Sight Unseen (22 page)

'Word for word.'

'Sharp had you down as prime suspect, I take it.'

'Initially.'

'That's the trouble with policemen. They think in straight lines. Of course, he lacked a crucial piece of information I turned up five years ago. The letter brought it centre stage.'

'What might that be?'

'All in good time, Mr Umber. Let's not rush our fences.' Wisby lit another cigarette. 'I was over here last week double-checking a few points. I hadn't planned to do anything on the strength of my conclusions straight away, but the arrival of the heavy mob canalside forced my hand. That's why I'm back. What about you?'

'George was intending to speak to Jeremy Hall. Someone went to considerable lengths to stop him. So, I reckoned I ought to pay Jeremy a call. But how did you know I was on the island?'

'It stood to reason, with Sharp here as well. I tried a few hotels and struck lucky at the Pomme d'Or. Bringing his van to Jersey wasn't a smart move on Sharp's part. He was asking for trouble. I flew. Like you, I imagine. Have you seen Jeremy yet?'

'Yesterday afternoon.'

'How was he?'

'Not a happy bunny. Threw me out.'

'Understandable. He's under a lot of pressure. I should know, since I'm the one applying it. That's why I steered you towards Quires. So we could get together before you queered the pitch for me.'

'Who bought the vellum-bound Junius? Was it Jeremy?'

'Yes. I had to pay Garrard over the odds for an unreadable history of Jersey before he'd give me a decent description of the customer, but there was no doubt who it fitted. Of course, I could have guessed that anyway. The really important question isn't who bought the book, but where it came from.'

'Garrard said he didn't know.'

'I don't think he does. But it's a vital link in the chain that connects Griffin with Jeremy Hall.
We
have to know.'

'How do we find out?'

'By forcing Jeremy to tell us. Which brings me to your part in the proceedings. You're the historian, not me. Part of my deal with Jeremy is that he hands over the Junius and in return I don't tell his father he stirred up all this trouble for his family by sending anonymous letters to Sharp and me and God knows who else.'

'Jeremy sent them?'

'I think his purchase of the book proves he did. And the book proves something else. If it's authentic. That's where you come in. I was going to have to back my own judgement but I don't need to with you tagging along. You'll be able to say for certain if it's the copy Griffin promised to show you at Avebury.'

'Well, yes, I can. But --'

'How did it get to Jersey, hey?' Wisby turned to look Umber in the eye. 'And what does it mean? I think I know. I think I have it all worked out.'

'Planning to let me in on the secret?'

'Yes -- as soon as we have the book.'

'Tell me now.'

Wisby shook his head. 'Too risky. There's a chance you might try to do your own deal with Jeremy and cut me out. Got a meeting arranged with him, have you?'

'Yes. I have. Why shouldn't --'

'When is it?'

'This afternoon.'

'Time and place?'

'A cafe on the seafront. La Fregate. Four o'clock. Come along if you don't believe me.'

'Oh, I will. That's where and when
I'm
meeting him too.' Wisby laughed, setting off a phlegmy cough. He discarded his cigarette in apparent disgust. 'Quite a comedian, isn't he? He obviously thinks we're in cahoots. As we are now, I suppose.'

'Are we?'

'Might as well be.' A second bout of coughing came and went. 'Don't you reckon?'

Partnering up with Wisby did not leave Umber with a pleasant taste in the mouth. But he could not see, even when he reviewed matters back at the hotel, how he might have managed their encounter any differently. They stood a better chance of extracting the truth from Jeremy Hall by joining forces. Theirs was only a temporary alliance, Umber told himself. Once they had learned the truth -- whatever it was -- different rules would apply.

* * *

He phoned Larter during the empty few hours that separated him from their meeting with Jeremy. He should have made the call sooner, as Larter forcefully reminded him. The truth was that he had felt safer with no-one knowing his exact whereabouts. But it was not a feeling he could afford to indulge.

'What are you up to, boy?'

'Can't go into details, Bill.'

'Onto anything promising?'

'Depends what you mean.

'I mean something that will get George out of choky.'

'I might be.'

'I had him on the blower yesterday.'

'George?'

'Prisons ain't what they used to be. Inmates are allowed all sorts these days -- including phone calls.'

'How did he sound?'

'Down in the mouth.'

'Did he ask about me?'

'Of course he asked about you. I told him you'd scarpered, intentions unknown. He didn't believe me, though. I could tell. He never said as much, but I got the feeling he reckons you'll have ignored his message. That's why he's keeping his lawyer in the dark. To give you a clear run.'

'I'll try and make the most of it.'

'You better had, boy. You better had.'

* * *

La Fregate was a cafe housed in an artful representation of the inverted hull of a wooden ship, beached on St Helier's breezy seafront. The chill edge to the breeze had driven its few customers inside, with the solitary exception of Alan Wisby. He was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, hunched over a cigarette and a cup of tea, when Umber arrived. There was nearly a quarter of an hour to go till their appointment with Jeremy Hall, but beating Wisby to any rendezvous was clearly next to impossible.

'Couldn't wait, hey?' said Wisby by way of greeting.

'Like you, it seems.'

'No, no. I got here early for the sea air. Ozone's good for the brain, they tell me.'

Umber did not pursue the point. He went into the cafe and bought a coffee. By the time he came back out, a way to wrongfoot Wisby had presented itself appealingly to his mind. He sat down and looked at Wisby, who had angled his chair to face the dual carriageway heading into St Helier from the west -- the direction Jeremy Hall would come from.

