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THE NEXT MORNING, at Payton Manor, as the three sat around the breakfast table, Sam wondered why they’d been specifically targeted. “Either someone was watching the place or someone told them we were on our way there.”
“Nobody here would do that,” Oliver said. “I trust my uncle’s staff implicitly.” He was looking a lot better than he had last night after they’d taken him to the hospital. The wound on his arm was deep and required a few stitches. Mostly, he was suffering from shock, but after a good night’s rest he’d recovered sufficiently. “They’d never do anything to hurt him.”
“Well, someone knew we were there.” The real question was, for how long? Whoever it was, they had the inside knowledge of Oliver’s movements ever since Pebble Beach, possibly even before. “I think we’re going to have to back up a few steps. We need to talk to that attorney Selma hired for your grandfather. If anyone can tell us what’s going on with this case, he can.”
Sam called the number Selma had given to him, on speakerphone.
“David Cooke’s office,” a woman answered.
“Sam Fargo, here, with Oliver Payton. Is Mr. Cooke available?”
“One moment, please.”
Cooke answered a minute later. “Glad you called,” he said. “I’ve hired a top investigator for the case. Just heard back from him about that video the police have. According to his report, a couple of things of note. First, the white-haired man climbing in that window looks a bit too fit to be a seventy-something-year-old with memory problems. More importantly, the video’s grainy enough to be useless for a positive identification.”
“Which, apparently, didn’t stop the police from arresting him,” Sam said.
“Because of all the other circumstantial evidence, including that the Viscount owns the warehouse where the murder took place. Whoever set him up put a lot of thought into it. Which brings me to my next point. The car show in London. The cameras worked up until the fire alarm sounded as the distraction to empty the convention hall. A little too convenient that suddenly there was a malfunction, and no video exists of the theft. Also, the video from the days leading up to it were deleted.”
Sam and Remi exchanged glances. “Agreed,” Sam said. “Too convenient.”
“It gets even more interesting. The security guard who had access to the cameras? He’s the chap found dead at the Manchester warehouse fire. Autopsy still pending.”
“Anything on him?”
“Not yet. Scotland Yard’s working on restoring the digital images leading up to the fire alarm. Unfortunately, that’s all my investigator has so far.”
“That’s a good start,” Sam said.
“Quite. I can tell you this much, though. It doesn’t seem to be a crime of opportunity. My investigator informs me it seems to be a rather sophisticated operation. A lot went into the planning, even killing one of the men involved. In other words, Mr. Payton needs to be careful, as does anyone around him.”
“We’ll all be careful,” Sam told him. “Thanks for the update.”
“That,” Re
mi said, as Sam disconnected the call, “certainly is troubling.”
Oliver’s brow furrowed as he looked at Sam. “I have to wonder about the dead security guard. Why go to all the trouble to kill him? Just so Uncle Albert would be arrested?”
“If I had to guess,” Sam replied, “it was to make sure nothing led back to whoever’s really behind this. You and I both know your uncle couldn’t have done this on his own, which means that security guard was a loose end. Your uncle was a convenient target to throw suspicion.”
Oliver folded his napkin, set it on the table, pushed his plate away. “Who would do this to him? He must be worried sick.”
“At least the solicitor Selma hired has a decent investigator to help look into things,” Remi said. “We don’t have to wait for the police to release the details.”
Sam checked his phone. “Speaking of . . . Text from Selma.” He opened it, read it aloud: “Rolls-Royce commissioned two demonstrator cars to be shown at the 1906 Olympia show. When the Gray Ghost was damaged, they replaced it with the unfinished Silver Ghost, which made its official debut in March of ’07.”
“Nothing else about the Gray Ghost?” Remi asked.
“Looks like the Silver Ghost got all the attention after that.”
“Prettier paint job?” Remi said.
“That, and more press,” Oliver added. “The Gray Ghost was the one that suffered the hard knocks before they put the Silver Ghost through the trials.”
“This is interesting,” Sam said, scrolling through the text. “There’s no official record of the Gray Ghost. Selma says the chassis number you gave us, 60543, isn’t registered. Every source she found shows that they skipped that number—which would have been on the fourth chassis.” Sam looked up from his phone, eyeing Oliver. “Know anything about that?”
