Fault Line - Retail (44 page)

‘For God’s sake, Pete, why would he? There’ll be one for visitors on the ground floor. Just get in there and open the window. You can leave the rest to me.’

‘What is the rest?’

‘I take a look inside those boxes.’

‘And then?’

‘And then we’ll know.’

‘And Adam will know we know.’

‘If I’m right, he has a lot of explaining to do. He may as well start by explaining to us.’

‘Great. He’ll be delighted to do that, I’m sure.’

‘I can’t do this without you, Pete. I need your help.’

‘Remind me. What do I get out of this?’

‘My gratitude. Greville Lashley’s gratitude too, if we can put Doctor Whitworth back to work.’

‘By exposing his son as a thief.’

‘Adam has it coming.’

‘I wouldn’t disagree with that.’

‘So …’ I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’re on then, are we?’

The only answer I got was a scowl. But there was something about it I took to be affirmative.

THIRTY-NINE

ADAM AGREED TO
see Pete at ten o’clock. The late hours he kept worked in our favour, since it meant I could operate under cover of darkness. We travelled out to Carlyon Bay in Pete’s Vauxhall, after he’d heroically limited himself to one nerve-settling whisky at the White Hart before setting off.

The gates of Wavecrest stood open and we drove straight in, although I only knew they were open because Pete told me. By then I was curled up behind the passenger seat, with a blanket over my head. ‘Here we bloody go, then,’ he added, by way of encouragement.

He stopped at the top of the drive, murmured, ‘No sign of him yet,’ then got out and slammed the door behind him. A few seconds passed. I heard the faint chime of a doorbell. A few more seconds passed. There was a distant burble of conversation. Then silence.

I waited a full, uncomfortable couple of minutes, then untangled myself and got out of the car, crouching low to avoid being noticed from the house, even though there was no reason to think Adam would be in a position to notice me. I closed the car door as quietly as I could, then headed for the side of the house, where a path led round to the back.

I was wearing dark clothes and carrying a torch. It belonged to Pete. I’d bought fresh batteries for it, along with a Stanley knife, in B & Q that afternoon. I’d checked about three times that my phone was off. I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

There were lights on in virtually every room of the house. Adam was profligate in all things, almost as a matter of policy. The swimming pool was fully lit and there were a few lamps dotted around the garden as well, to show off the topiary. I suspected Adam had taken Pete into the drawing-room, on the far side of the house from me. But I took no chances, clinging to the deepest of the shadows.

Several minutes crept by slowly enough for me to realize how cold a night it was, with a keen breeze blowing in off the sea. Then a light came on in a narrow, frosted window just beyond the kitchen. And then the window was opened wide. I saw Pete peering anxiously out, but I didn’t move. The plan was simple. It didn’t require contact at this stage. He flushed the loo, then left, switching the light off and closing the door behind him.

That was my cue. Steering a curving course across the terrace to avoid the glare of the kitchen lights, I reached the open window and peered in. I could see little beyond the top of the loo cistern. It was clearly going to be a scramble, but it was manageable. Noise was what I had to avoid at all costs. I propped the torch on the cistern, heaved myself up by the window frame, then slowly and gingerly slithered to the floor.

I picked up the torch and eased the door open. An open door to my right led to the kitchen. A passage continued past it towards the entrance hall. I could hear voices somewhere, and a chink of glass. Adam was dispensing drinks. He was probably acting the part of the generous, smiling host, waiting to hear just what Pete had to say for himself. ‘
Well, make him wait a little longer
,’ I silently urged my reluctant accomplice.

I braced myself and entered the kitchen. The lighting was stark and powerful. There was no hiding-place here. I hurried through to the utility room.

The door straight ahead of me led out to the back of the house. Turning, I saw another door that was clearly the one I wanted. I moved across to it, lowered the handle carefully and opened it. There were stairs leading down. There were lights too, of course, but I decided to rely on the torch. I stepped
through,
switching the torch on as I closed the door behind me.

The stairs were concrete. There was no danger of creaks. I descended in silence and emerged through another door into the garage. The Lotus stood ready for Adam’s next outing, slewed extravagantly across a space that could have accommodated three cars with ease. I ran the torchbeam along the rear wall and saw the boxes almost at once, stacked beneath a shelf holding various tins and brushes.

