‘Hold on – are you sure? Nothing at all? Sometimes the original builders of these ancient buildings left little tokens, or dropped coins find their way through the cracks in the boards … you didn’t find anything at all?’
‘Nothing at all. I’ll have to go – this throat of mine. Sorry not to be more help. Bye, now.’ He rang off, and Leah smiled slightly into the silent phone. She went back inside to find Mark, who was still staring at the microfiche, fascinated.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked quietly.
‘I had an idea – I got the builder’s number from Kevin Knoll and gave him a ring.’
‘What builder? Oh – the Bluecoat builder? Did you speak to him?’
‘Yes. He says he didn’t find anything.’ She smiled a tight, excited smile.
‘So why do you look so pleased?’ he asked, glancing up at her.
‘Because he’s lying,’ Leah told him.
Chris Ward’s business address was, as Leah had expected, a residential house; situated between Newbury and Thatcham. A modern brick building, large and solidly built, with a huge and garish array of children’s plastic toys in the front garden. The lawn, in spite of the early season, was immaculate.
‘He’s not likely to be home on a work day, though, is he?’ Mark pointed out, as Leah parked the car in the street and they climbed out.
‘He’s home. Sick as a dog by the sounds of him.’
‘Oh, good. In a weakened state then,’ Mark said, wryly. Leah glanced at him and he made a calming gesture with his hands. ‘Just … go easy. You’ve got the air of a battleship about you this morning.’
‘I will! I mean, I will. I’ll be nice.’ Leah slowed her striding walk and took a deep breath. ‘This from the man who told me to bugger off the first time we met,’ she added. Mark smiled amiably, and shrugged.
When Chris Ward opened the door it was only a crack, and his face peered out around it, lined and squinting beneath a thatch of steel-grey hair.
‘Don’t come too close, I’m infectious. What can I do for you?’ he rasped.
‘Mr Ward? I’m Leah Hickson – we spoke on the phone a little while ago? About The Bluecoat School,’ she introduced herself. ‘This is my colleague, Mark Canning.’
‘Canning?’ the builder echoed sharply, before he could stop himself.
‘You know the name?’ Leah raised her eyebrows. The door wavered, and Chris Ward seemed to think about shutting it. Leah put her hand out to stop him. ‘Please! Mr Ward, we’ve no desire to cause trouble for you or anybody. We won’t name you as our source, or anything like that … but if we could just see what you found under the floor—’
‘I didn’t find anything under the bloody floor!’
‘I think you did. Please. We just want to see it. We’re not trying to take it from you, I swear …’ The man stared at them for a moment, chewing his lip in consternation. ‘It’s very, very important,’ Leah added. The man nodded, opened the door a little wider and stepped outside.
‘I keep it all in the garage,’ he muttered.
‘It all?’ said Mark.
‘My collection,’ the builder said, uneasily.
The metal garage door opened with an ear-piercing screech, and in the gloom within Leah could make out deep shelves lining the wall all along one side. The shelves were covered in objects, and as Chris Ward flicked on the light switch she saw the oddest collection of things, from muddy boots and glass bottles to rusty shell casings; a Second World War tin helmet to a china doll with one cheek smashed in. Some items were in small sealed fish tanks – improvised glass cases. All were labelled with typed script on neat white cards. The air smelt of old spilled oil, and earth.
‘What is all this stuff?’ Mark asked, walking slowly along the shelves.
‘My collection. I’m … something of an amateur archaeologist, I suppose. I do a lot of metal detecting as well – that’s how I found all these. Medieval and Roman coins,’ Chris Ward said proudly, indicating one of the fish tanks where seven or eight small coins were lovingly arranged on a piece of white cloth. ‘And of course, specialising in restoration work, I come across a lot of artefacts in the buildings I work on,’ he added, slightly more stiffly.
‘And do you tell the owners when you find something?’ Leah asked, sternly. Chris Ward pressed his lips together, looked away.
‘I used to, back in the beginning. But when I did, they never let me …’
‘They never let you keep them? You know, that could be construed as theft, Mr Ward.’