Gather therefore the rose, whilst yet is prime.
Edmund Spenser
Kate’s heartbeat had finally slowed to a normal rate. She was still trembling but the initial shock of the assault had subsided. It was replaced by anger, the need to strike back, the urge to escape. Constantly moving her jaw and lips had no effect on loosening the duct tape stretched tightly across her mouth. If anything it increased the chafing. Attempting to remove the goggles strapped to her head proved equally futile.
In her maddeningly helpless state, Kate’s mind replayed, over and over, the events since she had left Nell’s house. Who were these men? Were they the ones who took the rose? If so, why had they taken her too? It had to be something to do with Sapphire – but what?
The screeching of tyres locked on the road, loud blaring of the Jeep’s horn and swearing from the driver jolted Kate back to the present. She sensed they had narrowly avoided a collision. She nestled into the corner of the seat and closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep. For the first time in her life she was experiencing terror. Not only from what had happened but the dread of what might happen. The goose-flesh of fear on her arms and neck would not go away.
At last she heard the engine die and the handbrake being yanked on. The driver got out and closed the door. She heard his retreating footsteps, then, save for the occasional pinging of the Jeep’s exhaust pipe and muffler as it cooled, all was quiet. A minute or so later, she heard the two men talking nearby but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then she heard the door near to her open. A strong hand gripped her arm just above the elbow. Hauled roughly out of the car, she found her footing on the loose gravel. Birds were twittering noisily. Lots of them. In the distance there was a faint droning of a tractor or harvester. Closer by, a dog barked sporadically.
With a man on either side gripping her arms, they walked along the path. Soon, they came to a halt. She heard a key being inserted into a lock, followed by the creak of a door opening. After the sweetness of the smells outside, the pungent smoky odour inside made her stomach heave. Last night’s embers must be still smouldering in the fireplace. Now, with just one of the men guiding her, they were walking on carpet. Her arm brushed against a wall – a hallway, she guessed. She stumbled as her toe bumped into something. ‘Stairs,’ the man said, helping her to recover. At the top of the stairs they came to a halt. She heard another key turn in a lock, then the slide of a bolt. No more than three steps into the room, they stopped again and the man released her arm. Her heart was thumping. The room was cold and smelled musty. The chafing of the cord had lacerated her wrists and the duct tape had made her face sore and itching where it was pulling against her skin. In the pitch-black darkness, she felt very frightened and vulnerable.
She felt the man behind her loosening and then removing the cord that bound her wrists. Next, he was removing the tape from the goggles. Strands of her hair were stuck to the tape. It was painfully slow. At least he didn’t just rip the tape off. It gave her a glimmer of hope that from now on she might be treated with leniency.
When the goggles came off, Kate expected to be blinded by bright light. She wasn’t. As the room came slowly into focus she saw why. Heavy velvet curtains covered the windows. The room was in semi-darkness. From behind, the man removed the duct tape gently from her mouth. Before she could utter a word or get a good look at him he had slipped silently from the room, closing the door behind him. The bolt slid shut.
Kate gently rubbed her sore wrists and touched her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. Her face was very tender. She breathed deeply through her mouth. Her ribcage ached as her lungs sucked in the stale air. Her eyes were now fully adjusted to the meagre light. Glancing around the shadowy room, she could make out a double bed, a large wardrobe and sundry pieces of other dark furniture. Close to her, on her right, a small table stood between two upholstered chairs. On it was a tray containing a teapot, a white mug, milk and sugar and a plate with biscuits. For a fleeting moment she felt oddly touched by the gesture, then quickly reminded herself of the gravity of her situation. The tea tasted good and she quickly devoured all eight biscuits. She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Outside, it was starting to get dark and she could see little. Certainly there were no lights to indicate other houses or buildings nearby. Apparently her ‘prison’ had been chosen for its isolated location. For a while she sat on the bed assessing her plight. Soon, however, drowsiness overcame her. After all she had been subjected to, her body could take no more. Her eyelids drooped and she lay back on the bed. Within seconds she was asleep.
Alex let out a low moan. His temples were throbbing. He ran his tongue around his lips. They were parched and cracked like a dry riverbed. The blurry green numbers on the clock radio read 10:14.
Then it all came crashing back: the devastating call about Kate from the American, the rose being stolen, the cognac, his falling asleep on the sofa. He couldn’t recall having eaten anything, just drinking more brandy. No wonder he felt so bloody awful. Pulling back the sheets, he slowly got out of bed, put on his dressing gown and slippers, and padded along the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen.
The empty bottle of Remy-Martin on the kitchen counter confirmed his worst suspicions: it had been half full yesterday.
He checked the living room – no Kingston. ‘Christ, I hope he didn’t attempt to drive home last night,’ he muttered. Opening the front door to retrieve The Times, he was relieved of his concern: the TR4 was still in the drive where Kingston had parked it yesterday. He picked up the paper and went back into the house.
Consumed with anguish about Kate, he tried hard to put himself in her position, wondering where she was, how she was being treated. Mindlessly, he filled the electric kettle, flicked on the switch and walked over to the kitchen table. He sat down and stared blankly at the rolled-up newspaper. He thought back to what Kingston had said, about calling the police. He shook his head slowly. ‘God, I just can’t do it,’ he said under his breath.
He jumped at the sound of loud knocking on the front door.
‘Sod it,’ he muttered. ‘I must have locked him out. We do have a bloody doorbell, Kingston,’ he shouted, walking to the door.
Instead of Kingston, two strangers stood facing him.