They were as Mad had described them: half a dozen cardboard boxes, all the same size and in good condition, with
Pickford’s – the Careful Movers
printed on the sides facing me. There were no labels to reveal their contents. But I felt sure I knew what was in them.

I lifted one down, set it on the floor and, wielding the Stanley knife, slashed through the brown tape sealing the lid. Then I prised it open and shone the torch in.

Walter Wren & Co., East Hill, St Austell, Cornwall
. I saw the letterhead and a date beneath:
14 April 1966
. There was no doubt, then. These were the missing documents.

I sifted through them. They comprised a bundle of letters and memos from the spring of 1966. Lashley’s signature appeared on several, along with notes in his handwriting. Then came a folder stuffed with receipts and invoices from the same period and another bundle of letters and memos. A mention of the name Trudgeon caught my eye on one of the letters. I pulled it out.

It was a memo from Lashley to George Wren, dated 24 May 1966, headed
Trudgeon Acquisition
:

The urgency which I referred to in my memorandum of the 20th resided in the rarity of such opportunities. The board agreed some time since that we should endeavour by all means to obtain an A licence in order to carry out our own haulage operations. The price I negotiated with Trudgeon was in the circumstances a reasonable one. I believe you will look back upon it in future years as a bargain.

Someone had underlined the word
bargain
in green ink and had added a note in the margin, written in ballpoint with such force
that
the strokes of the pen had dented the flimsy copy paper.
A bargain for GL, not Wren’s!!!

It was Oliver’s writing. I felt absolutely certain of that, even though, as far as I could recall, it was the first example I’d ever seen. But the choice of green ink, the triple exclamation marks and the accusatory tone clinched it. No filing clerk would have done this. It was Oliver. It had to be. I pulled the memo out and stuffed it in my pocket, planning already to ask Vivien to confirm it was in her brother’s hand.

But what did it mean?
A bargain for GL, not Wren’s!!!
Whoever had stolen the records and hidden them here must know. And that meant Adam knew too.

I cast around with the torch, found a light switch and pressed it down. A few clicks and a hum, then fluorescent light flooded the garage. I considered carrying the box upstairs, dumping it in Adam’s lap and demanding an explanation. Then I decided to bring him to me instead. I rounded the vast bonnet of the Lotus and yanked at the driver’s door, intending to get his attention with a few blares on the horn.

The door was locked. But that didn’t matter, as it turned out, because my attempt to open the door set the car’s alarm off: a deafening electronic yowl. I covered my ears and stepped back.

I didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes. The door from the stairway was flung open and Adam charged into the garage. He stopped when he saw me, his face flushed, his mouth half open, his eyes piggish and angry.

‘Turn it off,’ I shouted, though the noise meant he’d have needed to lip-read to know what I was saying. ‘
Turn the damn thing off
.’

He got the message, one way or another. He pulled out the key-remote and silenced the alarm. With the silence came also a strange, expectant stillness. Pete was standing in the doorway behind Adam. He looked worried. Adam, on the other hand, looked on the brink of vein-bursting fury.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he demanded.

‘You know what’s going on, Adam,’ I replied coolly. ‘I found the
missing
records in those boxes.’ I pointed towards them. ‘Where you’ve been hiding them.’

‘You had no right to come down here.’ He glared over his shoulder at Pete. ‘You helped him, didn’t you? I’ll destroy you for this, Newlove.’

‘You’ll destroy no one, Adam,’ I said forcing him to look back at me. ‘Unless it’s yourself. Pete’s only done what I told him to do. And I’ve only done what your father told
me
to do. So, are you going to explain?’

‘To you? Why should I?’

‘Because I’m here with your father’s full authority. And he’ll expect an explanation.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t understand a single fucking thing.’

‘Make me understand, then.’

He stared at me, mouth quivering. But no words came. Then he said, ‘All right.’ He summoned a defiant smile. ‘Have it your way.’ He thumbed a button on the remote. The Lotus flashed its indicators in welcome. Then he pressed a switch on the wall behind him and the garage door began to roll slowly upwards. ‘There’s something I need to show you.’

