Samantha tried to wake Simon, but he seemed to be deep in some sort of coma and they could only hope he wasn’t injured.
The prison staff were shocked to find the paramedics following Charlotte to a part of the building that was never opened to the public. They were mostly volunteers who came to show the tourists around; there was only one permanently employed here: the curator, a woman of middle years with hair that was once auburn, but now fading as auburn hair tended to in later years.
“You can’t go down there,” the curator woman called out. “It’s dangerous. The roof’s not stable; that’s why we don’t let the public in.”
“Well, you let someone in,” Charlotte told her angrily. “Not only did you let them in, but you let them bring a kidnap victim inside and hide him there.”
“Never!” The curator argued, shaking her head vigorously.
“How much was the donation? I can imagine he made a generous one if you let him and his small group of special friends visit those parts that were closed off.”
The Curator was still shaking her head, but the colour had drained from her face and Charlotte knew that she had taken a massive bribe to turn a blind eye. That was probably where the quarter of a million in cash had gone, since it was pretty clear now that Simon hadn’t got it.
“Expect a visit from the police,” Charlotte told her. “They might even want to charge you as an accessory.”
Samantha rode in the ambulance with Simon. She looked up from stroking his forehead as the paramedic was closing the door and smiled at Charlotte, who climbed into the people carrier and gave the dogs a quick kiss before she drove home. She would phone Paul when she got there, once she knew Simon was safely installed in a private hospital ward, which she felt sure Samantha would insist on.
As she drove away, she glanced out of the driver’s window and saw Miranda’s form, almost transparent now and gradually fading to nothing.
***
At home she fed the dogs and put the kettle on. If ever she needed a pot of strong tea it was now.
She sat at the table and picked up her phone, called up Paul Middleton’s number and waited for him to answer.
“Where the hell have you been?” He demanded at once. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Why? Because you and Miss Montfield are treating Simon Chandler as a victim, when it seems more than likely he took the money then decided he wanted it to himself. Perhaps Miranda argued with him, perhaps that’s why he beat her up before he strangled her. Either way, when we find him, he’s going down.”
“If he ever regains consciousness.”
“What?”
“You asked where I was,” she said. “I was doing your job, Sergeant, finding Simon Chandler.”
“You found him? Where is he? I hope you and your friend weren’t stupid enough to approach him.”
“If we hadn’t, you’d probably find another body in a ditch, only this one wouldn’t be so easy to identify.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Obviously.” She paused and sighed impatiently. “We found him in the bowels of Porthgowan Gaol, unconscious. He’d obviously been drugged, heavily drugged. He’s at Porthgowan Hospital. I will meet you there.”
“There’s no need.”
“Yes, there is. Someone needs to be there for Samantha and it’s not going to be either of her useless parents.”
She loaded the dogs into the people carrier and drove back toward Porthgowan. She was weary now and were it not for the police and their insistence that Simon was a murderer, she could put her feet up in front of the television. Alas, that was not to be.
Still the journey wasn’t long. She would have gone there straight from the Gaol but the dogs needed feeding and she was hoping she might not be needed again today. But Samantha was in no state to stand up for herself and her father had far too much influence for his own good.
She parked in the shadiest part of the car park, opened the windows and left the vehicle. It didn’t take long to find the private room where Simon was still unconscious, where Samantha was still sitting beside him, tears running down her face as she stroked his forehead.
In his arm was a needle at the end of an IV tube, pumping some sort of fluid into his comatose body.
She turned as Charlotte entered, then glanced toward the corner of the room where Sergeant Middleton sat watching his suspect.
“How is he?” Charlotte asked.
“He still hasn’t woken up. They can’t give him anything because they don’t know what he’s taken and without that, they might not be able to do anything.”
Charlotte turned to Paul.
“Well?” She said. “Do you now believe me?”
“I do, but whether my superiors will agree is another matter.”
Charlotte looked back down the corridor.
“I expected a bigger police presence than just you,” she said.
Paul’s mouth twisted thoughtfully as though he wasn’t sure whether he should give a truthful answer.
“I haven’t told anyone,” he said at last. “And that’s between us three.”
“I thought you were sure Simon was guilty.”
“Guilty people don’t usually end up drugged and hidden away in a place where no one is ever likely to find them. But I want to be here when he wakes up.”
“When?” Samantha said miserably.
Simon stirred, mumbled something incomprehensible and his eyes flickered open. He looked up at Samantha and forced a smile through his cracked lips, squeezed the hand that rested in his, then closed his eyes again.
***
“What I want to know,” said Paul, “is how did you find him?”
The doctor had left, having assured them that the patient would recover and Paul was itching to know how this outcome came about.
“We had help,” Charlotte replied after a moment.
“Help from who?”
“Remember you said you believed in me.”
“Miranda?”
Charlotte nodded.
