Читать книгу The Pretender’s Gold - Scott Mariani, Scott Mariani - Страница 16

Boonzie had seen burglaries before and knew immediately this was something different. Whoever had broken in had been searching for something. Drawers had been rifled, sofa cushions slashed and the stuffing pulled out. Even the carpets had been pulled up as though someone wanted to check the floorboards. It was a mess. This had been the work of more than a single intruder. More likely two or three, working in tandem to ransack the place and get out fast.

Boonzie soon found the intruders’ entry point, a broken utility room window in the rear, overlooking a weedy yard filled with bins, junk and a parked camper van. Access was through a lane that cut between the backs of the houses. The intruders had reached through the smashed glass to open the window and climb in. He secured the window shut and then returned to the main rooms, where most of the damage was, to look for any clues.

Ewan had used the small dining area off the living room as a basic home office, with a little workstation desk against one wall. Boonzie noticed the empty space on the desk, a rectangle of dust where something had been removed. There was a printer and scanner, a nest of tangled wires, a pair of disconnected computer speakers and a monitor screen, but the computer itself was missing. The intruders had taken it. But who were they, and what had they been looking for?

Boonzie considered reporting this new development to the police, then changed his mind. Why complicate matters, especially with those two useless idiots in charge of the case? He already knew what he had to do, and they’d only get in his way.

Saddened by the state of the place, he set about tidying up as best he could. As he worked he found a balled-up piece of notepaper lying in the corner behind a wastepaper basket. Uncrumpling it to see what it was, he found that it was covered in handwriting he recognised as Ewan’s.

Boonzie had left his reading glasses at home in Italy, and had to peer closely at the paper to read what Ewan had written on it. The upper third of the page was a scrawl of notes Boonzie didn’t really understand. Something about ‘Louis d’or’, and some dates and other names that meant little to him. Below that were some jottings about local history, dating back to the eighteenth century, featuring a few famous names that Boonzie did recognise, though it was unclear why Ewan had been taking such an interest in the subject. The notes at the bottom of the page switched away from history and were about illegal salmon fishing in the area. Underneath Ewan had scribbled in capitals the words ‘WHO IS THE POACHER??’ and underlined them so hard he’d scratched right through the paper.

Boonzie smoothed the page flat, folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. Then turned to look around him at the wrecked room. Until now he’d managed to keep a handle on his emotions. The image of Ewan in the intensive care unit flashed into his mind, and he thought how his nephew might never awaken from the coma these people had put him into. Rage boiled up inside him.

‘Bastards,’ he muttered.

Boonzie put his hand on his chest as he suddenly felt an odd sensation behind his ribs, followed by a jolt of pain that made him let out a low groan. He swayed slightly on his feet and reached out to support himself on the back of a chair. He waited a few seconds for the pain to subside, then walked slowly into the kitchen to find a glass and fill it with tapwater. He used it to gulp down the last couple of pills from one of the little bottles he now carried everywhere with him. He hated taking them. There was a fresh bottle in his pocket. He tossed away the empty.

When he felt better, he went to pick up Ewan’s landline phone and called Mirella. ‘It’s me. Just checking in. You okay?’

She was happy and relieved to hear from him. They spent very little time apart, as a rule, and she told him how much she was missing him.

‘Listen, hen, there’s bad news. It’s aboot Ewan.’ Boonzie quickly filled her in on all that had happened, and shared his belief that the same people who killed Ross Campbell had tried to kill him, too. He told her about his meeting with the cops, and how he’d decided to pursue this himself.

Mirella was shocked and worried, but her greatest anxiety was for her husband caught up in the middle of this situation. ‘Promise me you’ll take care.’

‘You know I will. Always.’

‘How do you feel? Are you taking your medicine?’

‘Och, I’m fine,’ he said, brushing off her concerns. ‘Strong as an ox.’

Mirella knew how stubborn he was, and that he didn’t like being fussed over. More matter-of-factly she said, ‘Something came for you. An email, from your nephew. He sent it last night. I only saw it today.’

‘From Ewan? What aboot?’

‘Hold on, I’ll read it to you.’ A pause, while Mirella carried the phone over to the computer and pulled up the email. ‘Okay, here it is. It just says, “Ross found this. It gets weirder. Hope you get here soon.”’

‘Ross found what?’

‘There was an attachment with the email. I opened it. It’s a photo of an old coin. It looks like gold. Why would he send you that? Has this got something to do with what’s happened to him and his friend?’

Boonzie didn’t want to burden Mirella with more concerns, so he reassured her that it would all be sorted out soon.

‘I hate you not being here,’ she said with a sniff.

‘I’ll be back home before ye know it, pet.’

‘Call me every day. Don’t let me sit here worrying.’

‘Twice a day,’ he promised. Then he repeated once more how much he loved her. Which he truly did, no less than the day he’d first laid eyes on her and fallen hard. He reassured her that things would be fine and not to fret. It was hard to say goodbye.

When the call was over, Boonzie sat thinking for a long time. These damned gold coins just wouldn’t go away. They were clearly vital to understand what was going on here, but he wouldn’t know where to start with something like that. By contrast, Ewan’s notes about salmon poaching had given him an idea. If he could find the poacher, he could begin to unravel this whole thing. And there was no better time to start than right away.

The first thing Boonzie needed to do was sort himself out some wheels. He went back to the utility room with the broken window and looked again at the camper van parked in Ewan’s back yard. It was old and dirty and neglected-looking, but ideal for his purposes. He didn’t want to stay in the house. If he’d thought the men who had ransacked it might return, he’d have felt differently and wanted to lie in wait for them, but he knew they wouldn’t be coming back here. The camper van would give him a mobile base from which to pursue his objective, wherever it led him.

Boonzie was a man of many talents, even if a lot of them were underused these days. Among the skills he’d learned in the regiment was fixing old vehicles, the kind that soldiers making their way deep behind enemy lines might have to commandeer. He found the camper keys on a hook in the hallway and went out to inspect it.

A quick look around the vehicle confirmed his first impressions. The camper was equipped with two berths, sleeping bag and blankets, a stove, heater, and even a tiny washroom with a chemical cassette toilet. A little travel-stained and threadbare, but not too grotty and sheer bloody luxury compared to some of the places he’d been forced to make camp in his life. The engine wouldn’t start at first, but an hour later he had the corroded battery connections fixed up as good as new and the diesel glow plugs switched for a new set he found in the house, and the old girl coughed into life at the first twist of the key. He left the engine running to put charge into the battery, and returned to the house.

It was mid-afternoon and the light was already beginning to fade. After living in Italy so long he’d almost forgotten how early the winter evenings fell, this far north. Back in the house he worked through the plan that was coming together in his mind. Certain additional items were required in order to put it into action. He dug a copy of the Yellow Pages out of the wreckage of Ewan’s living room and soon found what he was looking for. The place he had to go next was more than an hour’s drive away, but he would make it.

Boonzie locked up the house, climbed aboard the camper and drove out of the yard and into the street. By nightfall, he’d have the things he needed.

Then he’d be ready to go hunting.