by Alex Carver
Jim knew that, he was well aware that he had, by far, the most to lose if they were caught, though he tried not to dwell on it. “How did she manage to make a break for it?” he wanted to know. “She’s supposed to be locked up; you’re not telling me she managed to get out of that room after I had you make it more secure.”
“Not exactly,” Crash temporised. “Lewis took her a sandwich and a bottle of water, and she took advantage, she ran from the room and locked him in; then she ran down the stairs and tried to get out of the house.”
“Where the hell were you while this was going on? And what the hell was Lewis doing taking her a sandwich and a drink? Why didn’t you stop him?”
Crash resented the questions, and the accusatory tone in which they were asked. Swallowing the urge to snap at the younger man, who he was aware had made it possible for him to make more money than he had ever dreamed of, he answered. “I was asleep on the sofa, Lewis made sure of that ‘fore he went up to her room, ‘cause I already had words with him ‘bout it last night. He insisted we have to give Alice water, at the least, so she doesn’t get ill or die.” He gave a short bark of quickly suppressed laughter at that.
“Didn’t you tell him that wasn’t necessary?”
“What was I s’posed to say, that it didn’t matter ‘cause she’s gonna be killed anyway. If I’d told him that, he’d have done somethin’ stupid, like call the police, or try and rescue Alice, and bang goes ev’rythin’. We’d never have had this problem if you’d let me kill ‘em both straight off.”
“I told you why you couldn’t do that,” Jim reminded Crash. “We need to keep her alive until we’ve got the money, she’s our insurance policy.”
“I know, and we need Lewis ‘cause his brains are gonna stop the cops followin’ me tomorrow night when I get the ransom; ‘cept we don’t, he’s already got his little gadget sorted, so we’ve got no more need for him.”
Lewis froze on the stairs when he heard what Crash was saying in the living room; he felt as though he had just stepped under a freezing cold shower, while a lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to be sick. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
A part of him wanted to storm down the rest of the stairs and confront his so-called partner, but he realised that would be a bad idea. If he confronted Crash, he would almost certainly be killed the moment he finished speaking, if not before, and that was something he wanted to avoid – he had no desire to be hurt, let alone killed. If he had thought it was a possibility, he never would have agreed to help kidnap Alice Keating, no matter how large a ransom they expected to get.
Straining his ears, he listened for whatever might be said next; he hoped to hear something positive, or at least something that might help him to save his life, and the life of the schoolgirl he had just left. What he heard made him realise he didn’t have long to come up with a plan, which wasn’t good news because he was someone who preferred to think his way fully through something before coming to a decision or a solution.
“Okay, okay,” Crash said. “I won’t do anything ‘til we’ve got the money. Are there any problems on your end?” he asked.
Lewis didn’t wait to hear anything more, he turned and headed back up the stairs as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to let Crash know that his conversation had been overheard. When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned and made his way along the passage to the bathroom. The moment he had the door closed and locked behind him, he took out his mobile phone, and discovered the battery was dead. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to charge the phone before Crash collected him the previous morning – it was too late to do anything about it now.
With his phone dead, he couldn’t call the police, which was the only solution he could think of right then.
Slumped against the door behind him, Lewis closed his eyes and tried to think. His current problem was like nothing he had ever had to deal with; normally, his problems consisted of trying to discover the most efficient coding for whatever aspect of a project he was working on, while keeping the processor and graphics rendering requirements as low as possible. The consequences of failure were, at worst, dismissal and damage to his reputation, not death, as he was currently facing.
43
With Grey a pace behind him, Stone made his way up the path to the front door. Someone must have seen them through the living room window, he realised, because the door was opened just before his finger could press the bell. He recovered from his surprise quickly and flashed a smile.
“Mrs Eileen Rodgers?” he queried of the woman who stood in the doorway, guessing from her age that she was Jeffrey Rodgers’ wife, rather than his daughter.
“That’s right.” She nodded. “How can I help you?”
“Is your husband home?”
A concerned look crossed Eileen’s face. “What do you want with my husband? Who are you?”
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself,” Stone apologised. He took out his warrant card. “Detective Inspector Stone, and this is Detective Constable Grey. Is your husband home?” he asked once Eileen Rodgers had satisfied herself that his warrant card was genuine. It always amused him when people scrutinised his warrant card; he was pretty sure that those that did wouldn’t have a clue how to tell whether it was real or fake.
Eileen nodded. “Yes.” She shut the door behind the two detectives once they were inside, and then guided them through to the living room, which was just a few paces away. “Jeff, this is Inspector Stone and Detective Grey, they’d like to speak to you,” she said once they were all in the room.
“What have you been up to, daddy?” a light voice asked from the corner of the room.
The question made Stone look around, at which point he saw Cara Rodgers, the daughter, sitting on the sofa by the window. Though her question had been accusatory, her expression was one of amusement, and she was struggling not to laugh as her father shrugged.