“I knew she’d passed over long before you showed up with the news. She led us to Porthgowan and without her we’d never have found him. Now we have to wait for him to regain consciousness and tell us who put him there.”
“Water, please,” came a husky voice from the bed.
Samantha was up and pouring from the jug beside the bed into one of those little cups with a spout, which she held against his mouth while he drank.
She put the cup back on the bedside table and leaned over to kiss Simon’s cheek. Her lips moved to his mouth and gave him a long, loving kiss which Charlotte didn’t think she had ever had from Peter, only when sex was to follow. Perhaps that’s why he thought it was something separate from love.
“It was my father, wasn’t it?” Samantha said as she sat up and took Simon’s hand in hers.
She’d suspected it all along, but she was persuaded that she was kidding herself, that it was Simon who had extorted the money and run off with his ex-girlfriend. Still, in the back of her mind she suspected Jason; he was so used to everyone jumping to attention and doing his bidding. She couldn’t believe him capable of murder though.
She was convinced Mandy’s death was an accident, perhaps whoever he’d hired for this had got carried away.
Memories of her childhood were coming back to her as she sat here, memories of a loving father who always found time for his little girl, despite the hours he spent building his business. He bought her the best of everything, gave her the best education and even seemed to accept Simon, once he had turned down his attempted bribes and signed the pre-nuptial agreement.
She couldn’t believe he would have done this, not really. How could he have kept up the pretence, he who was so forthright, who always said precisely what he thought? But there was no other explanation.
She turned to Paul.
“Does he know?” She asked. “My father, I mean. Does he know we’ve fou
nd Simon?”
Paul shook his head.
“No. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ll have to soon. I’d like to hear what he has to say first, if you’re up to it, Simon.”
“You can tell him,” Samantha said.
Simon squeezed her hand again, pushed himself up while she hurried to plump up the pillows behind him so he could sit up. He turned to her, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“It was my father, wasn’t it?”
“No, darling,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
Simon knew his statement was going to shock Samantha and hurt her deeply, but there was no other way. He loved her; he’d never wanted Jason’s money but he never blamed him for suspecting him. He supposed if he was a rich man he would feel the same about a mechanic from a care home who came courting his daughter.
“What day is it?” He asked. “How long have I been missing?”
“A week.”
“A week? And the wedding?”
“Never mind that now,” Samantha said. “Tell me what happened.”
He reached out for more water, which she held to his lips, then he leaned back on the pillows.
“It was the night before the wedding,” he began. “I had just got my bag packed and my things together, tried on my suit and thought about how stupid I’d look in a top hat and tails.”
“You’d look gorgeous. I told you that.”
“So you say. Anyway, there was a knock at the door and I heard footsteps running down the fire escape. You know with those iron steps, no one can escape without my hearing them. I never thought anything of it, thought it was just another congratulations card. I’d bought tickets for us to go to Paris and I was putting them into a card. I wanted it to be just right, so I didn’t bother to open the door straight away.”
Samantha remembered the fancy envelope that contained the letter she had thought was from Simon. Charlotte had been right, of course; the envelope was meant to match something quite different.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“I wanted to,” he answered. “I wanted one thing that wasn’t paid for by Jason Montfield.”
She kissed him again, held his hand so tight it almost hurt. She was so pleased to have him back.
“But you’d written my name on the envelope,” she said.
He gave Samantha a puzzled look and smiled.
“How did you know that?” He asked. “Did you find the tickets? Can we get a refund on them?”
“I expect so.”
Of course they hadn’t found the tickets, or the card. Those things would have made it clear that Simon had intended to go through with the wedding.
“Anyway,” he went on. “When I did get round to opening the door, there was a parcel on the doorstep, stuffed full of cash. I didn’t stop to count it, but it was a lot.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” Samantha murmured.
Simon whistled quietly.
“As much as that? Well, I brought it inside, naturally. Couldn’t leave that sort of money sitting on the doorstep all night. It was about seven so I thought I might as well get it over with straight away. I phone your house to tell your father I was coming over with his latest offering to give it back.”
“I knew it!” Samantha cried out. “I knew you wouldn’t have taken his filthy money!”
“Did you, love? That means more to me and all the money in the world.”
“What did he say when he answered the phone?”
“That’s just it,” Simon answered. “It was your mother who answered the phone and it was your mother who arranged the meeting.”
“Mum?”
She looked at Charlotte as if for confirmation, but she looked just as puzzled as Samantha felt.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It was your mother who met me. She asked for us to meet at the beach house; said she didn’t want anyone to see.”
The beach house was the Montfield’s private little house on their own private part of the beach. It was only accessible when the tide was right out. Jason thought it a great idea when he first bought the place, but nobody really used it much anymore. They were all afraid of getting trapped by the tide and having to climb up the rocks behind to get out.
“The beach house? Nobody ever goes there.”
