A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) Page 18

  Rhyllann blinked, bewildered. ‘But … you heard what he said!’

  Crombie settled back into his chair, folding his arms. ‘And you heard what I said.’

  Rhyllann tried again. ‘Detective Crombie, think carefully. This isn’t something that will ever happen again. You will never have a chance like this. I understand that you put your job on the line for us. We’ll share it. Split it three ways. We’re talking millions. You must love your work, you’re so good at it. But you could start up on your own – specialise in what you want to do – start your own detective agency – anywhere!’ He said earnestly. He risked a hand on Crombie’s shoulder.

  ‘Come on what do you say – Derek? Del boy?’ Crombie shrugged his hand off.

  ‘Detective Inspector Crombie to you sonny!’

  ‘Tigger.’ Wren spoke dreamily.

  ‘What?’ Crombie looked at him sharply, blood rushing to his face.

  ‘Tigger – he calls you Tigger. I bet you were always bouncing around. Missing presumed dead. Only you know he isn’t dead. He’s your brother. If he were dead, something inside you would die.’ He rested a hand against Crombie’s chest.

  Crombie turned even redder, he grabbed at Wren’s hand, trying to push it away. Wren clung on, gripping Crombie’s hand tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. He flooded into your mind. You were thinking about how you could use that money to find him – bring him home. I’m sorry.’

  Derek Crombie spoke through clenched teeth, dragging his hand away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The look on Wren’s face was merciless. ‘Yes I do. I know exactly what I’m talking about. So do you. Did he tell you he’d found religion? Did he? Did he tell you he’d found a new cause to fight for?’ His eyes searched Crombie’s; and seemed to find the answers to his questions. Wren's voice softened:

  ‘And in one of those letters home he told you didn’t he? Told you not to worry, not to be alarmed no matter what you heard.’

  Crombie grew very still, the bright red colour draining from him; eyes bulging and hands flexing as though he longed to wrap them round Wren’s throat.

  ‘Crombie! Crombie – don’t listen to him! He isn’t well – he does this sometimes – makes up stories – invents things … Brawd you apologise now!’ Rhyllann babbled an unknown terror clutching at his insides. But it was Crombie who apologised.

  He wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head as though to clear it.

  ‘I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’ An uneasy silence followed. Rhyllann glanced at Wren, opened his mouth to speak. Wren shook his head without taking his eyes from the detective. Who sat brooding. Rhyllann’s eyelids began to sag with boredom. Without warning Crombie jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket and Rhyllann’s upper arm. ‘Come on!’ Rhyllann dragged back feeling panicky – he wouldn’t go into that cupboard again!

  ‘You’ve got a train to catch. Say goodbye.’ Crombie replaced the cuffs as he spoke using unnecessary force.

  ‘We’re going back to London. I wanna get you two both securely into witness protection. Starting with you.’

  ‘What about him?’ Rhyllann asked, indicating Wren, who seemed preoccupied in reconstructing the box before carefully replacing the key. Like a child ignoring the arguments of grown ups. As though realising he was under discussion, his head raised, there was nothing child like about the calculating blue eyes. In fact Wren surveyed them both as though they were the children.

  ‘I’ll deal with him later. He’ll be safe enough until we can move him. I booked him in under a false name.’

  ‘Aren’t you gonna put a guard at the door or something? Is this your idea of witness protection?’ Rhyllann fumed.

  Wren’s clear voice cut through the bickering.

  ‘Detective Crombie? You know this area. You know who built Tintagel Castle?’ Crombie shot him an exasperated look, then swivelled on his heel tugging Rhyllann along in his wake before Wren could spout any more nonsense.

  Crombie marched him out the hospital, flood waters swirling around his ankles, Rhyllann’s borrowed trainers saturated and squelched as they splashed forward.

  ‘Crombie!’

  ‘He’s safe in that hospital. I told you we’ve got them in maximum security.’ Crombie smiled. ‘They won’t get away this time. It’s only when the trial starts that you have to worry.’

  ‘Thanks.’ A thought occurred to Rhyllann, he stopped dead.

  ‘A cult. Detective Crombie. They’ve got people everywhere. One of your men! Crombie! I swear – I can prove it – listen to me.’ He gabbled as Crombie dragged him forwards. ‘You found an envelope – but you couldn’t find the book. At Green’s. You were sure there was a book or wallet – you could smell leather – but you couldn’t find it.’

