"Neat," said Barker admiringly, as minimal pressure from a knife released a spring catch that allowed the entire panel to be eased away from the lip that anchored it on the other side. He leveled his torch into the foot-deep, meter-square space that was revealed. "Looks like he's been raiding half the stately homes of England."
The policewoman climbed inside the compartment to squint behind the left-hand panel. "There's more in here," she said, feeling inside and releasing a second catch at floor level. She pulled the panel toward her and lowered it flat. "How much of this belongs to the Colonel, do you reckon?"
Barker ran his torch over the paintings and bits of silverware that filled the cavity. "No idea… but you'd think the old boy would have noticed if things were going missing." He moved to the next compartment. "If the depths of these two were the same when the bus was built, then I'd say there's a false back here as well. Do you want to give it a try?"
The WPC crawled obligingly into the luggage space and fiddled with the knife again. She gave a grunt of satisfaction as the panel sprang open. "Jesus!" she said, looking at what was revealed. "What the hell does he want to do? Rob the World Bank?"
Barker lit a line of sawn-off shotguns and pistols that were attached by clamps to the rear wall. "Trade," he said dryly. "This is good currency. No wonder he's been haunting the Manor. The Colonel's family built up the largest collection of guns and rifles in Dorset. I imagine that's what Fox has been looking for."
"Then I don't have much sympathy for the Colonel," said the policewoman, releasing the second panel and laying it flat. "He's asking to be robbed."
"Except it's not on the premises anymore," said Barker. "The old boy donated the entire collection to the Imperial War Museum after his wife died. I guess no one bothered to tell Fox."
30
The eventual fallout from Fox's arrest spread a great deal farther than Shenstead when the bus was systematically taken apart and a genuine trail of evidence was uncovered. He was careless in what he had chosen to carry with him. A second mobile with a store of numbers and a trail of calls that allowed the police to track his movements. Keys to a lockup that were painstakingly traced through the manufacturers to give a location. Passports. Driving licenses-some in the names of women. Most worryingly, as far as the police were concerned, items of bloodstained clothing that seemed to be trophies, all hidden in a recess in the floor.
For the inhabitants of Shenstead, the fallout was more immediate and concentrated after the police went house to house late on Boxing Day evening to inform them that a man had been taken into custody following the murder of Bob Dawson. The news was greeted with shock by everyone. They pressed for more information-"What man…?" "Was anyone else hurt…?" "Was it connected with Ailsa's death…?" "What about Vera…?"-but the officers were reticent, merely asking all householders to make themselves available for interview the following day.
The story spread beyond the boundaries of the valley as soon as the press got hold of it. Journalists stalked the hospital in the early hours, searching for information on the arrested suspect and a woman called "Nancy" whose arm had been broken in a hammer attack. The police would only confirm the name of the murdered man and the fact that the suspect was a traveler from the site at Shenstead. However, word leaked out-via Ivo and his mobile when he spotted an opportunity to make money through checkbook journalism-that "Nancy" was Colonel Lockyer-Fox's illegitimate granddaughter, and parallels were drawn between the attack on her and Ailsa's death in March. Why was the Colonel's family being targeted?
The issue of illegitimacy added spice to the story and the search was on to find her biological mother and her adoptive mother. Fortunately, Ivo remained coy about her rank and surname, recognizing that he wouldn't be paid for information over a telephone line, which gave Bella time to take him apart before he could sneak out and make contact with a reporter. She confiscated his mobile and suggested the Colonel lock him in the cellar for the night, but, in the absence of Mark, who had driven Nancy to the hospital, James chose instead to match the money offered by the newspaper.
"You are no different from your friend Fox," he told Ivo as he wrote a check to cash with an accompanying letter to his bank. "You both believe in destroying lives to benefit yourselves. However, I would have given Fox everything I have in exchange for my wife, and I consider this a small price to pay for my granddaughter's peace of mind."
"Each to his own," said Ivo, tucking the check and the letter into his pocket and grinning maliciously at Bella, who was leaning against the library wall, "but you'd better approve this if the bank phones. You offered it fair and square so there's no going back."
James smiled. "I always honor my promises, Ivo. You'll have no trouble at the bank as long as you honor yours."
"It's a deal, then."
"Yes." The old man stood up behind his desk. "Now will you please leave my house?"
"You've gotta be joking. It's two o'clock in the morning. My wife and kids are asleep upstairs."
"They're welcome to stay. You are not, however." He nodded to Bella. "Will you ask Sean Wyatt to come in here, my dear?"
"Why do you want the copper?" demanded Ivo.
"To have you arrested if you don't leave immediately. You have exploited my distress over my wife's murder, my gardener's murder, and the attempted murder of my granddaughter to coerce blood money out of me. You either leave now and cash that check as soon as the bank opens, or you spend the night with your friend at the police station. Whichever way, once you've left this house, you will not come back into it."
Ivo's eyes darted nervously toward Bella. "You'd better not make out I had anything to do with Fox. I didn't know him from Adam before the selection meeting."
"Maybe not," she said, easing herself away from the wall and opening the door into the hall, "but the Colonel's right. There ain't much difference between you and him. You both reckon you're more important than anyone else. Now, come on, shift your arse before I decide to tell the coppers about the nicked stuff in your bus."
"What about my wife and kids?" he complained, as James rounded the desk and forced him to walk backward. "I need to tell them what's going on."
"No."
"How am I supposed to get hold of them without a bloody phone?"
James looked amused. "Perhaps you should have thought of that first."
"Shit!" He allowed himself to be shepherded into the hall. "This is a fucking kangaroo court."
"Will you stop with the whining!" said Bella disgustedly, pulling the bolts on the front door and dragging it open.
"You've got your thirty pieces of silver. Now beat it before I change my mind about dropping you in it."
"I need my coat," he said as a blast of cold air blew in.
"Fuck that!" She manhandled him through the opening and pushed the door closed again with a massive shoulder. "The cops won't let him back on the campsite," she said, "so he's gonna freeze his arse off unless he wants to explain why you've thrown him out." She chuckled at James's expression. "But I guess you'd worked that out already."
He took her arm. "Let's have a brandy, my dear. I think we've earned it, don't you?"
The valley itself came under siege as soon as the roadblocks were removed at daybreak on the twenty-seventh, and any hope anyone had had of keeping a low profile evaporated. The Manor and the Copse remained under police guard but the tenant farmers, the Bartletts, and the Weldons found themselves at the mercy of the press and the broadcasting media. Shenstead House attracted the most attention because of Julian's remarks on travelers in the local newspaper. A copy was posted through the door, and his phone rang continuously until he disconnected it. Photographers hung around outside his windows, waiting for pictures while reporters shouted questions.