Blood Will Tell

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘It was a bluff, and he called it. He said that Tom was now an adult, that he, George, had done nothing whatever to make any authority think he was dangerous to the boy, and anyway I wouldn’t want to admit that he was my son.’ Her hands were clenched again; again she relaxed them.

  ‘I was out of options. I told him that I would readily admit to being Tom’s mother, but not now. He was finishing his A levels, and I said I personally would see George dead before allowing him to interfere with the boy’s educational goals. That wasn’t a bluff. I would have done it, even if it cost me my own life. I think George didn’t quite expect that. At any rate he said he’d stay away from the boy until he had finished his exams, or until I came up with the money. Then he disappeared again, and I haven’t had an easy moment since.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Alan.

  ‘He kept his word and left Tom alone until the exams were over and done with. Tom passed brilliantly, I might add. Then one day the sleaze phoned me to say he still needed money. I told him – well, I told him quite a number of things, but I couldn’t pay up, and so … he found Tom and told him he was his father.’

  ‘And that you were his mother?’ I chimed in.

  ‘No. I don’t know why not. Doubtless he has some devious reason of his own.’

  ‘And how did Tom react?’ I poured myself another cup of tea, which by now was lukewarm.

  ‘At first he was pleased. The sleaze took him out for treats, football games, that sort of thing. Of course, Tom told his mother and me all about it. It’s a glorious time in a young man’s life, when he’s finished school and hasn’t yet got into the rigors of university. He enjoyed being taken about by a pleasant father.

  ‘But then things changed, just before he matriculated at St Stephen’s.’

  ‘He did his undergraduate work there, too?’

  Elaine nodded. ‘Yes, he’s always loved the place. I prefer the older colleges, their history and traditions. But St Stephen’s has always been noted for the sciences, and science has always been Tom’s passion.’

  ‘So something changed,’ I prompted.

  ‘Yes, he stopped being so open with Ruth and me, told us less of what he was doing, just … closed up, somehow. Ruth thought it was simply that he was growing up, needing to cut the apron strings, but I worried, so one day I invited him out for a slap-up lunch and got it out of him. He didn’t want to tell me at first, because of me being in the police, but I am rather good at encouraging people to talk, so in the end he opened up.’

  ‘He had become involved in something illegal,’ said Alan with a sigh.

  ‘Not quite, but nightmarishly close. The sleaze had taken him to a party, and Tom, who is both intelligent and observant, realized that the place was heaving with drugs. He didn’t tell me where the party was, or what kinds of drugs were involved, but from what he did say, I gathered it was all sorts, from cannabis on up to crack cocaine and worse. He wanted nothing to do with it. As I say, he isn’t stupid. But he was devastated at seeing that side of his father.’

  ‘The loss of innocence.’ I shook my head.

  ‘Yes, but more than that. He’d never known a father, and when he first met the sleaze, he thought he was terrific. The unmasking was a terrible shock. After that he saw much less of the sleaze, made excuses when he came around, that sort of thing. But he couldn’t always avoid contact, and it was making him miserable, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it!’

  ‘But, Elaine, why is his father so anxious to stay in contact with Tom?’ I asked. ‘It isn’t as if he is a good father, in any sense, and it doesn’t sound as if he really cares about him. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think it’s simply to torture me. I’ve stopped playing his game. Not willingly. I would have continued to pay his blackmail, but I couldn’t at the time. Now that I have a better income, I could pay, and I would if I thought it would make an end to it all. But he won’t answer my phone calls, and I don’t know where he is. He just shows up out of the blue when it strikes his fancy. He wants to keep this up as long as he knows it’s driving me frantic.’

  ‘So the question is,’ said Alan, ‘do you think Tom has been kidnapped by his father?’

  ‘Of course, that’s the obvious explanation. But why, then, has there been no ransom demand? And what the bloody hell is the meaning of that finger and the obscure note?’

  The teapot was empty and the fire had burned itself out, and all of us were exhausted. Emotion can be far more tiring than physical labour, and we’d lived through an eternity of it in a few hours.