  Crombie stopped dead, thrusting his face into Rhyllann's. ‘How do you know? How could you know that?’ he snarled.

  ‘We were in the crawl space. The ceiling. We hid behind the water tank. Rodgers didn’t spot us. We heard everything. How else d’you think Wren knew about your brother?’ Giving Crombie an incredulous look. ‘You don’t really think he’s physic do you? He worked it out. You said yourself – he’s got a wild imagination. Please Mr - Detective Crombie. Detective Inspector Crombie Sir. We forgot the book, it was in the photocopier. We waited for you to leave. When we came out – it had gone. One of your men must have picked it up.’ He paused to swallow. ‘Then that day – remember – you nearly caught us. We got to Taffy’s Folly too late. But they were digging in the wrong place. Wren made the same mistake – mistook noon for Nones. But they knew somehow that we’d found the right place – dug up a chest … oww leggo!’ He shouted.

  Crombie shook him hard, his face a mask of rage. ‘Are you trying to tell me that one of mine is bent? One of my own men?’

  Screwing up his eyes, Rhyllann nodded miserably.

  Crombie’s grasp on his arms relaxed. ‘Winding me up. You’re trying to wind me up, aren’t you son? Just like your cousin in there …’ He stopped, clamping his mouth firmly shut against that memory. ‘Either you’re lying, there was no book, or you just didn’t look properly. Yeah, that’s it. When we get back to London, we’ll go through those offices again. We’ll find it.’

  Crombie ushered him up the steps to the police station as he spoke, past sand bags and through to the main office. Rhyllann braced for another round of filthy looks and muttered comments. Raising his chin he prepared to brazen it out.

  But he had a reprieve. Earlier the place throbbed with activity. Now a couple of uniforms wandered around while a solitary probationer manned the desk.

  Crombie grunted. ‘Looks like the fan club’s gone for lunch!’

  Without answering Rhyllann slumped into a chair, Crombie taking the seat opposite. After hanging his jacket on the floor, Crombie leafed through a couple of files laying on the canteen table come desk in front of them. Without looking at Rhyllann he said ‘Sorry son – you’ve had a pretty rough ride.’

  Rhyllann kicked at a chair leg. ‘Yeah well – bought it on my own head I suppose.’

  Crombie raised his head to stare at him, then returned to perusing his files. Rhyllann edged one over, bored rather than curious. It held a dozen loose print outs. The first page had a heading in bold:

  The Royal Inventory audited 1215 –1216 by command of King John.’

  then: The Rolls as instituted by John, King of England, Ireland, and Wales. Duke of Normandy.

  Rhyllann flicked over to the second page. Headed:

  “Imperial Regalia inherited from Matilda, Empress of Germany, Queen of England, Ireland and Wales, Duchess of Normandy etc.”

  There followed a list of valuables, jewellery, religious artefacts, gold and silver plate. Rhyllann scanned down. It read like a catalogue from a fine art dealer and ran for almost two pages. The fourth page similar, but entitled

  Inherited from Henry II King of England, Ireland and Wales, Duke of Normandy etc
.

  Though not so impressive, there were still fifty items.

  Feeling light headed now, Rhyllann turned to page six. A shorter list, inherited from John’s Mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queen of England Ireland and Wales, Duchess of Normandy etc etc. Page seven detailed items inherited from Richard, John's brother. At the very top of the list was the word “Excalibur.” With a sharp intake of breath Rhyllann devoured the description. Approximately a yard long fashioned of silver metal with engraved dragons. A gouge along the blade adorned with mystic writing. Rhyllann flicked over the following pages; John’s own collection, his wife’s and various other “artefacts”.

  The last page was much shorter. It was an inventory dated 1218. The treasures and valuables owned by Henry III, John’s heir. The paltry items described mainly inherited from his mother.

  Several exclamation and question marks had been scrawled in felt tip at the bottom of the page. Besides him, Crombie fidgeted, shooting back his sleeve to check his wristwatch for the time. Rhyllann flicked back to the first page, noting the date. Then to the last page. Between 1216 and 1218 the royal inventory had dwindled from almost eleven pages of single type single line descriptions of valuable items to an single sheet of paper. Leaning back in his chair, Rhyllann’s hands crept up to his mouth, and he found himself chewing on a knuckle.