He reached the passenger door of the car in a couple of strides, opened it and leant inside. I couldn’t see what he was doing from where I was standing, but I guessed he was looking for something. When he closed the door and stood upright again, he was holding a gun. And he was pointing it straight at me.

‘Tell Newlove to stay where he is,’ he said icily.

‘What’s happening, Jon?’ Pete called to me, seeing the change in my expression.

‘He has a gun, Pete.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Pete looked instantly sick with fear.

‘Stay where you are,’ I said.

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Let’s all keep calm. Hey, Adam?’

‘Yeah,’ said Adam. ‘Calm as you please.’

‘Why don’t we—’

‘Why don’t
you
listen to me? You and Vivien worked this out, didn’t you? The two of you, scheming and conspiring against me, plotting to steel my inheritance.’

‘Vivien knows nothing about this.’

‘Bullshit. She knows everything. You
tell
her everything.’

‘No. It’s not like that.’

‘Shut up. Just do as I say. Move over to the boxes. Both of you.’

There was nothing for it but to obey. I walked across to the stack of boxes, where Pete joined me. Adam moved to the rear of the Lotus, tracking our progress.

What have you got me into?
Pete’s reproachful gaze demanded. I had no ready answer.

Adam was pointing the gun in our direction as he aimed the remote at the car. The boot sprang open. Then he stepped away, making room for us. ‘Load the boxes in the car,’ he snapped. ‘Start with the boot.’

‘What are you going to do with them?’ I asked.

‘Just load them in,’ he replied, the pitch of his voice rising.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ said Pete, fearful, I think, that I meant to goad Adam into firing. He picked up a box and carried it towards the Lotus.

‘You too, Kellaway,’ said Adam.

‘OK, OK.’ I picked up the one I’d already opened and followed Pete.

The door of the garage was fully open by now. Adam stood beneath it, gun in hand, face fixed in a twitching frown. He watched as we loaded a box each into the narrow boot, more or less filling it. ‘Put the others inside the car,’ he said. And we did, two on the rear seat, one on the passenger seat and one in the foot well. ‘OK. Go back over there.’ He gestured towards the bare stretch of wall where the boxes had stood.

‘Don’t do anything stupid, Adam,’ I said as we retreated. ‘Whatever’s in those files isn’t worth all of this.’

‘Worth killing you for, you mean?’

‘We’ll say nothing about the boxes, Adam,’ said Pete, his voice
cracking
as he spoke. ‘We don’t really care about the missing records, do we, Jon?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘They can stay missing as far as we’re concerned.’

‘Good,’ said Adam. ‘Because they’re going to.’ He strode round to the driver’s door, yanked it open and climbed in. The gun was still in his hand, clasped to the steering-wheel as he started the engine. The roar of the throttle filled the space around us. Then he slammed the door and reversed fast out of the garage, the tyres squealing as he slewed the car round at the top of the ramp. Another roar, and he was gone from our sight, down the drive towards the road.

We said nothing for a moment, both of us staring into the dark gulf beyond the glare of the overhead lights. The growl of the Lotus faded into the night. Then Pete puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. ‘Bloody Nora,’ he murmured. ‘I thought he was actually going to shoot us, y’know.’

‘I’m sorry, Pete. I had no idea he had a gun.’

‘He’s mad. Stark staring bonkers. You do realize that, don’t you? Mad
and
drunk. He was guzzling Scotch like it was lemonade while we were upstairs.’

‘Well, he’s gone now.’

‘Oh, he’s gone, all right. No question about that. Gone where you don’t come back from. You can tell the old man from me: his son needs locking up. I mean, what’s he going to do now? Who’s he going to wave that gun at next?’

‘I don’t—’

‘What?’

‘He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.’

‘Wouldn’t
what
?’

‘Vivien.’ I turned and looked at Pete. ‘He blames her more than me. And she’s alone out there at Lannerwrack.’

‘Call her. Warn her. Tell her to get the hell out.’

‘She doesn’t have a phone.’

‘No phone?’

‘Come on. We have to get over there. Fast.’