Pemberton shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine. He never talks about his past. He just appeared one day about five years ago, started learning the building trade and he’s been here ever since. Pretty mysterious. Charlie thought he was a policeman. Frankly, I think he was with the government in some secret capacity and they put him out to pasture. Call it my gut.”
“That’s real interesting. Old guy then.”
“No. Mid- to late thirties. Tall, strong, and very capable. Excellent reputation.”
“Good for him.”
“Now about our arrangement. If this man really is dogging them, I can talk to Charlie, see what he has to say. Maybe they will agree to move. It’s certainly worth asking.”
“I tell you what, you let me think about it for a few days.”
“I can get the process started anyway.”
Conklin put up one hand. “No, I don’t want you doing that. When I’m ready to move, we’ll move fast, don’t you worry about that.”
“I just thought—”
Conklin abruptly got up. “You’ll hear from me very soon, John. I appreciate the insight, I really do.”
“And if they won’t move, there are at least a dozen other estates I can show you. They would serve your purposes equally well, I’m sure.”
“This fellow in the cottage intrigues me. You wouldn’t happen to have an exact address and directions, would you?”
Pemberton was startled at the question. “You certainly don’t want to talk to him, do you? He might be dangerous.”
“I can take care of myself. And I’ve learned in my business that you never know where you might find an ally.” Conklin looked at him keenly until understanding spread across Pemberton’s face. He wrote the information down on a piece of paper and handed it to the other man.
Conklin took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Pemberton, motioning for him to open it.
“Oh my God.” Pemberton sat there gaping at the wad of cash that spilled out. “What’s this for? I haven’t done anything yet.”
Conklin eyed Pemberton steadily. “You’ve given me information, John. Information is always worth a great deal to me. I’ll be in touch.” The men shook hands and Conklin took his leave.
Back at the country inn where he was staying, Harry Conklin walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water. Fifteen minutes later the door opened and Jackson emerged, the remnants of Harry Conklin bundled in a plastic bag which Jackson deposited in a side pouch of his luggage. His conversation with Pemberton had been very enlightening. His encounter with the man had not been by chance. Upon arriving in Charlottesville, Jackson had made discreet inquiries around town that had quickly identified Pemberton as the selling agent for Wicken’s Hunt. He sat on the bed and opened a large, detailed map of the Charlottesville area, noting and committing to memory the places he and Pemberton had discussed and the written directions to the cottage. Before talking to Pemberton he had educated himself on some of the history of Wicken’s Hunt, which had been nicely detailed in a book on local area estates and their original owners at the county library. It had given him enough background information to form his cover story and draw out Pemberton on the subject.
Jackson closed his eyes, deep in thought. Right now he was planning how best to begin his campaign against LuAnn Tyler and the man who was pursuing her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Riggs had given it a day before he had attempted to retrieve his Jeep. Just in case the guy was still around, he went armed and he went at night. The Cherokee looked undamaged. Riggs made a quick check of it before heading toward the cottage. The Chrysler was nowhere to be seen. He shone his flashlight in the window of the shed. The Honda was still there. Riggs went up to the front door and wondered for the hundredth time if he should just leave this business alone. Dangerous things seemed to happen around Catherine Savage. He had had his fill of such events and he had come to Charlottesville in search of other things. Still, he could not stop his hand from carefully turning the doorknob. The door swung open.