Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

The shorter of the two had slick black hair, a well-groomed beard and wore a long trench coat. As they came closer Alex could see that his features were slightly Asian. ‘I bet you anything that’s Tanaka,’ Alex whispered to Kingston.

Kingston nodded imperceptibly.

The other man was balding with greying sideburns and ruddy cheeks. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket over a khaki rib-knit sweater and corduroy trousers that were tucked into his boots.

‘I’m Charlie Compton,’ he said in a measured tone. ‘You must be the two chaps that Emma mentioned – from the magazine.’

‘Yes, we are,’ Kingston said, stepping forward. ‘She mentioned us, then? About wanting to interview you?’

‘She did,’ said Compton.

‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not the case.’

Compton looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m sorry to say, none of it is true. We told her that as a cover, to gain access to your property to search for this rose,’ Kingston said, nodding in the direction of the rosebush. ‘By the way, I’m Dr Kingston and my friend here is Alex Sheppard.’

‘Search my property?’ Compton folded his arms across his chest and glared at them. ‘You’ve got a hell of a bloody nerve! That’s all I can say.’

‘I apologize for the deception,’ said Kingston. ‘But there was no other way.’

‘This had better be good,’ Compton grunted.

‘Don’t worry, it will be,’ said Kingston. He paused. ‘Actually, that’s not entirely true,’ he added. ‘You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.’ He glanced at Tanaka. ‘Particularly you. You are Kenji Tanaka, aren’t you?’

Tanaka’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s none of your business who I am.’ He turned to Compton. ‘These two have no business here, they’re trespassing. I think you should tell them to leave.’

Kingston ignored Tanaka’s remark. ‘Compton, you should know that this rose is stolen property. It was taken from the garden of a friend of ours in Market Drayton over a week ago.’ He nodded at Tanaka. ‘Taken by him.’

‘You’re lying,’ Tanaka snapped. ‘I purchased this rose for a client of mine. Legitimately. Mr Compton–’

Kingston didn’t let Tanaka finish. ‘This rose belongs to Alex Sheppard, and you damn well know it.’

Clearly upset and lost for words, Compton scowled at Tanaka, then at Kingston.

‘It’s all true,’ said Kingston, quietly.

Tanaka, his face screwed up in frustration, searched Compton’s eyes. ‘Surely, you’re not buying this,’ he said. ‘It’s obvious what they’re trying to pull. Can’t you see that they want the rose for themselves?’

Compton looked at Tanaka again. ‘Come to think of it, Ken, you never did mention who you bought the rose from,’ he said.

Tanaka didn’t answer. Not a muscle moved on his face. His dark eyes went slowly from Kingston, to Alex, then back to Compton. His voice was unexpectedly calm. ‘I bought that rose over there from a man named Graham Cooke. It was his uncle who hybridized it, in fact. Isn’t that correct, Sheppard?’ He paused, now looking at Alex. ‘You know it is, don’t you?’ he snapped.

Alex looked quickly at Kingston out of the corner of his eye. ‘We believe that might be the case, but–’

Tanaka cut in before Alex could finish. ‘You see, Compton, he admits it. This has nothing to do with them whatsoever.’

Compton looked more confused than ever.

Tanaka’s tone became angry, his voice louder. ‘Look, we have a lot of work to do, Compton. I’m starting to get impatient. Just tell these two to get the hell out of here, before it gets nasty.’

Compton said nothing, nervously rubbing his chin.

‘Well, do something , man, don’t just stand there,’ Tanaka shouted.

The four of them stood by the rose, each waiting for the other to say something. Instead, another voice, strident and menacing, broke the eerie silence.

‘Stay right where you are. All of you.’

Alex spun around. That voice. American. At first he thought he recognized it. But no, it wasn’t the man who had been phoning. He’d know that voice, anywhere. A tall man wearing a dark windbreaker zipped up over a black turtleneck stood at the entrance to the paddock. He was gripping a sinister-looking small black pistol in his right hand.

‘That rose doesn’t belong to any of you. That rose is mine,’ he said, starting to walk toward them.

When Marcus and Kate arrived back at the farmhouse two cars were parked in the courtyard, but there were no signs of the other men. Marcus locked her up immediately in a much smaller room than before.

Few words had passed between them since she had stepped out of the phone box. During the drive she had tried to remain calm, trying to convince him that she and Alex no longer had the rose, that it had been stolen. Then, losing patience, she had questioned him angrily, but Marcus was very short on words.

She had been lying on the bed for less than an hour when Marcus returned. Saying nothing, he escorted her downstairs. Seated in the kitchen, she was given a ham and cheese sandwich, a bottle of mineral water, and a bruised apple.

‘Try to do another runner and you’ll end up a cripple,’ he said, leaving the room.

After ten minutes, he returned. A hollow sensation started in her stomach and rose up into her chest when Kate saw he was holding a dark-coloured scarf and a length of nylon cord in his hand. Commanding her to remain seated he knotted the scarf around her eyes and expertly tied her wrists with the cord. Leading her outside, he bundled her back into the Jeep – she recognized the same air freshener smell – and slammed the door behind her.

Soon she heard footsteps on the gravel. Two people got into the front seats. The doors slammed and the engine started. ‘We’re going for a long drive,’ Marcus said, snapping his seat belt buckle. ‘You might as well settle down.’

‘This looks like it, boss,’ said Marcus, slowing at the sight of the green and gold Compton’s Roses sign. He pulled the Jeep over on to the grass verge a few yards before the closed gate.

‘Good,’ said Wolff. ‘So far, Sheppard’s not lying.’

Kate sat in darkness in the back seat, listening. She had concluded earlier that the American man with Marcus must be the ‘Ira’ they’d referred to at the farmhouse. The man who was going to ‘make the deal’ with Alex. Her wrists were sore from the chafing of the cord that was also tied to the inside door handle and covered with tape. It had been a long drive but thankfully – for part of it at least – she had involuntarily drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

She heard the passenger door open and slam shut as the man got out. Next, the grating of a bolt followed by the metallic squeal of a gate being opened. The Jeep eased slowly forward for several yards, then stopped. Marcus turned the engine off and got out, slamming the door hard, shaking the car.

Kate could hear Marcus and the other man talking outside but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Next, the door beside her was opened, the tape was cut, and the cord attached to her wrists was untied from the door handle. It was then knotted around her waist preventing her from moving her hands. ‘Get out,’ Marcus said.

Kate slid across the seat and, without assistance, got out of the car. The turf was springy beneath her feet. She felt the mist dampen her cheeks. A smell of manure was heavy in the air, the nearby sound of bleating sheep, muted. With Marcus gripping her upper arm, they started walking in silence.