Classic Mistake (8 page)

I waited impatiently for Monday, eager to get on with something, anything, that might help me get to the truth of the situation. Cara was Eva’s next of kin, and former husbands did not rank in the list of those to be informed, even through Dave as intermediary. My fear was that Eva had indeed murdered Carlos. In vain I told myself how unlikely this was, because each time I did so, I remembered those intemperate rages of hers when she was beside herself with unfounded jealousy. She had not changed. Who else but Eva would even consider a tryst might be taking place on a towpath at nearly midnight in showery, cool Maytime?

Come to that, I still thought it was an odd place for a business meeting. Unless a boat was indeed involved. That would make sense – frightening sense. I reminded myself that both Carlos and Eva had been on the opposite bank to the lock, but there were boats on both sides of the river and they were an obvious line of enquiry that Brandon would be pursuing.

I repeatedly rang Cara without success or a return call and grew increasingly jittery. On her home landline, I did reach Harry, but he simply told me Cara wasn’t there – either he was the uncommunicative sort or was protecting Cara’s whereabouts on her own instructions. Even from her father? That really made me feel great, and even my two classics failed in their duty to comfort me.

When Sunday, Monday and several hours of Tuesday morning passed without news, I felt like a Ford deprived of its V8, empty and unable to move in any direction. And then Cara drove up, looking so drawn and white that all thought of reproach left me. She wasted no time.

‘Eva’s been charged, Dad.’

I hardly noticed her use of ‘Dad’. The nightmare was upon us.

‘She’ll get bail, Cara,’ I said firmly. No point uttering panaceas such as ‘it’s all a mistake’.

Luckily, she was still in ‘coping’ mode. ‘I suppose they think she’ll flee the country?’

She was right. That was possible. Because of her Spanish birth, Eva was an EU citizen, so she wouldn’t get far by heading for Europe, but returning to South America might be on the cards. Nevertheless, as for fleeing: ‘She couldn’t find her own way out of a paper bag, let alone this mess,’ I reassured Cara. ‘Where is she?’

‘Still with the police.’

‘If she gets bail—’ I couldn’t frame the words. They sounded too inadequate, so selfish in this situation.

Cara understood anyway. ‘She won’t come here. Not suitable.’

I realized she was right, thank heavens. With the kind of restrictions there were likely to be on her bail if granted, Frogs Hill would hardly be ideal. So next came the vital question: ‘Can you stay in Kent?’

‘As much as I can.’

‘At Frogs Hill?’

‘I’d love to, but someone has to look after Eva. I can’t inflict her on Harry, so I’ll sort out something to rent in the Maidstone area.’ She looked at me and grinned. ‘Your face, Jack. It’s a picture.’

‘A bleak one, I imagine. I’m not doing much to help.’

‘Wrong. You, Jack dear, are the one who is going to get us out of this mess. I don’t believe Eva shot him, but she is going to be one hell of her own worst enemy while you’re trying to prove it.’

I had my orders and I was happy with them, but I looked at her face and saw that despite the assurance the other Cara was hovering very close. ‘Are you secretly afraid she
might
be guilty, sweetheart?’

Her relief was obvious. ‘Yes.’

‘So am I. But the likelihood is that she isn’t. Which means I’ll turn every stone I can upside down to find the toads that might be hiding beneath.’

She managed a giggle. ‘I like toads.’

‘So do I. But one of them might be in disguise.’

Seeing Cara had heartened me, and driving out to see my first potential toad that afternoon, I was just in the mood for Jonathan Lamb. I’d already decided he was a smooth cuss and probably a murderer, and no amount of telling myself I was somewhat in advance of the facts did any good. I had little doubt that I was following in Brandon’s footsteps and that Lamb would probably slam the door in my face, but he’d find it a hard door to shut.

When I drew up at the House of Lamb, which was on the outskirts of Canterbury, it was clear that it was nothing like Liz’s garden centre. Its declared aim, according to its website, was to consider interior and exterior as one, whether the inter-ior was house or flat and the exterior was garden or patio and window sills. The building in front of me, combined with the neat parking area and small garden, bore this out with colourful window boxes echoed by tubs and flower plantings. There were several cars in the parking area, and I had little doubt that the Bristol 411 was Jonathan’s, even if it didn’t seem to go with my idea of a murderer. But as I have never made a study of murderers’ cars, who was I to judge?

