After studying Emma’s map, they followed the perimeter cyclone fence for nearly a quarter of a mile to the far corner of the growing grounds. Twenty raised beds planted with evenly spaced rose bushes stretched out in front of them, reaching all the way to the other side of the field. Kingston estimated that there were between two and three thousand of them. Some bore many blossoms, others none. Galvanized metal markers identified sections with numerals – no rose names. Taking separate rows, they strolled up and down the grassy paths searching for Sapphire.
‘I doubt very much that she’s here,’ Kingston said. ‘These all look like hybrid tea roses. She would stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of this lot.’
‘That’s not a very well-chosen simile, Lawrence.’
‘Unintentional, old chap.’
Satisfied that Sapphire was not lurking among the HTs, as Kingston called them, they turned their attention to an area which Emma had marked on the map as Section Number 2. It was a smaller version of the main field but planted with roses in a much earlier stage of growth. A quick glance told them that Sapphire was not there, either.
‘Let’s look in the greenhouses,’ Kingston said. ‘I can’t think why they would want to put her under glass – but you never know.’ After ten minutes of searching, they emerged from the third and last greenhouse. Still no sign of Sapphire. They walked past three dilapidated old barns, peering curiously inside the first one through the partially open door. The only meagre light inside filtered through cracks between some of the old timbers. As Kingston pulled the creaking door wider, a shaft of sunlight slanted through the opening, illuminating a veil of hovering mosquitoes. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness, they saw that it had once been a stable for horses or livestock. Now it was evidently just used for storage. ‘She certainly won’t be in there,’ Kingston said, closing the rickety door. They wandered aimlessly around the office area and a corner of the yard used for composting. Kingston perused the map one more time, then shook his head. ‘If Emma’s sketch is accurate, we’ve covered every damned inch of the place.’
With nowhere left to search, they sat on a crude bench caked with dried bird droppings. A flatbed truck was parked behind it, against a tall hedge.
‘So much for my brilliant powers of deduction,’ Kingston shrugged, looking downcast.
Alex, fidgeting with the strap of the camera case, remained silent.
Kingston had rolled Emma’s map into a tight tube and was tapping it nervously on his knee. ‘I’d have bet the farm that that damned rose was here. I could feel it in my bones.’
‘Looks like your bones were wrong,’ Alex said. ‘This is an absolute disaster.’ All he could think of was what would happen tomorrow when Wolff ’s men arrived to find no rose. They were startled by a furious outburst of snarling and barking. The din came from behind the barns.
‘Tyson’s about to go in for the kill, by the sound of it,’ Alex muttered. They were both staring abjectly at the ground when Reggie appeared from behind one of the barns trundling a squeaky wheelbarrow filled with compost. He stopped in front of them, rubbing his beefy hands down the side of his jeans. ‘Old Tyson gets right pissed off when those cats bug him. One of these days one of ’em’s gonna get too close and kiss its ninth life tata!’
‘Where is he?’ Alex asked, subconsciously measuring the distance to the Alfa.
‘Up there behind them old sheds, mate. We keep him there when there’s blokes like you around. Most of the time – and at night – he gets the run of the place.’ He grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and started to walk away. ‘Ain’t had a burglary yet,’ he added with a cocky laugh.
Kingston stood up from the bench, letting Emma’s map flutter to the ground. ‘Sheds,’ he said to Alex. ‘Emma didn’t put any sheds on the map.’ He pulled on his earlobe – a sure sign that he was on to something. ‘Come on,’ he said, picking up the piece of paper.
Alex followed Kingston at a jog across the yard, between the narrow gap separating the old blackened barns. Reaching the end, they came up against a high chain-link fence. On the other side was a paddock about thirty feet wide and running the full length of the sheds in the back. Weeds and tufts of grass covered most of the fenced-in area.
‘Well – I’ll – be – damned!’ Kingston said, articulating each word. ‘There she is. Incredible!’ He was pointing to a wooden planter box in the corner of the paddock next to the padlocked gates. It was large, close to three feet high and about the same measurement in width and depth.
‘There’s still quite a few blooms on her,’ said Alex.
‘Those will be new.’ Kingston shook his head. ‘Even more amazing. Not only blue but remontant.’
‘Remontant?’
‘It means repeat flowering. Most old roses flower only once a season. I’d assumed that would be true of Sapphire.’
Even from where they stood, staring open-mouthed through the chain-link fence, the rose exuded an ethereal aura. But there was something distinctly unsettling about its perfection. The brilliance of its sapphire blossoms stood out, as if luminous, against the dark foliage and blur of scarlet thorns. Now, with the full knowledge of its savage and lethal secret, it seemed imbued with heightened provocation – a beauty even more awesome, more unworldly than before. Alex shivered and looked away.
When he turned to face the paddock again, he gasped and took two steps backwards. Tyson was hurtling towards them with the force of a runaway locomotive. Together, they jumped back reflexively as the Rottweiler crashed into the fence, shoulder high, in front of them. Alex swore later that he saw the chain links move nine inches, the impact was so great. The fence flexed, as if about to give way, then catapulted the hapless Tyson through the air. Hitting the ground in a rolling black and brown dust-ball he finally came to a whimpering rest, about twenty feet from Alex and Kingston.
‘Serves you bloody right,’ Alex muttered.
‘Let’s take a couple of pictures, Alex.’
Alex nodded, still trying to take it all in. A few minutes ago, sitting on the bench, he had experienced a gut-wrenching sense of fear when it appeared that they were not going to find the rose after all. His thoughts had instantly turned to Kate, and the gnawing dread of what Wolff ’s men might do if they arrived to find that there was no blue rose at Compton’s. Now, suddenly, it was all reversed – Kingston’s hunch had paid off. Euphoria like nothing he had ever known surged through him. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was trembling.
‘Alex,’ Kingston prompted.
Alex, still thinking about Kate, didn’t respond. He simply took out the camera and removed the lens cap. Then, using the telephoto lens, he took several shots of the rose and a couple of Tyson for good measure. The dog obligingly bared his shiny teeth. Then Alex put the Nikon carefully back into the case.
Pressing down the Velcro tabs on the case, Alex thought about Emma and how she would react when confronted with his and Kingston’s deception and the disclosure about the rose’s homicidal past. He pictured her, teapot in hand, as Kingston stripped away his mask, telling her in all seriousness that the rose out in the paddock was not only blue but had also killed four people. She’d think that they had both just escaped from the loony bin. He started to chuckle.
‘What do you find so bloody amusing?’ Kingston asked, turning away from the fence, starting to walk towards the office.
‘I was trying to picture Emma’s face when you tell her that the rose is a serial killer,’ Alex said, following him. ‘Would you like me to take a snapshot of her reaction?’
‘Don’t be facetious. We’re not going to tell her. At least, not yet.’