The Blue Rose (28 page)

Kate dug her fingernails into the floorboards and pulled. She couldn't break his hold. She screamed, redoubling her effort, but it was no use. She had nothing to hold on to and simply hadn't the strength to break free of his grip. She began to cry tears of pain and frustration. Trying to blink them away, her eyes came to rest on a broken posthole digger and a garden fork. They were among a jumble of old implements stacked against the wall. Close to her, less than an arm's length away, was a shovel. The long wooden handle was weathered and grey. Despite age and rusting, it looked sturdy. She reached for it, fingertips barely touching.

Marcus jerked her backward. Turning her head, she could see that his upper body was now almost free of the bags. She could make out the tendons stretching in his neck. She looked at him with revulsion. His dark, ferret-like eyes bore into hers like black marbles, relentless and vengeful. She lunged forward, straining for the shovel. She barely managed to grasp the bottom of the handle before he jerked again. Kate turned, pulled herself up to a kneeling position, raised the shovel above her head, and swung it down with all the strength she could muster. She closed her eyes just before it crashed down on his head. A hard, metallic sound echoed around the barn. It made her stomach turn. She tensed, expecting him to scream. But no sound came, as he lay slumped, eyes closed, his cheek distorted grotesquely on one of the bags. She turned away from the sight.

Her leg now free, she scrambled to her feet and started to stagger towards the steps. As she did, her foot struck something small and metallic that slid along the wooden planks in front of her.

The gun.

My God! He'd dropped it!

She stooped and picked it up. Gripping it in her right hand, she turned and ran.

She could see a patch of daylight ahead: the entrance. What would confront her when she returned to the paddock, she wondered? She was fearful but determined to find out. She was almost out of the barn when she heard a strange noise. She stopped and looked to her left. Alongside a small tractor, Baldie – still strapped to the post – was furiously thumping the ground with his feet. He stopped when he saw he had her attention.

Kate put the gun in her pocket and ran over to him. Remembering Baldie's knife, she reached in his pocket, unfolded it and cut through the duct tape. She let him pull the tape off his mouth.

Cursing profusely, he told her how Marcus had out-smarted him. His shotgun was nowhere to be seen – Marcus had undoubtedly taken it. In turn, she explained briefly everything that had happened to her, finally telling him that the police were on their way.

Together they headed toward the paddock.

The fog was thicker than ever, swirling in grey curtains, beading the grass with moisture and deadening sound. From behind the cover of the barn, Kate brushed the damp sheen off her eyebrows and lashes and stared into the paddock. Barely visible, though no more than thirty feet from her, the tall man in the windbreaker she'd seen earlier was pacing back and forth as if waiting for somebody or for something to happen. He was still holding the gun. Immediately behind him, looking out of place in the empty paddock, was a large shrub in a wooden container. Two men still stood by it. In her panic she must have missed it before. It took a few seconds to register on her. It was the blue rose.

A few paces off to the left of the rose, she could make out the blurry figures of Alex and Kingston sitting on the grass-tufted dirt.

All this time Baldie, standing behind her, hadn't said a word.

‘They're waiting for Marcus,' Kate whispered over her shoulder.

‘Is that your husband over there?'

‘Yes. And our friend, Lawrence, with him. Look,' she said, ‘I've got Marcus's gun,' and she took it out of her pocket.

‘It's too risky, going out there,' he said, shaking his head. ‘That bloke looks like a nasty piece of work.'

‘He is. He shot Lawrence.'

The faint sound of a siren interrupted them. As they listened, it came closer.

‘Thank God,' said Kate.

Baldie gripped her arm. ‘Wait! Looks like he's about to do a runner. Quick, gimme the gun.' Without thinking Kate handed it to him. The minute she did so, she knew it was a mistake.

Baldie took careful aim at Wolff, but sufficiently over his head so as not to hit him, then fired. ‘Drop the gun and stay where you are,' he shouted over the din.

Wolff, who had already started running, stumbled, then stopped, dropping into a crouch. With his gun raised straight-arm at eye level he panned it slowly from left to right, his eyes searching for signs of sound or movement. Kate froze, knowing that a mere flinch from her or Baldie could be catastrophic.

The sirens were loud now. Kate bit the inside of her cheek, determined to remain motionless, her eyes riveted on the gunman. It would only be moments before it would all be over, but in those few nail-biting seconds she knew anything could happen. What did happen was the last thing she expected.

Out of the grey drizzle a body hurtled horizontally through the air aimed directly at the gunman. It was Alex!

The man collapsed under the jarring impetus of Alex's perfectly executed rugby tackle. Kate closed her eyes for an instant, opening them just in time to see the man's body twist grotesquely and smash into the planter box.