I gave my name to the receptionist (trying not to look too bullish), fully expecting the answer that I could take a running jump and lose myself. I was somewhat surprised therefore when Jonathan Lamb himself emerged and, with a welcoming smile, ushered me into his sanctum. A wolf in toad’s clothing? I wasn’t sure. He was in his mid forties, I guessed, smartly dressed but not the oily operator I had expected. His curly hair and rugged looks suggested he would be as at home on a country walk as in a five-star restaurant. Nor did his office display the clinical decor I expected. There were photos everywhere of designer houses and gardens, but they were good ones: attractive, rather than fighting the landscapes that surrounded them. Even the chair he offered me looked solid enough to take my weight rather than being a sophisticated piece of moulded plastic.

‘I’m sorry to hear the news about Eva,’ he said.

‘You knew her?’ I was surprised. I had imagined Carlos had kept his affair with Eva low profile. Stupid really. Eva would never be low profile.

‘Oh yes. We all remember Eva Colby.’

‘Was she that much in evidence at the May Tree?’

He considered this. ‘No, but when she was there she left an impression, shall we say. She oozed, if you’ll forgive me, trouble.’

‘Did she pick on Carlos or vice versa?’ I decided it would be prudent to leave my knowledge of Josie’s role out of it for the moment.

‘Difficult to say. Carlos fancied her, that was clear, but he liked money and I think he imagined she had more than she did. He was strapped for cash. The Charros were doing well but not well enough for him to create a new life for himself and Eva in the style to which they were both accustomed.’

‘He managed it somehow. Probably with the help of Eva’s relations. Incidentally, did she ring you to tell you she was back in Kent?’

‘No. Nor,’ he added, ‘did Carlos. I imagine that’s what you want to know, isn’t it?’ He looked at me ironically.

‘Is it so obvious?’

‘If it was my partner, even a former one, I’d do the same as you.’

I liked that. ‘I’m rooting around trying to find a reason for Carlos’s death. The police think they have got the measure of Eva, but something drew Carlos back here.’

‘What you really mean is that you’re fishing around to see who might have killed Carlos if she didn’t.’ He said it lightly and, I think, without intending to give offence. He couldn’t do that, in fact, as it was true.

‘Yes,’ I answered him.

‘And you think the answer lies in the Charros?’

‘I amend that to Carlos’s past.’

‘Good. Well, you’re on fertile ground with our former band. None of us had any reason to love him for what he did to us. He left us with mud on our white Charro suits. How could a Mexican band work without a Mexican? No way. So we had to hang up our whites and do the best we could in other fields. It was a tough time.’

I was aware that someone else had entered the room, and I looked round as Jonathan greeted him. ‘Hi, Clive. Friend to see us. Eva Colby’s husband. Clive was bass guitar, Jack.’

Clive Miller was no smooth Jonathan. He was a burly man also in his forties, but with suspicious eyes and a closed-in look that warned me it would take some time to get on easy terms with him. ‘Once,’ he grunted. ‘Don’t play a note now. What are
you
here for?’

The emphasis on the ‘you’ indicated he didn’t see me as a potential chum.

‘Because Eva’s been charged—’

‘With Mendez’s murder. That scum. He deserved all he got.’

In my book very few people deserve to be murdered, and Carlos was not one of them, dislikable though he might have been.

‘He wasn’t top of my list of favourite people either,’ I replied, ‘and my marriage to Eva is history. But with her arrest and my daughter in a spin –’ (forgive me, Cara) – ‘I’m trying to gather all I can on Mendez’s background.’

A long silence, then: ‘You’re with the police, aren’t you?’ Clive hurled at me.

‘Car theft is my line, not murder. I help out in cases where classic cars are nicked. Specialist area. I like the Bristol, Jonathan.’

‘Thank you,’ Jonathan said, perhaps too politely. I was aware that I was very much under scrutiny from both of them.

Clive brushed the topic of cars aside, fixing me with a look that indicated his stocky barrel-like figure was ready for a punch-up and only Jonathan’s presence was stopping him. ‘So you thought you’d prefer to pin the murder on us? No way, mate, no way. That scumbag wouldn’t have dared to show his face to us, let alone meet us. We’d be the last people to whom he’d announce his arrival. We heard it through the grapevine. He knew what his reception would have been if he’d come to see us. If it hadn’t been for Jon here giving me a job I’d have been a complete washout. I did a spell in prison for drugs after he went and—’

Jonathan quickly intervened. ‘Clive’s right. Carlos would keep well away from us. And I’ve been lucky. Clive and I make a good team here. We’re doing OK.’

