by Tom Bale
‘You can call me Jerry.’ The voice was soft, dry and humourless. ‘If you’re driving at the moment, can I suggest you pull over? I have a message from your sister, and you need to give it your full attention.’
A car in front braked. Robbie gunned the engine and overtook, cutting back in just before a traffic island, then took a sharp left into the pub car park. He slewed into an empty space and grabbed the phone.
‘Let me speak to Patricia.’
‘That’s not possible. Her instructions are very clear.’
‘Bollocks. How do I know this isn’t a bluff?’
In response, a different voice in his ear. His sister, though it didn’t quite sound like Cate. It was a recording, he realised, and fear had constricted her throat.
‘Robbie, it’s me. Please ... please do what he says. My life depends on you. Please don’t let me down.’
A sob, cut short as the recording ended. Then Jerry was back. ‘First rule: no contact with the police. I’m sure you’re only too happy to comply with that.’
‘What do you want?’
‘The paperwork you took from Hank O’Brien.’
Robbie glanced out of the window, saw a red Corsa turning into the car park. Dan was at the wheel. What was it he’d said yesterday afternoon? There’s always a catch.
Robbie took a deep breath and said, in his most commanding voice: ‘I need to speak to the Blakes.’
‘No, Mr Scott. What you need to do is think very carefully about this. Caitlin will remain safe for as long as you follow instructions.’
For a second – one long, greedy, shameful second – Robbie was tempted to call this man’s bluff. Tell him to piss off, to do what he liked with Cate: the paperwork was going nowhere till Robbie had his cash.
Then Jerry said, ‘If you’re wavering, consider what happened to your former brother-in-law. I opened up his femoral artery in the middle of a crowded shopping street. As deaths go, it was relatively quick and painless. Your sister won’t be nearly so lucky. I’ll be in touch again.’
‘Wait a—’
****
Dan had fled the house before either Joan or his brother returned. He made one more futile trip to Caitlin’s home, then reached the pub for four o’clock. As he got out of the Corsa he noticed Robbie on the phone and saw the tension in his posture. Running to the BMW, he snatched the door open and heard Robbie exclaim: ‘Wait a—’
‘Who was that?’
Robbie was staring at the phone as though it were a black hole about to swallow him up. Dan had to repeat the question before Robbie acknowledged his presence.
‘It ... it was Jerry. Claimed to be Jerry, anyway.’
‘What about Cate? Is she all right?’
‘She’s alive.’
‘Have you spoken to her?’
Robbie gave a dazed shrug, still cut adrift from reality.
‘For Christ’s sake ...’ Dan snatched the phone from his grasp. ‘Tell me what’s going on or I’ll call the police and you can tell them instead.’
He started to walk away. Robbie scrambled out of the car, frantically calling him back.
‘All right, all right.’ He raised his hands in surrender. ‘But let’s go inside. I need a drink.’
****
Ignoring a protest from Dan, Robbie ordered a Scotch. Dan had grapefruit juice. They found a table, and Robbie described his visit to the Blakes, their apparent enthusiasm for his proposal, and then this strange, disturbing call.
‘According to Hank’s journal, the Blakes employed a guy called Jerry to run errands and act as go-between. This Jerry now seems to have taken Cate hostage. He wants to exchange her for the stuff I found at the farm.’
Dan was sitting forward on a low chair, his chin in his hands. ‘You have to go to the police.’
‘No way. Do that and we won’t see her again.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘You don’t wanna know.’ That earned a glare from Dan. Robbie gulped down the Scotch and said, ‘This guy isn’t bluffing. He killed Martin.’
Dan rocked back in his seat. ‘So DS Thomsett was right about a link?’ He searched out Robbie’s gaze. ‘You realise what this means? Our actions last Tuesday led directly to Martin being stabbed ...’
Robbie preferred not to dwell on it. The situation still hadn’t assumed the full weight of reality in his mind.
