Dangerous Shadows

by Whitelaw, Stella

  Jake stretched out on the bench seat and using his new mobile, called Barry Armitage. The new mobile was a great asset. His old one needed recharging.

  “So how’s the money coming along, lover-boy?”

  “All the money is available, except that getting used notes is a problem. They have to gather them in from different local branches. It’ll take time.”

  “There isn’t any time,” Jake shouted. “I want that money now if you want to see Holly alive. You’re stringing me along. I’ve a can of petrol. I’ll set her alight if you don’t bring the money in one hour.”

  “Sure, sure, everything’s fine,” Barry soothed him. “It won’t be long now. So where are you? Where do I have to bring the money? And what about the New York bank account number?”

  Jake switched off the phone and took another swig of whiskey. It was a good whiskey, smooth, with the essence of highland peat. The owners only bought the best, nothing from a supermarket.

  Holly had heard the exchange. Fear ran through her veins. Surely Barry and Luke would be doing everything to find her? She had heard a helicopter flying overhead but would they see a small boat tucked into a rocky island?

  “I need both hands to finish this cooking,” she said, holding out her wrists.

  Jake fumbled in his pocket and took out a metal key. He unlocked her right wrist handcuff and she rubbed her wrist as the cuff fell to her side, hitting her thigh.

  “Only for cooking,” he said. He was already fuzzled. Holly was not sure if it was the whiskey or the prescription drug. She served up the noodle concoction in a big bowl. She knew it was good, even if an odd concoction.

  “Mexican dish,” she said. “Chilli recipe.”

  Jake tucked in. He was hungry and he had walked miles in those bloody shoes. It was all coming together. Lover boy would be arriving soon, in an hour or so with all that lovely money. They’d meet on the mainland when the money was ready. Jake had not decided what to do with Holly. He might give her back or he might not. She was a valuable commodity.

  “Any more?” he slurred. The cabin seemed smaller, closing in on him. Where was that whiskey? He needed another drink.

  “Yes.” She spooned the last of the tuna and noodles into his bowl. He was already drowsy. “Wash it down with your whiskey,” she suggested.

  “Don’t you tell me what to do,” he said, spooning round the bowl. “I hate women who tell me what to do.”

  “Sorry,” said Holly, watching him closely. He was blinking rapidly, his blonde hair stuck up at all angles, skin blotchy. “Shall I make some coffee? It’s only black now as we don’t have any milk.”

  “C-coffee,” he slurped. He slumped over the table and she moved him over onto the bench. He was heavily sound asleep, snoring. The metal key was in his pocket. Holly took it out and unlocked both her ankle cuffs.

  The relief was instantaneous. She did not know what to do to relieve the pain. She only had a short time before the Diazepam would wear off.

  Holly went out on deck to think, sucking on a mint. It tasted delicious. The world looked free and glorious, the sea breeze cooling her face. She had to plan her escape, to think fast.

  “Help me, Luke,” she said. “Help me.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  Holly had worked on several Crimewatch programmes in her television days. Hadn’t she learned anything from those programmes? Rule One: incapacitate attacker. Rule Two: cry for help. Rule Three: make it heard.

  She hurried back into the cabin. She still had the metal key. It was difficult to get Jake’s ankles close enough to shackle them together and she didn’t want to wake him. It was revolting to have to touch his blistered feet but the antiseptic cream made it easier to get the cuffs round his ankles. She turned the key, locking each cuff, the four-link chain taut between them.

  Jake was going to get a nasty shock when he woke up. There was no way she could get the second pair of handcuffs onto his wrists, as he was asleep on one arm. The other arm was hanging loosely, swinging as the boat rocked on the waves. She locked one cuff on his wrist and then attached the second cuff to the table leg, locking that cuff, too.

  Back on deck she tore off her dirty and stained clothes and put on Greta’s pants, shorts and T-shirt. They were too large for her, baggy but clean. She also put a pair of men’s socks into a pocket.

