Chapter 11

 

The black Range Rover swung off the main road and slowed into the narrow lane with high banks and hedges obscuring any view. Travelling into the morning sun with sun visors  down partially obscured the driver’s face. After about half a mile it turned left through a pair of metal gates into a barren farmer’s field and momentarily stopped on the short grass, his wheels sinking slightly into the soft ground. Engaging four wheels he swung the car around a bit churning up mud then stopped. Mr Jones pulled green Wellington boots from the plastic carrier in the passenger footwell, changed shoes and stepped out of the car. Pulling on long cuff Nitrile gloves he smeared mud over the number plates making sure the registration was completely covered. Satisfied he sat on the driver's seat with his legs hanging out the door, took off the boots, put on his pair of thick soled Church’s brown brogues and replaced the muddy boots and gloves into the carrier.

Starting up and a click into drive and a touch on the throttle moving slowly in the sticky mud and out of the field. Continuing up the lane heading into the sun and the house he knew was about a mile further on with those thin lips cracking a smile at the amount of mud on the road. He saw the red Porsche pull out of the driveway and tear down the lane in his direction and, anticipating it would not slow down, he pulled into a passing space letting it speed past and seeing the two blond girls in fits of laughter. He then continued towards the house and noticed the silver car parked in a field entrance kind of hidden a bit from the lane but angled for a clear view of the house. As he went by he nodded at the driver sitting behind the wheel watching him. Passing the house and at the junction just up the lane he swung round and drove back down, staring at the driver in the silver car, noting his features and making a mental note of the registration number.

Suspecting the man was watching the house he continued down the lane to the main road turned left into light traffic then, after about two miles, pulled over into a lay-by. His phone pinged to life with his thumb print and he pressed a pre-dialled number.

“This is Mr Jones,” he said in response to the answering voice, “I’m sending you a car registration. Check it out please?” and hung up and waited.

A few minutes later his phone buzzed and he wrote down the name Donald Caruthers and said, “and an address?” and wrote that down as well and the line went dead.

Making another call to a private number a voice answered, “Yes Mr Jones?”

“There’s a potential problem,” said Mr Jones, “I’ve been to pay a visit to Freddie Beauchamp but his house was already being observed.”

“Do you know by whom?” replied James.

“A car registered to a Donald Caruthers and I have his address.”

“Who is he?”

“Not sure but will check that out.”

“Police?”

“Could be. Perhaps. Quite likely. He is also most likely the loose end you mentioned that went to see Aubrey Beauchamp, It would fit, wouldn’t it?”

“It seems so. Can you deal with it?”

“Certainly, If he is police you might want to consider taking precautions.”

“This makes finding the ledger imperative.”

“Understood. I’ll be in touch.” and he hung up.

He got out of the car, lifted the back door and took out a battered old jerry-can of water and a brush. After cleaning the mud from the number plates he sped off down the road thinking Freddie would have to wait a day. First he had a new address to visit.

 

Donny hung up and thought, “one simple thing, just look after Lilly that’s all he had to do. That one simple thing and why’d he have to say that about the cat man? There was no need, there were a hundred better things he could have said. That thing with the cat man….I don’t know. It’s too personal. But there again maybe it was too big an ask expecting a scatterbrain like Bobby to do the minding. Perhaps if I had told him… but then the less he knows and all that.” Then he smiled and thought that he knew all this would happen. He’d expected it anyway. Bobby was a great guy but a kidnapper he certainly was not.

He was parked in the entrance to a farmer’s field close to Freddie’s house tucked in behind the hedge but retaining a clear view across the lane. Freddie’s place was a reasonable size sitting in the middle of a large but untended garden but with a professionally designed look. Weeds and long grass and overgrown plants and it looked like Freddie had no interest in gardening. One of those houses with clay tile roofs and dormer windows with vines growing up the walls and stuck deep in the Surrey countryside down the long narrow lane. Being shielded from the road by some very mature trees it was a quiet, private place and muddy. All Donny saw was mud. It seemed to be everywhere chucked up by passing tractors dragging it from the fields with those big spinning wheels. A bit of rain and everywhere was just this sticky mud.

There was dew on the ground and it was dark when Donny arrived at six hoping to catch Freddie out of the house but there were lights on and no one had left. A metallic blue Mercedes sat in the driveway looking dirty and in need of a wash. Next to it was a red Posche Boxster. So far it was just a boring wait. With the early morning chill disappearing as the day warmed up he struggled out of his jacket and settled back for a long wait.

The ledger Max had spoken about had to be somewhere and he was sure Freddie would have had a good look for it as soon as knew of its existence. Donny’s search would have to start somewhere and here was as good a place as any. If Freddie had it he would find it he was sure. About eight the front door opened and two girls came out giggling and laughing looking the higher end of posh with smart clothes, those designer clothes with low necklines and short skirts and high heels and dangling pearls on long strings around their necks. One of the girls was twirling them around a bit. Both blond, their hair long and kind of dishevelled like they might have had a long hard night. One turned and standing slightly on one toe leaned forward and kissed Freddie who had appeared on the doorstep. She kissed him on the cheek, just a little peck but with meaning and gave him a playful slap. They knew him all right no doubt about that.

Getting into the Porsche they backed out of the driveway, swung into the lane and accelerated away with mud flying up from the rear wheels. Going too fast they nearly hit a black Range Rover that managed to slip into a passing space as they sped by. The Range Rover continued slowly up the lane and as it passed the driver, who was wearing a tweed cloth cap and looking very country, waved at Donny. Donny’s eyes followed it up the lane and saw it’s brake lights come on then back into a side lane, turn and started to come back. He remembered his Guv’nor saying that Aubrey was hit by a black Range Rover. Picking up his phone he turned on the camera and as the Range Rover passed him he took a series of photos of the driver who was staring at him hard through his dark rimmed glasses. Using the view screen he had the phone held low hoping the driver would not see. The number plates were obscured with mud and he could not make out the registration.

He stayed a while longer then thinking he was in danger of looking obvious and Freddie showing no inclination to leave he decided to take another tack and phoned Max.

“Max, it's Donny,” he said.

“I know,” replied Max, “you’ve appeared on my phone screen. Wonderful thing science, isn’t it?”

“Sure. Can you get me into the house?”

“Certainly I’ve all the keys. When were you thinking?”

“Now. If that’s ok give me your address and I’ll pick you up.”

He then sent a text to his Guv’nor with the photos attached asking if the man in the picture could be identified.