  Crombie reached over, slapping the file shut, then pulling Rhyllann’s hand down by the metal cuffs. Rhyllann grabbed Crombie's arm – gibbering with excitement:

  ‘It’s true. It’s all true. Wren was right! – all this time!’ Rhyllann had only half believed they might find a chest containing treasure. According to this list, it would more likely be an Aladdin’s Cave.

  Crombie shook him off. ‘Leave it son. So we found this list at the Farmhouse.’ He jerked his head towards a computer terminal. ‘I could print you off a dozen – better than that – Holy Grail an’ all! It doesn’t prove a thing. You’re saying that a thousand year old hoard of treasure is still lying around waiting to be found.’ Cue crocodile smile. ‘If you believe that – you’re just as crazy as those Brotherhoods or whatever they call themselves this week.’

  An urgent buzzing noise came from the floor. Snatching up his jacket Crombie searched through several pockets before withdrawing a police radio.

  ‘What? Yes Christine we’re still here. Keep it short. I’m nearly out of battery.’

  Still sulking, Rhyllann tuned out, flinching in surprise when Crombie thrust the radio at him. ‘She wants a word.’

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ Rhyllann said, holding the radio awkwardly to his ear with both hands. Crombie snatched the radio back and flicked it over to loud speak.

  ‘Rhyllann – WPC Christine Hewes. Are you still at Bodmin Police station with Detective Crombie?’ It sounded as though she was speaking from a cave. Feeling puzzled Rhyllann replied.

  ‘Hello. Yes. I’m still in Bodmin police station.’ He raised his voice slightly.

  ‘Good. So you haven’t left the police station yet?’ There was nothing good about it. Crombie simmered by his side, Rhyllann didn’t want to leave Bodmin, but certainly didn’t want to face Bates and his men again.

  ‘No. Me and Detective Crombie are still at the police station, I think we’re waiting for Superintendent Bates.’ He replied, wondering where this was going.

  ‘I just wanted to say goodbye before you left.’

  He’d misjudged that woman. She really did have a heart.

  ‘Thank you – you’ve been very kind.’

  ‘Well; hope you have a good trip.’

  Rhyllann looked at Crombie, thinking this conversation had gotten a bit unreal.

  ‘Thank you Christine. Your concern’s been noted.’ Crombie huffed, reaching over to switch the radio off. Before he could do so another voice rang out.

  ‘Bye Annie. Take care.’

  He really had misjudged WPC Hewes. She was at the hospital, trying to reassure Wren. No wonder her voice sounded echoey. He even smiled at Crombie thinking cops weren’t so bad after all.

  Re-pocketing the radio, Crombie breathed out a word that sounded suspiciously like ‘Women!’ adding in a louder voice ‘Kids!’

  Crombie checked his watch again muttering ‘Where the bloody hell’s Bates?’ Frowning around the deserted offices. The lights dimmed as the generator cut back to a lower whine. Crombie’s frown deepened. He got to his feet, dragging Rhyllann with him.

  ‘But Detective Crombie – what if you’re wrong – you heard my cousin. Isn’t it worth checking – it won’t take long …’ Crombie ignored his pleading, banging open the door to reception.

  ‘You there!’ He addressed the probationer – ‘Any word from Superintendent Bates?’

  The young constable flushed. ‘Sir. No Sir. Sorry Sir. He must be in his meeting by now with the other emergency services.’

  Crombie cupped an ear. ‘Say again.’

  The youngster swallowed hard. ‘Sir. After the train station, Superintendent Bates told everybody – that is – everyone from Bodmin station to meet at the Civic Centre. That’s the other side of town Sir.’

  Crombie spoke slowly, fixing the squirming uniform with his beadiest look.

  ‘Son. Take it again. From the top. Pretend I’ve just arrived from outer space. Now then. Go.’

  Rhyllann had been inventing different ways to kill Crombie. Now his ears pricked up. Something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

  ‘Sir. Superintendent Bates was told not to wait for you, but collect the prisoners from Bodmin Jail.’ The young probationer faltered under Crombie’s stare. ‘Sir. Superintendent Bates wasn’t very happy Sir. It meant pulling two of ours off duty.’

