Jamie watched her drive away, amazed she had reacted in this manner. He had experience with witnesses and suspects who evaded questions, but never with a person who was neither. The old adage that some people didn’t like to get mixed up in a police inquiry didn’t quite explain Blossom’s refusal to talk to him. He hadn’t accused her of anything; no one knew of Dena’s disappearance—except her captor. Jamie’s car tires left black marks on the concrete as he sped after Blossom.
Jamie easily kept Blossom’s car in view for not only was the traffic light, but also they had driven only a few minutes. And still within the town.
He parked several cars behind Blossom’s, on a residential street not far from her house. Even though it was mid morning and most people would have left for work by now, there were enough vehicles so his own car would not be noticeable. Jamie watched Blossom get out of her car, grab a picnic hamper from the back seat, and walk up to the house. She let herself in and quickly shut the door.
Jamie waited thirty seconds to be certain she hadn’t just delivered the hamper and would come outside immediately. But the door remained closed, so Jamie jogged up to the front door. He peered through the large window next to the door; nothing looked unusual. The room held no one. He listened at the door. Silence greeted him.
Thinking it odd, Jamie rang the doorbell. No one came to the door. He pounded on the door with his fist, determined now that he would stay there all day if he had to—whatever he had to do to unravel this mystery. He was about to knock again when Blossom opened the door.
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened as though she were about to hit a hit C note. A sound like the beginning of a gargle or a strangled word escaped her lips. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. She stepped back swiftly and tried to close the door. Jamie, however, was quicker. He was inside the house before she could move.
“Anything the problem?” he asked, his gaze darting around the room. Everything seemed in order but he couldn’t see the picnic hamper.
Blossom took another step backward and forced a smile on her face. Her eyes darted to her left, then back at Jamie. “Why no, constable. Why would there be? Though I am surprised to see you here. Something wrong?” She pulled in the corners of her mouth and swallowed, staring at Jamie’s face for some explanation. Her head slanted slightly to her left, as though she were listening for something. When Jamie didn’t answer, she asked the question again. Her voice cracked and she laughed.
“I just thought you might be in trouble. You seemed rather agitated back at your house, and I was concerned about your welfare.”
“You followed me here.”
“Yes. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
“Well, I am,” she said, moving her head as though her neck hurt. “Thank you for your concern. Now, I really must be leaving.” She took a step toward the door.
“You have a key to this house. You and your husband own two houses?”
“No.”
“No you don’t have a key, or no you don’t own two houses?”
“The, uh…houses. We’ve only the one.”
“The previous one? Where I met you several minutes ago?”
Blossom felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she bit her lower lip, trying to think. Jamie waited patiently, his arms across his chest, his gaze steady. Glancing again to her left, Blossom said, “Yes. That’s ours. I’m just house sitting this one for a friend. She’s out of town for a bit. She asked me to check things periodically, feed the dog…you know.”
“Nice that you could do that for her. What kind of dog does your friend have? May I see him? I like dogs.”
“Uh, no. He’s in the basement. He’s not very good around strangers. Sorry.”
“Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to look at him. From the top step, perhaps? Where is the basement door—by the garage?” He headed for the back of the house, looking for the kitchen. Blossom ran after him, calling to him.
“No! Really! He is a terribly excitable dog. You’ll just work him into a tizzy if—”
“Surely just standing on the step and looking won’t bother him.” Jamie stood in the hallway, unsure of where to go, when a scream exploded behind one of the bedroom doors.
He glanced at Blossom, anger and surprise in his eyes, then turned the lock in the doorknob and pushed the door open. Dena stood against the wall, her body turned toward the door. Her hands and legs were tied, but her eyes and mouth were free, the folded bandanas on the floor next to the picnic hamper.
“Bloody hell. My God, Dena…” Jamie gave the swiftest glance at Dena before he grabbed Blossom’s wrist, handcuffed her and marched her into the room. “Get on the ground,” he yelled, though Blossom and Dena had no trouble hearing him in the quiet. “Now!” he barked even louder. “On the ground!”