  It was time to leave her floating prison. She had to take anything she might need. She put matches, a kitchen knife, a pair of scissors, the toothbrush and the mints into a carrier bag. At the last minute she remembered her own jeans and the cotton top in the bundle. She looked for the new mobile but Jake was laying on it. She grabbed some paperbacks and a sweater. She wasn’t going to read them even if the plots were damned good. She had a plan.

  There was a pearl-handled handgun in the pocket of his blazer. She took that, too.

  Jake was stirring. He had eaten too much and drunk too much. Nature was taking its course. She put the new bottle of whiskey within his reach on the floor. He could drown his sorrows.

  Holly went out on deck, climbed over the side and dropped down into the water. It splashed coldly up her bare legs. She could just reach the can of petrol and the waterproof cushion that she had slept on. The can of petrol was heavy as she staggered through the water, carrying it. She had no idea whether the tide was coming in or going out. It was difficult to tell.

  She put the carrier bag, the cushion and the can of petrol on a rock, out of reach of the waves, went back into the sea with the knife and the scissors. He’d been drunk when he’d thrown the anchor over the side. It was embedded in the sand and no way could she tug it out. She remembered he’d used some sort of winch on board. The rope was stranded heavy duty nylon, tough enough to hold a twenty-foot speedboat.

  Holly nearly wept with frustration. She began sawing at each separate strand of the rope. The scissors were useless but the kitchen knife was sharper. She could hear some movement from inside the cabin, but it might be the creaking of the wood.

  As each strand snapped apart she felt the tug of the boat, bruising the raw skin of her hands. Greta was greedy for the freedom of the Atlantic, tired of being tied up for so long.

  As she cut through the last strand, a big white-crested wave nearly knocked her over. She hung onto the rope for a moment, was almost dragged out to sea, but her foot caught on the embedded anchor and she was pulled back, wrenching her foot. Pain shot through her.

  A second wave crashed into her but this time she kept her balance, watching as it ebbed back, taking the speedboat with it. Greta was already several yards out to sea, bobbing on the waves.

  Holly was drenched. But she felt clean. Now for rule two.

  It would be easy for a helicopter to spot the boat at sea and easier still for a coast guard launch to come alongside and arrest him. Meanwhile Jake would hardly be enjoying the trip.

  *

  Luke poured over the ancient map. Another time he would have been engrossed in the old names and the pictures that they conjured up, like Hangman’s Bay, Six Men Bay, Animal Flower Cave, Paul’s Point, Long Pond, Ragged Point, The Chair.

  Ragged Point had a lighthouse. Perhaps Holly had said light, not like.

  The police felt sure that the marks on the sand were those of a speedboat. The Greta had been stolen from the Careenage that day. They had a helicopter scouring the seas, mainly southwards as no one in their right mind would go north into the rough Atlantic.

  Barry had most of the money ready in bank bags. They were waiting for a call. They had no idea where they had to take the money. It had to be somewhere on the mainland. The boat had to come ashore.

  The reception was in full swing, Danielle doing a charming hostess act with class and modesty. She didn’t want to lose Barry, too. She knew he was watching her. Luke had initially greeted the guests as they arrived but then disappeared into an empty room with a sandwich and a glass of cold beer.

  “Thank you, Lily. The map is perfect.”

  He searched for Ragge
d Point lighthouse on the Internet. It looked pretty rugged and remote, a column of white stone warning seamen of the dangers ahead. He read a description of the terrain around. There was a small dot close by. No shape at all, merely a dot.

  “Culpepper Island is uninhabited, height twenty metres. It can be reached at low tide by walking across from the mainland.”

  He almost shouted with relief. Culpepper Island. Now he understood the sneezing. Holly was on Culpepper Island. CUL - cool u like, and pepper made you sneeze. She was one smart girl. He wanted to hug her, tell her that she was fantastic.

  He charged out to find Barry, to tell him that he knew where Holly was being held. A smartly dressed middle-aged woman was coming out of the opposite sitting room. She looked distraught, her make-up smudged, an empty flute in her hand.

  “He stole my phone and my pearl-handled Smith and Wesson,” she said. “The bastard. I hope they catch him. Can you refill this for me?”

