Limey Gumshoe by Will Randall

Author:Will Randall
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789085241522
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2007-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

11

Atlantic View

Rounding the next corner and then the next, I realised that something had gone horribly wrong. Ahead of me stretched a long straight piece of road perhaps half a mile long.

There was no sign of the car.

Slowing to a halt I suddenly realised that I did not enjoy this private detection business at all. It was extremely stressful. The boredom was nothing to the terrible worry when something went wrong. Oh, how I had enjoyed the hours of gentle miles clicking away, thinking my thoughts and biding my time. Now my heart was thumping horribly and I almost turned on the radio again for a bit of soft rock comfort.

Not knowing what to do, I experienced much the same sensation that I had when once I had found myself in a small boat in a storm on the English Channel. It had been impossible to decide whether to go forward to my destination or back to the picturesque port and its little pub from whence I had come. How I wished I was sitting there now. Paralysed momentarily by indecision I felt quite dazed. Almost in automatic mode I put the car in reverse and, there being nowhere to turn around, zoomed back down the road, the transmission whining all the way at the same pitch as my brain. Glancing about left and right I looked for any possible hiding place for the car. Did this mean that he thought that he was being followed? Was this what Nelson described as a counter-surveillance manoeuvre to throw me off his trail?

Surely not.

He had no idea that anyone had the intention of having him followed.

Did he?

Why would he?

Just as I believed that I must have gone back far too far, I suddenly noticed to my left a small lane that cut back sharply from the road and that was only just wide enough for single traffic. I stopped and wondered what to do. If I headed on down the lane, what would I do if I found him coming back towards me? There would be no escape. But I had to know where he had gone. Perhaps he would keep on this track until he came out on another completely different road and then I would have lost him completely.

Slowly, as that was all the lane would allow me, I nosed down the track. A few hundred yards further on I could make out, in the late afternoon sun, the form of a huge red building surrounded by wooded parkland. As it came more clearly into view I realised that it was a strange neo-gothic castle, something out of a horror movie. Just there, off the lane, was an entrance bordered by two sloping stone walls. On one of these was a sign in gilt letters on ocean-blue gloss paint. It read ‘Sevenoaks Sanatorium and Nursing Home’. Slowing down beside it, I smiled.

A nurse! He was having an affair with a nurse.

Ha, ha! It all seemed a little corny.

For only a

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