Chapter Twenty
Crombie turned the battered mobile over and over in his hands, thinking. The operation hadn’t been a complete disaster. Following the Scottish lead, Interpol had arrested three suspects. Somehow though Stern and eight others had slipped through the net, making their way to Cornwall. Though Devon and Cornwall were spitting bullets over the failed raid, they had four gang members in custody, all of whom wanted to talk. Considering they were facing grand theft, not to mention murder in some cases, not surprising.
Not as good as it could have been, but not too shabby.
He looked up as Christine Hewes entered the room, carrying an small plastic evidence bag.
‘Found these Sir, on the boulders by the monolith.’
‘Thanks Christine. Is it still raining?’
‘Fraid so Sir. The lines to London are down.’
He grunted, examining the browning apple cores through the transparent bag. He needed to talk to Cavan. He supposed he would view the operation as a success. Strange really, how the gang had separated, some flying up to Scotland, some travelling down to Cornwall. Opposite ends of the country. Crombie opted to steer clear of Interpol, and landed by default in Cornwall. At least he was familiar with the place. His wife and girls loved holidaying here.
He spoke outloud, using WPC Hewes as a sounding board.
‘Why do you suppose some of ‘em went up to Scotland?’
She hesitated, as though he had posed a trick question.
‘Didn’t Interpol say they’d found the blond kid’s notebook? Apparently he laid a false trail for them.’
Crombie already knew that. And yet. A thirteen year old managing to outwit that nasty little gang? Wren Prenderson had convinced them his notes were authentic, by risking not only his gran’s, but his own life. But Mikey Stern hadn’t fallen for it.
‘What made Stern come to Cornwall instead d’you think?’
She blushed. ‘Dunno Sir. No idea. Maybe he thought he’d be better off keeping tabs on the kids, then when he found Joan’s diary, he worked out the Celtic Connection.’
Crombie stared at her, really puzzled now. ‘Joan’s diary? What are you talking about?’
She blushed a shade darker and stammered. ‘"The Brotherhood” Sir … they were talking about Joan’s diary – I presumed it was the Welsh book that the old man had … old man Stern? And Mikey Stern found it.’
Crombie shook his head slowly. Something didn’t add up, but he couldn’t work it out.
‘No, no no. I searched those houses personally.’ He scratched an ear, then pulled at the lobe. ‘Unless. That envelope we found?’ He gazed up at Hewes, feeling a twinge of impatience when she merely gulped back at him.
‘C’mon Hewes. You’re normally sharper than this. The envelope. Back at Green’s?’
She lowered her eyes, teeth nibbling her lips; Crombie sighed. If they’d managed to catch the kids there, got them back safely in custody …
Now Mikey Stern and that nasty little group calling themselves The Brotherhood were in Cornwall. Along with both kids; and somehow those kids had managed to get hold of whatever had been buried in that metal chest for eight hundred years.
Were the kids and Stern working together? Crombie shook his head again. No, that didn’t make sense. Somehow that blond kid had them all chasing rainbows and shadows; The Brotherhood, Stern, The police. And his cousin.
Crombie examined Rhyllann’s phone again, as though hoping it would miraculously ring. Outloud he said.
‘Where are you son? Where on earth are you?’