It was as if she were watching a slow motion black-and-white movie. A sickening crack followed as the bone of his forearm snapped on the sharp edge of the planter box. His pistol went spinning through the air.

Unable to break his fall, the man had plunged face-sideways into the rose.

She gasped and looked away for a moment as his scream echoed around the paddock. Turning back, she saw the man writhing on the ground, one bloody hand splayed across his face. Alex had picked himself up and now stood over the injured man, panting heavily.

‘Alex! Alex!' she shouted, running toward him through the mist.

Turning, he staggered a dozen steps, and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. Kate was shaking convulsively. ‘Oh, thank God, Alex. Thank God it's over,' she breathed in his ear.

Alex was kissing her, on her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair. ‘You're safe now, darling. Nothing else matters – nothing else.'

She was about say something when Alex put two fingers gently on her closed lips.

‘Shhh,' he murmured over the wail of the sirens.

For a short time they stayed locked together listening to doors slamming and shouting from the parking area.

She jerked her head in the direction of the man on the ground, not wanting to look at the grisly sight again. ‘Who is he, Alex?' she asked.

‘His name's Wolff. Ira Wolff.'

‘His men kidnapped me.'

‘We know, Kate.'

‘Marcus, the one who chased me, is up in the barn. I think I might have killed him.'

‘If you did, he bloody well deserved it. Let the police worry about him.'

‘My God! What a nightmare.'

‘It's ended, Kate. Finally.'

He held her away from him and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. ‘Wait here, Kate, while I get that gun.' He let her go and walked over to where Wolff 's gun lay on the dirt, and picked it up. Going back to Kate he passed close to Wolff, who was now half sitting, propped up on his good elbow. His face was a mask of dirt and blood oozing from a latticework of deep gashes. He held a blood-streaked hand splayed over his cheek and ear. The other hand dangled uselessly from his broken arm. He looked up at Alex through venomous, blood-caked eyes. His voice was laced with hate. ‘I'm not through with you yet,' he growled. He coughed, wincing with pain. ‘You'll be hearing from me, you bastard.'

Alex said nothing. He just stared down, slowly shaking his head. Finally, he turned away and said quietly, ‘I doubt it. I doubt it very much.'

He walked over to Kate and took her hand in his. She put her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were pooled with tears, making white lines in the grime on her cheeks. She realized she was still trembling. Neither spoke. Her head remained buried in Alex's shoulder until the shaking stopped. Then they kissed.

‘Is Lawrence all right?' she asked.

‘Yes, he's fine. He was very lucky – it's only a flesh wound.'

‘There were two other men here.'

Alex looked around the paddock. ‘I guess they took off when Kingston was shot. Can't say as I blame them.'

‘Who were they?'

‘One was Charlie Compton. He owns this place. The other was our friend Tanaka, the one who wrote us the letter. I'll explain it all later, Kate.'

They walked over to Kingston. All this time he had been anchored to the ground nursing his wound, helplessly watching the horrendous spectacle that had just taken place.

Kate knelt beside him. He was still grasping his thigh. The scarf Alex had used as a bandage and Kingston's trouser leg were both dark with blood. His face was ashen. She looked into his eyes. Despite his discomfort, they still had sparkle in them.

‘Looks a lot worse than it probably is,' he grunted. ‘Bloody painful, though.' He managed a smile, nodding toward the barn. ‘What the hell happened in there?'

‘An awful lot, Lawrence. But we've got to get you to a hospital – I think there's an ambulance here.'

‘What about Wolff?'

‘Not too good, I'm afraid. He's a bloody mess – but I think he'll survive, they're only scratches.'

‘Somehow, I don't think so,' Kingston said, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Alex and I have an awful lot to tell you, Kate.'

Baldie, two policemen and two ambulance attendants carrying a stretcher were walking towards them. Then a third policeman, with a hammerlock on Marcus, came into view. Marcus's head was bloodied and he appeared to have trouble walking properly.

Kate gently patted Kingston's arm. ‘And I've got quite a story to tell the two of you – believe me.'

‘Well, Kate, we might as well polish this off,' said Alex, picking up the bottle of Veuve Clicquot and pouring the last of the champagne into their glasses.

It was an agreeable Sunday afternoon at The Parsonage, the sun going in and out, but enough to keep it pleasantly warm. They were relaxing in white wicker chairs on the flagstone terrace, at a round table draped with a Provençal print tablecloth. On the table, in addition to the now empty bottle of champagne and two almost empty bottles of wine, were the remains of lunch. It was a week to the day after the showdown in Sussex.

