The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

“No doubt.
I wouldn’t mind, but he’s
being rough, really rough.”

“Pink
handcuffs?”

“Not exactly.
Anyway, I think I’ll leave it to
him when I die. Only if I die young that is, he’s not going to want a saggy
fanny.”

“Vana,
I can always count on you to make me laugh!”

The
friends were back to their normal selves again, and the events of the last week
were slowly being erased from their memories.

“Right
that’s enough about me. What about you and Steven?”

“We’re
taking it slowly.”

8

Mary
and Jim had the lounge to themselves; the girls were upstairs, James asleep,
and Sally reading in bed. They were cuddling up together on the sofa watching
television. A telephone call from Keely (a family friend back in Leeds)
informed Mary of the recent deaths of Helen and Barbara, and Keely wanted to
know how Zoe was holding up. The news had shocked Mary somewhat, and the fact
that Zoe hadn’t mentioned it made her slightly concerned.

“She
probably doesn’t know,” said Jim, reassuring her.

“Jim,
believe me, Zoe would know, and if she wasn’t told – then Vana would be.”

“We
go away for one week and look what happens.”

“You
don’t think Barbara’s death caused her relapse?”

“No.
The fact there is a new boy on the scene probably had something to do with it,”
replied Jim, channel-hopping on the TV. “Oh, I never considered Steve or Steven
– whatever his name is,” added Mary.

With
the house having been smudged and seemingly at peace, Zoe back on the
medication and steadily on the recovery trail – what could possibly go wrong?

1

Zoe
and Sally had since told the family of their discovery, but omitted the ghost
stories. They were mostly understandably gobsmacked to learn of the news,
particularly Mary.

“And
he was arrested in this house?”

“Yes,
Mum.”

“Let
me get this straight. You’re both saying a former butler, hanged for being a
murderer, worked for a family we’re related to, and...?”

“It’s
far-fetched at best,” interrupted Jim.

“Jim,
be quiet a moment. And his name is too smudged; it could be Sidney Ellbottom
for all we know!”

“Yes,
I know but...”

“Zoe.
Great grandma couldn’t even remember her surname.
Nor could
great Uncle Will.
Without birth records we can’t prove any of this.”

“I
know. I’ll get on the internet, mum. There’s got to be someone who could help.”

The
revelation had got Mary wondering why she picked this house in the first place
when they could have had virtually any property in Chelsea, or anywhere in
London for that matter, – well, within budget. The more she dwelled on it, the
spookier it became, and so she just had to try to put it to the back of her
mind – it was beginning to freak her out somewhat.

Jim
was just glad that his wife now had some idea where she came from – Mary had
spent most of her life wondering that. She enjoyed watching television
programmes researching peoples’ family trees, and often felt sad that hers
started at a workhouse in Liverpool.

James
was delighted to have been given top marks for his family tree presentation,
and with a big cheesy-grin, stuck a five star golden sticker onto the fridge.
As for Zoe, she couldn’t stop thinking of the discovery, and almost immediately
started an internet search. To her amazement, what she discovered was that
Charles St Claire was listed on an unclaimed heir-list website. Zoe soon filled
out the form, with Sally adding further details, and then pressed the all
important
send
button. They both felt that any claim would be rejected
as they could not provide evidence, such as birth certificates etcetera to
support it. Still, it was worth a try. The waiting began...

2

Zoe
had been checking her email inbox during the weeks that followed, and ran to
answer the house phone every time it rang. She’d become obsessed with four
numbers – 1571 – the phone’s answering machine. The fact that she hadn’t even
received an acknowledgement made her disheartened. She began to think it was
all over, and, as the Yanks would say,
closure had taken place
. The girl
was disappointed, not because of the riches the family had missed out on, but
because of what they had lost in terms of family history. Zoe knew that any
cash would have been taken by the governments over the years, so she wasn’t
expecting a pot of gold. Vana, on the other hand, remained upbeat, and kept
asking for updates. This was top news with her, and the fact she had
experienced the findings first-hand added to the excitement of it all.

