Death in July (13 page)

Sam decided he would still go and talk to George Howell's widow. She lived in a care home, an impressive complex overlooking the pier, a place befitting an ex-mayoress. Joan Howell was the polar opposite to Greta Dunker. She had the same watchful expression on her face, but the mind behind it was as sharp as a tack.

'Mr Carlisle. Please do come in. Now, how may I help you?'

Sam reverted back to the story he had given the school secretary about researching a client's family tree. Mrs Howell expressed interest in the project, passing comment that such work must be rare for the likes of Sam nowadays.

He furrowed his brow in confusion.

'Ancestry websites,' she smiled. 'The internet is full of them.'

Sam laughed. Her eyes glinted as though she knew Sam's real reason for being there. He dismissed the notion. She was just a bright spark for her age.

'Well, I'll help if I can,' she said. 'Who are you trying to track down?'

Sam was getting to that point of desperation again. It was time to throw caution to the wind.

'Geoffrey Compton.'

Sam waited, watching her reaction. He was taking a huge risk, playing dumb about a man who he knew so much about. Whose home he had occupied. Whose family he had met. Whose grave he had stood beside. But Geoffrey's death had been the catalyst for all this, and it was time to put his name out there and see what came back. Anyway, despite Mrs Howell's strident intellect, Sam couldn't imagine she was exactly out and about much.

'You're trying to track down Geoffrey Compton?'

The question was quiet, considered. Sam nodded.

'And you want to find anyone who might know him?'

'That's right.'

Mrs Howell stared down at the carpet for a few moments. Something about the name had distracted her. She definitely knew it. Suddenly, she got to her feet and went over to an old ornamental cabinet. She pulled drawers open and searched through the cabinet itself, but whatever Mrs Howell was looking for, it wouldn't be found.

Sam watched her as she came to an apparent halt. She folded her arms and gazed absent-mindedly up at the ceiling. Then she began whispering to herself urgently.

'Where is it? Where is it?'

Sam was beginning to think the madness was catching. Then Mrs Howell remembered.

'I know where it is!' she exclaimed, disappearing into a room next door. She came back with a silver cigar case. As she lifted the lid, Sam was initially confused. It was empty inside. However, Mrs Howell placed a finger on the piece of material tucked in the base and dragged it out. Underneath was a photograph.

'My husband put it in here years ago. I knew he'd kept it, but it's been so long I couldn't remember where.'

She gazed down at the photo with clear affection and handed it to Sam.

'There you go. Everybody in this knew Geoffrey Compton.'

Sam took the picture off her.

He recognised it immediately.

It was the photo of Geoffrey during the war. The picture Benjamin had discovered of the five men in uniforms sitting on a tank. Sam recognised Billy Dunker in the picture. That explained why Billy had looked familiar in the school photo. He also recognised George Howell sat astride the tank.

'You know all these people?'

'I know some of them,' she confirmed. 'Geoffrey, Billy, my husband, of course. We all went to school together, although I wasn't really in their gang at that time.'

Sam looked from Mrs Howell back down at the picture. He was reminded of Erica's sad description of the men of Newgate going off to war. He thought of the school photo still fresh in his memory. Now this, a few years later. Geoffrey Compton, Billy Dunker and George Howell having gone through school together, remaining united as they fought for their country.

'Who are the other two men in the picture?'

Mrs Howell shook her head.

'George did say, but I've forgotten their names. They were from just outside Newgate. I've never met them.'

'You said you weren't in the gang at school. You sound quite sad about that?'

Mrs Howell smiled. It was the melancholy expression of someone looking back over many years.

'I was too shy to go anywhere near George when I was a girl. I don't mind admitting I was infatuated by him. So, I kept my distance. I didn't want to make a fool of myself. Especially with Erica Wright-'

'You knew Erica?'

'I told you,' nodded Mrs Howell. 'I went to the same school.'

Sam frowned. He hadn't seen a Rita Howell in the photo. Then it dawned on him why.

'Do you mind if I ask what your maiden name was...your surname at school?'

Mrs Howell gave him a puzzled look. Sam had to be careful here. He had already asked the wrong questions to one person today. However, the reply was swift and forthcoming.

'Speight. Speight from Newgate, they used to call me. Another reason I was glad to change to Howell.'

Sam remembered the name vaguely. Rita Speight. One of the girls on the front row. He was taken back to Erica Wright.

'Did you and Erica not get on?'

Sam expected an antagonistic look in Mrs Howell's eyes, but there was nothing. No jealousy or hostility. Just that same reflective look.

'No, it wasn't that,' she replied easily. 'I was just too shy, and Erica was the most gorgeous girl in the school. George and myself didn't start courting until we left school. He started spending more time with me...less time with his friends.'