Kingston had left half an hour earlier to drive back to London. After his wound had been treated at the Victoria Hospital in Lewes, Kate and Alex had insisted – over Kingston's thinly disguised protestations – that he come back with them and stay at The Parsonage for a few days to recover. On the drive home, Alex had to suffer the discomfort and indignity of the Alfa's jump seat.

Towards the end of lunch Kate had expressed concern about the quantity of wine Kingston had consumed and had invited him to stay overnight.

‘The offer's tempting, old girl, but I really must get back. You know I have an awful lot of catching up to do. Besides,' he grinned, ‘there is a limit to how many times one's underwear can be washed.'

In the hours and days after the Sunday in Sussex a clearer picture of what happened that morning had emerged. Surprisingly, it had all taken place in less than an hour. Nine people were involved. Of the nine, one had since died.

Two days after returning home, Alex had phoned the hospital in Lewes to inquire about Wolff 's condition. The hospital spokesperson informed him that Wolff had succumbed to the massive infection resulting from his wounds. Describing Vicky's symptoms and death and pointing out the similarity with Wolff 's, Alex urged the Lewes doctors to confer with those at the John Radcliffe Hospital. He was assured that the hospital staff would follow up on the matter and keep him informed of their findings.

They had heard from Charlie Compton, too. He had phoned Alex to report that the local environmental health officer had visited the site and that the Department of Health had taken custody of the rose. The official informed Compton that the rose would ‘remain in the department's custody until further notice'. That was the government's official position.

Alex was curious to know what had happened after the two of them took off, when Wolff shot Kingston. Compton said that the minute he got to the office he phoned the police, telling them that all hell was breaking loose and that someone had been shot. He also told them about the shotgun blast, earlier. The police told him that they'd already received a similar call from a woman and that a car and ambulance were on their way. The policeman had been emphatic about his not going back outside, particularly with his shotgun, as he had wanted to. He told Compton under no circumstances should he intervene and that he should stay put until they arrived.

As for Tanaka, Compton said that the last he saw of him, he was running towards his car. He hadn't heard from him since. He also learned that the police had later picked up Tanaka's BMW, which turned out to be hired.

Questioned on the theft of the rose, Compton told Alex that he had no inkling Tanaka was involved in anything unlawful. He assumed, from the beginning, that what Adell and Tanaka had both told him was true: that Tanaka represented a wealthy Japanese industrialist who wanted to purchase the rose. And it was, of course. But Compton had no idea that it was Tanaka – or somebody in his pay – who had nicked the rose out of Nell's garden.

Not surprisingly, when news of the blue rose's discovery and the incidents and deaths linked to it hit the streets, an avalanche of press coverage followed. The story was splashed across the front page of just about every newspaper and magazine in Britain. The international press was quick to follow. Garden publications, of course, clamoured for stories and photos and several major American publications, including
Newsweek
and
Time
, dispatched reporters to cover Wiltshire's now notorious blue rose. Even pictures of the farmhouse where Kate had been incarcerated appeared in the press. She had filed a police report of her kidnapping and her time held captive, and had helped the police locate the farmhouse.

Then there was the matter of Graham's death. Soon after they had returned from Sussex, Alex had received a not-unexpected phone call from Inspector Holland, requesting a follow-up meeting. Naturally, Holland had seen all the press coverage. The get-together at The Parsonage with Kate, Alex and Kingston lasted over an hour. It was more cordial than the one to which Alex had been subjected the first time.

Holland informed them – as he had earlier told Alex – that at first it was thought that Graham had died from a heart attack caused during a struggle. But further examination by the pathologists had revealed that his skull was fractured. Blunt force trauma, Holland said. Confirming Kingston's suspicions about Tanaka's involvement, Holland volunteered that they had witnesses who had seen two men – one of them Asian – enter Cooke's house about half an hour before Alex and Kingston discovered the body. Alex, of course, was no longer a suspect.

 

Alex leaned across the table and put his hand on Kate's. ‘It's going to seem awfully quiet around here for a while,' he said.

‘Thank God for that,' said Kate, with a winsome smile. ‘By the way, I gave Peg a sterling silver frame the other day for taking such good care of the shop and for looking after Asp while you were gone. She sold quite a lot of stuff, actually.'

‘That was nice of you.'

Their talk turned to more prosaic matters, mostly concerning the house, Kate's shop and the amount of catching up facing Alex at his office. At a pause in the conversation Kate looked at him for a long moment, but said nothing.

‘You look a little sad, darling. What are you thinking about?'

She tilted her head back and looked up into the coppery leaves of the Japanese maple that hung over the edge of the terrace. ‘I was thinking about Vicky.'

Alex said nothing, not wanting to disturb her thoughts.

‘All because of that rose,' she sighed. ‘All because of that damned rose.'

‘How were we to know, Kate?'