3

9.00
am. Friday 23
^rd
September, and the last couple of weeks had gone by
without incident, and Zoe hadn’t shown any signs of a second relapse. Mary had
arrived back from dropping James off at school; he was going away to an
activities weekend in Cornwall. He wasn’t the only one enjoying the weekend
away; Mary and Jim were off to Manchester as Jim had a work conference. It
wasn’t that Mary didn’t trust him with his female
employees,
she was just taking the opportunity to catch-up with some old school friends. The
hallway was cluttered with small cases and bags. “I’m home, Jim! Are you ready
to go?” she yelled up the stairs. “Yes, almost; I’ll be down in a minute.”

In
light of the fact that Zoe was going to be home alone again, Mary had asked
Sally to stay on for a little while longer. Although, Zoe was back on track,
Mary was concerned that Zoe had started to write the letter of the day on the
reverse of her medication, indicating to Mary that Zoe was having problems
remembering if she’d taken it. Vana would no doubt stop by, along with Steven,
but Mary wanted Sally here to oversee the house.

4

10.00
am. Vana was her usual bubbly self, walking down the road towards Zoe’s house.
She soon observed a posh, black saloon car parked up outside. As Vana
approached the house, a smartly-dressed man, complete with designer stubble,
and holding a black briefcase, got out. He greeted her on the doorstep. Vana
turned on her flirting face. “Hello? You here for...” she said, placing the key
into the lock and opening the door, “Jim or Mary?”

“Ms
Zoe Johnson,” the man replied.

“You’d
better come in then.”

Zoe
met the pair in the hallway.
“Vana, who’s your friend?”

“Dunno.
I’ve just met the guy on the doorstep,” replied Vana, dropping her rucksack on the
floor and walking into the kitchen. To Zoe’s amazement, the man introduced
himself as Kyle Roth, the heir hunter she had contacted recently. “I don’t
believe it – you’ve actually made my day. Can I get you a coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,
white, two sugars. Thanks.”

“Please
do take a seat and I’ll get your coffee.” She then showed him into the
spotlessly-clean, tidy, lounge. “Thanks,” replied Kyle, “I’ll get the
documentation ready.”

She
went off into the kitchen, in a state of shock. “Who’s your hunk then?” asked
Vana, enjoying a coffee with Sally at the table. “He’s the heir hunter we
contacted last month,” she replied, taking a clean cup from the dishwasher.

“Heir hunter?
As in the one we’ve being
waiting to hear from?”

“Yes, Vana.”

“He’s
here?” asked Sally.

“YEAH – in the front lounge.”

Sally
and Vana couldn’t wait a minute longer; they leapt up from the table, mugs in
hand, and hurried into the lounge to meet him. Zoe was left alone to make his
coffee.

5

With
the introductions over, it was down to the business at hand. Kyle had his
briefcase open on the coffee table with a pile of documents stacked next to it,
on top of which was a photograph of a dim room containing wooden crates. He was
explaining what he had researched regarding Charles St Claire’s estate.

“Because
you don’t have any documentation, paper evidence is still in question. People
have been working on census and birth records for decades trying to link dates
and possible matches – given the prize at stake.”

“So,
you’re here to say we don’t have a case because we can’t prove it?” asked Zoe.

“That
would have been the case ten, twenty, maybe even fifty years ago – but not in
today’s world.”

“This
is more exciting than I first thought.”

“Hang
on Vana. So, why are you here, if we can’t prove it?”

“Three
letters – DNA.”

“I’m
completely lost now,” said Sally.

“Ladies,
please let me finish. I can confirm that you, Sally, are a DNA match – hence
the reason I’m here.”

Zoe
was astonished that he’d managed to obtain such a test result. “How is that
possible?” she asked, looking at her aunt. Kyle went on to explain that the
government had carried out the DNA test once he had contacted them about a
possible claim. The key piece of evidence the authorities had regarding the
case was that Charles always started painting a new project, with a lock of his
dead mother’s hair attached to the rear for luck. He did this for every new
painting he started, removing it when it was finished.

“Why
would he have a lock of his mother’s hair?” asked Zoe.

“Well...”

“I’ve
got this Kyle,” interrupted Vana. “It was part of the mourning process, Zoe.
Taking locks of hair from dead relatives was popular back then. They were made
into lockets, hair spun into bracelets set with gold links, or simply kept in a
jewellery box.”

“How
do you know that?” asked Zoe.