He twisted her upper arm, forcing her first to her knees, then fully down on her stomach. When she lay face down on the floor he stood over her for a moment, breathing rapidly in his intense anger. His right hand tightened into a fist and he contemplated—for the merest second—slamming it into Blossom’s face. Mike wouldn’t condemn me for doing it, Jamie thought, his body flooding with hatred for the woman at his feet. Mike would do what I’m thinking of, wouldn’t hesitate if he had found Blossom with Dena. But he wouldn’t condone it either, Jamie realized, and was surprised to discover that he was panting. His fingers slowly relaxed and uncurled as he stared at Blossom’s tiny, limp body. He took a deep breath, and—to protect himself and Dena, and to control Blossom—he knelt over the woman, his right knee on her right ear, his left knee on her back. Still in this position, he grabbed his mobile phone, punched in a number, and asked the dispatcher at police headquarters to send an officer, police car, and police surgeon to the house. After ringing off, he grabbed Blossom’s forearm, forced her to her feet, and looked at Dena. “Wait here for a minute,” he told her, pausing in the open doorway. His voice retained the dregs of his emotions, hard and flat. “Can you do that? You won’t be afraid?” He studied her face as she said she’d be all right for a few minutes. Then, nodding, he turned back to Blossom and led her from the house.
During the wait for the officer, Jamie refrained from talking to Blossom. He didn’t trust himself to remain professional; the anger within him threatened to destroy what composure he had left. Instead, he obtained information about the house where he had found Dena: who owned it, who resided there, history of the owners and residents—had they had previous trouble with law enforcement or with neighbors, occupations of all involved. In short, learning everything he could about the occupants and why Dena would have been taken there.
* * * *
Having turned Blossom over to the constable and telling the police surgeon he’d be right back, Jamie jogged back into the house. He heard a voice singing ‘Cold Haily Rainy Night.’ An odd choice, since the song dealt with love betrayed. But maybe not, Jamie reconsidered. The song served as the theme song for McLaren’s folk singing group. Perhaps singing it brought McLaren closer to Dena. Jamie hurried down the hall to the bedroom. The words came in spurts, the phrases separated, perhaps from pauses for breath. A note or two cracked or faded into silence, but the lyric came back more forceful seconds later. Jamie came into the room as Dena sang ‘Soldier, will you marry me?’
“Don’t give up your day job.” Jamie forced a lightheartedness into his voice to ease the tension. He hurried up to her, his eyes full of concern, assessing her physical condition.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks and her voice quivered when she tried to speak. Jamie shook his head, indicating she shouldn’t exert herself, and reached for her, then hesitated, torn between wanting to hug her or untie her first.
“I won’t sing any more, ever, if you’ll—” Her voice broke and she abandoned her joke as Jamie hugged her.
“God, Dena. I can’t believe—” His voice chocked with emotion, he tried again. “Mike will be ecstatic to know you’re okay. I’m kind of glad, too, by the way,” he added hurried
ly. He abandoned further conversation as he quickly cut the rope. Flinging the ropes against the wall, he asked if she were hurt.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. A tear slipped off her chin and she tried to smile, but her lips trembled. She pressed them together, stopping the quaking, and shook her head again.
Jamie rubbed her wrists and ankles, bringing the circulation back into her flesh, gathered up the pieces of rope, and escorted her outside. He then phoned McLaren.
TWENTY-TWO
Jamie’s phone call caught McLaren as he was unlocking his front door. He had given his formal statement at the police station, been told that he may be asked to return for further questioning, been released and driven home.
The crime scene investigators evidently had finished searching his house, for McLaren counted all half-dozen of them at various places in his gardens, beside the stone wall and in the nearby field. The detective warned McLaren about the searches and added that his car would be seized and searched in the lab. McLaren knew they’d not find any evidence of Dena’s abduction, but of course the police didn’t know that. Just doing their job, as McLaren had repeated to many people in his time. The fact that the investigating officer and Jamie were colleagues made McLaren’s interview less lengthy and less of an ordeal. Though the two hours had been quite enough, thank you.
