Wheel of Fire Read online

  ‘No, I didn’t mean, look I’m sorry,’ Bella stumbled. ‘I just wanted to talk to you—’

  ‘I don’t know nothing,’ Janice Grey interrupted. ‘George never told me what went on with Sir John, said it was all confidential. I know he’d never have done anything to hurt him, I know that.’

  ‘May I come in?’ asked Bella somewhat hopefully.

  ‘No, I’ve said all I’m going to,’ replied the woman. ‘Too much already.’

  Bella considered putting her foot in the door but didn’t. She’d probably seen too many movies. More than likely she still wouldn’t gain entry to the Grey home and would just end up with a squashed foot.

  ‘Well, perhaps another day,’ she said lamely, turning to walk away.

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen, you know,’ Mrs Grey suddenly called out.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ queried Bella over her shoulder.

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen,’ Janice Grey said again. ‘Nobody was supposed to have got hurt. My George would never have hurt Sir John. Nor anybody else come to that.’

  Bella turned and took a step back towards the house.

  ‘Mrs Grey, you know all about it, don’t you? You know what your husband did that night, and you probably know why, don’t you?’

  Janice Grey stood full square in the doorway, just in case, it seemed, Bella might try to push her way into the house.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I do know,’ said the woman. ‘My George is dead. So, he’s not going to be no good to the police now, is he?’

  Her voice was loud and clear, but held just the very slightest tremor.

  Bella took an involuntary step backwards. ‘He’s dead?’ she queried feebly.

  ‘They done for him, didn’t they?’ continued Janice Grey. ‘And who knows who might be next before this is over. It could be me. They could be after me now.’

  Bella was battling to get over her shock. ‘W-what do you mean, it could be you?’ she asked.

  Janice Grey looked Bella up and down. ‘Or it could be you,’ she said. ‘You’re a Fairbrother after all. Oh yes, it could be you.’

  Bella was stunned into silence.

  Janice Grey began to laugh, almost hysterically.

  With a huge effort Bella pulled herself together and managed to speak again. ‘M-Mrs Grey, won’t you tell me what you mean?’ she asked. ‘Who is the “they” you say did for your George? How, exactly, did he die? I, uh, I don’t understand …’

  Bella had moved forward onto the doorstep. Suddenly, and without warning, Janice Grey slammed the door shut in her face. As it closed Bella heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being shot.

  Bella did not bother to call after the woman. In any case she was too busy trying to recover from the shock of what Janice had told her. George Grey was dead, and his widow clearly appeared to think he had been murdered. She’d also indicated that she knew who those responsible were, and that she felt she was in danger, and that Bella might also be in danger.

  It was a lot to take in. Bella was thoughtful as she returned to her car. Mrs Grey had more to tell, if she wished to, that was for sure. But Bella wasn’t going to get any further with her, certainly not at the moment. She, at least, had another way of finding out what had happened to George Grey. She reached for her mobile and called Vogel. The DI, on his way back to Kenneth Steele House, answered at once. Bella wasn’t surprised. After all, he had told her to call at any time, and she was, she supposed, one of the key figures in a murder investigation.

  After the briefest of pleasantries, Bella cut straight to the chase. ‘Look, Mr Vogel, I understand that George Grey is dead. I hope you don’t mind me calling, however, I know Mr Grey was a suspect, but as he worked for my father and this is another death following the fire at Blackdown, I do feel a kind of responsibility. I wondered if you would tell me what happened to him, how he died?’

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Vogel was considering how to respond to Bella’s question. ‘Miss Fairbrother, no information of that nature concerning Mr Grey has been made public yet,’ said the DI eventually. ‘I have to ask you why and how you have come to believe that Mr Grey is dead?’

  ‘His wife told me,’ said Bella bluntly. ‘I’ve just left The Gatehouse.’

  ‘Miss Fairbrother, we have a very serious ongoing investigation here. Clearly you have an involvement, if only by default, as does Mrs Grey. But I must ask you not to interfere again.’