  And there were still no answers. Alan asked if Elaine needed help getting her car back, but she said she’d phone a driver in the morning, so we said goodnight and went back to our room at St Stephen’s. I fell into bed and slept as if drugged, and if I dreamed, I remembered nothing in the morning.

  I awoke disoriented and out of sorts, with a slight headache. For a moment I couldn’t remember why I felt almost ill, and then Elaine’s story washed over me. I turned over and buried my head in the pillow, willing sleep to return.

  It wouldn’t, of course. Once my mind had started to work, it refused to shut down again, so I got up, went to the bathroom and then turned on the kettle. While I waited for it to boil, I dressed sketchily and peered out the window.

  It was raining, the slow, steady sort of rain that can go on all day.

  Wonderful. Just what I needed to complete my depression. I debated going back to bed, but I was dressed, and it seemed too much trouble. I made coffee, nibbled one of the rather dry biscuits the college provided for its guests and waited for Alan to wake up.

  I was finishing my coffee when he got up, murmured something that might have been ‘good morning’ and went to shower. I made a second cup of coffee when I heard the water stop.

  We were both coherent by that time. He looked at the coffee I’d put by his bed and grimaced. ‘I don’t think I can face instant this morning, love. Shall we go and see what the college has on offer?’

  ‘Just let me get my shoes on.’ We put on wet-weather gear, found our umbrellas and walked as fast as we could to the dining hall.

  I wasn’t very hungry. Elaine’s tale about her son’s nasty father had taken away most of my appetite. Even the sausages didn’t tempt me. I knew I needed something, though, and a packet of cornflakes with yogurt filled the empty spaces without making great demands on my rather iffy digestive system.

  ‘I wish we could take a nice long walk,’ I said fretfully as I struggled back into my raincoat. ‘I need to do some serious thinking, and I do that best when walking.’

  ‘Maybe the rain will taper off,’ said Alan without much hope. ‘Meanwhile, we could visit the chapel. If nothing’s going on in there, it would be a good, quiet place to think and talk.’

  Well, it wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was certainly better than the other option – sitting in our room, which grew claustrophobic after a while. Anyway, the chapel was closer. We could use it as a stopover to catch our breath and dry off a bit, if nothing else.

  The chapel was deserted. We chose a pew at the back, tucked away in a corner, and knelt for a moment. I offered a fervent prayer for Elaine and Tom and the whole complicated situation, and then sat back and tried to compose my jumbled thoughts into some sort of order.

  ‘Dorothy,’ said Alan after a little time, ‘what struck you most about last night’s revelations? We went there to learn Elaine’s story, hoping that it might give us a clue to Tom’s whereabouts and the rest of the mess. Did you pick up on anything in particular?’

  ‘I think only the terrible waste of it all. Elaine could have had a fulfilling life with her brilliant son and probably, later, with a good man who would have understood the situation and sympathized. Instead, Horrible George destroys her trust of men in general, leaves her to act as surrogate mother, blackmails her until he has bled her dry, lets their son be brought up fatherless, and then steps in to torment both of them. It’s a dreadful story.’


  ‘Yes, it’s all of that, and, of course, I feel the same. I’d like to have five minutes alone with George. But what caught my attention was one word: drugs.’

  ‘Well, you’re a policeman. Of course you noticed … Oh!’

  ‘Exactly. George tried to introduce Tom to the drugs scene. I would bet a thousand pounds that his goal was to push him into addiction and then force him to deal. That’s the usual pattern.’

  I started to say what I thought of George, and then remembered where I was and modified my language. ‘That is diabolical!’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ve already worked out that George is not an admirable person. From what Elaine has said, he would do such a thing without turning a hair. We wondered why he was still pursuing Tom. That could be the reason.’

  ‘And … oh, Lord! Alan, let’s get out of here. I can’t even think what I want to think in an odour of sanctity.’

  It was still raining. We stood under the portico and looked out a little helplessly. Everywhere there were puddles, dimpled with raindrops. Students splashed past, the hoods of their waterproofs pulled up over their heads, plastic covers on their backpacks.