He answered his phone only half hearing Jamie’s voice, his concentration on the white-suited men suddenly abandoning their outside work. The lead CS investigator was talking on his mobile and motioning to the others. Why were they disrobing, walking back to their car, getting in and driving away? Why hadn’t they sealed and confiscated my car, or left a chap here until the flatdeck tow truck arrives? Why change their minds about searching my car? What’s going on? Jamie’s first words yanked McLaren back to the present, however.
“I’ve found Dena.” He paused dramatically, letting the realization sink into McLaren’s mind, enjoying his role as good news bearer and rescuer.
McLaren managed to cough out a few words before his throat tightened. “Where? When? How is she?”
“In a house. A few minutes ago. Exhausted, on the verge of crying, thanking me profusely and wanting to talk to you.”
McLaren sank onto the front step, oblivious to the July heat and sun baking the earth and the fly buzzing around his head. He switched the mobile to his other ear and leaned forward, staring at nothing, yet seeing Dena’s face smiling before him. He swallowed quickly, forcing himself to relax, and asked Jamie to let Dena speak to him. When her voice cascaded over the phone, he closed his eyes, mentally thanking God for her rescue and for Jamie’s help. When he opened his eyes he realized he hadn’t heard what she had said. He asked her to repeat it.
Her words came out in a rush of emotion, statements and tears. “I-I’m fine, Michael. Really. Just tired and hungry, mainly.”
McLaren had got to his feet by now but could hardly speak, the questions about her well being and her kidnapping swamping his mind. “Jamie said you were in a house. Whose? Where? Are you sure you’re all right? You need to go to hospital to get checked over?”
“No.”
“Dena.”
“No need. The police surgeon just finished with me and said I was fine.”
“I doubt that, but go on.”
“I just made a statement to an officer, also. He said something about typing it up.”
“Is all this happening at the house where Jamie found you? You’re still there?”
“Yes. Jamie did the whole thing: found me, arrested the…” She couldn’t bring herself to say her captor’s name. “Called the police, arranged for the surgeon to come.”
McLaren made a mental note to thank Jamie for his thoroughness. “You’re sure you’re ok. Just because the police surgeon has seen you, doesn’t preclude you going to hospital.”
“Honest, Michael, I-I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later. All I want to do right now is get a hot shower, a cup of tea, and sleep for a week.” She took a gulp of air, trying to still her quaking voice. “I-I’m still a bit scared, though. I mean, Jamie got the one person, but…” Her tears cut off her words.
“But someone else might be involved in this,” McLaren finished.
“Yes.” She managed to speak through her quivering lips.
He tried to think like a copper, sift through the unfolding story and his concern for Dena. He was about to insist that she go to hospital, that it would be the safest place for her right now if someone was still looking for her, when Jamie’s voice tore into McLaren’s ear. “I’ll take her to my house. We’ve got that guest room. She can bed down there and sleep the clock round. All week, if she wants. She’ll be warm, safe, fed and looked after. Paula or I will be there all the time. Dena won’t be alone.”
Gratitude welled up with McLaren. “Jamie, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To Dena. You’re sure she’s all right?”
“You can talk to her again later. She really needs some sleep and some food right now, Mike. You can see her tonight. Come over tonight. Around tea time.”
“But she’s okay, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’d tell me the truth…”
“Of course! Look, Mike, I’ve got to get Dena home.”
“Where are you now, Jamie?”
“Ashbourne.” He glanced at the house façade and gave McLaren the street address.
“Why there?”
“It’s where Dena was held.”
“Why? Whose house is it?”
“Steve Howard’s. Well, Stephen Howard. A friend of our friend Blossom Armitage, it seems.”
“Blossom?” The world tilted crazily as he tried to fit all the names together. “What the hell is going on?”