‘It makes no sense,’ he said. ‘Why change tack like this?’
‘You’re trying to extort a fortune out of them. Didn’t you think there would be consequences?’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Robbie checked that no one was listening, then said, ‘Honestly, Dan, if you’d been there, if you’d seen how they reacted ... it was like I was their bloody saviour. I wasn’t taking money off them. I was gonna help them get very, very rich.’
‘Then what are the other possibilities? Why would Jerry be doing this?’
Robbie clicked his fingers, a sudden recollection. ‘They told me they’d sacked him. So maybe he’s gone rogue.’ He stopped. ‘But he rang me from their phone. And what he actually said was “You can call me Jerry.” That’s a funny phrase to use.’
Dan agreed. ‘If he’s holding Cate hostage he’s hardly going to reveal his true identity.’
‘No, but I wonder ...’ Robbie picked up his phone, found the number and called it back.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I want to see who answers.’
Nobody did. Robbie endured Dan’s disapproving gaze for half a minute and finally gave up.
‘How did he leave it with you?’ Dan asked.
‘Told me to wait for his call.’
‘So he wants to demonstrate that he’s in charge. He won’t do that by answering when you phone him. Have you got the documents ready?’
Absently, Robbie shook his head. ‘They’re hidden.’
‘You’d better get them. Where are they, at the flat?’
Robbie tried a grin; not one of his better attempts to charm.
‘Ah,’ he said.
CHAPTER 97
‘My house? You hid them at my fucking house?’
‘I knew they’d be safe there. Nobody knows about you.’
‘And what if you were wrong about that, like all the other things you’ve been wrong about?’
Robbie shrugged, sulky and unrepentant. ‘You haven’t noticed anyone following you, have you?’
‘No, but that’s not the point.’ Dan found himself wondering if he would have picked up on it, until a more important consideration struck him. ‘Have you, then?’
‘Once or twice, maybe. I was never certain.’
Dan buried his face in his hands. He heard the groan of a chair as Robbie stood up.
‘Come on. We ought to go and get the stuff.’
****
They took both cars. Dan pulled up first, intercepting Robbie as he opened his door.
‘You stay here. Where will I find them?’
‘In a cabin bag, stashed in an old laundry basket. In your brother’s room.’
‘Louis’s ...?’
‘Sorry, mate. He did it as a favour. But I also told him the drugs thing was over—’
Dan slammed Robbie’s door and strode away. He had to keep his temper in check, at least until he knew that Cate was safe.
Joan greeted him as he opened the front door. ‘You’re home early.’
‘Decided to take the afternoon off to sort a few things. Is Louis here?’
‘He’s in his room. Why?’ She stepped in front of him as he shook his head; gently she grasped his arms and made him look at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
Dan forced a smile. ‘Nothing much, I promise.’
He kissed her cheek, feeling worse than crummy for a week of relentless lies, then hurried upstairs. The music playing in Louis’s room was a beautiful, melancholy piece from Morricone’s The Mission soundtrack, another favourite of their parents.
‘Louis, can I come in?’
Dan open
ed the door. His brother was lying flat out on the bed, hands laced behind his head. His eyes not exactly tearful, but filmy.
‘You okay?’
‘Not really. What I need right now is a joint.’
‘Yeah, well. I’ve come for Robbie’s stuff.’
‘The suitcase?’ Louis twisted his foot towards the old laundry basket. ‘It’s in there.’
He didn’t move while Dan opened the basket and pulled out a couple of spare pillows.
‘Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?’
‘I can’t.’
‘You’re in some serious trouble, then?’
****
Dan turned and examined his brother, who was still staring at the ceiling. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘How you’ve been acting lately. No way this is just about Hayley. Is Robbie part of it?’
Dan couldn’t see any point in lying, so he nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘And Cate?’
‘Why’d you think she would be involved?’
Louis shrugged. ‘I heard her ex-husband got murdered on Saturday. Is that true?’