  Crombie raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Apparently you told one of your officers to check out Folly’s Farmhouse again Sir. Your orders Sir.’

  Crombie kept his temper. ‘I see. So Superintendent Bates bought this nonsense. He really believed I okay'd just two of my officers to guard those lunatics all the way into London?’ His voice rose. ‘While I sit here twiddling my thumbs with this – this scallywag?’ Rhyllann watched the trainee policeman’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, careful to keep the smile off his own face.

  ‘Sir. He did think it unusual. That’s why he pulled PC Thompson and …’

  He flinched as Crombie’s fist rammed against the desk.

  ‘Unusual! I’d have to be a bloody loony myself! Why the hell didn’t he check with me?’

  Rhyllann almost felt sorry for the young copper.

  ‘Don’t tell me we’ve missed our train.’ He said. Raising his eyebrows and putting his tongue in his cheek. Uh-oh. Had he gone too far? Crombie’s fist clenched. Speaking through gritted teeth he asked.

  ‘What time does the train leave?’

  ‘Sir. I don’t know Sir. They’re using the tourist steam train, Sir. It's old and slow but working. If you run Sir, you might catch it!’

  ‘Run! Run! It would be quicker to swim!’

  A gurgled laugh escaped Rhyllann.

  Banging his fist on the table Crombie shouted ‘Get on the blower! Tell them to hold that train!’

  ‘Sir!’ The PC seized a handset, then replaced it. ‘I’m sorry Sir. All phones are down. I don’t know their radio frequency, or even if they’ve got radios.’ He gibbered.

  Crombie rubbed his face. Rhyllann smirked.

  ‘Have your “men” been telling porkies?’ He asked.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. A simple misunderstanding.’ To the PC he said ‘Sorry I shouted at you son.’

  The entrance door swung open to admit a burly ruddy faced man with stripes on his rolled uniform sleeves.

  ‘Now then Charlie. Where is everyone?’ Looking Crombie up and down he immediately assessed his rank in spite of Crombie's hobo clothes.

  ‘Afternoon Sir.’

  The young policeman breathed a loud sigh. ‘Detective Inspector Crombie – this is Sergeant Holden. Jeff – didn’t you get the Super’s message?’

  Jeff shook Crombie’s han
d as he replied, looking sheepish for some reason. ‘No my ‘andsome. The jeep radio’s proper buggered.’

  Crombie grasped Holden's arm. ‘Jeep – you’ve got a jeep?’

  Rhyllann groaned out loud. Just his luck.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bodmin Parkway station was eight miles out of town. In spite of some inspired driving, splashing through fords and passing abandoned vehicles, they saw the train steaming out as they entered the station car park.

  ‘Jesus!’ Telling Holden to wait, Crombie ran onto the platform, Rhyllann skittering behind him.

  ‘Hey you!’ he called to a guard ‘Stop that train – I need to board!’

  The guard surveyed him insolently, hands in pockets. ‘Well now, perhaps you should leave home earlier. I can’t call the train back even for you, can I now, me ‘andsome?’ He winked at Rhyllann, not realising the storm he was about to reap.

  Five minutes later they were all in the quaint Victorian cottage which served as the station master’s office.

  ‘I’m sorry Sir. We cannot halt the train. We are running an emergency schedule. That train will not stop until it reaches Plymouth.’ The station master was around Rhyllann's height, and almost as skinny as Wren. In his dull blue suit, he couldn't look less like the "Fat Controller" but he had a measured authoritive air about him.

  Crombie sagged, admitting defeat. ‘Okay, thank you. And the next train is?’

  ‘Well you see Sir – all signals are down between here and Plymouth. We’ve just got the two old steam trains in operation. Lucky to have them really Sir. We’re operating under extreme safety measures, we can’t take any chances.’ Adding ‘Do you understand Sir? The line is single track in places.’

  Both Rhyllann and Crombie understood immediately.

  ‘Can you hold the train at Plymouth?’ Crombie sounded hopeful.

  The station master looked at him, something akin to pity on his face.

  ‘Sir – Bodmin Moor is impassable in places. Even if we could get a message through it’ll take hours to drive there. You might as well wait for the next train.’