weren't going far at all. A few turns left and right and finally left again and the convoy halted at the Cross Keys pub on the corner of Southstoke and Midford Roads. Mike parked his Honda on the forecourt, his brother found a space on the road opposite. I slid into a parking space on the quiet Southstoke Road and walked up to the front door just as the pair was negotiating the two stone steps. Close up I would have put money on the two being brothers. I watched the routine indignity suffered by the paraplegic as Mike was being bumped backwards up the steps in his wheelchair, then turned around in the tiny vestibule, after which he moved himself into the lounge on the right. I followed them inside. The place was quite busy for a midweek early evening. Mike's brother moved a chair out of the way for him as they chose the second table along and I heard Mike say ‘Cheers, Tom'. Tom fetched two menus from the bar. I took one myself. Unfortunately the nearest unoccupied table to theirs was a few steps down into a further dining room from where I would have trouble overhearing their conversation but at least I could watch their table from there. Since it looked like they would be here for a while I called Tim; he had just got home.