6.The Alcatraz Rose (21 page)

“Correct.”

“The second question concerns the stolen £800,000.”

“Follow the money, eh?”

“In this case, let’s think diamonds.”

“I thought we’d already discussed that.”

“I know, but in order to make some reasonable deductions, I’m going to assume that Kaminski’s story was factual.”

“Go on, then.”

“So, a sick or dying Alcatraz inmate, who’s committed a robbery, wants to retrieve a cache of diamonds that he’s hidden in England—”

“We don’t know it was England.”

“I’m aware of that, Emma. This is fact
and
supposition. For now, let’s at least agree that it’s Great Britain.”

“Sorry, I’ll try not to interrupt again.”

“We also know that the plan involved a ‘third party’ in England to whom diamonds were to be delivered.

“We know that Jennings and Butler were close friends and that they were the only two robbers to escape. We now know a lot about Jennings but far less about Butler, only what’s been reported. Okay, so far?”

“It’s a little long-winded. Can you chivvy it along a bit?”

Kingston chose to ignore that admonition and continued, “In your notes, it’s stated that Fiona’s father died soon after she was born. Who or what was the source of that information?”

“I’m sure it was one of the Collinses,” she replied after a pause. “Probably Molly, she was very close to Fiona and knew more about her.”

“Do you recall if his death was ever confirmed? If your people followed up to check death certificates?”

A longer pause followed. “Golly. I can’t imagine them not doing so. This was about ten years ago, Lawrence. I do remember her mother died much later than he did.”

“So both parents died at relatively young ages, him in particular.”

“I believe that’s correct, yes.”

“And before marrying Terry McGuire, Fiona’s surname was Doyle. Is that right?”

“You’re starting to sound like a copper. Yes. Molly stated that Fiona’s mother’s name was Caitlin Doyle. I see where you might be going with this. But by all means, do continue.”

“According to the Wiki report, Butler had a girlfriend, whose name wasn’t mentioned.”

“Right.”

“So—what if Caitlin Doyle’s boyfriend was Butler?”

“Butler, Fiona’s father?”

“It’s quite possible and, if so, it would start to explain a lot of questions—”

“Excepting Butler, a U.K. citizen, ending up in America’s most notorious prison.”

“As I recall, it was assumed by the authorities that Butler had fled the country after the robbery and was believed to be living in another country, with a new identity. The U.S. would be a logical one, wouldn’t you think? And he would doubtless have had an American passport and certainly another name.”

Emma let out a long sigh.

“You’ve got to admit, Emma, it all fits. Not only that, but it gives us the link between Jennings and Fiona that we’ve been at odds about. Jennings would have known that Butler had a small child, a daughter.”

“Okay, there are a lot of ‘ifs’ but let me give it more thought.”

“Could you look into the two deaths, Emma? As a start, maybe check the transcripts?”

“I will. I’ll say one thing, though. If you’re right, this could certainly stir the pot.”

20

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Kingston rose much later than usual. It didn’t happen often, but it was the sun streaming through a gap in the curtains that woke him, reminding him that he still hadn’t fully recovered from jet lag.

At ten, he had an appointment with Clifford Attenborough at Kew Gardens to attend a meeting and a luncheon with some of the government mucky-mucks who were presiding over the upcoming conference that Kingston had committed to. He also planned to spend part of the day wandering the gardens, which he hadn’t done for a long time.

Before leaving, he also wanted to chat with Andrew, whom he’d tried to reach yesterday but with no success. He planned to invite him over for drinks, to tell him about the trip and his recent conversation with Emma, and test his new theory on his friend.

When Kingston returned to his flat at four thirty, the phone was ringing. He hastened to the living room, picking it up just in time.

“Kingston,” he said, fully expecting it to be Andrew.

A woman’s voice, one he didn’t recognize. “Hello, Doctor—this is Sophie Williams.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, trying to conceal his surprise, “Grace Williams’s daughter.”

“I’m glad I’ve finally managed to reach you.”

“I was out of the country for a couple of weeks.”

“Sorry I missed you when you were at Beechwood to see my mom.”

“You very nearly didn’t. Wasn’t that you in the red VW?”

“Oh!” He could almost see the wincing expression on her face. “It was. Sorry about that.”

“I’m curious. How did you get my number?”

“I found your card in our address book. I thought that with you being a doctor and all . . . there’s no one else who I can call. I don’t know anyone in this country.”

“So how can I help you?”

“It’s about my mom. I’m getting worried about her. Scared.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m convinced that there’s more to her brother’s murder than she’s letting on to.”

“Really?” Kingston was instantly alert, his jet lag a thing of the past. “What gives you that idea?”

“I shouldn’t admit it, but I’ve listened in on a couple of her phone conversations, and whoever she’s talking to is obviously trying to intimidate her, frighten her. Reggie’s name was mentioned. Once I noticed her trembling afterward. She’s up late at night, too. Something she never did before.”

“Do you think it’s just the one person, or more?”

“It’s the same person, I’m sure.”

“No other names mentioned?”

“No. When I ask her what’s bothering her, she just clams up, tells me not to worry, that she can handle it.”

Kingston thought for a moment. “Has anybody else come to the house recently?”

“Other than you, no. My mom told me you’d stopped by some time ago, asking about one of the roses Reggie might have planted here. She said the lady with you used to be a policewoman.”

