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The Lost Gardens(58)

By:Anthony Eglin


Immediately a passing motorist came to her aid. He called 999 and within five minutes a police car was at the scene. Ten minutes after that an ambulance and a tow-truck arrived.

Kingston spent the next half-hour telling Jamie about what had happened at the flat, including Andrew’s canine gift. At least that made her smile. Kingston left, assuring her that he would pick her up the minute she was discharged. In the meantime, he would find out where they had taken her Volvo, and see if he could find out more about the failed steering. He left buoyed with a huge sense of relief, knowing that Jamie wasn’t seriously hurt but also with a sense of foreboding, praying that this was not another calculated incident meant to harm.





Back at Wickersham Kingston stopped by the cottage to change his clothes. In the living room, the answering machine light was flashing. The message—a brief one—was from Loftus. Considering the stroke, Kingston thought he sounded remarkably well—even chipper. In a minute or so Kingston had him on the line. Loftus’s health took up the first minute or so of the conversation. He was taking physiotherapy and was back at his sister’s and doing ‘quite well thank you.’

‘Well, I’m delighted to hear you’re making such a good recovery. If you weren’t so far away I’d come and pay you another visit.’

‘I’d enjoy that,’ Art replied.

‘I have a question to ask you, Art. This is going to test your memory.’

‘What’s left of it.’

‘You said in your note—the one you sent me with the picture of Jeremy and Kit—that Jeremy was shot.’

‘Yeah, I remember that.’

‘This could be important. Do you remember where he was shot?’

Before Kingston had a chance to finish his question, Art replied.

‘Sure, I told you, it was in that Dutch town.’

Kingston smiled to himself. ‘I know that, Art. I should have phrased it better. I meant where on his body?’

‘Crikey—well, let me think a moment.’

While he waited, Kingston looked around the room. Seeing an empty vase on one of the window ledges, he made a mental note to buy some flowers for Jamie. Loftus came back on the line.

‘You know, I do remember, because his bandages were such a mess. Our medics had been killed and we were all pitchin’ in trying to take care of the wounded. Jeremy was one of them that couldn’t walk—’

‘Where was he wounded, Art?’

‘In the leg.’

‘Where was the bandage? Was it around his knee by any chance?’

Loftus mumbled something that Kingston couldn’t quite get, then said, ‘I wouldn’t swear to it but I think that’s where it was. Yeah, I think you’re right.’

‘Good man.’

‘Why is it so important, doctor?’

‘It’s too long a story to tell you on the phone but I promise you, Art, if I get to the bottom of it, I’ll come up to Nottingham and tell you all about it. If it’s what I think it is, you’re going to be very surprised.’

Kingston went to the bedroom and changed into more comfortable clothes: corduroy trousers, tattersall flannel shirt and an old cardigan that, over the years, had stretched up two sizes from the one on the label. Whenever he was in London—though he knew it was unnecessary in this day and age—he still felt obliged to wear more dressy clothes. He was half of a mind to take a nap before setting off for the village and a light supper at the Griffin. Instead, knowing he might well doze off for several hours, he decided to go up to the house to see if there was any mail and tell Dot about his visit to Jamie. Then he could get an early night.

Opening the cottage front door, he was almost face-on with the key rack on the wall. It wasn’t until a few seconds later, after he’d stepped through the door, that he realized something was wrong. The iron key to the chapel was on the wrong hook. There was no question about it. It always hung on the last hook. Now it was two hooks over. He took the key, put it in his trouser pocket, closed the door and walked up to the house.

He found Dot in the kitchen, ironing sheets.

‘How is Jamie?’ she asked, standing the iron on end.

He dragged a chair out from the pine table and sat down. ‘She seems to be fine, thank God. A bit bruised and a nasty gash on her head but nothing’s broken. They’re going to keep her in overnight but she’s going to be okay. She’s in good spirits.’

‘How did it happen—the accident?’

‘The steering on her car went out.’

‘I’m surprised. That’s a brand-new car.’

‘I know. She was very lucky. It could have been much worse.’