'We should hear him coming even if we don't see him,' Wisby said. 'Unless he's already in town. As he may well be, if, as I suspect, he's been keeping the books in a safe-deposit box somewhere.'

'You can tell me about your theory now.'

'No, no. Not until the books are in our hands.'

'You refused to tell me earlier on the grounds that I might cut my own deal with Jeremy. Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? So, there's no need for you to hold out on me.'

Wisby squinted round at Umber in the dazzling sunlight. 'No need for me not to, either.'

'Oh, but there is. Particularly if you want to be able to rely on my say-so as to whether the Junius he brings with him is the one Griffin promised to show me at Avebury. And that's central to your theory, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Wisby hesitantly and reluctantly agreed.

'So you need to be certain. Absolutely certain. And for that you need to give me something in advance.'

'Don't you trust me, Mr Umber?'

'Not at all.'

Wisby drew smilingly on his cigarette. Well, it's good to know where we stand, I suppose.'

'What's your theory?'

Wisby sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then said, 'All right. I'll tell you. Since my good faith's being questioned. Griffin
is
central. Why didn't he turn up at Avebury?'

'I don't know. I've never known.'

'It's a mystery.'

'Yes. A total mystery.'

'Perhaps not. If he
did
turn up.'

'What do you mean?'

'Donald Collingwood was already dead when I went back over the case five years ago. That turned out to be to my advantage. I went to see his widow. She was in an old people's home. With Collingwood six foot under, she didn't mind telling me something she'd never have breathed a word about while he was alive. Seems Collingwood came into money straight after the Miranda Hall inquest. Not a fortune, but a tidy sum. He spun his missus a yarn about a lucky bet on the horses, but she never believed him. Just like she never believed he drove through Avebury on the twenty-seventh of July, 1981.'

'What?'

'Seems there was no reason for him to have been on that road.'

'And you're saying... he wasn't?'

'Exactly.'

'But --'

'He came forward three weeks into the inquiry to account for the car that followed the van. Don't you see? He was put up to it. Paid... to cover Griffin's tracks.'

'Griffin?'

'He was the car driver, not Collingwood. Griffin saw what happened and, good citizen that he was, set off after the van. Well, I think he caught up with it. Or was allowed to, once the driver realized he was tailing them. I think he was murdered to stop him telling the police where the van had gone. Plus its registration number, of course. Plus... who knows?'

'Can you prove any of this?'

'Not yet.'

'What about a body? If Griffin was murdered...'

'I've checked the records carefully. There were no unclaimed corpses within any feasible radius of Avebury in late July of 'eighty-one. And no missing-person report anywhere for anyone called Griffin. If there had been, Sharp would have picked up on it straight away.'

'Sounds like you've gone a long way to proving yourself wrong, then.'

'Not if Griffin was using an assumed name and/or his body was carefully disposed of.'

'Come off it. You're stretching.'

'Wait till you hear what Jeremy Hall has to tell us, Mr Umber. The key is how -- and in whose hands -- the book got from Avebury twenty-three years ago to Jersey a few months ago. I don't believe for an instant Jeremy found it on the shelf at Quires by chance. I reckon --'

'Mr Umber?' Both men turned at the call. 'One of you two Mr Umber?' It was the serving girl leaning out through the door of the cafe. "There's someone on the phone for you.'

Umber exchanged a glance with Wisby, then stood up and hurried into the cafe. The girl pointed towards the telephone at one end of the counter, receiver dangling off the hook. Umber picked it up.

'Hello?'

'That you, Shadow Alan?' It was Jeremy Hall. There was, of course, no-one else it could have been. His voice was slightly slurred, as if he had been drinking.

'Yes. It's me. Why aren't you here?'

'Wisby with you, is he?'

'Yes. As you arranged. I repeat: why aren't you here?'

'I thought about it and decided we ought to meet somewhere more... private.'

'Where?'

'The old man's place. With him and Marilyn away, it's nice and quiet. I'm there now. Wisby knows where it is. Come on over. I'll wait for you.'

'OK. But, Jeremy, you ought to know Wisby and I aren't --'

'Save it. I don't want to hear. Remember the day we first met, do you?'

'Of course.'

'There was a kestrel above us. I saw it. Turning and turning in the sky. Did you see it?'

'I don't think so.'

'Predator or prey. We're one or the other. You want your Junius, Shadow Man? You come and find him.'

* * *

Wisby had parked his hire car on the other side of the harbour. By the time they had reached it and got onto the dual carriageway heading out of town, twenty minutes had passed, testing both men's patience.

'I smell a rat,' said Wisby as he accelerated well beyond the sedate island-wide speed limit of 40 mph. 'He never intended to meet us in St Helier, did he?'

'Maybe not. But what difference does it make?'

'If he's planning to play some kind of trick on us...'

'What kind
could
he play? I thought you had him where you wanted him.'

'I do. But despite that he seems to be calling the shots. Which is worrying. Distinctly worrying.'

* * *

They turned inland halfway round the bay and headed north along a winding road through a tree-filled valley -- Waterworks Valley, according to Wisby, named on account of its several reservoirs. Sunlight sparkled on the still blue water and the bright yellow drifts of daffodils in the roadside meadows. Oliver Hall had chosen a picturesque corner of Jersey to retire to.

Wisby slowed as they rounded a bend. A gated driveway led off the road to the left, climbing through landscaped grounds towards a large house set amongst trees. A sign at the foot of the drive identified it as Eden Holt.

'This is it,' said Wisby. He pulled up in front of the gates, lowered his window and pressed a button set next to an intercom grille on a post. 'Let's see if he's going to let us in.'