Lord Allerton’s address was well known, an elegant stately home in Derbyshire; it even had its own website, and it was impressive. Isaac wondered why a person who had so much would become involved in crime. The website showed Allerton with his wife and two daughters, all photogenic, although Isaac had dealt with members of the upper class before on previous cases, and there were always skeletons in the cupboard.
Isaac, a man who liked to live well, to have a good woman at his side, although he was bereft of that luxury at present, did not envy those who had plenty. They seemed to have endless problems, and a stately home, he well knew, may be picture postcard but it would be excessively expensive to maintain and draughty in winter.
Isaac called Larry back into his office as he was preparing to leave. ‘Steve Walters, any luck?’
‘There’s an APW out for him, and the local police in his home town are looking,’ Larry replied.
‘Not really good enough, is it?’
‘I would agree, but we’ve no idea where to look. We know he was here when he killed Hughenden, but since then, nothing.’
‘Tomorrow, first thing, you and Wendy resume your search for him.’
‘Yes, sir. What about Lord Allerton?’
‘Make sure there’s an APW out for him before you leave.’
‘I’ve already done it. Also, I’ve phoned the local police where he lives. I know the officer in charge from a long time back. They know the man, like him as well. They’re going to station a car on the road leading up to his home. If they see him, they’ll give us a call.’
Isaac left the office with Larry. The day had shown promise, but in the end it had disappointed. Allerton was the key to breaking the whole case wide open, although having the guilty man in custody for two murders out of four was not a bad tally.
***
Steve Walters had found solace in a restaurant not far from the hotel where he was lying low. He reflected on what had happened with Hughenden. How he had entered through the back door after the man had opened it. At first, the man had been surprised to see him, and more than a little nervous.
Walters remembered how he had soothed his fear with words supplied by the mysterious voice on the other end of their short phone conversation. In the end, Hughenden had fetched a drink for the two of them.
‘Why are you here?’ Hughenden had asked.
‘I need to get away. Somewhere I won’t be discovered.’
‘That’s what Devlin wanted to do.’
‘He’s in prison.’
‘And you’ll be if they catch you here.’
‘They won’t.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
‘I’ve disguised myself well,’ Walters said. His hair was dyed jet black and cut very short, not straggly as it normally was and he was dressed well in a suit, not an old jacket and faded jeans.
‘That’s true,’ a frightened man pretending to be brave said. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Only the money outstanding.’
Hughenden had walked to the safe and opened it, remembering to obscure the combination from the man who watched his every move. ‘Here you are. Fifty-five thousand pounds.’
‘With that and the extra bonus I’ll be receiving, I’ll have enough.’
‘What bonus?’
‘One last task and I’m heading off to the sun.’
‘What bonus?’ Hughenden repeated.
‘For killing you.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s nothing personal, purely business,’ Walters said, paraphrasing Hughenden when he had given the order for the death of Rodrigo Fuentes.
Hughenden, sensing the change in Walters’ mood, had backed away from the safe and the man who was threatening him.
Walters pursued him, the jewellery shop owner upending a chair in his attempt to get away. He rushed to the front door; it had been locked. With Hughenden forced into a corner, Walters grabbed hold of his prey. Hughenden fought, but he was a slight man whereas the man wrapping the wire around his neck was strong.
Walters tightened the wire; Hughenden gasped and died.
‘You’ll be comfortable there,’ the murderer said as he sat the dead man on a chair.
***
Allerton Hall, the ancestral home of the Allertons, had been built four hundred years earlier. It sat on five hundred acres of prime agricultural land on the edge of the Derbyshire Moors. As Lord Allerton approached the imposing brick structure, he wondered what his reception would be like.
He had left that morning with the certainty that his next place of abode would be a prison cell, not the family home. He had phoned his wife to tell her he was returning.
‘Are we going to survive?’ she had asked.
His answer, he remembered, had been noncommittal. Their future was in the hands of another man, his cousin. He well remembered them playing together as children; he the wealthy son of a lord, Keith the son of a village doctor. They had been friends then, even friends at Eton College, the elite school for the sons of gentlemen and royalty. Their friendship had lasted until today, he was sure of that. He knew he had broken the code that held former pupils of that august centre of learning together. The Lord knew he had been right to do so. An Allerton does not get involved with trade or crime; it was the unwritten code that had lasted for centuries, the code that had allowed the family to weather the inevitable crises that occur in life, and yet he