Sam handed the photo back to Mrs Howell and thanked her for her time. One final question came to mind as he was leaving.

'Did the group remain friends after the war? Did they keep in touch with your husband at all?'

Mrs Howell shook her head.

'I don't think anyone kept in contact...they certainly didn't with George. I know Erica emigrated, and Geoffrey and Marjorie tied the knot. But-'

Mrs Howell stopped, that wistful look on her face again. Sam wondered how long it had been since she had shared these memories.

'We all had to grow up so quickly during the war,' she mused quietly, to herself. 'Nothing was ever the same again afterwards.'

Sam had heard that before. Had seen that same faraway look.

***

Sam returned to his flat, fully intent on sifting through the photos he had taken at Benjamin's bungalow. Instead, he deleted them off his camera. Sam had very few scruples when it came to hunting down the truth, but sifting through Benjamin's private documents just wasn't on now his reason for stalling had become clear. The only one he kept was the photo of Geoffrey and his pals on the tank, the same one Mrs Howell had just shown him. He printed it off his computer, the copy slightly hazy but good enough. Newgate had a war museum on the edge of town, and if Sam could get the other two men on the tank identified, he may be able to garner further information about Geoffrey's younger days.

An officious-looking, bespectacled man took the photo off him at the War Museum's reception desk. While he studied it, Sam gazed around the former air base. It was packed with families enjoying their day out, taking in the replica fighter planes adorning the enormous hangar, or sat in the picnic area watching the artillery display.

'Well, I can tell from the uniforms they're from the 18th Infantry Division. The unit served in France during the Second World War.'

'You know your stuff,' Sam told him.

The man puffed out his chest in pride.

'We're all volunteers here,' he replied. 'Military history is our passion.'

Sam asked if there was any possibility the men in the picture could be identified. The man gave him a peculiar look. Sam explained he was helping families trace their ancestors. The lie was coming second nature to him.

'I already know the identity of three of the men,' he said. 'It's these two I'm interested in...'

He pointed out the unknown soldiers.

'Mmmm, it's possible. Let me take a copy, and I'll get back to you.'

***

Sam was getting accustomed to having visitors outside his flat today. This time, he was slightly concerned to see Benjamin waiting by his front door.

'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'I thought we agreed to keep contact to a minimum.'

Benjamin shrugged in that stiff way of his. Sam ushered him upstairs and out of sight.

'Well?' he asked, back in the flat.

'I just wanted to know what you'd found out,' said Benjamin, blushing. 'You sounded like you were onto something when you asked about my father's school.'

Sam told Benjamin to sit down, then passed him the piece of paper he found at the cemetery. Benjamin gazed at it.

'What's this?' he asked, his brow creased.

Sam explained how he had come by it. Benjamin's eyes widened when Sam told him of his further enquiries.

'Blimey, Sam! You have been busy. Are you saying this is a list of people this man is intending to kill?'

Sam got up and walked over to the window. He stared out of it, giving Benjamin's question serious thought.

'That's what I think, but every discovery I make seems to be clouding the issue. We've got partial names on a piece of paper...suspicious deaths...and a mystery man still hanging about.'

'And how are we supposed to find him?' said Benjamin despondently. 'He seems to have vanished-'

'We don't have to,' said Sam.

'Why?'

'Because he's over the road watching us right now.'

'What?!'

Benjamin tried to push his way past Sam to pull back the net curtain. Sam took his arm.

'Play it cool, Benjamin. Don't make it obvious we know he's there.'

Benjamin moved away from the window. He looked crestfallen.

'I am so sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have-'

'It's okay. In a way, you might have helped things along.'

'How?'

'Well, I didn't have a clue where he was hiding out. At least I know where he is now.'

Sam stared through the net curtain, knowing he couldn't be seen from outside. The man was sat passively in his hatchback, parked about a hundred yards away. He had the sun visor down, trying to be discreet. Sam was beginning to wonder if his mysterious adversary wasn't quite as clever as he thought, leaving himself exposed in the open like this. Why was he taking such a risk?

'He's panicking.'

Benjamin looked at Sam as though he were mad.

'Why is he panicking?' he cried. 'He's spying on us! We're the ones being watched!'

Sam joined Benjamin in the middle of the room.

'Yes, he's keeping tabs on us, but that means he's worried about what we'll do. Or more to the point, what I'll do.'

Benjamin slumped down in the chair.

'Sam, I haven't got a clue what you're-'

'He's building up to something, Benjamin. Something is going to happen soon...and he doesn't want us anywhere near the scene.'

Benjamin groaned. He was totally lost.

'How do you know all this?' he sighed. 'More importantly, what are we going to do about it?'

Sam gave him a reassuring smile. Benjamin found the expression quite unnerving given the circumstances.