  ‘Let’s go to the car,’ said Alan.

  ‘And go where? This is a walking town. We’d have to park and walk to get anywhere at all.’

  ‘Not so. There’s an indoor car park attached to one of the big shopping centres, if I can find it in the one-way system. I know malls are not your favourite places, but it will be dry and well lit, with plenty of space to walk, and chairs if you want to sit.’

  I grumbled a bit, but there weren’t many choices. Stay where we were, where my thoughts felt constrained, or go to our room, or get soaking wet walking to some congenial café, or go to a mall. The mall won.

  It was crowded and noisy. Everyone who wanted to shop had made the same choice. We walked for a few minutes, dodging people and parcels and prams, and finally, in desperation, went into an expensive-looking coffee place. Alan ordered lattes for both of us.

  ‘Now. To continue.’ Alan tented his fingers, and I knew he was about to expound. ‘Given that our villain tried once to ensnare our victim, and is still stalking him, what conclusion can we draw?’

  I blinked at his narrative style, but realized he was being deliberately obscure to foil any eavesdroppers. ‘I suppose the sleaze hasn’t attained his goal, but is still trying.’

  ‘I agree. Oh, thank you.’ This to the waiter who brought our coffee. Alan went on. ‘Now, laying that aside for a moment, let’s remember what we found yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, was it only yesterday? It seems like a century ago. But it wasn’t – um – that is, it was perfectly legitimate.’

  ‘That sort of thing can be very valuable, too, given certain circumstances.’

  ‘Such as,’ I said very quietly indeed, ‘a developing country.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  So. Mahala, from a developing country, could have good reason to steal medicinal drugs to send back to his people. I would have to find out – or Elaine would – what kind of security measures were in place in the Hutchins Building. Certainly any drugs that might be abused would be locked up with a tight control system, but I wasn’t sure there would be any drugs like that. Maybe minute doses of morphine or some other painkiller, in case one of the animals had to be subjected to a painful procedure. Maybe small quantities of whatever drugs they used for the euthanasia of old or sick animals. I didn’t know enough about the set-up to be intelligent about it. ‘But, Alan. If the sleaze was trying to ensnare our victim into – what you said – then we would be talking about – oh, I can’t talk this way!’ I lowered my voice to its absolute limit of audibility. ‘There would have to be illegal drugs in the picture, surely.’

  ‘Probably, if Tom were to be used as dealer. But what if it were Mahala stealing antibiotics and then being – shall we say – persuaded to turn them over to black-market dealers? And what if Tom found out about it?’

  ‘Oh, good Lord! He would go straight to his aunt, wouldn’t he? But he hasn’t, so that means …’

  ‘That means he has been prevented from doing so. Somehow. He hasn’t been heard from for two days.’

  ‘And nobody’s seen Mahala, as far as we know, since Monday.’

  ‘G has both of them.’ Alan made it a statement.

  ‘He or some of his henchmen. Or else …’

  Neither of us wanted even to think about the other possibility.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We got out of there and found a quiet place where we could phone Elaine. Alan, met with some obstructiveness, became very cold and commanding indeed. ‘This is Chief Constable Alan Nesbitt, calling on official business, and I must speak to Superintendent Barker at once. If she is out of the station, patch me through to her mobile.’

  ‘It isn’t that, sir,’ I heard the agitated voice at the other end say. ‘She’s in conference with Chief Constable Andrews.’

  Alan hardened his voice still further. ‘If she were in conference with the Queen, I would still need to speak with her. Immediately! Put me through.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ I mouthed at Alan. ‘He’s scared to death. Damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t.’

  ‘Yes? Who is it? I told you not to put calls through.’ It was Andrews, sounding extremely irritated.

  ‘Andrews, this is Nesbitt. I’m sure I’m very sorry to interrupt, but it is necessary for me to speak to Elaine Barker. An emergency has come up, and I need her immediately.’