‘What about the rest of the band?’ I wondered what Clive would have gone on to say.

Jonathan looked amused. ‘If you’re thinking of Matt Wright, don’t bother. He can’t plan his own breakfast, let alone a murder. And as for Josie, she’s well established now and wouldn’t give Carlos the time of day if he contacted her. Not that he would dare. All of us are anxious to leave things be, not stir them up.’

‘So if he didn’t contact any of you direct, what was the grapevine through which you heard the news?’

A pause, then Jonathan spoke. ‘I didn’t tell you, Clive. I thought the news Carlos was back might upset you. He did ring Josie to tell her he was coming down to promote business.’

I noted that Jonathan was no George Washington when it came to parting with information. If Carlos had used the word promote, however, did that imply he was simply trying to arrange more gigs rather than raise cash, I wondered. Somehow I didn’t think so.

Clive took the information badly. ‘Upset, Jon? Too bloody right I would have been
upset.
Bad enough knowing that creep was back, let alone having Josie put through the mincer again.’

‘It’s past history, Clive,’ Jonathan murmured, then turned to me. ‘Now, Jack, do think about it. Is it at all likely that after all this time any of us would get to the point of ruining our lives for a
second
time with an attack on Carlos?’

‘Unlikely,’ I agreed, just to please him, though I wondered just how upset Clive would have to be to go into action. Spur of the moment rage could surely not be ruled out.

‘Carlos Mendez was a coward through and through. Right, Clive?’ Jonathan said.

‘Yes,’ Clive snarled.

‘It’s worked out brilliantly my working with Clive here,’ Jonathan continued. ‘We have our own homes and our own partners, and Clive has two kids to whom I’m godfather. As I said, we’re OK. And, what’s more, we were there at our respective homes the night Carlos was killed, as we told the police when they came on the same errand as you.’ His pleasant voice glossed over the underlying ‘so get lost’ message.

I decided I would put one last oar into these apparently untroubled waters. ‘And Neil Watson?’

Jonathan seemed prepared for that and to have considered his matter-of-fact reply: ‘Neil and I were lovers. When he killed himself I thought my world had ended. But it hadn’t. And because of that I and the other Charros choose to honour him with a lunch each year. Does that make sense?’

It did – in a way.

I drove home to Frogs Hill contemplating what, if anything, I had achieved and where to go next. I now had a basis at least on which to work: a clear statement that all the Charros members stuck together. To which I needed to add Matt Wright – and Josie Gibson, the singer who no longer sang and whom Carlos had rung to say he’d be back. When I reached the Pits, contemplation was over. Len was upset and Zoe in a foul temper.

‘Blame Miss Angel Face,’ she said savagely. ‘We’re not going to get the Alvis finished today.’

So nothing new there, but how did Daisy come into it? ‘Is Daisy still here?’ I asked warily.

‘No, but she was mooning around here all morning. She’d taken a day off work to so-called “help” you find that car of hers. She pestered Len for every bit of info he ever knew on Morris Minors.’

‘Did she want anything in particular?’

‘She didn’t say, but the subtext was that she wanted results from you, Jack.
You.
’

Melody was back on the agenda for further action, if I could think of any. I had indeed gone to Bluebell Hill to see if by any chance a pinky-grey Morris Minor had by coincidence chosen the same time to share a major road with me. It had not, and I had put Melody aside with the crisis over Eva. Although I had not been able to take up Daisy’s offer to hire me, the police had, and it was time I remembered that.

R
emembering Melody was all too easy. What proved more difficult over the next week was making progress on the case. I did my best. I was in touch with every Morris Minor and classic car club in the south-east of England. I scoured the Internet. I pestered Dave’s Car Crime team about any Morris Minor reports and tried to establish whether either of the meagre two they had had reported could possibly be Melody masquerading under a quick paint job. Even I had to concede that neither of the two was the one I was seeking.

I had no choice. Daisy would have to be appeased. That meant I had to follow up a hunch so vague that I was still in two minds about even considering it, let alone mentioning it to the sunlight princess. With Eva now charged and on remand in Holloway prison, and Cara temporarily back in Suffolk, I was trying to sort fact from fiction over Mendez’s murder. That had to be my priority, but I still needed to clear Melody off my plate.