'You'll just have to trust me on this one, but I can tell you what we're going to do about it.'

Benjamin pulled a face. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

'For starters, Benjamin, you're going away.'

***

'Nice and slow, Benjamin. That's it.'

Sam gazed through the curtain, watching Benjamin get into his Volvo. He smiled as the car pulled away from the kerb sedately. Benjamin was doing as instructed, going about his business as though he didn't have a care in the world. As he drove off, Sam turned his attention to the hatchback. It remained where it was. Good. Sam hoped Benjamin was now going to stick to the rest of the plan.

Sam's idea hadn't gone down well. Benjamin was mortified by the thought of leaving Sam to it and driving straight to London. However, Sam had been insistent, explaining he wanted Benjamin out of the way for the next day or two. It was highly probable things were going to get dangerous, and there was no telling how this man might react. Anyway, Benjamin had planned to attend a two day conference in the capital tomorrow. Why not go a day early and get settled in?

Sam pocketed his gun again, deciding he was keeping it on him for the foreseeable future. He contemplated how to play the man sat outside. Sam didn't want to lose him or alert him in any way, and there was no point trying to confront him again. He would only disappear like a shot. No, the idea was to turn the tables on him and find out his hiding place.

Sam reverted to his tried and tested method. Make it up as you go along.

He followed Benjamin's suit and strode to his own car in nonchalant fashion. Driving away, he watched the hatchback pull out in his wake. Sam tapped away on the steering wheel as he drove. A plan was forming in his head.

Five minutes later, that plan was sinking faster than a holed yacht. Another car, a Bentley with tinted windows, had join the action. Sam was several car lengths ahead of the hatchback, and the Bentley was the same distance further back.

What the hell was going on? Had the man behind called back-up? Sam wondered if he had got it all wrong. Perhaps the plan was to take him out of the equation. He drove on, discreetly checking his mirrors, noticing the man in the hatchback doing the same. It appeared he was just as mystified by the sudden appearance of this unknown vehicle. The three cars followed each other for another five minutes, going nowhere in particular, driving leisurely around town. Then, the hatchback suddenly turned off. Sam groaned. The man had bailed out.

The Bentley remained on Sam's tail, undeterred by the sudden exit of the hatchback from the procession. Sam sighed. He wanted to deal with this fresh complication right away. He turned off and drove towards a multi-storey car park. At the barrier, he paid for his ticket and zoomed up the ramp. He kept his foot down going up the next three floors, treating the sharp bends on each level as contours on a racing track. Eventually, he parked up, got out and took cover behind a pillar.

Then he checked his gun and waited.

The Bentley appeared a few moments later, travelling at a far more sedate speed. Sam didn't like the fact they were in such little rush. He watched the car come to a halt level with the rear of his Capri, blocking him in. Now he really was left with no alternative. Suddenly, the front doors of the Bentley opened and two men in smart suits got out. They walked over to the Capri to take a closer look.

This was his chance.

He was five feet away from them, gun at his side, ready to spring, when he felt cold metal in his own back.

'Drop the weapon.'

Sam let the gun fall to the floor. As it reverberated loudly on the concrete, the two men by his car didn't flinch. Sam rolled his eyes. He had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Somebody had got out of the Bentley and made their way up on foot.

Professional.

That spelt trouble.

Sam's hands were pulled behind his back and quickly tied up, then thick tape was crudely wrapped around his eyes. He was frogmarched in the direction of the Bentley and forced into the back seat. He heard people get in the front of the car, and felt two more slide in either side of him in the back. Nobody said a word. The doors slammed shut and they were moving, the car smoothly making its way up the floors of the car park. When it finally halted, Sam guessed they were near the top level. The driver eased the Bentley into a parking space and switched the engine off. For a moment, all was still. Sam awaited his fate in silence.

'Mr Carlisle, we have a request.'

The voice came from the front seat. It was educated with no distinguishable accent. Sam remained tight-lipped.

'We would like to you to stop asking questions.'

Sam tried to think fast. Talk. Buy time. Find out as much as possible.

'I don't know what-'

A gun was pushed into his ribs. The man in the front sighed.

'Mr Carlisle, we know you. You are not a fool. You either do as we ask, or the choice will be taken out of your hands. No questions. No discussion.'

'One question,' said Sam.

Silence. He took that as a sign he could proceed.

'Why?' he asked.

'And no answers.'

Sam grimaced. That had told him. There wasn't anything he could do but play the game.

'Okay, gentlemen. It looks like we have an agreement.'

The men bundled him out of the car, leaving him bound and blindfolded on the tarmac. He heard the Bentley's engine start up and the soft whine of one of its windows winding down.

'I hope you are a man of your word, Mr Carlisle. I certainly am.'

Then they drove off.