Almost Eden, page 29
‘Commendable.’
After a pause came, ‘And…?’
‘Could I ask for a small favour?’
‘You’re doing my job for me, so I think so. What is it?’
‘Could you, very discretely, check out Michael Coltrane.’
‘He’s … your solicitor.’
‘Yes, and he’s connected.’
‘You think … your own solicitor is dirty?’
‘I’d bet my life on it.’
‘Jesus, Roger, I thought you were such a limp old wanker when I met you; you should have a desk across from me!’
‘Will you do it, and check his associations; clubs, Freemasons, old boy networks, anything?’
‘I will, because your hunches pay off. And because he’s defending Clinton.’ Laughing, Allison hung up.
I busied myself in the cellar that night, painting walls, Robby finishing off the second wall. Ben joined me for a while, and we chatted as we painted, the vast cellar now looking far less spacious, and now quite full in places.
Later, sat in my room, I scanned the garden centre’s catalogue, its shiny paper now well worn, a few pages turned down, a few items circled.
I rose early and strolled along the beach with the puppy, new footprints placed in sand made flat by the waves; virgin sand. A dead fish lay being squabbled over by three noisy gulls, my presence scattering them, and when I noticed a small flatfish that seemed to have beached itself I threw it into the water. It was still alive and it swam off.
More wood had come ashore on the tide, plastic bottles, and a plastic bowl that looked useful. I decided to keep it and carried it back. Max did his business in the giant litter tray, his instincts having been passed down from generation to generation. I could see where Captain Norton had been rudely dug up, having been rudely buried there in the first place. There was still an outline of disturbed sand, and I shook my head.
The thought of my aunt bashing him repeatedly, or digging him up and bashing him repeatedly, turned my stomach, but I had convinced myself it was the wife. And now I shared a lineage with the man who lived next door, a man who may or may not spend the rest of his life behind bars.
Strolling back, I could see the single greenhouse that Ben had erected, with a little help, and the others would need land cleared first; we could not have a greenhouse at an odd angle. And this one was had a slight leaning to it already.
At the house, I placed my newly salvaged bowl down next to my plastic plant trays, and led Max inside. Ben gave the puppy buttered toast as I made myself a cup of tea.
‘You’re up early,’ I commented.
‘Slept well, and got to bed early.’ He shrugged. ‘What’s happening with that guy?’
I had to be evasive. ‘Don’t know yet, might be in the papers later.’ Changing the subject, I said, ‘Could you go online, and see if there are any of those water heaters locally.’
Ben nodded. ‘Bound to be, I’ve seen one on a roof.’
After breakfast I grabbed Robby, and we clambered up into the attic. I checked the old tea boxes, soon smashing them up and dropping the bits down through the opening.
Twenty tea crates later we had created a great deal of space, and I figured that this space might someday be just as useful as the cellar. I approached a broken slate and peered out at the estuary. Skylights came to mind, a loft conversion; it was a big space for it not to be utilised.
Smashing up the rest of the tea crates, we dropped them through the opening, Ben already dumping the fragments out of the window that rested above the stairs, the parts collecting outside and ready for a bonfire sometime soon. Newspapers were collected, scrunched up and dropped down, and soon we had a dusty – but large space. And now I could see something.
I stepped across to one end of the attic, and in front of one of the chimneys I could see the outline of a previous stairwell, six feet long and almost three feet wide. I half-turned my head towards Robby. ‘This was a stairwell before. So, I figure that maybe we should open it up and use it.’
‘Be better than small hole,’ Robby agreed.
Clambering down onto the pyramid of flattened crates, I left Ben to throw the pieces through the window and I entered the last room, soon stood staring up. There were indentations on the wall, signifying that stairs once stood here. And the garden centre had stairs, ready made and from strong wood, but for its decking. From what I could recall, the steps they sold would probably fit. This was a job for the Land Rover.
Robby drove, and he did drive well, I had no fear of his abilities behind the wheel. At the garden centre, I didn’t bother with a trolley today, and – since the facility was mostly outdoors – I doubted that they would ask Robby to wait outside. We earned a few strange looks as we entered, despite the news of Clinton’s arrest, and I directed Robby towards the decking. I could immediately see steps of all sorts.
‘Can I help, Mister Bannister?’
‘It’s nice to be recognised,’ I quipped. But, I was actually quite happy that the staff here knew me. ‘I’m after some stairs, suitable for access to a loft.’
‘We have long steps, because there’re many houses on the coast, on slopes, and some people have decking on many levels down towards the water.’
‘Does their decking survive the winter?’ I puzzled.
He shrugged. ‘If varnished every year.’
‘How long … is long?’
‘Eight feet, and the steps are angled.’
‘They’ll do, I can always build a base. Could you help us take them outside?’
‘We’ll do that for you,’ he keenly offered.
I sent Robby back to the Land Rover, to wait the imminent arrival of our steps, and to secure them to the roof rack. I paid for them, but stopped to glance at Koi Carp and Goldfish. The fish looked nice, but they could not be eaten. About to leave, the smell of onions hit me, just a whiff. I stepped across to the seed section, and through to bedding plants, and there I found the source of the pleasant odour; seed onions.
