The entire floor was composed of flagstones, each exactly sixteen inches square. He had closely examined it on his hands and knees to see if there were any places where the floor didn’t conform to the overall pattern or appeared irregular. He had also painstakingly traced the grout lines of cement to see if a section had been disturbed or was of a different colour or texture. His efforts had revealed nothing.
With its virginal white walls, Spartan trappings and cool silence, as intended the space was conducive to prayer and contemplation. He sat thinking of Jamie and the accident. All along, he had been prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt inasmuch as there were credible explanations for all the unaccountable things that had taken place at Wickersham since he’d arrived. But now, with the accident—the first event to actually involve Jamie physically—he was more certain than ever that he was right. This had changed everything and the thought hadn’t escaped him that he could be vulnerable, too. While it was reassuring to know that Chadwick and his people were now actively involved, Kingston was keenly aware that it was also very much up to him to keep a close eye on Jamie and everything that happened on the estate. He was also determined, whether Jamie approved or not, to keep up his search for the paintings and find out what was really behind all the many mysteries shrouding Wickersham Priory.
He sighed and got up, taking one last look around. As of now, it looked very much as if his exploration of the chapel was ended. He walked up the aisle, locked the door behind him and headed in the direction of the courtyard of the big house where his TR4 was parked. He was looking forward to a medium rare entrecote steak and a couple of glasses of Burgundy.
In the morning, he waited until eight thirty before calling the hospital. After several minutes, first being transferred then put on hold, he was informed that Jamie would be discharged sometime after two o’clock, and he should call again, closer to that time, just to make sure. Next, he called the police station in Taunton to find out where Jamie’s car had been towed. Spinning a convincing story about wanting to retrieve some items from the car, whose owner was in hospital, he was told that the Volvo had been towed to Larkin’s garage on William Street, a repair and storage facility under contract to the Taunton police force. Before picking up Jamie, he planned to call at Larkin’s and afterwards buy her some flowers.
He found Larkin’s with no trouble, parking in a huge yard that was surrounded by a high metal fence with security warning signs posted every twenty feet or so. Walking past rows of parked cars, many whose rubber would never see a road again, he entered the hangar-like garage. Inside, a number of cars were being worked on. Hip-hop music blared around the cavernous space. Off to his right, he saw a glass-fronted office, walked over, knocked on the door and entered.
A thin balding man, fiftyish, gestured for Kingston to sit down. The name Sean was stitched on to the chest of his oily overalls. The metal desk between them was cluttered with messages, bulging folders, stacks of papers with metal car parts as paperweights, and clipboards laid out in a shingle pattern, the work orders for the day, by the looks of it. Kingston explained why he was there.
‘The silver Volvo, right.’ Sean sniffed and continued. ‘Yeah, we did get a chance to take a quick look at it when it came in,’ he said, shaking his head. His expression telegraphed what was going to be bad news. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you too much until we’ve taken another look at it and filed a report with the police, but I can tell you one thing—it was no accident, mate.’
Chapter Eighteen
Grim-faced and shaken, Kingston left Sean and crossed Larkin’s yard. Numbed by what he had just heard, he walked right past his car without realizing. He would have called Chadwick right there and then but he’d left the damned mobile on charge at the cottage. Getting into the TR4 he glanced at the clock: it was almost one fifteen. Barely enough time to buy the flowers and be at the hospital by two to pick up Jamie. How was he going to break the news to her? There was no way to do it without avoiding the terrible truth. Someone had wanted to harm or kill her.
While he waited at a traffic signal, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, another thought crossed his mind. On the drive back from London, it had occurred to him that the burglary might have been carried out for no other reason than to get him away from Wickersham. At the time he had dismissed this idea as being a bit too far-fetched. But now, with Jamie’s accident, he wasn’t quite so sure. If that were the case there wouldn’t be much point if it were just he that were absent. But with Jamie gone, too, it would be much easier for someone to snoop around—to go over the inside of the chapel for starters. Pursuing this line of reasoning led to more questions. It would also mean that the person responsible must know about the chapel and the fact that it might hold a secret: a means of entry to the underground rooms—if, indeed, they existed. Another thing, how would they know where the key to the chapel was? It all suggested prior knowledge.