  “Of course,” said Luke, taking her glass. He was so happy he would have given her a swimming pool full of champagne.

  *

  Sadie did not really want to visit the old Colonel in hospital, but Colin insisted that her presence would cheer him up. Colin had been so supportive, in constant touch with Barbados, even though he didn’t know Holly. He had not even met her.

  She hated hospitals, the smell of antiseptic, the atmosphere of fear, people in pain, people dying. It would only be a short visit. Colin promised her an Indian meal afterwards. She had not eaten much since Holly’s disappearance. Luke had no news apart from the ransom being demanded from Barry Armitage.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, as Colin drove her towards St Thomas’s Hospital. “What has Barry Armitage got to do with all this? Isn’t he the best man? Holly doesn’t even know him.”

  “Apparently he’s the one with the money. He’s an Olympic gold medallist. World wide sponsorships and all that. It’s what happens these days.”

  “I want her to come home, safe and sound. Oh, how I wish she hadn’t gone to Barbados and I was the one who encouraged her. I thought it would help her get over that damned lottery rip-off.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Sadie,” said Colin, parking the car. He noticed the rust on the wings. The car was an old girl. “It was her decision to go, to be her cousin’s bridesmaid. No one could have foreseen this happening.”

  The Colonel had been moved to a general surgical ward but was still in a side room because of his disabilities. He had a television now and a remote control, also a radio and a telephone. He would rather have had Lucy’s company.

  Colin knocked and went in. The Colonel’s face lit up when he saw the young detective and his girlfriend. Sadie was a pretty blonde and it was a change to see a young woman in white jeans and a cropped red top, a striped jersey over her shoulders.

  “This is Sadie, my girlfriend,” said Colin. “She wanted to come and see you,” he lied.

  “Say-die,” said the Colonel. He took her hand and held it. It was the one pleasure left to him. Her skin was soft, nails polished silver.

  “Hello,” said Sadie, suddenly touched by his plight. “You’ve been having a tough time. I’m so sorry.”

  It was a difficult social call when the Colonel could hardly speak. Sadie let Colin do most of the talking. He was good at putting people at their ease. When it was time to go, he tried to reassure the Colonel one last time.

  “Don’t worry,” Colin said. “We are still looking for someone with the initial J. He must be somewhere.”

  “Jay…Jay…” said the Colonel, trying hard as usual.

  “That’s right. The initial J.”

  “Jay…Ck, Ck, Ck.” He clacked out the last noise and Sadie looked away from the window. She had been watching the river traffic in the fading light, disco music coming from the party steamers.

  “He’s not saying only the initial J,” she said. “Add the ck. He’s saying Jake. Are you saying Jake, Colonel? Is that the name you are trying to say?”

  The Colonel gave the slightest nod of his head. “Jake,” he said clearly, at last.

  He took Sadie’s hand again, his eyes glowing. He did not know how to thank her. Sadie resolved to visit him often. She could easily drop by, tell him all about Jake.

  “I know who you mean,” Sadie went on, her eyes glinting. “Was Jake Furrows on the cruise ship? Did he push you down the stairs? The bastard.”

  *

  Some months later the Colonel died peacefully in his sleep. It was an embolism. He had made a new hand-written will, correctly witnessed. His house was left to his regiment’s benevolent fund. Any funds remaining in his various bank accounts were to be divided equally between Lucy, Sadie and Detective Sergeant Colin Woodley. Lucy spent her windfall on new clothes and went on a cruise. Sadie bought new clothes and saved the rest for the future. Colin bought a new car and saved the rest for the future, too.

  *

  It was torturous trying to climb up the rocky path to the top of Culpepper Island.

  Holly made several journeys, pain stabbing her wrenched foot. She put on the thick socks, hoping they would cushion each rough step.

  Greta was already quite a distance out to sea, bobbing on the waves, sometimes not visible at all. She felt a small pang of sympathy for Jake but it was very small.

  Once on top of the island, Holly could see that the mainland was not far away. There were a few houses and on another promontory stood a white stone lighthouse. Thick grasses, wild and rugged brush were well trodden on and wind-swept. Rings of old ash showed where youngsters had lit a barbecue on the island, wading across at low tide, music blaring into the night.