“I don’t remember doing anything,” Jeffrey Rodgers said. “Are you sure they’re not here for you, and simply need me to be your responsible adult? You were pretty late getting home last night; anything you’d like to admit to?”
Cara smiled mischievously. “If I’d gotten up to anything last night, you’d already know about it, someone would have put something up on Facebook or Instagram, and you’d have seen it.”
“I’d rather not see pictures or videos of whatever you get up to; no father wants to see their daughter drunk, half-naked, and making an idiot of themselves.” Rodgers turned to Stone then. “Sorry, inspector, how can I help you?”
“Did you attempt to transfer the title on a blue Vauxhall Astra, registration number T248 GUU, into your name recently?” Stone asked, glad that the father and daughter had finished their bantering.
Rodgers nodded. “The DVLA sent the form back, said it wasn’t filled out properly. Took their bloody time about deciding that as well, I only got it back middle of last week. I sent it back off at the weekend; waste of time that was,” he grumbled. “Why’re you interested in the car?”
Stone ignored the question and instead asked one of his own, “Where’s the car now?”
“It was stolen on Saturday night,” Rodgers said after a moment.
“Did you report the theft?” Grey asked.
Stone wondered about that, no report of the theft had come up when the vehicle’s details had been put into the police database.
“I tried to,” Rodgers said, all humour gone from both his face and his voice. “I was told I couldn’t, though, because the DVLA hadn’t transferred the title; I can’t even claim on the insurance because the insurance company wouldn’t cover it until the title was in my name.” Frustration lined his face and anger tinged his voice. “I bought the damned car for Cara, for when she goes to college; I can’t afford another, and there’s no insurance, so unless you guys can find the damned car and get it back to us…” His voice trailed off.
“It’s okay, dad,” Cara tried to re
assure him. “I can manage without a car.”
“Can you tell us the circumstances of the car’s theft, Mr Rodgers?” Stone asked.
Rodgers shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. Eileen and I went out for the evening, and when we got back the car was gone. It was parked in the drive when we left – I couldn’t leave it on the street while the DVLA crap wasn’t sorted.”
44
Stone ignored the questions that were shouted at him as he crept forwards in his car, making his way through the crowd of reporters and journalists camped outside the Keating residence. He was relieved to leave the circus behind once through the gates, and he headed up the drive to park by the police cars near the garage.
Getting out, he made his way around to the kitchen; he could have rung the bell and waited to be let in through the front door by Chambers, but chose not to, he didn’t want to give the press either an excuse or an opportunity to take pictures, and he knew they would if the front door opened – they would take pictures of anything, even a servant, in case they caught a glimpse of something worth publishing.
“Evening.” Stone helped himself to a mug of coffee from the half full pot on his way through the kitchen. He stopped when he got to the door and turned back. “Where’s Mr Keating?” he asked.
“With his wife, sir,” Chambers answered. “Would you like to speak with him?”
“Please,” Stone said, thinking that he should bring Owen Keating up to date with things, and check that there were no problems he needed to deal with.
“I’ll see him directly, sir.” Chambers got to his feet, took his jacket from the back of his chair, pulled it on, and with brisk steps left the kitchen to find his employer.
Stone followed the house-manager as he strode down the passage, cradling the mug of coffee to warm his hands – it wasn’t a cold evening, but his fingers were stiff. He stopped following the house-manager when he reached the reception hall, choosing to wait there, since he didn’t know where Owen Keating was, or where he would want to talk with him.
The sound of rapid footsteps made Stone turn to see who was descending the stairs in such a hurry - it was Ryan Keating. The Keating heir – though he wouldn’t be for much longer, if the rumours were to be believed – was dressed for an evening on the town, in an outfit and jewellery that Stone estimated was worth at least what he made in a month, perhaps more.
“Where are you going?”
Stone spun at the question, and saw that Owen Keating was preceding Mr Chambers towards them from the study. The angry look on Keating’s face matched the tone in which he had asked the question.
“Out,” Ryan Keating said, as if the answer should have been obvious.
Owen Keating looked at his son incredulously. “You’re going out.” The anger remained, but now it was overlaid by a disbelieving tone. “How the hell can you go out at a time like this?” he wanted to know as he reached out to stop his son with a hand on his arm.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Owen Keating asked, the disbelief in his voice increasing. “How can you go out at a time like this? Don’t you care in the slightest what’s happening?”
Ryan Keating shrugged. “What’m I supposed to do, stay in and mope around the house? What would be the point in that? Me staying in won’t help Alice, or mum; mum’s doped up to the eyeballs – right now she doesn’t know who’s here and who isn’t, and you’ve got Inspector Gadget in there,” he indicated the library with a jerk of his head. “As well as the rest of the plods, to help you when it comes to Little Miss Perfect.
“It’s not as if there’s even anything you can do; the ransom drop isn’t ‘til tomorrow night, you can’t pick up the money for it ‘til tomorrow when the bank calls, and you can’t do anything about whatever evidence he’s,” that time the jerk of the head indicated Stone, who was doing his best not to get caught in the middle of the family dispute, “got, because that’s his job. Not that he’s got anything, have you!” He suddenly rounded on Stone, who returned his gaze steadily.