Beyond them, a nondescript beige car sat alongside the TR4. The older and taller of the two men was well turned-out, in a conservative navy suit and regimental-striped tie. He had a receding hairline, sad china-blue eyes heavily wrinkled at the corners and a trim grey moustache. Late fifties, Alex guessed. He could have passed for anybody’s company director. His companion was much younger, lean, and leather-jacketed. Quite handsome in a rugged sort of way, his looks strangely enhanced by a scar that ran from his shortly cropped hairline to bisect one eyebrow. Neither of them looked threatening, Alex was relieved to note.
‘Er, Mr Sheppard? Alex Sheppard?’ the older man inquired.
‘Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?’
‘We’re investigating the death, yesterday, of a Mr Graham Cooke and wondered if you could answer a few questions for us, sir.’ He paused, his eyes carefully studying Alex’s face, clearly gauging Alex’s reaction to his question. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Holland,’ he said. He gestured to his partner. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Taylor.’
Alex was flustered. He hesitated. ‘I told your sergeant, yesterday, everything that happened,’ he said.
‘Yes, we’ve read your statement, Mr Sheppard. No need to be concerned. This is just a routine inquiry, a follow-up call – just making sure we haven’t overlooked anything.’
‘Did you know him, then – the deceased?’ Detective Sergeant Taylor asked, in a North of England accent.
‘Graham? No, not very well. I’ve only met him twice.’ Alex felt uncomfortable talking about such a serious matter at the front door – not that there was anyone to overhear the conversation. ‘It was a bit of a shock – yesterday. Why don’t you come in, please,’ he said, stepping aside to let them pass. ‘First door on the right. Excuse the mess, my wife’s away for a couple of days.’
Inspector Holland continued his polite questioning from the comfort of the sofa. ‘What was your connection with Graham Cooke, then, sir?’
‘Well, he is – was – the nephew of the lady who previously owned this house. We bought it from her earlier this year.’
‘He wasn’t what you would term a friend, then?’
‘Hardly.’ The minute he’d said the word he knew it had a self-incriminating edge.
Holland picked up on it instantly. ‘You didn’t like him?’
‘No, I didn’t mean that, at all. What I meant to say was that he was barely an acquaintance.’
‘So you have nothing to do with his business? Pharmaceuticals sales, I believe.’
‘No – oh, no.’
Occasionally, Taylor jotted down a note on his pad, always licking the point of the pencil when he did so. Alex couldn’t help but reflect on how many times he’d watched this type of interview in movies and on TV.
Holland continued. ‘Can you tell me why you were planning to meet Mr Cooke yesterday?’
The question took Alex by surprise.
Holland followed up quickly. ‘What was the meeting about?’
‘We were returning some books that Graham had lent us.’
‘What kind of books?’
‘They were records that belonged to Graham’s uncle.’
‘Records?’
Alex rubbed his brow. ‘Actually, they were to do with hybridizing roses.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
Holland didn’t look convinced.
‘We showed them to your sergeant at the time. I still have them in the car, if you want to take a look.’
‘Roses, eh? That’s a good one,’ Holland said disdainfully. ‘You said “we”. Was that the chap Kingston, who was listed on the report?’
‘Yes, a friend of mine, Lawrence Kingston,’ Alex replied. ‘He’s a professor,’ he added, in the hope that it might add more credibility.
A brief exchange between the two policemen allowed Alex a chance to recall the details of the short meeting he and Kate had had with Graham at The Parsonage earlier. They were certain to ask about that.
‘I’m curious,’ Alex said, when the two had finished their confab. ‘How did Graham die?’
‘The unofficial verdict is that it was a heart attack.’
‘Christ! He was awfully young. A heart attack?’
‘Well, there could be more to it. There were contusions on the body and visible evidence of a struggle of some kind. That certainly could have brought on the attack.’
Alex shook his head in disbelief. ‘Good grief. That’s awful.’
‘Yes, sir, it is.’ Holland leaned forward, as if about to get up. He stopped, and looked at Alex, resting his chin on an arched thumb and forefinger. ‘Oh, there was one more thing, sir,’ he said, casually. ‘We found a copy of a letter addressed to you and your wife. It was on Mr Cooke’s person. A letter from a solicitor – named…’ He looked across at Taylor, who flipped back through his notebook.
‘Alexander Stanhope,’ said Taylor.
Holland nodded thanks to the sergeant. ‘Could you tell us about that, Mr Sheppard?’ he asked.
Alex paled. Already he could see the implications. ‘Ah, yes. We received that letter a few days ago. Graham delivered it, personally, to my wife and me.’
‘According to Mr Stanhope’s statement, it appears that you and your wife stood to lose a considerable amount of money if ownership of this rose reverted to Graham and his aunt. Is that correct?’
‘That’s true,’ Alex replied.
‘A moment ago you said “roses” but it was one rose in particular, was it not?’
‘It was, yes. Slip of the tongue, I guess.’
Holland shrugged, and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘I can’t, for the life of me, imagine why a rose could be that valuable.’ His comment was punctuated with a loud sniff. ‘Takes all sorts, I suppose.’ He stood, shaking his trouser legs down and twitching his tie.
Alex remained silent.
‘We may have to ask you to come in to make a full statement, Mr Sheppard. I’ll phone and let you know if and when that will be. You might want to tell your friend…’ He looked at Sergeant Taylor.
‘Kingston,’ Taylor answered.
‘Yes – Kingston. We might like a quick word with him too.’
‘Actually, he’s staying with me until tomorrow. He should be back any moment. Do you want to wait? I can make some tea, if you’d like.’
‘No, that’s fine, Mr Sheppard. We don’t want to keep you any longer than is necessary. We’ll be on our way. Oh, there was one more thing. In the meantime, you’re not planning to leave the area, are you?’
‘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.