‘So, who did it, then?’
‘I think it was Tanaka.’
‘How so?’
‘What bothered me all along was that for Tanaka to be implicated he would have had to know about the journal and the formula. You and I had thought that was doubtful, remember?’
Alex nodded.
For a few seconds, Kingston stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on Alex. Then he spoke. ‘Here’s what I think happened.’ He held up a finger and wagged it. ‘Follow me carefully.’
Alex nodded again. He was visualizing a deerstalker hat pulled down on Kingston’s head and a curlicue pipe in his hand. ‘All right,’ he said.
Kingston lifted his chin. ‘Okay. When you faxed Stanhope’s letter to Adell he dismissed it as frivolous. I believe that was the word Kate told me he used. But at the same time – correct me if I’m wrong – you also told him about the existence of the missing journal and the crossing formula Graham claimed to have; that it was highly likely that the blue rose could be replicated.’
‘That’s right, I did.’
‘Well, stop and think for a moment what that meant to Adell. The auction is fast approaching and now, out of the blue – pardon the expression – he learns that the rose is no longer exclusive. That, in time, there could be thousands of blue roses on the market. It would really put the lid on things as far as the auction is concerned. So he had to do something to neutralize the situation, quickly. Don’t forget that Adell has a big financial stake in the auction and he can see those fat commissions evaporating.’
‘You’re right. I keep forgetting how much Adell was going to make on the sale.’
‘Exactly. It had to be a huge amount of money.’ He scratched his temple. ‘So where was I? Oh, yes. So Graham suddenly coming on the scene with the formula has an adverse cause and effect to whoever owns the real blue rose – or, putting it bluntly, it certainly reduces the rose’s value dramatically. The rose and the formula are sort of self-cancelling, if you see what I mean.’
‘I do, yes. So far, so good.’
‘Okeydokey. So Adell decides the only way out of the fix is to tell Tanaka that the rose’s value is substantially less and ownership no longer exclusive because it can be cloned – right?’
Come on, Lawrence, get to the point for God’s sake, Alex thought. He frowned, then said, ‘I think I see where you’re going with all this. He tells Tanaka – and Tanaka’s no fool. He realizes, instantly, that he must now own not only the rose but the hybridizing code too. Having one is no good without owning the other. Which is exactly what Adell hoped for.’
Kingston smiled. ‘Clever of you. But that’s not all.’
‘Really?’
‘No, there’s more. And this is pivotal. Our Mr Tanaka is very cunning. Owning either one is still acceptable – if the other is destroyed. And that’s what, I think, Tanaka decided to do. Probably he contacted Graham, telling him that he was interested in buying the formula. Then, he shows up at Graham’s house hoping to make a deal, in all probability demanding to see the missing journal containing the hybridizing code. From here on, exactly what happened is anybody’s guess. But from what we know, there was a struggle and Graham ended up dead. Thinking that he had killed Graham, Tanaka most likely got the hell out of there.’
‘Good heavens, did you figure that out last night?’
Kingston shrugged, then smiled. ‘It’s only a hypothesis, you know.’
Whether Kingston purposely avoided further conversation about Sapphire, Alex could not be sure. He seemed to be content to talk about other matters throughout breakfast. Most of what he said was lost on Alex, whose mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Kate and what they might encounter at Compton’s. He let Kingston drone on about the importance of research in botany as he concentrated on scraping the last drops of juice from his grapefruit.
Noting Alex’s indifference, Kingston took a final sip of coffee and turned to look out at the darkening sky.
‘Well, it looks like summer’s over. Ready to go?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Let’s get on with it then,’ he said, tucking The Times under his arm.
Alex shook his head. Kingston behaved more as though they were off for nine holes of golf rather than to persuade a total stranger – a rose grower, of all people – that he and his client had to give up a billion dollar, death-dealing rose, all in the name of humanity and science. Not to mention confronting a psychopathic and dangerous American, who would stop at nothing to get his hands on the same rose. Alex couldn’t help but admire Kingston.
One last attempt to reach Compton from a phone in the lobby proved unsuccessful.
They left the comforting warmth of the hotel and stepped into the cool breezy silence of the morning. The sky was a seamless canopy of grey. A street-cleaning vehicle droned its way up the High Street. Otherwise, it was too early for the first rumble of traffic that would later clog Lewes’ steep and ancient streets. They crossed the narrow road to the hotel car park, where Kingston slipped a metal token into the machine at the gate and the red-and-white striped barrier creaked upwards. Kingston struggled into the Alfa and closed the door. Once comfortable, he looked at Alex. ‘Baldie, was that the watchman’s name?’
‘That’s right,’ Alex replied.
Emma had told them to watch out for the day watchman – Archibald, Baldie for short. She’d promised to leave a note for him, to let him know that Alex and Kingston would be there Sunday morning.
The sound of the Alfa’s high-strung engine reverberated between the walls of the old Georgian buildings as they motored up the narrow street. Alex sighed, a long sigh of relief. Finally, they were on their way.
Alex brought the Alfa to a skidding stop on the gravel, facing Compton’s rustic front gate. He glanced at his watch. It was nine forty-five. The trip had taken them longer than he had estimated. Kingston was about to get out of the car but Alex insisted they wait for a few moments. On the drive from Lewes, Alex had told Kingston that he was not going to take one step out of the car until he was absolutely, positively certain that Tyson was chained up or had been given the day off. He’d been bitten as a young boy, he said, and had a scar to prove it.
To satisfy Alex, they waited for a couple of minutes. The only sounds came from the far-off lowing of cows and the uninterrupted birdsong. The sombre sky appeared even more menacing. Alex wondered what had happened to the promised ‘sunny intervals’.
‘Let’s go, then,’ Kingston said, getting out of the car, swinging the long wooden gate open, following its path along the arc that the bolt had gouged out of the dirt. Alex drove through and pulled into the same spot as the day before. Two other cars were parked nearby, a mud-daubed Land Rover and a shiny black new BMW. Kingston closed the gate behind him.
‘Ten to one that’s Compton’s Land Rover,’ said Alex, eyeing the cars. ‘I somehow don’t picture him as the BMW type.’
‘Who belongs to the BMW, then?’
Kingston nodded. ‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’
Alex took the camera case out of the Alfa and slammed the door closed. ‘You really think we’re going to need this?’
‘You may want a couple of pictures for your scrapbook,’ Kingston replied. ‘Let’s see if Compton’s in the office.’
‘More likely at the house, I would think, after a long flight. Didn’t Emma say it was close by?’
‘Yes, she did.’ Alex frowned. ‘I should have parked the car facing the other direction, just in case we have to make a quick getaway. Maybe we should have left the gate open.’
‘No, you never leave gates open in the country. The watchman chap, Archibald, would close it anyway.’
‘Talking of Baldie, that must be him.’ Alex was nodding towards the old barns, forty feet away. An elderly man was approaching. He wore a crumpled Barbour coat that reached to his shins. On either side of his checked cap, puffs of white hair protruded like candyfloss. He was wiry, with a face resembling a worn leather glove, and walked with a slight limp. As he came closer, they could see he had a shotgun under one arm.