  ‘I only visited Mrs Grey because I thought it was my duty as my father’s daughter, to say how sorry I was that her husband had been injured,’ lied Bella. ‘Then she told me he was dead. It is right, isn’t it? George Grey is dead.’

  There was another pause before Vogel answered. ‘I cannot officially confirm that George Grey is dead because he has yet to be formally identified,’ he said.

  ‘But you know, don’t you? I want to know what happened to him. Did he die of his injuries?’

  Again, she had to wait for the answer.

  ‘All right, Miss Fairbrother, I can tell you that the body of a man we believe to be George Grey was found earlier today in a West London canal. And that it does not appear that he died from the injuries he received on the night of the fire at Blackdown.’

  ‘My God,’ uttered Bella. ‘What happened? Did he drown? I mean are you saying he jumped in? Killed himself? Could he just have fallen? Or … or—’

  This time Vogel spoke quickly, interrupting her. ‘I can only say that investigations are continuing,’ he said. ‘I cannot tell you more. I’m sorry.’

  After ending the call Bella sat for a moment wondering what to do next. The news of George Grey’s death and the manner of it was yet another shock. One half of her just wanted to go back to her hotel room and bury her head in the pillows. But she was a Fairbrother. And she was on a mission. Nothing she had heard should deter her from that. After all she was seeking knowledge, and she had been brought up to believe that knowledge was strength. Knowledge was power. She would carry on with the task she had set herself.

  The special constable was not in sight. Presumably sitting in his car outside the gates. She started the engine and drove slowly down the drive towards the manor in order to check out the crime scene security arrangements there. It was almost quarter past six. As she had suspected there appeared to be no further presence. The fire investigators and the CSIs had probably not finished altogether yet, but certainly packed up for the day. Nonetheless she didn’t stop. For whatever reason, and even under the circumstances of having so recently heard that her husband was dead, or maybe because of that, Janice Grey seemed to be keeping a close watch on the comings and goings along the drive that led to the ruins of Blackdown Manor. Then there was the special constable. And Bella didn’t want to arouse his suspicions. She turned the car in a tight circle and left the estate along the main drive by which she had entered, shooting a last glance at The Gatehouse as she passed.

  The special constable was no longer outside the gate, neither standing nor sitting in his vehicle. Bella assumed that it had been considered unnecessary to keep a night-time scene-guard on duty, not when the crime scene was so remote, and also little more than a pile of cinders and charcoal. There was still Janice Grey to consider, however, and it was possible that patrol cars would stop by during the night. She would take no chances. She decided to stick to the plan she had already formulated.

  Bella knew the territory well. She had, after all, been born in the old manor, and spent a substantial part of her growing up there. Instead of turning left towards the road back to Taunton, she swung right along a winding lane leading deeper into the Blackdowns, and after three miles or so took another right along what was little more than a track through a wood, first checking ahead and in her rear-view mirror to ensure that not only were there no other cars about, but nobody at all who might notice her leaving the main drag.

  The track was not made for low-slung sports cars; indeed, it was the track which the firemen had dismissed a
s a possible route to Blackdown Manor when their way along the drive had been blocked by that fallen oak. But Bella Fairbrother knew what she was doing. She proceeded slowly only a couple of hundred yards along the first and more accessible part of the track until turning into a partially cleared area where her car would not be seen, even in the unlikely event of anyone else making their way along the track at that time of day. She parked and switched off the ignition. Silence engulfed her. Bella had always rather liked woodlands. Dusk was falling. She sat in the little car for a few minutes drinking in the atmosphere, allowing the heavy still greenness to bring her some peace, or as much peace as was possible that day. In spite of Mrs Grey’s warnings of danger, which may have been hysterically delivered, but none the less, could not be casually dismissed, Bella felt no fear. Not even a sense of unease. This was her land.