  Holly had never been a Girl Guide so lighting a fire was not a natural skill. The grass was damp with salt sea air. She hunted around for any dry bracken, piled it in the centre of an ash ring, tore up a paperback after profuse apologies to the unknown author. The wind caught at pages and blew them away. There was no wood anywhere. She used small rocks to weigh down the paper, the waterproof cushion as a shield as she tried to light the paper and the bracken.

  The matches flickered and went out. She hunted round the island for rubbish, collecting cigarette ends, crisp packets, a crumpled towel, cardboard burger containers. This time she was cleverer with the paperbacks, using twisted pages as spills. Everything began to burn, even bracken which wasn’t dry. The smoke eddied around her, making her cough.

  The cushion fell onto the fire, and the smell of burning plastic was toxic.

  She filled an old polystyrene beaker with petrol, and standing well back, tossed it onto the fire. The petrol exploded into a plume of flames. It was a glorious sight, too hot to stand near, but she prayed that someone would see it and investigate.

  Then she soaked the towel in petrol and added it to the blaze.

  This was no ordinary barbecue.

  *

  “Look at those kids again. First of all it was fireworks, now it’s a bonfire. They’ve no sense at all. Someone will get hurt.”

  She put down her knitting. “Do you think we ought to call the police or the coastguard?”

  “Look at those flames, ten feet high if they’re an inch. Absolute hooligans. They’ll never get back onto the mainland for hours. The tide’s too high. I hope the sparks don’t blow over and set us alight.”

  He really did need to get a hearing aid. “Shall I call the police or the coastguard?” she asked again in a louder voice.

  “I’ve a good mind to write to the newspapers about this,” he went on, getting out his binoculars. “One of them is waving a flag. Damned fools.”

  She got out her list of useful phone numbers. It was not an emergency so to dial 211 was out the question. There must be an alternative number.

  *

  Luke and Barry piled into his Land Rover, equipped with rugs, towels, bottles of water and Wellington boots. They had a couple of thermoses of hot coffee quickly prepared by Lily, and a tin box filled with sandwiches, canapés and pastries. Luke
already had a first aid box on board. He did not know how they would find Holly, or what to expect.

  He checked his fuel gauge. He had a full tank. He could get there and back.

  Before leaving they phoned the Royal Barbados Police Central Station in Bridgetown. They told the sergeant on duty that they believed Holly was somewhere near Culpepper Island, either on the boat or the island.

  “Funny you should say that, Mr Kenyon. We’ve just had a phone call from an old lady saying there’s a huge bonfire on Culpepper Island. Kids again.”

  Barry was map reading. They took a highway which crossed the island to the eastern coast. It had a good surface and Luke was able to move fast, watching out for cricket matches in mid road. His mind was racing. Would they find her? Would they get there in time?

  There had been no phone call to arrange for the exchange. Barry had the money in a carrier bag at his feet, in case it blew away. Not quite the full amount but would Jake count? He might be only too pleased to see a bag full of dollar notes, clipped into hundreds, and a chance for a quick get-away.

  “Do you believe that Holly was trying to say Culpepper Island?” said Barry. “It seems a bit extreme.”

  “You don’t know Holly as well as I do. I’ve worked with her. I know how her mind works. She would seize any opportunity to get information to us.”

  “But sneezing?”

  “There was no way she could put pepper into a sentence. He would have snatched the phone away from her.” And probably hit her. He knew Jake was violent. Luke gripped the steering wheel, controlling his emotions. He had to stay calm and cool. For Holly’s sake.

  Barry was calm and cool. Athletes were trained how to control their nerves before competing. He only knew Holly as a very pleasant young woman he had met a few times, chatted up, given her a lift on his Harley-Davidson. But Luke was his best mate. And it was obvious that Luke cared for her. It was written in the steely glint of his eyes.

  The terrain was becoming more rugged and wild. They left behind the sugar plantations and fields of sweet corn. The air was full of salt.