bang,’ he said, beaming. ‘Murder. Egbert, Eastry. Let’s talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs. King Richard the Second. I shall go tomorrow – with you, if you like, young man.’
I extricated myself with promises I would try to keep, though I doubted if he would remember them even as long as it took to leave the room. ‘Does his son live near?’ I asked Josie as she showed me out.
‘Not that far. Canterbury. He’s an archaeologist too. Keith has power of attorney or I’d never get paid. I live in with a relief at weekends and if I’m lucky a day off. It’s a roof over my head, and Mum’s not far away. She and Tony come over regular.’
‘I saw the wedding photo of his wife. Was she the Morris Minor fan?’
‘Yes. Both of them, really. She must have been dotty about them, because there are quite a few pics of that Minor. Ambrose thinks he still has one sometimes, poor lamb.’
‘He doesn’t have one though?’
A short laugh. ‘No way. He’s seventy-eight now and been like this for eight or nine years and hasn’t driven since. There’s still a car in the garage – a Renault estate – in which Keith takes him out sometimes. Ambrose likes familiar things.’
I went away saddened. It was only later I remembered that I hadn’t asked her about Matt Wright, the fourth member of the former Charros.
SIX
I tried to concentrate on Matt, but I couldn’t get a fix on him as memories of Daisy’s indignant face kept coming back to me. Try as I could to wedge Melody into a spare corner of my mind where she wouldn’t get lost but would stay quietly until I got round to her, my brain was forever doing U-turns much neater than she could ever achieve. I told myself once again that Carlos’s murder came first, otherwise I would have been drifting round Kent in the forlorn hope of pinning down a lost car. I would assuage my conscience by trying Bluebell Hill one more time, however, as soon as I could fit it in.
The plan worked, because as I drove through the gates of Frogs Hill I realized that I had been focusing so much on the Charros that I had overlooked one possible factor. The May Tree itself, whose living history did not begin with the band. Barmaid Betty Gibson went back much further than that, and even Carlos had known the pub when he visited Matt before the band was formed. Matt, too, had been a regular at the pub.
Belinda had given me Matt’s mobile number but I had tried it several times without success. Messages left on voicemail brought no response, which was frustrating to say the least. He was an odd-job man so why not reply to phone messages? Had he been warned about me? If so, why? I remembered Josie’s casual reference to the missing ‘loot’ from the May Tree Shoot-Out in 1978. Was it stretching imagination too far to wonder whether Carlos or his chum Matt had discovered where it was? Could that have been the root of the ‘business’ meeting at the lock? A meeting with – my ignition fired up –
Tony’s missing wife
?
Carlos specialized in wives. Suppose he’d run into her before or after Eva’s explosion into his life, perhaps in Mexico? It was possible, although unlikely, that either through her or otherwise he had got information on the whereabouts of the proceeds from the raid that had caused the shoot-out, and so it was worth considering.
Try home resources first – that was Dad’s maxim. So I did. I marched into the Pits in a meaningful manner, which received the usual amount of attention – none – so I resorted to cunning.
‘Nice work there, Len. Glad you solved the Jowett mystery.’
This resulted in an immediate reaction – well, as immediate as Len ever gets. We had lift-off on the communication front. He blushed. ‘Only used my eyes. We all have them. Rust round the engine blocks. Water leaks through the cracks. Just got to strip the engine down, weld and remachine the block, reassemble, then realign the engine.’
I made duly impressed noises, then said
I extricated myself with promises I would try to keep, though I doubted if he would remember them even as long as it took to leave the room. ‘Does his son live near?’ I asked Josie as she showed me out.
‘Not that far. Canterbury. He’s an archaeologist too. Keith has power of attorney or I’d never get paid. I live in with a relief at weekends and if I’m lucky a day off. It’s a roof over my head, and Mum’s not far away. She and Tony come over regular.’
‘I saw the wedding photo of his wife. Was she the Morris Minor fan?’
‘Yes. Both of them, really. She must have been dotty about them, because there are quite a few pics of that Minor. Ambrose thinks he still has one sometimes, poor lamb.’
‘He doesn’t have one though?’
A short laugh. ‘No way. He’s seventy-eight now and been like this for eight or nine years and hasn’t driven since. There’s still a car in the garage – a Renault estate – in which Keith takes him out sometimes. Ambrose likes familiar things.’
I went away saddened. It was only later I remembered that I hadn’t asked her about Matt Wright, the fourth member of the former Charros.
SIX
I tried to concentrate on Matt, but I couldn’t get a fix on him as memories of Daisy’s indignant face kept coming back to me. Try as I could to wedge Melody into a spare corner of my mind where she wouldn’t get lost but would stay quietly until I got round to her, my brain was forever doing U-turns much neater than she could ever achieve. I told myself once again that Carlos’s murder came first, otherwise I would have been drifting round Kent in the forlorn hope of pinning down a lost car. I would assuage my conscience by trying Bluebell Hill one more time, however, as soon as I could fit it in.
The plan worked, because as I drove through the gates of Frogs Hill I realized that I had been focusing so much on the Charros that I had overlooked one possible factor. The May Tree itself, whose living history did not begin with the band. Barmaid Betty Gibson went back much further than that, and even Carlos had known the pub when he visited Matt before the band was formed. Matt, too, had been a regular at the pub.
Belinda had given me Matt’s mobile number but I had tried it several times without success. Messages left on voicemail brought no response, which was frustrating to say the least. He was an odd-job man so why not reply to phone messages? Had he been warned about me? If so, why? I remembered Josie’s casual reference to the missing ‘loot’ from the May Tree Shoot-Out in 1978. Was it stretching imagination too far to wonder whether Carlos or his chum Matt had discovered where it was? Could that have been the root of the ‘business’ meeting at the lock? A meeting with – my ignition fired up –
Tony’s missing wife
?
Carlos specialized in wives. Suppose he’d run into her before or after Eva’s explosion into his life, perhaps in Mexico? It was possible, although unlikely, that either through her or otherwise he had got information on the whereabouts of the proceeds from the raid that had caused the shoot-out, and so it was worth considering.
Try home resources first – that was Dad’s maxim. So I did. I marched into the Pits in a meaningful manner, which received the usual amount of attention – none – so I resorted to cunning.
‘Nice work there, Len. Glad you solved the Jowett mystery.’
This resulted in an immediate reaction – well, as immediate as Len ever gets. We had lift-off on the communication front. He blushed. ‘Only used my eyes. We all have them. Rust round the engine blocks. Water leaks through the cracks. Just got to strip the engine down, weld and remachine the block, reassemble, then realign the engine.’
I made duly impressed noises, then said
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