‘It seems the rose is highly toxic,’ Alex said. ‘Deadly. I’ve already told you that it’s been responsible for the deaths of four people we know of. There could be more, for all we know.’ He waited for the stunned expression to register fully on Adell’s face. ‘If we don’t find the rose, very soon,’ he said, ‘there will be more deaths.’
‘If the thorns of that rose draw blood,’ Kingston interjected, ‘death follows within seventy-two hours.’
‘How in hell did you find out that the rose was toxic?’
‘It’s too long a story, right now, I’m afraid. But believe us, that rose can kill.’ Alex replied. ‘And quickly, I might add.’
Adell remained silent as he weighed Alex’s words.
‘You can see, now, why we must find that rose,’ Kingston said in a measured voice. ‘Why you must help us.’
Chapter Twenty-two
I have never had so many good ideas day after day as when I work in the garden.
John Erskine
From his business class window seat in British Airways Flight 48 from Seattle to Heathrow, Ira Wolff looked down on the neat green patchwork of fields dotted with red-roofed houses. Compared to the jigsaw archipelago and conifer-clad mountainous terrain of Seattle’s Puget Sound, the scene below looked oddly quaint; like a toy shop miniature. This was his first visit to England. Despite the unpleasant task at hand, he was looking forward to it.
Marcus was to meet him at the terminal. They would go directly to the farmhouse where Kate Sheppard was being held.
Taking her had been one of his last options. It was not at all what he had wanted. But weighing the risk against the enormous reward, he had no choice. He had to constantly remind himself that his job, his company, his very existence were on the line. Extreme measures were sometimes unavoidable. A few more days, he reassured himself. Just a few more days and his problems would be over.
At the cabin attendant’s request, he put his seat in the upright position and placed his reading glasses and book in his briefcase. Wisps of clouds flashed past the window; the Boeing 747-400 was about to land.
As planned Marcus met Wolff as he cleared customs. The drive to the farmhouse near Steeple Tarrant took about an hour and a half. The day was pleasantly cool, a welcome change from Lakeford’s blistering summer heat.
‘Jake tells me Sheppard’s still saying he don’t know where the rose is. He gave Sheppard the forty-eight hours like you said,’ Marcus said, casually.
Jake Doyle was one of several men on Wolff ’s private payroll. He was the man whom Wolff had picked to contact Alex Sheppard. He had been in England from day one, with Marcus and Billy. It was he who had hired the Londoner – a small-time criminal – who had met Alex in Oxford to get the agreement signed.
‘When I get through with him he will,’ Wolff said, stifling a yawn.
‘Billy’s been keeping a close watch on him. He’s holed up at the house with that friend of his.’
‘Good. I just hope that by now he’s realized he’s in a no-win situation. I don’t want to have to paint an ugly picture of what might happen to his wife if he doesn’t come to his senses. Tell the truth, I’m getting tired of Alex Sheppard. How is his wife, anyway? Is she still behaving herself?’
‘Up till now she’s been quiet as a mouse – real cooperative, in fact. Billy had one too many beers the other night and wanted to bring her downstairs but I put a quick stop to that.’
‘Good.’ Wolff shook his head. ‘What’s wrong with that moron? Get rid of him after this is over – he’s depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.’
For several miles, Wolff was content to admire the countryside. Winding up the window to lessen the noise, he turned to tell Marcus about his plan of action for the next forty-eight hours.
It took Alex and Kingston almost three hours to get back to The Parsonage. The traffic getting out of London was horrendous. There was one message on the answering machine. Alex pushed the play button. It was the American. ‘The meter’s run out, Sheppard. I’m giving you one last nickel. I’ll call you again at six this evening but that’s it. If you won’t tell us where the rose is at that time, then the fun and games start with your wife.’ Pause. ‘That’ll be a cryin’ shame. I hear she’s real pretty. Six o’clock, you got it?’
At a minute after six, the phone rang. Hand trembling, Alex picked it up. Kingston was close by his side.
‘Alex Sheppard,’ he said.
‘Do you have something to tell me, Sheppard?’
Alex took a deep breath. Kingston had cautioned him to keep his cool and stick to the point. ‘I do, yes.’
‘About time, for Christ’s sake. Okay, where’s the rose?’
‘If I tell you, when do I get Kate back?’
‘First things first. Where’s the rose?’
‘Sorry, I must know about Kate.’
‘Listen, Sheppard, I’m not going to keep on playing these dumb-assed word games with you.’ His voice was dispassionate and calm. ‘You tell me right now where that rose is. If it’s where you say it is and it’s the real thing, then we’ll hand over your wife. Got it?’
Alex cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Kingston. ‘I’m going to have to tell him where it is. He won’t let Kate go until they’ve seen it.’
Kingston nodded, okay.
‘Sheppard, you still there?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then say something.’
‘Get something to write on, because I’m going to give you an address in Sussex where you can meet me the day after tomorrow. Be there at noon. When you go there – or whoever goes there – make sure you bring Kate. When I get Kate, you’ll get the rose. Is that straightforward enough for you?’
‘You’d better not be jerking me around, Sheppard, because my time and patience are wearing dangerously thin.’ Alex could hear him breathing during the brief pause that followed.
‘You ready?’
‘Okay. Just remember you’re dealing with your wife’s life. Make any foolish moves or bring the police into this and you’ll be attending a funeral in the next couple days. Understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, where is this place?’
Alex gave him Compton’s address.
‘Sunday it is, then. Before noon,’ the American said.
‘Right. But one more thing. If the thought of arriving early crosses your mind, forget it. It won’t do you any good. You won’t find the rose and we’ll already be there, anyway.’
‘We?’
‘I’ll have a friend with me, that’s all.’
‘That friend better not be anyone vaguely resembling a cop or you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.’
‘Don’t worry, he isn’t.’
‘Good. Sunday at noon, then, Sheppard. And don’t screw up.’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘You better be.’ He hung up without another word.
Saturday morning arrived clear and breezy at The Parsonage. Peg had stopped by to pick up Asp around nine. When Alex had opened the door, she let out a gasp, but quickly recovered. Alex knew exactly what was going through her mind and was prepared for the reaction. After listening to him explain that he had had a severe case of food poisoning and had been under the weather for about a week, it seemed she believed his story. Then he had had to deal with the matter of Kate’s absence. This time he could tell that she wasn’t quite buying his trumped-up story about Kate’s insisting on being by her ailing aunt’s side for a few more days but mercifully she didn’t question him. He felt guilty about having to tell such blatant lies.
Back outside, he introduced Peg to Kingston who was already waiting by the Alfa, overnight bag by his side and professional camera case dangling from his shoulder. Peg put Asp in the back seat of her Volvo, hugged Alex one more time and got behind the wheel. A quick wave and a blown kiss and she was off.