  ‘But we – I—’

  ‘At once, please.’ Technically, Andrews outranked Alan, who as a retiree had no real rank at all. But Alan was of a forceful disposition, and Andrews, like all bullies, wilted at real authority. I heard him grumbling as he handed the phone to Elaine.

  ‘Elaine. Alan. Get out of that idiot’s office – make some excuse – and then call me back as soon as you can speak freely. It’s extremely important.’

  ‘Got it.’ She hung up and we walked to our car while we waited for her return call. It came in less than a minute. ‘What is it? Andrews’ll have my guts for garters.’

  ‘I hope he finds them uncomfortable. Elaine, Dorothy and I think we’ve worked out a scenario. Speculative, but probable. If true, it means extreme danger for both Tom and Mahala. They must both be found as soon as humanly possible. It involves a highly illegal operation that must be stopped. I can’t tell you what to do, but if this were my jurisdiction, I’d escalate the manhunt to your limit, and concentrate on Mrs Bradford’s farm. Dorothy and I are headed your way; we can explain when we get there.’

  ‘Right. Where are you? I’ll send an escort.’ The worried, uncertain Elaine of last night was gone; the decisive commander was back.

  By the time Alan pulled out of the car park, a police car was waiting for us, blue light flashing. Alan blinked his headlights, the driver nodded, and we were off, siren sounding, on a hair-raising drive through Cambridge traffic made worse than ever by the rain.

  I breathed again once we stopped in the station car park. A uniformed officer met us as we stepped out. ‘I’ll park your car for you, sir, madam. You’re to go straight up.’

  Alan was good at a quick synopsis, an art I’ve never mastered. In a few words he summarized our deductions for Elaine. ‘As you can see, we have no solid proof, but that vial of ampicillin we found is certainly suggestive, added to the rest of the very vague information we have. We believe that Mahala and/or Tom spent some time in that hayloft, and that he or they have been taken away and may be in very grave danger. If they are in the hands of drug dealers …’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

  ‘Every man and woman I could spare is working the search. It won’t be easy.’

  ‘No. The area is vast and includes so many places where they could possibly be.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve already sent them to the obvious places – Tom’s rooms in college, Mahala’s house, George’s home. We’ll include the Bradford farm. I’ll also send teams to known drug dealer
s and the places they frequent – rave clubs, abandoned houses – you know the sort of thing as well as I do.’

  ‘You’ve pulled his housemate in again?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. This time I’ve charged him with obstruction of justice and threatened him with everything I could think of. He’ll talk or I’ll know the reason why.’

  ‘I presume that was why your chief was on your case just now.’ I shook my head. ‘Of all the sorry excuses for a public servant!’

  She dismissed him. ‘I’m past worrying about him. He can try to sack me if he wants. It would cost him a great deal of trouble, and even if he succeeded in the end, I’d not greatly care. My only concern just now is finding my son.’ Her desk phone rang. Her knuckles were white as she picked it up. ‘Barker.’ Her face lost colour as she listened.

  She hung up the phone and sat down abruptly. ‘Mahala is here.’

  ‘Here? At the station? But he’s scared to death of the police!’

  There was a knock at the door, and Mahala walked in, more or less held up by Jim Ashby.

  Mahala looked terrible. His clothes were wet and falling off of him. His face was puffy, his lip was bleeding and one eye was swollen nearly shut. I saw on one shoulder, where his shirt had been ripped away, what looked sickeningly like a series of cigarette burns. I stood and pushed my chair towards him, and he fell into it.

  We all turned towards Jim, who was also wet and somewhat dishevelled. ‘I found him,’ he said simply. ‘I was rowing. The rain made it hard to see where I was going, and when it let up a bit, I had drifted close to a boathouse. I don’t think anyone uses it anymore; it’s pretty far north of the colleges. But there were three men in it, and it looked as though they were knocking someone about. I couldn’t have that, so I pulled the boat in to the shore, and when I saw it was Mahala who was getting the rough end of the scrap, I’m afraid I lost my temper. I broke one of the oars. St Stephen’s won’t be happy about that. They’re not cheap.’