‘Yes. And Cate’s—’ Dan stopped himself in time.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. She’s ... well, suffering a bit, that’s all. I’m trying to help her.’
‘Right.’ A loaded tone.
Dan removed the case and refilled the laundry basket. As he stood up to leave he had a sudden conviction that he would never see his brother again. The thought left him rooted to the spot, staring at Louis as though they were at opposite ends of a long, dark tunnel.
Louis sat up, offering a conciliatory smile. ‘I wasn’t taking the piss. I just mean, you’ve always fancied her, haven’t you? I reckon you’d make a great couple.’
‘Thanks.’ Dan set the case down. ‘Give us a hug, Louis.’
‘What?’
‘Please.’
Bemused and a little embarrassed, Louis stood up and they embraced. It was the first such contact they’d had in a long time, and Dan was struck by how tall Louis was, how strong. My boy’s become a man. Isn’t that what a father would say at a moment like this?
Slowly they broke away, and Louis wasn’t so immature that he didn’t appreciate the significance of this occasion, even though he had no idea why it mattered so much.
‘An unhappy accident,’ he murmured.
‘Sorry?’
‘The reason I’m so screwed up.’ Louis scraped a tear from his eye with the edge of his hand. ‘I remember what Joan used to tell me, about how Mum and Dad were so overjoyed when I came along, all those years after you. I was their “happy accident”.’
Dan nodded. That phrase had always been Joan’s way of conveying to Louis how important he’d been to the parents he had barely known.
‘I was the happy accident. Two years later came the unhappy accident. Because life finds a way to balance out.’
‘Oh, Louis, you can’t think like that.’
‘I know it’s not rational. But that’s how it feels. Like I was a curse on them.’
‘No.’ Dan held his brother by the arms. ‘You represent what was best about Mum and Dad. You carry them into the future. Don’t ever forget that.’
Louis nodded, sheepish again. ‘This is getting too heavy. You’d better piss off before I start blubbing or something.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Dan slapped Louis on the shoulder. ‘Love you.’
‘Where you going, anyway?’
Dan shrugged, and found the fuel for one more lie. ‘Nowhere, really.’
****
He trotted downstairs and heard laughter. Robbie was deep in conversation with Joan, who was giggling at a joke he’d made. She saw Dan and tutted.
‘You didn’t say Robbie was with you. Why didn’t you invite him in?’
‘It’s just a flying visit.’
‘Forgetting your manners, Dan,’ Robbie said with mock severity.
‘He is, you’re right,’ Joan said. ‘I wish you could stay longer.’
‘Me too. Next time, yeah?’ Robbie gave Joan a hug, then turned and made his exit without catching Dan’s eye.
‘And you’re off as well?’ Joan noticed the small suitcase and frowned.
‘It’s a long story.’ Dan kissed her and was gone, knowing he trailed all kinds of fear and anxiety in his wake. He wondered if he would ever have a chance to explain.
****
He carried the case to the BMW and put it in the boot. Robbie had fetched an old road atlas from his glove compartment, which he handed to Dan.
‘Look up Brockham, near Box Hill. That’s where the Blakes live. 8 Gadbrook Lane.’
‘Okay. But why, exactly?’
‘Because it’s likely that Jerry is based somewhere close by, don’t you think? He had to go to the Blakes to get their phone.’
Dan shrugged. It was credible enough. But he was conscious of a mutual reluctance to discuss what might have happened to the Blakes themselves.
While Dan studied the map, Robbie punched in the combination and opened the case, gazing at the contents as if unwilling to part with them.
‘I’d say we should head up that way, so we’re in the area when he calls me again.’
‘In one car, or both?’
‘Both. I want you to follow at a bit of a distance. We can keep in touch by phone. Don’t suppose you’ve got a hands-free kit?’
Dan snorted: as if. Robbie sighed, then consulted the map.
