Twelve Red Herrings

“Keep your head down, Mr. Cooper,” said the Don, opening his door. “We don’t want him seeing you.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, peeping between the front seats.

“Risk an old con’s trick,” Donald replied.

He stepped out of the front seat, walked round to the back of the car, and unscrewed the gas tank cap just as the wing commander slipped the nozzle of a gas pump into the tank of his Allegro. Donald began slowly topping up our already full tank, then suddenly turned to face the old man.

“Wing Commander Danvers-Smith?” he asked in an upper-crust voice.

The wing commander looked up immediately, and a puzzled expression came over his weather-beaten face.

“Baker, sir,” said Donald. “Flight Lieutenant Baker. You lectured me at RAF Locking. Vulcans, if I remember.”

“Bloody good memory, Baker. Good show,” said Danvers-Smith. “Delighted to see you, old chap,” he said, taking the nozzle out of his car and replacing it in the pump. “What are you up to nowadays?”

Jenny stifled a laugh.

“Work for BA, sir. Grounded after I failed my eye test. Bloody desk job, I’m afraid, but it was the only offer I got.”

“Bad luck, old chap,” said the wing commander, as they headed off toward the pay booth, and out of earshot.

When they came back a few minutes later, they were chattering away like old chums, and the wing commander actually had his arm around Donald’s shoulder.

When they reached his car they shook hands, and I heard Donald say “Goodbye, sir,” before Danvers-Smith climbed into his Allegro. The old airman pulled out of the station and headed back toward his home. Donald got in next to Jenny and pulled the passenger door closed.

“I’m afraid he won’t lead us to Alexander,” the Don said with a sigh. “Danvers-Smith is the genuine article—misses his wife, doesn’t see his children enough, and feels a bit lonely. Even asked if I’d like to drop in for a bite of lunch.”

“Why didn’t you accept?” I asked.

Donald paused. “I would have, but when I mentioned that I was from Leeds, he told me he’d only been there once in his life, to watch a test match. No, that man has never heard of Rosemary Cooper or Jeremy Alexander—I’d bet my pension on it. So, now it’s the professor’s turn. Let’s head back toward Cambridge, Jenny. And drive slowly. I don’t want to catch up with the wing commander or we’ll all end up having to join him for lunch.”

Jenny swung the car across the road and into the far lane, then headed back toward the city. After a couple of miles, Donald told her to pull into the side of the road just past a sign announcing the Shelford Rugby Club.

“The professor and his wife live behind that hedge,” Donald said, pointing across the road. “Settle back, Mr. Cooper. This might take some time.”

At 12:30 Jenny went off to get some fish and chips from the village. I devoured them hungrily. By three I was bored stiff again and was beginning to wonder just how long Donald would hang around before we were allowed to return to the hotel. I remembered “Happy Days” would be on at 6:30.

“We’ll sit here all night, if necessary,” Donald said, as if he were reading my thoughts. “Forty-nine hours is my record without sleep. What’s yours, Jenny?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the house.

“Thirty-one, sir,” she replied.

“Then this may be your chance to break that record,” he said. A moment later, a woman in a white BMW nosed out of the driveway leading to the house and stopped at the edge of the pavement. She paused, looked both ways, then turned across the road and swung right, in the direction of Cambridge. As she passed us, I caught a glimpse of a blond with a pretty face.

“I’ve seen her before,” I blurted out.

“Follow her, Jenny,” Donald said sharply. “But keep your distance.” He turned round to face me.

“Where have you seen her?” he asked, passing over the binoculars.

“I can’t remember,” I said, trying to focus on the back of a mop of fair, curly hair.

“Think, man. Think. It’s our best chance yet,” said Donald, trying not to sound as if he was cross-examining an old con.

I knew I had come across that face somewhere, though I felt certain we had never met. I had to rack my brains, because it was at least five years since I had seen any woman I recognized, let alone one that striking. But my mind remained blank.

“Keep on thinking,” said the Don, “while I try to find out something a little more simple. And Jenny—don’t get too close to her. Never forget she’s got a rearview mirror. Mr. Cooper may not remember her, but she may remember him.”

Donald picked up the carphone and jabbed in ten numbers. “Let’s pray he doesn’t realize I’ve retired,” he mumbled.