‘Because, as Kate might have told you, I’m pretty sure I know whom he represents.’
‘Yes, she said you were working on it. But how could you possibly figure that out?’
‘It wasn’t as impossible as it would first seem. From what you told me, he has or has access to the money – a lot of money. Next, if I recall, he said something to the effect that the rose would have “enormous impact on the world of commerce”. He also mentioned “patent rights and royalties”. This would all suggest that he is, more likely than not, representing a company or organization involved in the business of horticulture.’
‘Even so. My God, there must be hundreds of thousands of companies in the States that could qualify.’
‘Not if we’re talking roses, old chap. Even worldwide, there are not that many companies able to come up with the millions that it’ll take to acquire a blue rose.’
‘So who is it, then?’
‘From everything we know – from what you’ve told me and what I’ve been able to gather from insiders in the States – it all suggests that the person behind it is a man named Ira Wolff. He runs a big rose-growing concern in Washington State. I would have told you sooner but I’ve been waiting on some information from a colleague of mine on the West Coast. I got a package from him a couple of days ago and he called me yesterday to follow up. Alex, it’s more complicated than you could imagine, and, from all accounts, this Wolff is utterly ruthless in the way he does business. I won’t go into it right now because we have to get going. I’ll save it for when we get back. It’s a long story and a disturbing one, I might add.’
Alex got up. ‘Lawrence, you get to sound more like bloody Hercule Poirot every day! All that’s missing is the accent.’
Kingston shrugged using his hands. ‘
‘Whatever,’ Alex replied, with a glance at the carriage clock on the mantel. ‘I guess we’d better get going. We shouldn’t keep the opportunistic sod waiting.’
Kingston got up and followed Alex to the door. ‘You have the journals?’ he asked.
‘They’re in the car.’
Buckling his seat belt, Kingston glanced at Alex. ‘You know, Alex,’ he said in a paternal tone, ‘it might pay to be on your best behaviour with Graham when we get there. There’s nothing to be gained by you venting your anger. Just keep it cordial and businesslike.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Lawrence, you’re sounding just like Kate. That’s exactly what she said.’
Alex and Kingston stood waiting on the brick porch of Graham’s red and white painted bungalow. Alex put down the cardboard box containing the journals and pressed the doorbell for the fourth time. It could be faintly heard ringing inside.
Kingston glanced at his watch. ‘Ten past three. We’re not that late.’
Alex resorted to hammering loudly on the door with his knuckles. Still, there was no response.
‘There’s nobody here – that’s for sure,’ Alex said, pacing up and down. ‘Maybe he’s forgotten we’re coming.’
‘I doubt it, somehow.’
Alex rapped one more time and looked at Kingston. ‘What do you think we should do? We can’t leave the journals on the doorstep.’
Kingston looked furtively up and down the street. ‘Wait a moment,’ he said, as he stepped over a narrow border of mixed annuals and walked four paces across the patch of lawn to the large bay window. With his hands held up to both sides of his face and nose pressed to the glass, he looked in. ‘No signs of life inside,’ he said, returning to the front door.
‘Well, we can’t stand here all bloody day,’ Alex mumbled. ‘The neighbours will start to get suspicious.’
‘Let’s take a peek around the back. Maybe he’s in the garden.’
‘Hang on a minute, Lawrence. I can’t lug this box around. Let me put it in the car.’ Alex crossed the grass verge, opened the boot of the Alfa, put the box of journals in and slammed the lid shut. When he got back to the path, Kingston was already half-way up the street. Running, Alex caught up with him.
‘There’s an alley up here – I noticed it on the way in,’ Kingston said. ‘I’m certain it runs along the backs of these houses. Chances are they’re not numbered in the back. We’d better count them off, so we know we’re at the right back gate.’
‘I’m not so sure that this is such a good idea, Lawrence. Don’t you think–’ His words were wasted on Kingston who was already striding up the alley ten paces ahead of him. Just as Alex caught up with him they were startled by the loud bark of a large dog. Paws resting on the fence, it looked like an unwashed shag rug. As Alex and Kingston got closer the barking grew louder, reverberating off the walls of the surrounding houses. Kingston insisted that it was a giant schnauzer. Alex was not the least interested in its pedigree. ‘If that hasn’t alerted the neighbourhood, I don’t know what the hell will,’ Alex said, relieved that the beast had finally decided to give up and return to its kennel on the back porch.
Two houses up, they located Graham’s. The red and white paint left no doubt. His fence was higher than those of his neighbours, and there was no latch visible on the gate. There appeared no way to gain entry. After several attempts to locate the latch, Alex was ready to admit defeat and return to the car – not so Kingston. Alex watched, mouth agape, as Kingston pulled himself clumsily over the fence and opened the gate from the inside. ‘Christ! Lawrence – this is breaking and entering!’ he hissed.
Kingston shrugged, hoisted up his trousers and started up the wavy brick garden path. Alex followed him, stopping half-way. He waited nervously, expecting to hear police sirens any minute as Kingston knocked on the back door.
‘Well, Alex, looks like you were right, after all,’ Kingston shouted, pressing his nose to the window that jutted out to the left of the back porch.
‘For Christ’s sake, Lawrence, keep your voice down.’
‘Just let me see if I – oh, Jesus!’
‘What’s the matter?’
Kingston turned around, a look of alarm on his face. ‘There’s a body on the floor in here!’
‘Don’t scare me like that, Lawrence.’
‘No, I’m serious. There’s a man’s body – come and have a look.’
Alex pushed past Kingston and peered into the poorly lit room. ‘Shit,’ he said, putting a hand to his forehead. ‘It’s Graham.’
Chapter Sixteen
In a way, nobody sees a flower really, it is so small, we haven’t time – And to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
Georgia O’Keefe
Graham’s body lay face down on the oriental carpet, his head close to the tiled hearth of the fireplace. A small table had been knocked over and a lamp, a framed photo, and miscellaneous books and magazines were strewn over the floor. Otherwise the room was undisturbed.
Kingston was on one knee, feeling for Graham’s pulse. Alex hovered over him wishing they’d never come round the back in the first place.
After a few more seconds that seemed like minutes to Alex, Kingston lowered Graham’s wrist to the floor and looked up to Alex. ‘He’s dead, I’m afraid.’
‘Bloody hell!’
Kingston stood, looking down at Graham’s body. For a moment he massaged his chin with thumb and forefinger, thinking. ‘Alex, go and find the phone and call the police. Tell them what’s happened.’ It was more of an order than a request. ‘While you’re doing that, I’ll take a quick look around to see if there’s any sign of the missing journal.’