“I think that was the point. I’m such an idiot; I didn’t question it. I just thought she was trying to be discreet, didn’t want anyone to see us with all that cash. I don’t know what I was thinking really. I just wanted to get rid of the money as fast as possible.”
“What happened?”
“I’d put the parcel into a plastic carrier bag because it was easier to carry like that. I got to the beach house, saw the door was open and your mother was waiting inside, so I went in.”
“Then what?”
“I heard voices as I got to the door. I thought it was your parents, but when I heard what she was saying, I tried to turn back. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here a few minutes ago.”
Tears began to spill over onto Samantha’s cheeks as she thought about her gentle mother, the only one who had been on her side in all this. What was it she had said after the first row with her father. I understand, darling. I know what it is to be in love.
And all the time she was the one who was plotting to buy Simon off, to frighten him away. She wondered if it was also her mother who had sent the thugs in to frighten him, except that hadn’t worked either.
Samantha was distraught. How could she? How could her mother have made such a fuss of her, telling her she understood, pretending to be on her side?
“And my father? Did he show his face in all this?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t even think he knew. Oh, he knew about the money, of course he did, but I don’t think he knew about the abduction. From the way she was talking, I think she chose the beach house to avoid him.”
His mind went back to that beach house, to the words he’d heard that made him try to escape at the last minute. He remembered her voice, talking to someone.
“Jason mustn’t know about this,” she had said. “He’s gone soft. He’s decided to let her get on with it, decided to give in. He thinks because Simple Simon won’t be bought off he must really love her. As if that mattered. I won’t have it. I didn’t spend my life building up this business just to give it away to a bloody mechanic!”
***
Sarah Montfield was frantically throwing whatever she could grab into her suitcase when her husband appeared in the doorway. He stood for a few minutes, frowning, curious about what she was doing or where she was planning on going.
“The police are finally sending a chief inspector,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting out of here,” she said. “You can entertain the chief inspector; I’m going before Simple Simon wakes up.”
“Simon? They’ve found him?”
She tossed a local newspaper at him and he caught it against his chest. On the front page was a photograph of Porthgowan Gaol, an ambulance outside and paramedics pushing out a trolley carrying an unconscious main.
The headline read, in blazing letters: KIDNAP VICTIM DISCOVERED IN OLD PRISON BUILDING.
Jason’s eyes skimmed the article then he looked up at his wife.
“I don’t understand, Sarah. The police will want to question us. You know I never approved of Simon, but who the hell would do this?”
She stopped what she was doing and stared at him, her eyes full of doubt.
“You really don’t know do you? You go along, pretending you’re the one who made the money, you’re the genius behind the company.”
“It’s what you wanted, remember? I would have been happier for everyone to know the truth.”
“The truth? You don’t know the truth. You think I made our millions out of electronic cigarettes for addicts?”
Jason didn’t answer for a moment. Of course that’s how she made the money; she recognised the need at
the very beginning of the ‘let’s give up smoking’ phase and she jumped at it. She wanted him to take the credit because she said that even today, people would take more notice of a man. She was probably right and with his working class roots, people saw inspiration for their own ambitions.
Sarah had come from a more middle class background, had been brought up with a comfortable lifestyle if not a rich one and her father had lost it all. That’s where her determination came from.
But what was she talking about now?
“Sarah, I don’t understand you.”
“You never did, Jason. My plan was to see Samantha married to someone of her own class, then move abroad somewhere. But that damned mechanic got in the way.”
“I don’t want to go abroad.”
“I wasn’t planning on asking you.”
“Sarah!”
That’s when the doorbell rang.
“Don’t answer it,” she said.
She squashed the lid of the suitcase down and fastened it, picked it up by its handle and made for the patio doors behind her bedroom.
“Sarah, what are you saying? You had something to do with Simon’s disappearance?”
“Someone had to do something; you weren’t going to. What I don’t understand is how they found him. I thought I’d found the perfect hiding place; nobody ever went down to those cell in the basement. I paid that curator a small fortune to let me take a ‘small party of friends’ down there, just for a short visit. She was happy to take the money.”
“You can’t be saying you killed that poor girl.”
“If she hadn’t got in the way, she’d still be alive. She just had to follow him, didn’t she? But she came in handy when it came to writing the note. Told me just what to say that Samantha might believe.”
She realised she’d said far too much when a man’s voice answered her question. He had slid open the patio door quietly, while she was venting her rage on her husband, and now he stood staring at her, waving his warrant card.
“You have our local celebrity to thank for that,” he said.
EPILOGUE
At last, Charlotte could put her feet up in front of the log burner, now merrily burning away and warming her toes. The lamps were on in the sitting room of the old building, making the place cosy, and the baby bears were lying at her feet, their chins on their huge front paws, their eyes closed as they dreamed their doggie dreams.
The Missing Bridegroom: A Charlotte Chase Mystery (The Charlotte Chase Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
