‘No.’ Alex gave Holland a quizzical look. ‘Look, I told you – I had absolutely nothing to do with Cooke’s death. Nothing!’
Holland brushed his forefinger over his lower lip. ‘You were planning to sign the rose over to Cooke, then?’
‘We were, as a matter of fact. I know it must seem stupid – particularly in light of what has happened – to toss aside a once-in-a-lifetime chance of making an obscene amount of money, but we really don’t want the rose any more. It’s caused us nothing but bloody problems. It’s been awful. We’re only interested in keeping this property. I know it sounds hard to believe and it doesn’t look good. I mean – what with Graham, the bad timing – but I can assure you I had nothing to do with it.’
‘Just routine questioning, that’s all. I did ask you whether you’re planning any trips over the next week or so, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did, and no, I’m not.’
‘Good. Good. I suggest you stay close to home until you hear from me.’
‘Of course,’ Alex said. On top of everything else, he was now a suspect in what could become a murder case.
Holland turned, as if ready to leave, then swivelled his head back to Alex. ‘You mentioned that your wife was away. Where was she yesterday?’
‘My God! Are you serious? You’re not suggesting–’
Holland stopped Alex short. ‘No, no. Just curious, that’s all.’
‘She was up in Market Drayton, staying with a friend,’ Alex said. He came perilously close to blurting out that Kate had been kidnapped. If there ever was a time to bring it all out into the open, this was it. The words were about to spew forth when the recollection of Wolff ’s threat smothered them.
‘Ask her to call us when she gets back, will you? We may need to talk to her.’
Alex nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Well, I think that’s all for now, Mr Sheppard. If you think of anything else that might help in our investigation, we’d be most appreciative if you’d let us know.’
Taylor handed Alex his card. Alex shook hands with both of them at the front door and watched in a state of stupor as they walked to their car, got in and drove off.
Chapter Eighteen
Who reaches with a clumsy hand for a rose must not complain if the thorns scratch.
Heinrich Heine
Alex was at the kitchen table staring at a bowl of uneaten cereal when Kingston entered. Less than ten minutes had passed since the detectives left. The unopened Times was on the table.
Kingston pulled up a chair and sat facing him. ‘How are you feeling, old chap?’ he asked.
‘Bloody awful, Lawrence. Where have you been?’
‘For my morning constitutional. Walked down to the village. Spent twenty minutes advising a lady how to take care of mildew on her roses. Most of the time I thought about yesterday, though.’
‘Come up with any answers?’
‘No answers, I’m afraid. Have some ideas, though.’ A look of concern clouded Kingston’s face. ‘You look odd, Alex. Has something happened since I left? What’s been going on?’
‘Not much really. Only the CID interrogating me as a likely murder suspect.’
‘The police were here? Murder?’
‘An inspector and a detective sergeant. They left only ten minutes ago. Graham may have died of a heart attack but they’re saying it was brought on during a struggle. They found bruises on his body.’
Kingston frowned. ‘Interesting. What else did they say?’
‘They asked a lot of questions and advised me not to leave town. They even asked about Kate’s whereabouts yesterday. That scared the hell out of me, Lawrence. I can’t tell you how close I came to telling them about Kate being kidnapped.’ He picked up the spoon by the side of his plate and started toying with the cereal. ‘They’ll probably call you, too.’
‘Well, it’s easy to see why you and Kate would be considered suspect. They know you stood to lose a hell of a lot of money – it’s the perfect motive.’ He started pulling on his earlobe. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence, though,’ he muttered.
‘What is?’
‘For Graham’s death not to be connected to the formula.’
‘Christ, Lawrence. On top of everything else, now we have to find out who killed Graham? Forget it. It’s Kate we have to worry about right now. I’m scared as hell about tomorrow.’
‘Alex, I understand–’
‘I know and I appreciate what you’re doing, Lawrence. But let’s talk about tomorrow. Everything hangs on that meeting now. It’s a sure bet they’re going to ask me to sign over a rose we haven’t got – one that we may not even own. That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?’
‘I would imagine that’s what Wolff has in mind, yes. I can’t think of any other reason.’
‘But what if he’s since found out that we don’t have it and don’t own it?’ He looked straight at Kingston. ‘So what do I do then, Lawrence?’
Kingston looked down, weighing his reply. After several seconds, he looked up into Alex’s tired eyes. ‘I know you’re not going to like this,’ he said, ‘but we have to tell the police. It’s not too late and they can accompany you tomorrow.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ Alex almost shouted.
Kingston shrugged. ‘Okay, then you’ll just have to tell this person – whoever he is – the whole story and hope to hell he believes you, which I doubt very much.’
Alex sighed. ‘A lot of help you are, Lawrence.’
‘Well, at least you’ll be talking to someone face to face, even if it is a go-between.’
‘It would have to be. Somehow I don’t think Wolff would show his miserable face.’
‘I wonder where it is you’re meeting this person. Surely Wolff wouldn’t have you meet in a solicitor’s office. He wouldn’t expose himself like that. It would be too easy for police to follow the trail.’
‘Lawrence, please don’t bring up the police again. I’m not going to call them and neither are you. You know already how I feel about that.’ He stood up and rubbed his chin. ‘Look, I need to pull myself together, shave, and have a shower. Why don’t you take a walk in the garden? Looks nice out there right now.’
‘Good idea. Haven’t seen it for a while.’ He got up and started towards the door. At the threshold he stopped and turned. ‘Alex,’ he said, ‘we’ll find a way of getting Kate back, I know damned well we will.’ Then he walked out the door.
Alex watched through the kitchen window as Kingston strode into the garden as though it was his very own. ‘I only wish I could feel as confident,’ he murmured to himself, turning away.
That night after a sandwich and a Mackeson’s that served for dinner Alex and Kingston went over, for the umpteenth time, the events of the last few weeks, searching for the slightest clue that they may have overlooked. As the evening wore on, Alex found himself saying less and less, being satisfied simply to listen to Kingston. In doing so, he found himself subconsciously trying to pick up on anything that Kingston might say to suggest – as Kate had put it – that he knew a little more than he was telling. After a while, he gave up, dismissing the whole idea as being too fanciful. Besides, he was coming to appreciate Kingston – even to like him.
By the time they were ready to call it a night, it was agreed that Kingston would stay on for a few more days. Alex had proposed the idea but he knew that sooner or later Kingston would have suggested it himself.
The following morning Kingston left to go up to his flat in London to pick up some clothes and other essentials. He would drive back in the evening, to be there when Alex returned from his appointment in Oxford.