A pause on the other end of the line greeted McLaren’s question.
His anger roared back at Jamie. “Who’s this Howard bloke? Does he know Dena? Is he there now? What’s he and Blossom Armitage got to do with Dena’s abduction? Well?” he yelled at Jamie’s slow reply.
“Are you driving?”
“What the bloody hell difference does that make?”
“I don’t trust you, Mike. You’re in a dangerous mood. You might get into a collision and smash up—”
“The hell I’ll get into a collision. And I’m more liable to smash the face of the next person I see if you don’t tell me what the hell went on.” He was running toward his car, his heart rate as high as his anger. “On second thought, no. I’m saving all my energy for Steve Howard. I’ll feel much better smashing in his face. Before I castrate him.”
“Mike.”
“Which is before I tie him up and drag him behind my car on the A515.”
Jamie chewed on his bottom lip. The words were spoken in anger, deep and intense hatred aimed at a name who may or may not be involved with Dena’s abduction. He’d react the same way if his wife were ever threatened like this. But McLaren had an untamed streak within him, a hair trigger that went off whenever anyone he loved was threatened or harmed. Witness the incident with Charlie Harvester last June, Jamie thought. McLaren had beat Harvester to within an inch of his life and had resigned from the job. And that didn’t compare at all with his anger over Dena’s treatment. Jamie exhaled slowly, trying not to imagine McLaren laying his hands on Steve Howard. “I arrested Blossom Armitage,” Jamie said, “but I don’t know how involved she is in all this.”
“Involved?”
“Yes. If she actually kidnapped Dena, if she acted alone, or if she just delivered the meals.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McLaren unlocked his car door, slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine before he asked, “Why did Blossom have Dena at that Howard house? Is he involved in the abduction? Are you holding him there? ’Cause, if you are and you wouldn’t mind holding him until I get there…”
“Mike.”
“What?”
“This Steve Howard—”
“You said the bastard’s associ
ated with Blossom.” He exhaled heavily and steered the car onto the major road. Hadn’t he been to Blossom’s house? He shook his head, unsure of anything at the moment. “I was there, Jamie. At Blossom’s house. I talked to her. I also spoke to her husband…what’s his name…Pennell? Yeah, Hart Pennell. I didn’t see Dena or this Steve Howard chap.”
“I don’t know if he was at Blossom’s house or not, Mike.” Jamie tried to think it through as he talked. McLaren sounded beyond reasoning, though. How much was he understanding? He tried again. “I don’t know if he was ever there—during Dena’s abduction, I mean. He may or may not have done. That’s not the issue right now. Not his whereabouts during the last few days, I mean. But he’s somehow involved, if Blossom kept Dena at his place.”
McLaren drove his car around a lumbering lorry and turned onto the A516. He made a hasty mental calculation. “You’re still at that house, right? The Howard place in Ashbourne?”
“Yeah. You on your way, then?”
“Yeah. Another ten miles, I guess,” he said as he passed the sign indicating the turn off for the A6 south. “I’ll be there in quarter of an hour or so.”
“Where are you? You must be close.”
“Just passing Rushup Edge,” he said.
“Rushup Edge.” Jamie tried to place the spot.
“Near the Winnats.”
“You’re not even on the A6 yet, let alone the A515!” Jamie yelled, envisioning McLaren tearing down the road at 70 mph and wrapping his car around a convenient tree. “What the bloody hell are you playing at? If you’re not killed, you’ll get stopped for speeding or reckless driving.” He paused, glancing at Dena, who smiled back. “Look, Mike, I’ve got to get Dena to my place. She’s been through hell and she needs to rest. Meet us at my house.”
“That’ll take you a twenty minutes’ drive up from Ashbourne!” he exploded. “Can’t you wait fifteen damned minutes for me?” Another few seconds of silence answered him before he said, “Ask Dena. If she’s too tired and wants to go to your house, I’ll abide by her decision. But ask her, will you?”
Swan Song Page 19