“Trust
me, I’m a historian – I know these things.”

“Spot
on my lady,” added Kyle.

“It’s
a bit sick, isn’t? But, it still doesn’t explain how it survived a fire?”

“Because,
it wasn’t at Foulis Terrace – it was found at his studio shortly after his
death. Lucky for you, the strands had been pulled directly from the head, and
therefore contained the important DNA in the root. The lock of hair was
recovered from the back of his last unfinished masterpiece, a fruit bowl. The
government has since ordered a test to be done on blood samples taken from
Sally’s recent knee replacement operation, and tested it against the DNA in the
hair.”

“I
didn’t think they kept things like that,” asked Sally, with a look of surprise.
“This is our government after all. And it’s thanks to that lock of hair that we
can prove your ancestral link to the famous artist,” replied Kyle, handing her
a paper showing the positive DNA result.

There
was stunned silence. Vana couldn’t wait a further minute. “How much is the
estate worth?” Zoe and Sally both stared at her. “What? Why can’t I ask that?”
she said, looking at the trio. Kyle smiled. “That’s why I’m here. There is good
news,
and not so good news...”

“What
do you mean?” interrupted Zoe. Kyle went on to explain that over the past
hundred years the properties had been sold and the cash taken by the Crown. The
only remains of the estate were 35 paintings which were locked away in a
government underground vault, somewhere in Whitehall, together with historical
relics, Jewish property from World War II, and assets seized from drug lords
and criminals.

“Well,
where to start in terms of value. There’s apparently one painting missing from
the collection – a painting called
The
Rattler
.” The girls’
hearts felt as if they’d dropped to the floor; they paled visibly. “What is so
special about that painting?” asked Sally, rubbing Zoe’s left hand. Kyle took a
deep breath. “That particular painting is said to be priceless, but I think it
has more to do with the fact that it survived two house fires, and possibly a
third, rather than the subject matter.”

The
girls were starting to feel slightly sick at this point. However, they were
about to feel much better. “But having said that, St Claire still has a huge
following for his work, and given that, a rough valuation of between £5-10
million is placed on the paintings.”

“Well,
fuck me, and call me Sandra!”

“VANA!”
said Zoe.

“What?”

“Language!”
replied Zoe, abruptly, “Kyle, are you sure that’s correct?”

“Yes,
his work is very desirable amongst private collectors.”

A
couple of tears ran down Sally’s face. “Oh mum,” she said, “it’s so sad you and
Uncle Will had to endure a tough up-bringing when there was a hidden treasure
with your names on it.” She excused herself in order to freshen up.

Vana
was engrossed with the photograph of the dim room containing crates. “Why are
his paintings so highly regarded?” she asked, passing the picture to Zoe. “Well,
where do I start; they’ve got a cult following – that’s probably the best way
to describe it.”

“A
cult following?
” Zoe frowned and glanced at Vana. “What do you mean by
that?”

“OK,
here it goes. People have found his paintings sealed up behind walls, and under
floorboards. It is widely reported that his paintings are haunted – that’s what
attracts followers to his work. Yep, I know – farfetched, huh?”

He
didn’t tell them that three former owners of Charles’s paintings had died in
strange circumstances, one in the 1940s, and two in the 1960s.

“Who
haunts his paintings?” asked Zoe. Kyle studied Zoe’s body language (she looked
away from him, and started curling her hair round her fingers); he knew she was
hiding something. “You’ve seen her too, haven’t you?” Vana glimpsed at Zoe, who
replied, “no, just read about her.”

Kyle
was no fool and did not believe this for one moment. He’d been researching the
Charles St Claire estate since he first joined the agency. It was widely
regarded as the Holy Grail within the heir hunters’ circle. The man was already
clued up on Sidney Ellwood, and knew that this house was his final residence.
He had often wondered if Ellwood had taken
The Rattler,
and hidden it
somewhere, but that was only one of many conspiracy theories.

Sally
returned with a glass of water and sat down again next to her niece.

“Now,
you stated in your application that you had found Mr Ellwood’s journal. Would
it be possible to see it?”

“Yes,
if it’s OK with you, Aunt Sally?” Sally took a sip of water. “I’ve no
objections, dear. It was your find after all.” Zoe agreed and off she went to
collect the relic.