‘Let’s head for Kingsfold on the A24. There’s a pub that we can make our base till we hear from him.’
He handed Dan the road atlas – Robbie had satnav, of course – and shut the boot. He took a step towards the driver’s door and then realised that Dan hadn’t moved.
‘Dan ...’
‘I’m just thinking about last week, when you talked me out of phoning the police. We both know that was the wrong thing then. Aren’t we making the same mistake again?’
For once, Robbie displayed none of his usual bravado. He ran a hand through his hair and admitted that Dan had a valid point.
‘Whether you believe it or not, I want to do what’s best for my sister. If I thought that meant going to the cops and giving them a full confession, I’d do it. But, first, we don’t have a clue where she is, or who this “Jerry” really is. Second, any conversation with the authorities will have to include the background to all this, and as soon as we mention the hit-and-run it’ll be the two of us getting thrown into a cell. And then how are we gonna help Cate?’
‘Okay.’ Dan had reached a similar conclusion himself, but he’d wanted to hear Robbie lay it out for him.
This time round, Robbie was right. They had to do this themselves. They had to find Cate, and bring her back safely.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
CHAPTER 98
Befriend your captor. That had been Cate’s objective. That was why she obediently supplied the message to her brother. In return he agreed not to gag her again, which not only eased her discomfort but meant she could speak. First she asked his name.
‘Jerry.’ The question didn’t seem to anger him; he wasn’t amused, intrigued or anything else. And with no verbal or visual cues, establishing a rapport was impossible.
‘I don’t understand what’s happening. Please can you explain it to me?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t mean a lot of detail. Even just—’
‘I can replace the gag, if you’d prefer?’ He sounded distant, almost bored.
Cate gave up. He left the room and was gone for what felt like a couple of hours, though it might have been much less. At times she heard movements from within the house, and gathered that he was at work in some way.
Then he was back, and a revolting smell accompanied him into the room: the stench of human waste.
‘We’re leaving. I take it you need to use the toilet?’
Cate hadn’t realised her desperation was so visible. Her bladder ached to the point where she had been neg
otiating away the shame of letting it go on the mattress. Her body was enveloped in a cold, foul sweat, and she shivered as he untied her legs.
He let her sit up and wait for her circulation to recover. She set her injured foot down on the floor, testing whether it could bear her weight. She thought it would be okay, so long as she angled it slightly, keeping her little toe off the ground.
He untied the blindfold and replaced it with the hood. Then prodded his gun in her back.
‘I’m going to release your hands. If you’ve any thoughts of rebellion, look down as you cross the landing and you’ll get a taste of the consequences.’
Cate stood up, crying out as her limbs protested after hours of enforced immobility. She hobbled across the room, and by gazing at her feet she was able to see a small section of the floor.
Once out of the bedroom the source of the smell became clear. A woman’s body, slumped and twisted in death, the face a mess of dark sticky blood.
‘What happened?’
‘It doesn’t concern you,’ he said. ‘In here.’
He guided her to the bathroom and insisted on staying while she sat on the toilet. By now the need was so urgent that she hardly cared what he saw. Unlike the other man – who she presumed was also dead – there was nothing lecherous in his demeanour.
When Cate was done he tied her hands, manoeuvred her down the stairs and out to the same car that had brought her here. Once again she was made to lie along the back seat, but in addition he looped the rope around the base of the driver’s seat, making it impossible for her to rise more than a few inches.
Then he was gone for perhaps another half an hour. Apart from the occasional rumble of a car, there was no other human activity. Calling for help was futile, but she tried it anyway.
She managed to rub her head back and forth until a little of her face was exposed beneath the hood, allowing her to breathe more freely. Despite this, the panic returned in waves, sending her heartbeat into a frenzy and leaving her to wonder if her ordeal would be cut short by a cardiac arrest.
He returned and covered her with a rough blanket. To passing traffic she would be only a formless lump.