Grabbing an abandoned trolley, I took three large bags of onions, but stopped when I noticed baby lettuce and cabbage plants in trays. Well, I had to have them, and grabbed six trays worth, and on the way back Robby gave me a useful lecture on seed potatoes and seed onions, eyes and “chits”.
Ben helped Robby with the steps, and for now we simply leant them against the wall in the desired room. I was more interested in the cabbage, onions and lettuce, our first greenhouse soon finding itself full of suitable guests, its polarising glass put to use early on.
Sat having lunch, Marcus stepped in with what looked like a puppy, placing a brown baby rabbit on the table. The adorable bunny sat there, not afraid, and when Ben fetched suitable lettuce leaves the rabbit nibbled on them.
Robby said, ‘Happen you take ‘em young, they lives like a cat. Burrow up the way.’
I stroked our new guest, Max the killer guard dog too young to care, and too small to do anything if he had cared. ‘Have you ever raised rabbits?’ I asked Robby.
‘Aye, good for the pot.’
‘They’ll breed in captivity?’
‘You makes up a concrete place, like for the pigs, and you puts down a foot of dirt and a hole, and a high fence – cause they jump well enough. But you have to make sure they get along, like.’
I resisted a smile. ‘Get along?’
‘Sometimes they fight, like. If you has a good bunch, they breeds -’
‘Like rabbits,’ I finished off. ‘Robby, create a suitable habitat for them.’
‘Was ‘at?’
‘A suitable place to live,’ I carefully pronounced.
‘I’ll keep this one,’ Ben offered, and he offered to fashion a cage from wire mesh. With the rabbit on the floor, Max sniffed it, and that was all our fearless guard dog did.
We made it to the end of the day without incident, and with Marcus heading off I cracked open a can of beer. The clouds had parted, the sun had finally come out - the estuary still and calm, Ben trying to hit seagulls with small stones, Max chasing after the gulls, but then fleeing back to Ben a moment later.
My phone trilled, and I had expected it to. ‘Hello?’
‘Roger Bannister?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Toby Alston, a freelance journalist and a writer, and I’m researching the Nortons -’
‘Call me again and I’ll get a court order to stop you.’ I cut the call, wondering if I actually could get a court order – whilst doubting it. Maybe I would have to change my number. I sipped my beer and took in the pleasant scene, Robby messing about with his Land Rover. I made a mental note to chase up his money from Swains, especially with how I felt about them.
Robby then drove off without saying anything, which concerned me, but he returned little more than ten minutes later. He walked over to me. ‘I have’s a gate now.’
‘Gate?’
‘On the road up top, you’s have to get out and move it.’
‘Oh, good thinking. It’ll deter people coming down, but should anyone get difficult, that road is a public road.’
My phone trilled, and I sighed. But I recognised the number. ‘Yes?’ I answered as Robby stepped away.
‘Mister Bannister, it’s Detective Callum.’
‘Any news?’
‘Investigations are ongoing, and I can’t discuss them. Did you … put up signs in the area, warning people off?’
‘I did. Will I be arrested for defacing telegraph poles?’
‘Doubt it. When I saw the sign I had it checked, and … well, it could be argued you’re correct, it is conspiracy. So this afternoon we arrested a treasure hunter in Salcombe, cautioned him and sent him packing. Made a point of informing the press.’
‘Might reduce the interest, hopefully.’
‘Yes, but … you know, I can’t condone you defacing telegraph poles.’
‘And Clinton? Anything you can say?’
‘I can confirm that he’s been released, a short while ago, his solicitor drove him away; bit of press interest here.’
‘He might sell up and move on, unless you get the evidence.’
‘I like him for it, but he could not have acted alone. We have other leads we’re following-up regarding him.’
‘Well, good luck.’
‘Do you need an officer at your place? He’s home tonight, your neighbour.’
‘We’re well protected here and … well … you can only have an officer there for so long. Thank you anyway.’
With Callum gone, I noticed a text message, from Allison. It simply said: ‘Call.’
I called.
‘Roger?’
‘Yes, you text’d me.’
‘Clinton has been released.’
‘Yes, Callum informed me, offered an officer here.’
‘They don’t know what I know.’
‘Which is…?’
‘Sorry, Roger, but to catch a big fish…’
‘You need a good bait. And would I be right in thinking that that chap, little old Roger Bannister, would be put on the hook?’
‘Will you help?’
‘If it closes this chapter, I’d do almost anything.’
‘That function Clinton was at, his alibi, Coltrane was there – but not on the guest list.’
I closed my eyes for a moment. ‘Some old boy network?’
‘They knew each other. What did your solicitor say about him?’
‘That he was trying to get him onboard as a new client.’
‘Bullshit. Old family friend more like. When you pointed towards Coltrane the flood gates opened, two people showed up that are flagged, and one likes his treasure hunts. For the most part he’s legit, but there’re a few countries who would like their archaeological treasures back; I’ve spoken to the foreign office twice.’
‘Are they playing the long game?’
‘Yes, so this could take a while.’
‘And my part in things?’
‘Keep feeding me information, you’re better than a squad of detectives.’