“That’s right. But what you’ve just described is very disturbing. Don’t you think you should call the police?”

“That’s the problem. My mom told me point-blank that it’s her business, she can deal with it, and under no circumstances whatsoever am I to interfere.” She hesitated. “She really means it, Doctor. If she finds out I’ve called the police, I’m afraid she’ll take off, and that could make matters even worse.”

“But what makes you think I can help?”

“You could ask your friend, the policewoman. Mum would never know.”

Kingston was trying to decide how to best advise Sophie what to do next, when she spoke up again.

“There’s something else that scares me. She has a gun.”

“Really?”

“I came down to the kitchen late one night last week to get a glass of water, and she was sitting there going through the phone book. The gun was lying on the table next to her. She looked startled for a moment and quickly covered it with a kitchen towel.

A gun—some kind of threats being made, related to her brother?

There was little doubt in Kingston’s mind now. Grace Williams knew exactly what Brian Jennings had done—knew all about the past he had strived to keep secret for fifty years.

“How else has your mother been spending her time? Other than obvious errands, does she go out for long periods, without explanation?”

“Only once. She was gone for the best part of the day. When she got back, she said she’d gone into Cheltenham shopping and had met an old friend there. I can’t say why, but somehow I didn’t believe her.”

He had to call Emma as soon as he got off the phone with Sophie. This was already a bad situation, which could quickly develop into something much more serious, and he had no idea how to advise the woman more than he had already. He wondered if she knew about her uncle being involved in an armed robbery—if Grace had told her. Until Sophie mentioned the gun, Grace’s behavior hadn’t struck him as out of the ordinary or worrisome; there could be many reasonable explanations for her conduct. Arguing on the phone, with someone she doubtless knew, and keeping it to herself was hardly cause for alarm. But the gun changed everything. Off the top of his head, he could think of only two reasons why Grace Williams would want a gun: for protection, or she planned to use it for some unknown purpose. If the former, the question was from whom? The latter, he hoped, was far-fetched.

“Here’s what I would urge you to do, Sophie,” he said, trying to sound comforting. “When we hang up, call the police and tell them exactly what you’ve told me. You shouldn’t wait any longer.”

She didn’t reply.

“Will you do that?”

“If I do and she finds out—which she would, anyway—I’m afraid I may be putting her in even more danger. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea—not yet, anyway.”

“All right. After we hang up, I’ll call Emma Dixon—she’s the ex-policewoman. I’ll have her call you direct. That way you two can work it out together. Until then the only advice I can offer—which is not much, I admit—is to keep a close eye on your mother, eavesdropping, if you can, on any future calls, and in particular listening for names. If she starts behaving irrationally, if it looks as if she might try to harm herself—or others, for that matter—call the police right away. You might also want to have another go at persuading her to tell you what’s going on. If things start to worsen, she may come round to realizing that would be in her best interest.”

Sophie thanked him, gave him her mobile number, and the conversation ended.

Five minutes later, Kingston had Emma on the line.

“It’s Lawrence.”

“I know who it is. You sound anxious.”

“I am. There’s been a new development and it could spell trouble.”

“What’s happened?”

“I just received a call from Sophie, Grace Williams’s daughter. Her mother’s been acting strangely lately, and Sophie’s scared that she’s going to do something irrational. Among other things, Grace has been receiving what Sophie is convinced are threatening phone calls. She also said Grace has a gun that she’s been concealing.”

“That’s serious. Serious enough to call the police right away.”

“That’s what I advised, but she’s reluctant to do that. Grace has warned her, in no uncertain terms, not to.”

“No way can we get involved, Lawrence, if that’s what you’re thinking. If it happens to turn nasty, we would have a big problem on our hands with nondisclosure of a potentially dangerous situation. This is something that Gloucester PD or the Met should look into, immediately. It could be directly connected to Jennings’s murder.”

“You’re right.”

“I am. Nevertheless, I’ll call Sophie to try to stop her from doing something stupid, to see what I can do to defuse the situation until the police get on it. There could be reasons why Grace wouldn’t want the police to know. Besides, people are permitted to have guns. As long as they possess a certificate and satisfy all the rules and regulations required of the owner.”

“Grace Williams could be a Canadian citizen. She might feel differently about gun regulations.”

“That may be true, but on British soil, she’s subject to our laws.”

“What do you make of it, though?”

“Obviously someone is threatening her and she’s reached a point where she has concluded that she should be prepared to defend herself—with force, if necessary. Either that or—heaven forbid—she plans to harm or eliminate the person or persons who are threatening her. There is, of course, the possibility that it’s neither of the above, and there’s a far simpler and more innocent explanation. Who knows?”

“I’ll leave it with you, then?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call Sophie the minute we hang up.”

21

A
T FIVE THAT
evening, with a near-empty glass of pinot grigio on his desktop, Kingston pushed aside the notes and scribbles he’d accumulated over the last few days and sat back in his chair. Letting his mind wander willy-nilly, he gazed idly out the window, through the daylong drizzle, at his small gray-misted garden.

For the time being, he’d managed to put thoughts of Sophie Williams out of his mind, knowing that Emma would doubtlessly succeed in applying her professional negotiating skills to convince Sophie to call the police, or would do so on her behalf. As he was wondering, once more, why he hadn’t heard from Andrew, the phone rang.