  She stepped out onto the leafy soil and manoeuvred herself into the over-trousers she had bought, slipping them on over her designer jeans. Then she swapped the suede fashion boots for her newly acquired wellies, her light leather jacket for the Barbour, pulled on the newly bought woolly hat, and slung over her shoulder a bag containing the tools she had acquired at Perry’s. By then it was almost totally dark. With her torch trained carefully down on the track, just a couple of feet ahead of her, she set off along a path through the woods which she remembered quite clearly from her childhood. It led directly to the manor house. There was a hedge or two to scramble through and a locked gate to climb over, but Bella Fairbrother was fit and agile.

  She arrived at the ruined house within twenty minutes. Then came the difficult bit. Most of the house had collapsed and was little more than charred rubble. It was difficult at first even to recognise the layout of the old place, although portions of wall remained jutting up into the night sky, and she just hoped there were no hot spots remaining.

  Still keeping the beam of her torch low, she made her way with difficulty towards the area of the house where the storeroom had been located. The swimming pool appeared to no longer exist. It looked as if much of the structure of the old house had collapsed on top of it. None the less she skirted around it in case of a further structural collapse.

  Everywhere there were piles of blackened rubble, and puddles of water. She picked her way carefully through. Now that she was inside the remains of the manor, she could see what the fire investigator had meant. But she had one advantage over him, the CSI, and all the rest of the experts. She knew Blackdown Manor like the back of her hand. She shone her torch around to where she thought the stone steps leading down to the basement area must be. And there they were clearly illuminated in the beam, just off to her right. Or rather, there were the remains of them, leading merely into a pile of collapsed stone and charred wood where, she was quite sure, the storeroom had once been located. If the door still stood, which Bella thought highly unlikely, it was buried. And clearly, the storeroom no longer had a roof.

  Almost involuntarily Bella sat down on a pile of wet rubble, shocked by what lay before her.

  She wondered what on earth she had expected after such a catastrophic fire? But, in spite of what she had been told, she certainly hadn’t expected anything as extreme as this. If any part of the storeroom and its contents still existed, it would probably require a bulldozer to remove what lay on top. Her father had clearly been wrong in his prediction that the basement room would withstand a nuclear explosion. And it appeared, from William Watkins’ account, that he had relied even more on the invincibility of the storeroom than Bella had realised.

  She lowered her face into her hands. There was nothing more to see here, and nothing that could be done. She was just about to stand up and begin her return journey when she heard a slight noise behind her. Was it the sound of a footstep, or just a further movement of the ruins?

  Before she could turn she felt strong hands around her throat and a knee in her back.

  ‘Don’t move, don’t even think about moving, or I’ll bleddy kill you,’ said a male voice.

  Bella tried to scream, but no sound came out of her. She could barely breathe. The fingers pressing against her windpipe were like steel. It seemed like Janice Grey had been right about one thing. She was in danger now, that was for sure. Danger of dying perhaps, in the ruins of what had once been her home.

  ‘Right,’ said the voice. ‘Now don’t do nothing stupid. I’m going to relax my grip, because I want you to tell me who you are, and what the hell you’re doing here?’

  One hand was removed from Bella’s throat. An arm now encased her upper body. The knee was still in her back. As promised, the grip of the second hand, still around her throat, slackened. Bella struggled to catch her breath.

  ‘OK,’ said the voice. ‘That’s it. Just take it easy, and answer my questions. Who are you, and what are you doing here?’

  Bella no longer thought she was going to die. Not at that very second anyway. As her lungs became able to work normally again, so did her brain. She knew that voice. Surely, she knew that voice.

  ‘Come on, get on with it.’

  Yes, she knew the voice all right. She had grown up with it, after all. But it didn’t make sense. What would he be doing here?

  ‘Jack?’ she queried tremulously. ‘Jack, never mind me, what are you doing here?’

  The second hand was removed at once from around her throat, and the knee dropped away from her back. She was aware of sudden movement. Then the beam of a flashlight shone straight into her eyes, blinding her.

  ‘Miss Bella, it’s you. For God’s sake.’

  The beam was shifted away from her eyes. The man holding it diverted it fleetingly to shine at his own face. ‘Yes, it’s me, Miss Bella,’ said Jack Kivel.

