Hostage to Fortune

by Carolyn McCrae

  “To be honest—” Fergal began.

  “A bit of honesty would be very helpful,” Anne interrupted.

  “To be honest,” Fergal repeated patiently, “in trying to track what might have happened to you, Diane, we have become involved in learning some history, and you know that is what we are principally; we are historians with a special interest in family histories, especially convoluted ones. The family history we were looking at led us to the Spanish Civil War.”

  He paused, interested to see the different expressions on his listeners’ faces.

  His explanation appeared not to interest Anne or Jenna but he saw Diane and Pat glance sharply at each other. “So, with nothing else on our plate at the moment, because we were taken off your case, Diane, we decided to spend some time here in Spain. There’s only so much you can do on the internet so we’ve spent a few days in Salamanca before heading south to Granada. That’s a beautiful drive, by the way, in case you’ve never had the chance to do it.” Again he glanced at Pat and Diane and saw he had their undivided attention.

  “Granada?” Pat asked what Skye thought was a very loaded question.

  “Interestingly enough, not only did that lovely city play a great role in the Civil War, but also a village close by, Illora, was home to a man we have become very interested in who went by the name Luis Jiménez Martinez.” Fergal let the names hang in the air for a few seconds as he judged which of the women listening understood where his explanation was heading.

  “Luis Jiménez Martinez?” Diane asked, apparently perplexed but perhaps, Skye thought, fishing to see how much they had learned.

  “He was the father of Federico Jiménez Rodriguez.” When no one said anything he asked, “Do those names mean anything to you, Pat? Diane? Because if they don’t they should. I wouldn’t expect you, Anne, or you, Jenna, to have heard of them, though you would be interested to know who they are.”

  Pat sighed and her shoulders relaxed. “What do you know? How much have you learned about that family?”

  Pat and her three houseguests listened to Fergal as he gave a brief summary of Warwick Eden’s brother, parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. When he had finished Pat raised an eyebrow and clapped four or five times, slowly and, Skye thought, rather sarcastically. “You’ve done well. It can’t have been easy what with so much information destroyed in the Civil War.”

  “We wouldn’t have been able to tie some things together if it hadn’t been for Harry,” Skye said, annoyed at Pat’s attitude.

  “Harry?” Pat questioned sharply.

  “Harry Bush put in a request for information about a certain Spanish refugee to a Home Office department. It was, if you like, the missing link,” Fergal answered her.

  “How did you find that out? You shouldn’t—” Pat asked.

  “So my grandfather was this Federico Jiménez Rodriguez and this Luis you were mentioning was his father?” Jenna hadn’t been listening since Fergal had finished his outline of her family’s history and was unaware she was saving him from answering possibly very awkward questions.

  Skye nodded. “If Warwick Eden is your father, yes.”

  “He was. My mum wouldn’t make something like that up, would she?”

  “Wouldn’t she?”

  Anne answered for Jenna. “We can never know if she would have or not, but we do know she didn’t. The DNA test has been done and Warwick Eden was most definitely Jenna’s father.”

  “And he originally came from Illora?” Jenna’s mind was still on her grandfather.

  “He did.” Skye smiled encouragingly as she answered.

  “There was another Federico connected with that village, Federico Garcia Lorca,” Jenna said thoughtfully.

  “You know that?” Skye, unreasonably, was impressed.

  “I’m doing a degree in Modern European Literature,” Jenna said tartly. “You cannot study twentieth-century European literature without learning about Federico Lorca.”

  Fergal turned to Diane. “But then, we’re not the only ones here who know a lot about the Edens, are we, Diane?”

  Pat turned towards Diane. “What is he talking about?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You know the Eden family well, don’t you?” Fergal pressed. He had no idea how much Diane would have told Pat, or how much she wanted to keep to herself, but he felt the connection had to be brought into the open.

  “Only one member, Barford,” Diane said bluntly.

  “Barford Eden, also known as Brian Cliffe, father of Guy Cliffe, the man heavily implicated, as far as we can see anyway, with the assassination of his uncle, Warwick. He was your guest, wasn’t he, Diane? When was it? 1989?”

  “1990.”

  “You didn’t think to tell me? I told you everything about Patrick O’Donnell. Didn’t you trust me enough to tell me your side of this equation?” Pat had to give the impression that this was news to her.

  Diane shrugged. “It wasn’t a question of trust, Pat, it was just that I wanted to keep something up my sleeve. You know how it is.”

  Pat shook her head.

  “Ah yes, the O’Donnells.” Fergal broke the uncomfortable silence that had descended on the group. “Ryan, son of John who, incidentally, was jailed for offences he didn’t commit, on the false evidence presented to the police and the court by said Barford Eden, was murdered, probably at the suggestion of, if not actually by, Guy Cliffe.”

  “I’m not sure Guy did murder Ryan,” Diane interrupted. “He did kill his uncle, yes, you’re right there, but he may not have killed Ryan. Not on his own anyway.”

  “Who did then?”

  “Guy somehow got his boyfriend—”

  “Boyfriend?” Skye asked pointedly.