‘Not by choice, Mister Allison, not by choice.’ He laughed. ‘So how would I be … bait?’
‘You want to find it to get rid of it, they want to smelt it down. So try and find it, but…’
‘Be seen to be trying to find it.’
‘Yep.’
‘Would that not be a little … risky for me and my family?’ I posed.
‘If they were going to move on you they would have done so before now, and I have a feeling that they stopped Mason from bothering you. Mason was secretly connected to Coltrane, land deals around the area. Coltrane has an offshore company, large amounts moved for Mason, Clinton and others.’
‘What about my ex-wife’s new chap?’
‘No connection.’
‘Oh. And, as a favour, could you … accidentally connect him?’
He laughed loudly. ‘No, so fuck off,’ he joked. ‘We’re not stitching up your ex-wife’s new man.’
‘Worth a go, I suppose. But look, if they think I’m getting close, they may do something.’
‘All I need is a few text messages from Coltrane to Clinton, and we have them. But they’re both professionals, and careful. I checked their emails, and nothing.’
‘How did they know I’d discover the silver?’
‘They didn’t, no one did. Clinton bought that spread, ready for a search over many years I guess, but what he didn’t tell Callum was that he had a tenant farmer lined up, a guy from Taunton. There’s an email from Clinton to the farmer, day after the silver hit the press, suggesting that Clinton had found out things about the farmer and would not use him now. It was an excuse to get rid of the tenant farmer and move in himself suddenly when he got back from Singapore.’
‘Ah.’
‘He told Callum that this farmer was going to assist him, not run the whole farm by himself. And he knows as much about farming as his Russian wife. They have an apartment in London, in her name, worth over a million.’
‘Over a million?’
‘Yes, Clinton is worth sixteen million, and then some.’
‘Well, I have a feeling that my solicitor will be calling me in the next few days. I’ll … wind him up a bit, and rattle his damn cage.’
‘Don’t worry, they won’t come after you, they’re smarter than that.’
‘And the man who went missing?’
‘No body yet.’
‘Coming back to them being smarter than that…?’
‘He might have come across something he shouldn’t have, Coltrane and Clinton half-naked and covered in pentagrams, holding hands around the campfire. Fuck knows.’
‘Mister Allison, don’t take this the wrong way, but you are sick bastard.’ He laughed. ‘Tell me, why did Coltrane do what I asked, and check the background of Clinton?’
‘No choice, and you may have done it through someone else anyway. I could have done that online in ten minutes if I’d thought about it, but we checked for crimes – not grandparents! This way he appears innocent, Coltrane I mean. They’re clever, and that alibi was clever, too clever. There were a few magistrates at that function, and Clinton made a point of upsetting them.’
‘So they would remember him.’
‘And he kept the train tickets, the hotel receipts, cash point receipts for that evening, but few other receipts found at the farmhouse. It was too good.’
‘And Callum?’
‘He can’t move on Clinton, not with the alibi. Be very careful what you say to the good detective.’
‘Oh, I’m getting good at the double talk now.’
Moving like cattle
The next day, at noon, Coltrane called. I sighed, forced a breath and stepped out of the house, and took the call. ‘Yes, Michael?’
‘Roger, Rupert Clinton is at home -’
‘Detective Callum informed me yesterday.’
‘Well, he wants to meet you.’
‘Meet me? He’s met me.’
‘He wants to clear the air, and to somehow assure you that he’s not killed anyone, and he very much wants to assure you that you and your family are in no danger.’
‘Then … maybe he is innocent, just damned unlucky.’
‘And we can’t condemn a man for being unlucky by his birth.’
‘No, that would be wrong.’
‘You have to live there, and unless the police fit him up he’ll be there for years to come. You’ll pass him every day.’
I sighed loudly. ‘Yes, that’s very true, and something I had considered. We are, after all, neighbours.’
‘You’ll meet him?’
‘At some point. What do you … recommend?’
‘Tomorrow, at my offices, no one will know.’
‘Seems odd to go all that way for both of us, and risk being seen together, when he’s just next door. Why don’t you pick him up and come down here to me.’
‘OK, if you’re happy with that.’
‘He deserves the benefit of the doubt.’
‘I’ll call you in the morning.’
I stepped out, the sky threatening rain, and called Allison.
‘Roger?’
‘I just had a call, and Clinton and Coltrane will be around for coffee and a chat tomorrow.’
‘What?’
‘Coltrane is acting as peacemaker, and Clinton wants peace apparently.’
‘That’s … totally unethical.’
‘Am I breaking any laws by meeting him?’
‘You’re not, no, but Clinton could be accused of trying to pervert the course of justice, and Coltrane … what an idiot. I could take him for this.’
‘But you won’t, because he hasn’t swallowed the bait yet.’
‘No. Jesus, what a fool he’s being. You could be called as a witness, in fact you would for sure, and Clinton is trying to influence you. I … I wouldn’t have thought they’d be that daft.’
‘Why do I smell a rat?’
‘Because there’s a big dead one here somewhere.’
I waited. ‘Hello?’
‘I can’t figure why Coltrane would risk his career like this.’
‘He’s taking a risk, but that risk is focused on me. Why?’