When the inspector didn’t respond, Ryan smiled nastily and said, “I thought so, you’re as useless as all other plods. Since there’s nothing I can do here, I’m going out to have some fun.” With that he pulled his arm free from his father’s grip and strode across the foyer to the door, which he yanked open so he could disappear into the night.
Stone and Owen Keating were still at the foot of the sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor, with Mr Chambers a couple of steps away, when they heard the roar of an engine. Owen Keating followed the racing engine with his eyes, as if he could see the car through the walls of his house. Only when it was no longer audible did he turn to Stone, a worried look on his face.
“I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” he said, though he didn’t sound the least bit confident that his son would behave sensibly.
“I’ll put the word out, and have the patrol cars and uniforms keep an eye out for him,” Stone said.
“Thanks, but I don’t imagine it will make any difference.” Owen Keating sounded resigned. “If Ryan gets it into his head to do something stupid, then nothing and no-one will stop him. Let’s go into my study,” he changed the subject abruptly.
“Chambers said you want to speak to me,” Keating said once he was seated at his desk, his physical and emotional exhaustion showed in the way he slouched in his seat. “Have you got good news?” he asked, a shadow of hope in his eyes, though it reached no further.
“We have a couple of possible suspects,” Stone told the worry-filled father. “Nothing definite so far, but we’re still investigating, and hope to have a better idea of whether we’re looking at the right people soon. We have a name for the first of the suspects, and have established that he has a motive, he also appears to have been away from home and out of sight since yesterday morning. We’re now attempting to find him, and to discover if he has an alibi for the time when Alice was taken.”
“Is it anyone I know?”
Stone looked at Owen Keating for a moment before answering. “His name is Lewis Rice, he’s a former employee of your company,” he said.
There was a look of bewilderment on Owen Keating’s face for a moment, but then it cleared up, though he remained unhappy. “Isn’t he a programmer? I wouldn’t have thought someone like that would be involved.”
“That’s right, Mr Keating, he was a programmer on one of your projects last year. According to what we’ve been able to discover,” Stone said, “he was sacked at the beginning of the year, following allegations that he stole money from the project’s funding, the result of which is that he bears a grudge against you.”
“But I had nothing to do with that,” Owen protested. “I had no idea he had been sacked; I don’t know him, I just remember hearing or seeing his name somewhere, probably as part of a report on whatever project he was working on.”
“That rarely makes a difference when it comes to something like this,” Stone said. “You own the company, and are the one ultimately in charge. He might blame the project manager for what happened, but if he’s decided to get revenge and seek compensation, and I stress that we are still investigating, and aren’t yet certain of his involvement, then you’re the one with the money.” It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but all too often it was the way of the world.
“What about the other suspect you said you have?” Keating asked, to take his mind off the unfairness of his family being targeted simply because he owned the company.
“At the moment we don’t actually know anything about him,” Stone admitted. “The detectives I have trying to find Mr Rice were told by one of his neighbours that he left home yesterday in the company of a rough-looking individual on a motorbike, someone he’s never been seen with before. It’s vague, I know, but we have to follow up on every lead, no matter how slim.”
45
Alice had no way of measuring the passage of time, but she thought it was Thursday evening – it was ac
tually Thursday night, midnight had come and gone – and she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to, because her brain told her it was the best way to make the time until she was released pass, but no matter how she tried to get comfortable and clear her mind, sleep evaded her.
She simply could not rid herself of the feeling that the moment she closed her eyes, some new, and unpleasant, thing would happen to her. She couldn’t even bring herself to turn off the light, which might have helped her to sleep – in her mind the light held back not only the shadows, but also her kidnappers, whom she was sure were lurking in the shadows, waiting to catch her unawares.
Huddled against the wall, she suffered through the first bout of insomnia she had ever had to deal with.
Alice was not the only one suffering with an inability to sleep. Lewis, in a bedroom down the passage from the one in which the schoolgirl was being held prisoner, was also awake. The bedroom in which he resided that night was furnished and comfortable, unlike Alice’s barren cell, but that comfort made no difference in helping Lewis quiet his troubled mind and surrender to the sweet oblivion of sleep.
No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t put from his mind the phone call he had overheard; it troubled him to such an extent that he was surprised Crash hadn’t picked up on it before he went to bed. Fortunately, his partner wasn’t very perceptive, and was more interested in the DVD he had put on than in why Lewis was so quiet.
He cursed himself for letting the battery on his phone die; if it weren’t for that, he could have called the police, and Alice would be safe, safer than she was now at any rate, and so would he, even if that was because he was in a police cell. He had considered asking to borrow Crash’s phone, but decided it was too risky; he couldn’t even borrow the charger for Crash’s phone so he could make the call later, because he knew that Crash, like him, hadn’t brought it.