  Diane nodded. “Yes, Guy had a homosexual relationship with a young man from Bradford. I won’t say he was gay because I’m fairly certain he wasn’t, but Arjun was. I’m fairly certain that Guy simply used sex to get Arjun to do whatever he asked him to do and that included involving him in murder. Arjun felt incredibly guilty about the young man’s death so perhaps it wasn’t Guy who actually killed him but he was certainly the brains behind the plot.”

  “What happened to Arjun?”

  “I have no idea but I can only assume that Guy will have killed him. He knew far too much to be allowed to live.”

  “And you know all this exactly how?” Anne asked. This was information Diane had not shared with her.

  “Arjun was supposed to kill me, at least leave me in the water far enough from land to make it highly probable I’d drown, but he didn’t. He put me out of the boat within reach of shore even with my limited swimming abilities. I was stuck for a while but eventually escaped and was able to phone Pat.”

  “And she’s been here ever since,” Pat admitted.

  “That’s why you’re here, Anne?” Fergal asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “No?”

  “Neither Diane nor Pat saw fit to let us know that Diane was safe. I only found that out when I arrived last week.”

  “Last week?”

  “That’s the other part of the story. I came here with Jenna,” Anne explained.

  Skye and Fergal looked at Jenna who seemed uncomfortable. Standing by the door she was shifting her weight from leg to leg as she listened to the talk of kidnapping and multiple murders.

  They looked back to Anne. “We have every reason to believe that Guy has been stalking Jenna,” she explained. “Your phone call, Fergal, simply confirmed what we had already come to believe. Ever since her father’s funeral she’s been in the public eye and it was our belief, our fear, that Guy has been murdering people left, right and centre to get at Warwick’s billions and now there was someone else in his way.”

  “Warwick’s daughter, his cousin,” Skye interrupted.

  “Yes, as you say, his cousin. He will
have seen her as a usurper, coming between him and what he believes should be his. You realise he is completely unhinged, don’t you? He believes he has got away with the murders of Warwick and of Ryan, but unfortunately he’s probably not far wrong because we really don’t have anything we could put in front of the Crown Prosecution Service, let alone a jury. Once it’s clear he can’t be charged with anything he will lay his father’s real identity in front of a court hoping to be confirmed as sole beneficiary of the estate. Except now Jenna is in the way.”

  “So you agree that Guy will try to hurt Jenna?” Fergal asked.

  “That’s why I’m here. To do what I can to prevent that.”

  “She stayed because Gordon didn’t think Diane and I would be protection enough.” Pat’s resentment was clear.

  “Jenna?” Skye had turned around to reassure Jenna that she would be kept safe and could not see her. “Where’s she gone?”

  “I didn’t see her leave.”

  “Perhaps she’s just gone to the bathroom.”

  “I’ll check.”

  It was only a minute before Pat returned.

  “There’s no sign of her.”

  “I’ll check the house again.” Anne stood up quickly and was gone only a couple of minutes.

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where’s she gone? The car is still here. She can’t have gone far on foot.”

  “We’ll never find her if she’s left the house. There’s nothing but dense pine woods.”

  “What if Guy’s found out where she is? What if he’s near?” Diane asked, concerned.

  “We have no reason to believe he’s anywhere near here,” Anne said firmly, trying to get a grip on the situation.

  “Well…” Diane began.

  “Well what?” Anne asked sharply.

  “Actually, that’s where your intelligence has let you down. He is here, or hereabouts anyway. We saw him the other day. I was in the bar on the beach, with Pat. I don’t think he knew I’d spotted him but it was definitely him. Jenna had told me someone wanted to talk to her, Kevin somebody or other, and they had arranged to meet at the bar. We didn’t let her go in with us, telling her to stay in the car while we checked this Kevin chappie out. And then we saw it was Guy so we told her to stay in the car while we waited to see what he was going to do.”

  “And you said nothing! I can’t believe you’d say nothing to me!” Anne shouted her exasperation.

  “We were waiting to see what his next move would be.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “We’ve kept a very close eye on Jenna since then. We’ve not let her out of our sight.”

  “Until now.”

  “As you say, until now.” Diane was worried. “Until now I think she thought we were on her side and she trusted us but when you two turned up…” She turned to Skye and Fergal accusingly. “When you two stomped in with all guns figuratively blazing she wasn’t so sure.”

  “Yes,” Pat agreed. “You’ve unsettled her with all this talk of her Spanish grandfather.”

  “And murder,” Diane added.

  “We—”

  “You shouldn’t have blustered in,” Pat interrupted. “But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You barge in. All you have in mind is your own little agenda. When you have no idea of the bigger picture.”

  “What bigger picture?”

  “Exactly. You have absolutely no idea, have you?”

  Skye and Fergal looked at each other, both frowning.

  “Enough! We have to find her,” Anne said bringing the short but sharp argument to an end. “We have to find her before Guy does.”