‘I know.' She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I have to stop by and see Jill at the nursery.' She hesitated. ‘You said you talked to her.'

‘Yes, briefly, when Lawrence and I were trying to find out whether you or Vicky had taken cuttings. And if you had, what had happened to them. I told you about it. Since they had all died and had already been disposed of I didn't think it necessary to report it. But thinking back on it, I suppose I should have at least told the Health Department.' He shrugged. ‘Of course, Jill never knew what they were.'

‘Thank God she didn't handle them.'

‘I should say. You know, in a way, it's just as well that they died. They were a time bomb sitting on the shelf of that greenhouse. Ten baby blue killers.'

A startled look crossed Kate's face. ‘Ten?'

‘That's what Jill said.'

‘You're certain?'

‘I'm positive. She said all ten died from lack of watering.'

‘Oh dear,' Kate said, biting her lip.

‘What's the matter?'

‘It may not be over yet, Alex.'

‘Why?'

‘Because Vicky took twelve cuttings.'

‘You could be mistaken, couldn't you?'

‘No. She took them early the morning you and Vicky dug up the rose. She put them in our garden shed until the two of you returned. When you did, she picked them up and took them to the nursery on her way home. At least, that was her plan. I remember offering to bring them in the next day because she wasn't feeling well, but she insisted it wasn't a problem.'

‘Are you absolutely sure? It
was
quite a while ago,' said Alex.

‘No, I'm sure of it. Vicky made a remark to the effect that she stopped at twelve because one more would have been unlucky. I thought at the time that a dozen was quite a lot.'

They exchanged awkward glances. Neither spoke.

Kate looked at her watch and got up. ‘Just to be absolutely sure, let me call Jill.'

She turned and walked into the house.

Five minutes later she returned and sat down to face Alex, an enigmatic look on her face.

‘Well?' he said.

‘You were right. Jill swears there were only ten and that nobody else on the staff had access to them – only her.'

Alex frowned. ‘Wow!'

Kate's expression was a mixture of resignation and disbelief. ‘That means that two cuttings are missing.'

‘Now what?'

‘We have to tell the police, I guess.'

‘The Health Department, too,' Alex added.

Nothing was said for several moments while they pondered the implications.

‘Who could have taken them?' asked Kate.

‘God knows.'

‘Despite Jill's certainty, it could have been somebody at the nursery.'

‘Not likely – Jill said she's the only one with a key to the greenhouse.'

‘I suppose it could be any number of people. But how on earth would they have known the cuttings were there? And another thing, when did they have the opportunity?'

‘Let me think a moment.' Alex folded his napkin neatly and placed it on the table, smoothing it out with his palm. ‘We know full well that both Wolff and Tanaka would anticipate that we would take cuttings as a means of insurance.'

‘Plus, we know that they were both watching us all the time.'

‘Yes, but didn't you say that Vicky took those cuttings at crack of dawn?'

‘I know, but they could have been watching the next day when she picked them up from the shed.'

‘But from that point on, they were under lock and key.'

Kate shook her head. ‘I don't know. It's just too much. Looks like the damned rose is going to have the last say after all.'

Alex was rubbing his chin, deep in thought. ‘You know, there is another possibility.'

‘What's that?'

‘Well, we've been going on the assumption that the two cuttings were stolen sometime after Vicky picked them up, from the nursery. But isn't it more likely that they were taken from the shed while Vicky and I were gone?'

Kate nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.'

‘Remember, Vicky was very ill when she picked them up. I doubt she would have bothered to count them. Why would she?'

‘It makes sense,' said Kate.

‘Question is, who filched them?'

‘I suppose we'll never know for sure.'

‘Somehow, I don't think it was Wolff. If it were, chances are that he would have mentioned it sooner or later. No, I think it was more than likely Tanaka.'

‘But it's still a guess,' said Kate.

‘Yes, but a calculated one. We know he had people watching us, and it's more than likely that they saw us dig up the rose and then followed us up to Aunt Nell's, which would explain how Tanaka knew where the rose was hidden.'

‘I think you're right, Alex. We were all gone most of that weekend. I was at the shop all day that Saturday and stayed overnight at Peg's. You and Vicky were up in Shropshire. It would've been all too easy for somebody to take a couple of cuttings out of the shed.'

‘I bet that's exactly what happened.'

A brief moment of silence was punctuated by the faint chime of the hall clock striking the hour.

‘Then there's two more killers out there,' Kate said, in a near whisper.

A long shadow fell across the table as the sun vanished behind angry gathering clouds. A sudden and noisy fluttering. Then strident cawing, as the murder of crows took off from the stately cedar at the edge of their vision. Kate and Alex watched silently as they vanished into the grey distance.