DeLorean and he told me that he’s subject to industrial espionage all the time, that it’s pretty much par for the course, so that’s okay. But you see this tip about Dunmurry was the last entry in your brother’s log book and the informer that gave your brother that tip has gone missing. And of course your brother himself was murdered. I thought perhaps that these incidents were connected somehow and I thought that maybe you might have some insight into them?”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I merely thought that you might possibly have an angle on this that I, as an outsider, would not.”
“I am not terribly fond of your tone, detective,” Sir Harry said.
“I’m sorry about that. There was no tone, sir. No offence meant, I assure you.”
That seemed to mollify him a little.
He sniffed and sized me up.
“So you’re still looking into Martin’s death?”
“I am.”
He nodded and breathed out slowly. “I take it you think it wasn’t a random IRA hit then?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t got that far yet. I just want to parse this link a little. You, DeLorean, Martin’s informer … I wanted to see where all this went.”
“All right, maybe I can help. Come into the house and we’ll discuss it over tea. Have you got some time?”
“All the time in the world.”
“That other detective, the one who died … I hate to speak ill of the dead, but, well … I didn’t have much confidence in him.”
“No.”
We went into a library on the ground floor.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with old books. A formal leather sofa worn comfortable by generations of use and repair, use and repair. A few more modern chairs, an oak table, a reading lectern and a nice bay window with an easterly prospect of the coast and the Irish Sea only a few hundred yards over the fields.
Mrs Patton brought the tea.
It was a Darjeeling. Very strong and over-steeped. Harry didn’t seem to notice. He was much more relaxed now. “So you really think this could be something to do with John DeLorean?” he asked, eagerly.
“Perhaps. What exactly is the nature of the relationship between you and Mr DeLorean?”
He shrugged. “Relationship. Ha! The man’s a user. He doesn’t have relationships with people. He uses people.”
“How did you get to know him in the first place?”
“Two years ago I started hearing rumours that DeLorean was looking to invest in Northern Ireland. Build a big auto plant for this sports car he was designing. Lots of jobs. The whole thing would be underwritten by the Northern Ireland Office. They’d pump in fifty million. They were desperate to have any kind of investment, actual honest to God money flowing into Northern Ireland. So, as you may or may not know, I’ve been a having a few financial problems of my own. My father died in ’69 and I’m still paying the estates taxes – that’s not hyperbole, by the way, I really am still paying them off. If he’d died one year later it would have been under the Tories, but no, he had to die in 1969, when the rate was through the roof … Anyway, to cut a long story short, the Secretary of State, Humphrey Atkins, asked me to quote, donate, unquote, some land that I had in Dunmurry for a factory site. And I did, and that’s how I know DeLorean. I’m his landlord.”
That confirmed what I knew, but I didn’t see how it tied into Martin’s death or into anything else.
“You want to know how much he pays me for all those acres?”
“How much?”
“You’d choke on your chocky biscuits. The man’s a cancer. I just hope to God the Yanks don’t find out before they buy a million of his cars.”
“Yes, I—”
“And I’ll tell you something else. Ever been in his office? He’s got a sign on his desk, ‘Genius At Work’. Genius at work, my foot! You know who’s behind the curtain, don’t you? You know who the real Wizard of Oz is?”
“No.”
“DeLorean didn’t even design the car. He made a sketch, a bullshit sketch. Colin Chapman, heard of him?”
“The name rings a bell.”
“Lotus! Lotus Sports Cars. Colin Chapman is the man who made Lotus. He’s the real designer of the DeLorean, not John D.L., as he likes to be called.”
I was familiar with the Lotus sports cars from the James Bond movies.
“Colin Chapman’s the designer, the money’s coming from the British government, the land came from me, the workers are ex Harland and Wolff guys from Belfast, so what exactly does DeLorean do? He’s just the front. That’s all. Just the front. He’s just the fucking hair and the fucking million-dollar smile.”
“And if the front falters?”
He made a plane crashing sound and smacked one hand into another.
“And God help Northern Ireland if it does,” he added.
“So you don’t really see him very much on a social basis.”
“Only when he needs something.”
“Hmmm.”
“So how does this tie into Martin’s murder?” he asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
We sipped our tea and we talked for a few more minutes about this and that, but nothing came of the conversation. He either knew nothing or he was a pretty decent chancer himself.
I finished my tea and stood and offered my hand.
“I’m sorry that we seemed to get off on the wrong footing,” I said.
“My fault, I’m sure. Tarred all you boys with the same brush … If you find anything about Martin, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Only …”
“Yes?”
His eyes moistened. “Only, he’s my wee brother, you’re supposed to look after your wee brother, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so.”
I walked down the palm-lined drive in a thoughtful mood.
I got in the Beemer.
He hadn’t reacted to the rosary pea crack and he seemed genuinely interested in finding out about his brother’s death.
His connection to everything might be tangential.
But that entry in his brother’s book … it was a coincidence.
And coincidence is the sworn enemy of all detectives everywhere.
25: INTO THE WOODS
I’d driven about a hundred yards from Sir Harry’s house when I saw Emma wearing army boots, a blue dress and a raincoat, walking along the sheugh and carrying a basket. Her back was to me on the road and she had an umbrella up, but she was unmistakable with that wild curly red hair.
I pulled the car beside her and wound the window down.
“Hello,” I said.
She seemed a little startled.
“Oh, hi … What are you doing down here?”
“I was seeing your brother-in-law.”