  Chapter 32: Guy’s Endgame Begins

  Guy sat in a bar at a seat that gave him a good view of the main road, just as he had for the three mornings and two evenings since he had seen Diane and the other old woman in the bar. When they came into town again he would see that little yellow car and this time he would make sure he followed them.

  He knew it had been no coincidence that they had been in that bar just when Jenna was supposed to be there to meet him and they were his best hope of finding her.

  She had not replied to any of his texts since she had aborted their meeting nor had she accepted any of his calls. And he wanted to talk to her, to give her a chance, to see if she would see reason and give up any claim she might have to her father’s estate.

  He had no clear idea how he could engineer Jenna’s death in a way that would leave him untouched by any suspicion. Her death could not directly involve him. Journalists would not be the only ones to see her death as very convenient to him when he eventually claimed his inheritance.

  But first he had to find her.

  And that meant spotting and following the old woman’s yellow car.

  He had been patient and his patience was rewarded.

  As soon as the yellow car appeared in the stream of slow-moving traffic Guy put the money for his drinks on the bar and left.

  Once the old woman had parked he moved his own car, eventually finding a space only a few metres from the old woman’s.

  There he sat and waited.

  When she reappeared, laden with her shopping, he hoped she would drive away but she simply placed the baskets in the boot and walked away. He hoped she didn’t spot him as she walked past his car but then he realised that, even had she known he was in the area, she would have no idea what Guy Cliffe or Kevin Langley looked like.

  After another hour he spotted the woman turning the street corner, unlocking her car door, and, after what seemed an inordinate amount of time getting herself settled, finally driving away.

  Following at a discreet distance Guy had more reason to thank the old woman for having such a distinctive car. Whenever vehicles came between them, pulling out of side streets, he could keep her in view. His task was easier when she left the town, busy on a market day, and headed north. It was easier still when she turned off the coast road and headed inland.

  After passing through a village she took a small turning Guy nearly missed and headed up a steep hill. The road was narrow and, since they seemed to be the only two vehicles on the road, Guy dropped back. He felt it difficult to understand how the driver could not have seen she was being followed.

  After a particularly long corner, hemmed in by pine trees, he could no longer see her.

  He paused at each driveway of the expensive-looking villas which lined both sides of the road to see if she had turned in and for a while thought he had lost her. But then he glimpsed a flash of yellow across the valley.

  He nearly didn’t stop his car in time as he rounded a bend and saw the road had led directly into a driveway. The woman, her back to him, was getting out of her car. He reversed as quickly as he could, out of sight, hoping she had not seen or heard him.

  It took him a few minutes to find somewhere to park, eventually finding an unmade-up track hidden from the road by the pines. He didn’t walk back along the road, instead following a track that cut through the trees and from where he could see the houses far better than had been possible from the road. Most appeared to be shuttered and unoccupied. Expat second homers, he thought disparagingly.

  He found the old woman’s house easily; that yellow car was still parked outside and he could see four women on the veranda. He recognised Diane and Jenna, and the woman he had followed from the town, but the presence of another person, he presumed her to be the policewoman, disturbed him.

  He was just deciding what to do next when another car drove up and parked next to the old woman’s. A man and a woman got out and went to the front door where, after appearing to argue, they were let in.

  Something about the man was familiar. He could not place him but he knew him from somewhere.

  He watched the figures on the veranda, annoyed that he could have no way of knowing what they w
ere talking about, annoyed that he could not place where he had seen that man, and the woman with him, before. There seemed to be a lot of waving of hands which implied, he thought, that there was some disagreement between the six.

  Having decided to make himself comfortable and wait for the visitors to leave he noticed Jenna was no longer on the veranda.

  In a few moments she appeared, running down some steps into the garden and around the corner of the house.

  Within moments he was by her side.

  “Jenna.”

  It took a moment for her to focus on his face. “Who are you?” she cried, before he grabbed her by the arm, put his hand over her mouth and waited until she realised she could not escape him.

  As he moved his hand from her mouth he motioned for her to keep quiet and she obeyed, making no effort to cry out, or scream. Perhaps, he thought, she feared the new arrivals more than she feared him.

  “I saw you, in the library. You took that photo,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “You made a beautiful picture.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Kevin Langley, I’ve been texting you.”

  “But they said it was Guy Cliffe who took the photo.”

  “It was me.”

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “I just want to talk. Look, my car’s not far away, do you want to come down to the village? For a drink?”

  Jenna shook her head. “I’d better not.” She tilted her head up towards the veranda. “They’ll notice I’ve gone soon.”

  “Are you a prisoner here?” he asked.

  “No! Of course not. It’s just that… just that…”

  “They don’t want you to leave?”

  “They think I’m in danger.”

  “From me?”

  “From Guy Cliffe.” Jenna stopped, looked the man in the face and said, calmly and coldly, “But that is you, isn’t it? You’re not Kevin whoever. You’re Guy.”

  “Okay I admit it, I am Guy Cliffe but, honestly, I only want to talk. I pretended to be someone else so your mum would tell me where you are. You have to believe me when I say I really don’t want to hurt you.”