  ‘You frightened the life out of me,’ said Bella, managing a nervous laugh.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Jack. ‘I wanted to know who you were and what you were up to, didn’t I?’ He paused. ‘And what are you up to?’ he asked.

  ‘It seems that my father had ultimately stored almost everything of real importance, to the bank, and so much else, here, in his blessed storeroom. It’s all such a mess. I thought if I could salvage stuff, get to his papers, maybe it would help … and I might even find some of the paintings intact … I can see now there’s fat chance of that …’

  ‘But why the sneaky stuff, creeping in after dark. You’m Bella Fairbrother. This is, or rather was, your home.’

  ‘The place is still a crime scene, Jack, and considered unsafe, could be days before they let me in officially, and I couldn’t wait, I don’t have time to waste.’

  She peered at Jack through the gloom. ‘But, come on, what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I was lamping up the four acre.’ Jack gestured towards a rifle propped against a length of crumbling black wall. ‘Somebody’s got to keep they rabbits down. There’s a new copse up there on the edge of Top Wood. Young saplings. Treat for bleddy rabbits, they be. I was just about to switch me lamp on when I caught a glimpse of torchlight. Only a few feet away. I hunkered down to let you pass, then I followed you here.’

  ‘Jack, why would you care about the rabbits and the trees, or what I or anyone else was doing up here? My father sacked you. He treated you appallingly. Turned you and Martha out of your home.’

  ‘To tell the truth, Miss Bella, coming up here after dark with me rifle calms me down, makes me feel better about things. More than ever tonight, after what’s happened. None of what you’ve just said makes any difference, you see. I love this land, and I never stopped being your father’s man. He still looked after us, me and my Martha, didn’t he? He gave us a place of our own, Miss Bella. Just a small cottage, but it’s a home, a real home, that nobody will ever be able to take from us. We’ll always have to thank him for that.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. But, oh Jack, I was afraid you were going to kill me.’

  ‘To tell the truth, I thought you was one of the armed intruders come back, didn’t I? I had no idea it wa
s you, Miss Bella. How could I ’ave done. In all that gear you’ve got on.’

  ‘You terrified me, Jack.’

  ‘I’m that sorry, Miss Bella.’

  ‘I know, Jack. Anyway, it’s been a wasted journey as far as I’m concerned. Are you going back to your lamping?’

  ‘Perhaps. Seeing the state this place is in has put me off doing anything much, that’s for certain.’

  ‘I know how you feel.’

  ‘Yep. I may just go home. My Land Rover’s up by the four acre. How did you get here, Miss Bella, I don’t like you being out here on your own.’

  ‘I’ve got my car parked as far as I could up the farm track. We can walk back up that way together, if you like. But Jack, for God’s sake, why am I suddenly “Miss”? You were part of my growing up. Call me Bella, will you, like you always used to.’

  ‘Ah, I did, didn’t I?’ Jack smiled, suddenly the gentle kindly man Bella remembered. ‘Those were the days. It seems like a lifetime ago, though, doesn’t it? Me and Martha, we haven’t seen nor heard of you in so long. And now, ah well, it’s all gone. All of it.’

  Bella took a last lingering look around the ruins of the grand old house that had been her family home, fleetingly allowing herself to remember again the best times, before her mother had left, when she and her brother had not had a care in the world.

  ‘Yes, Jack, it’s all gone,’ she said. ‘Gone for good.’

  The walk back to the car seemed quicker to Bella than the walk to the manor had done. But the territory was even more familiar now, and she had Jack by her side. He had always made her feel at ease and given her confidence.

  Ever since she’d learned of the fire, Bella had been battling her own anger and frustration. They still lurked just beneath the surface. But it was only after parting company with Jack, and manoeuvring her car back along the farm track onto the road, that she gave in to her feelings. She pulled into the side and allowed her tears to flow. Tears of near rage. She had been horrified by the fire and the resulting deaths. She was now almost equally horrified by the aftermath. In both practical and emotional terms everything that had happened was a total disaster. A disaster, which, at that moment, she felt quite incapable of dealing with.